HAUNTING FROM THE PAST By Sanela Ramic Jurich
Chapter 6
C h a p t e r S i x
Nine hours later, I heard the voice of the airplane pilot letting us know we were about to land in Munich, Germany.
I got up to use the restroom and freshen up, remembering the brief conversation I had with Mr. Pero Simovic, a lawyer who had contacted me about an interview with his client. He seemed very happy when I had told him I would meet with the two of them—too happy, actually. After a brief conversation with him, I went online and booked a room at the Holiday Inn Express not too far from the Munich Airport. Once I got there, I decided I’d rent a car and drive to Upper Bavaria where the prisoner was serving out his sentence. Mr. Simovic was supposed to meet me at the airport when I landed for a brief meeting to let me know when I could go see his client and to give me the exact address of the prison he was in.
Walking out, I noticed a man holding a sign with my name on it. That must be him, I thought walking toward the skinny-looking man.
“Mr. Simovic?” I asked, smiling politely.
“Yes, hi, Selma. How are you?”
The fact that he addressed me by my first name bothered me, but I decided to let it go. For now.
“I have reservations for lunch,” he continued, smiling broadly, “at a nearby restaurant where we can sit down and have our meeting.” He paused. “I hope you’re hungry.”
I nodded, letting him know it was fine. The thought that I’d be alone with him in his car bugged me, and I had to remind myself I was here on business and I had to be civilized. I absently ran my fingers over the left pocket of my jacket where I had put my keys earlier. There was a small bottle of pepper spray attached to them as a key chain. I was feeling just a bit safer knowing it was there.
We walked quietly toward his car. I noticed him glancing at me a few times. He was younger than I’d expected—in his mid thirties. He was tall and skinny with dark brown hair and eyes. He had sort of a stubble for a beard. It was very thin and scattered, but he kept it neat and clean. He looked somewhat attractive, in a nerdy kind of way.
“Here we are,” he said while opening the passenger door of his shiny red Audi.
“Thank you,” I said politely, getting into the clean car that smelled of fresh Jasmine.
After a few moments of awkward silence, he said, “You’re prettier in person than you are on TV.”
“Excuse me?” I snapped, stopping myself abruptly. Be polite, a little voice inside my head screamed. He’s just trying to break the ice.
“Um, thank you,” I said quickly, turning away from him to stare out the window. I was sure that the look I gave him told him exactly what I was thinking. I was here on business only. There was no room for socializing.
About fifteen minutes later, we were out of the airport traffic and speeding toward the restaurant he’d mentioned. It was a small but pretty place, comfortable and inviting.
The attractive blond hostess greeted us in German, reserving a special smile for Mr. Simovic. He spoke German fluently, asking her if we could get a booth in a corner for privacy. Later he explained that he was born and raised in Germany. He only visited Ex Yugoslavia once or twice a year where he still had a lot of family.
He winked at the waitress, making her giggle sweetly.
My face remained serious. I didn’t know why, but something—some defense mechanism—told me not to let him know I understood German. I guess learning it at school for so many years when I was younger really did pay off and I was pleased.
“So,” Mr. Simovic started after the waitress left us with our drinks, “I brought you a file you might find useful, to go over before you meet with my client. Here you will find all the information on his indictment.”
I nodded, taking the manila folder from him.
“What’s his name?” I asked cautiously.
“Milan Pavlovic.”
The name didn’t ring a bell.
“Did he tell you why he wanted to talk to me?” I asked, dreading his answer. Even though I was sure the man wanted to tell me about my father’s remains’ whereabouts, there was a small voice in the back of my mind telling me he might be one of the men who’d raped me. I didn’t even know their names. There were so many that after a while they all blended in as one.
The only name I did know was that of my neighbor Radovan, who was now dead.
“No,” he said, his eyes searching my face for answers, “I though you might know the answer to that one.”
“I don’t.” I swallowed hard, hiding my eyes.
“So where is he from?” I continued quietly.
“Prijedor,” he answered. “He used to live not far from Celuloza, the paper factory. You know where that is?”
I nodded, and he continued. “Like I had said before, he saw you on TV on one of those talk shows, and it’s like something snapped inside him. He was always so quiet before. I could never squeeze anything out of him. I had such a hard time preparing his defense because he wouldn’t talk, but once he saw you, he was like a completely different person. He insisted I call and ask you to come and talk to him. He says there’s so much he wants to say, but he won’t talk to anyone else but you.”
“So what’s he indicted for?” I asked, taking a sip of my soda.
Mr. Simovic inhaled. “Where do I begin?” He paused and lowered his eyes. He looked as if he was embarrassed by what he was about to say. “He was found guilty on eleven counts of crimes against humanity: murder, persecution, and other inhumane acts.”
“And rape?” I asked quietly.
“No, not rape,” he answered. His voice was just as quiet and shaky as mine.
I exhaled in relief. Although I still didn’t have an answer as to why he wanted to confess to me, it felt good to know that he wasn’t one of the monsters who had raped me. I truly dreaded ever seeing one of them again, and I feared the memories such a meeting would awaken.
After we ate our lunch, Mr. Simovic drove me back in silence. Holiday Inn Express was only a five-minute drive from the restaurant we’d been in.
“There’s one other thing,” he said as we said our good-byes standing a few feet away from his car. “He won’t talk if I’m present. He says you have to go alone.”
“What? Why?” I asked, terrified.
He shrugged. “Don’t know.”
I sighed and extended my hand irritably. “Just give me the address.”
“It’s in the file,” he said, turning to leave and then stopped abruptly. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I tried to smile politely, but I was sure my smile looked more like a crooked line. For some reason, some feeling of huge sadness overtook my whole being, which I tried to hide at all cost.
“Well, if you need anything, my card, along with my personal cell number, is in the file as well. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help and…thank you. I know this must be hard.”
I swallowed. “Thanks. I appreciate that. It was nice meeting you.”
“Likewise,” he said and left.
…
“I just started reading an Advanced Release Copy – Wow! Enough said, readers who enjoyed Remember Me by Sanela Jurich won’t be disappointed. In fact, Sanela Jurich took this one to the next level. Words alone can’t describe the emotional impact of this story…” Author Gregory S. Lamb
A Voice for the Voiceless – Deep and Honest; a full Five Star Book Review by Author Gregory S. Lamb
“When I was fifteen years old, my whole life changed in a blink of an eye…”
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