12
The second time I
stepped into the office, the receptionist barely glanced up when I gave my
name. She flicked a hand towards the door behind the desk and went back to
twirling her hair. Even as I passed cautiously, expecting her to call the
solicitor or at least give a heads-up, she did nothing. Thus, I hesitated in
front of the door, knocked once, and waited. No one answered. I tried again,
firmer this time. Still nothing. Then I heard what I imagined was the young
woman turning towards me, probably giving me a strange look as I lingered
there. Figuring the solicitor must have been expecting me somehow, I finally
twisted the doorknob.
Mrs Harris sat
behind her desk, the afternoon light reflecting off her impeccable glasses as
she adjusted them on the bridge of her nose. For a moment, she seemed entirely
absorbed in whatever she was reading. Then, as I stepped past the doorway, her
gaze flicked up, and she rose abruptly.
“Mr Sami,” she said
and extended a hand. Her handshake was as firm as I recalled it. On the desk
lay a neat stack of papers, carefully clipped and weighed down by a ceramic mug
decorated with a subtle floral pattern. “I didn’t expect us to meet again this
soon,” she continued, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “But
I’m glad you’re here.”
I didn’t respond,
only settled into the chair opposite her. It almost felt like déjà vu, the way
she adjusted her glasses, her calm but alert movements, and the scent of coffee
lingering in the air, just like two days ago.
She then slid the
papers across the desk towards me. I arched my brows and leaned closer,
expecting the familiar layout of the documents from my last visit. But these
weren’t the same. Every line was written in Hebrew. My stomach tightened as I
traced the angular letters and flowing curves with my eyes, searching for
something recognisable, anything that would make sense.
For a moment, I
wondered if I was supposed to know what to do. Did she expect me to read this?
My fingers hovered over the papers for a brief moment before I finally touched them.
The smell of coffee intensified almost instantly as I did so, my senses on high
alert, and I became acutely aware of how Mrs Harris observed me with the
faintest hint of an unreadable smile. I swallowed, trying to mask the
sudden unease rising in my chest. Signing this, without understanding a single
word, felt like a stupid idea. And yet, the expectant weight of her gaze unsettled
me to the core, pressing down on me…
“These are…?” I began, expecting her to offer some clue
that might make sense of the unfamiliar script before me.
“They’re the documents we discussed,” she replied without
missing a beat, carefully gauging my reaction, before drifting back her focus
to the stack. “You’ll need to sign on every marked page.”
I took another look at the documents as she finished her
sentence. Each page was filled with unfamiliar symbols and words I couldn’t
understand. I knew, though, that I had no choice but to follow her
instructions. Reluctantly, I picked up the pen on the desk she slid towards me and
began signing, one page after another. Time seemed to blur as I did so. My
fingers began to ache too, cramping and stiffening from the repetitive motion, while
a knot of frustration formed in the pit of my stomach for each passing second.
I didn’t like the uncertainty of all this – not one bit – but pressed on still.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I laid the pen
down. Mrs Harris gathered the completed stack and pressed the papers into a
folder. She ran her fingers along the edges to straighten them, then closed it.
I let out a deep breath I hadn’t realised I had been holding, feeling both
relief and a lingering sense of discomfort I couldn’t quite shake, no matter
how hard I tried.
“Is this all?” I asked. “Am I the legal caretaker—the
steward of the property now?”
“Not entirely,” she replied. “Under the conditions stated
in the contract we discussed last time, your role is limited for the moment.
Once the six-month period is complete, however…” She let the words hang in the
air, as if ensuring I fully grasped the implication. “…you will assume full
responsibility.”
“I see.”
I rose from my seat, ready to leave, when the solicitor’s
voice stopped me in my tracks, pulling me back into the chair.
“There’s something else,” she said, her eyes flicking
towards the side drawer she then opened, withdrawing yet another sheaf of
documents, which were slightly thicker than the previous stack. I leaned closer
to take a closer look, and my frown deepened. The faint black marks along the
edges were hard to miss. Printer’s copies. And at the top of the first page,
the heading was typed in English: Summary of Investigation – Case File:
Amal Khalil.
A shiver ran down my spine as my eyes fell on the name of
my missing aunt, printed in stark letters on the copy of the investigation
papers. There was an unsettling gravity to the document, one I wasn’t supposed
to take part in or see, and for the first time since stepping into the office,
I truly hesitated, torn between the urge to uncover whatever truths lay
within and the fear of what I might find. Thus, with these harrowing thoughts
weighing me down and disturbing me, my fingers lingered on the edge of the papers,
trembling.
“It’s not the full copy,” Mrs Harris explained. “The
original is in Hebrew, complete with police notes, signatures, and supporting
evidence. What you have here is an authorised summary, translated into English.
Under normal circumstances, as I mentioned during your last visit, access to
the official investigation requires a court ruling.” She paused briefly. “But I
was able to obtain this version. Consider yourself lucky; this is as much as
anyone outside the authorities can ever get their hands on.”
“It couldn’t have
been easy. Thank you.”
I turned the first page, holding my breath. The first thing
that struck me was the language. It was overly clinical and impersonal. Each
line read like a record rather than a real human story, and that very
objectivity made the account all the more chilling, stripping away the subject
entirely and leaving only a sequence of dates, locations, and conclusions.
Subject last
sighted: 19 July 2007. Location: Neve Emek. Subsequent
inquiries yielded no confirmed sightings. Witness interviews inconclusive.
Declared deceased in absentia under Section 19. File closed 2022.
The names of investigators and references to attachments
had been completely removed from the copy, reduced to generic placeholders like
“Officer A” or “Prosecutor’s Office, Haifa District.” The formatting too was
equally methodical and consistent, composed entirely of bullet points, numbered
entries, and abrupt paragraphs that conveyed nothing more than facts – or
rather, only what the summary allowed me to see. Even so, the omissions
were glaring, leaving gaps that my mind could not help but fill, making me
imagine the witnesses, the unseen investigators, the scribbled notes and side
comments that had been cut off.
It occurred to me then that the entire summary had likely
been written this way on purpose, drafted to close the investigation as quickly
as possible rather than to uncover the truth. My stomach tightened at the
thought. It wouldn’t surprise me if the so-called witnesses and placeholders
weren’t even real people, but fabricated accounts invented by the investigators
to justify writing off the case and moving on to the next one.
I spent the entire bus ride reading through the summary.
The more I learnt about the case, the more my curiosity grew. I had been right: my aunt did make it to Neve Emek before she vanished without a trace. But why hadn’t the investigators revealed this to my family at the time? I remembered vividly my mother saying the case was written off as a typical runaway, and that there was no evidence of her ever leaving Haifa. But the brief before me told another story, one very different from what had been given to my family all those years ago:
Background
The subject was last officially recorded as caretaker of the municipal burial
grounds of Neve Emek. The position had been registered under her name following
the death of her father. No subsequent renewal or activity was filed with the
municipal offices.
Last Known Sighting
- Multiple unverified reports placed the subject in or around the village cemetery between 18 July 2007 and 21 July 2007.
- No confirmed sightings after 2008.
- Neighbours interviewed: statements inconsistent; no corroboration.
Investigation Conducted
- Door-to-door inquiries completed.
- Religious authorities questioned: no records of burial or travel.
- Police report filed 2007; case suspended due to lack of evidence.
- Registry cross-check completed: no documentation of marriage, emigration, or death abroad.
Determination
Without verified presence, activity, or claim, the subject is declared deceased
in absentia under Section 19 of the Missing Persons Law, 1959.
Notes
This declaration allows for the reassignment of custodianship of property and
grounds formerly associated with the subject. One surviving direct descendant
recorded in the State registry, currently residing abroad. Case file closed 2022.
I exhaled slowly, an
uneven release, but it did nothing to ease the hollow pit growing in my chest
as I re-read the final lines. So, this was the note that made the
solicitor reach out to me, the last known heir? But why had it taken her this
long to make contact? It had been two years since the case had been closed. And
even though she kept insisting all this had to do with the bill about to be
passed in the Knesset concerning Palestinian properties, I didn’t buy her
excuse. More troubling still was her failure to investigate the current
caretaker. I had expected her to say something about who I was dealing with,
but she had remained eerily silent on the matter. It was almost as if she—
The bus suddenly rattled along the cliffside road, sunlight
flashing across the forested slopes as I nearly tipped sideways, bracing myself
with a firm grip on the seat in front of me. I would be lying if I said I
didn’t immediately look out the window, expecting to see that dilapidated house
and the creature that haunted me. But there was nothing there, only acres upon
acres of open fields, stretching wherever my gaze settled. Had the bus already
passed it?
Another thought struck me then, and I instinctively patted
the pocket of my trousers. The key to room 102. I had almost forgotten about it,
which wasn’t as nearly as strange as it sounded. I spent two whole days in the
guestroom without blinking an eye after all, peering through the gap in the
wall now and then, trying to catch sight of anything resembling a door – yet I
had found none.
Had I been mistaken? No. That couldn’t be it. There had to
be a logical explanation behind all this. And what about the digits I had seen
in the caretaker’s hut? Were they just random numbers leading nowhere, or a
code? Hold on. What were they again? Two. Nine. And then—I bit my lower lip,
frustration building in my chest as I tried to remember, but my mind drew a
blank. I should have paid closer attention. Now what? Just the idea of going
back in there was enough to send a shiver down my spine, but… now it seemed I
had no other choice but to do exactly that. Great!
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