Chapter 3

For several weeks after returning to work, Anja managed to establish something that almost resembled a normal routine. She arrived at the bank in the morning, worked at her desk, spoke with clients, answered emails, attended meetings when necessary, and allowed her colleagues to help only when she truly needed it. The white plaster cast on her left leg remained an unavoidable reminder of what had happened, but she had become surprisingly competent with the crutches and no longer had to think about every movement as carefully as she had during those first uncertain days.

She had learned how to swing her body forward between the crutches, how to turn without catching the cast against furniture, how to negotiate narrow spaces, and how to climb stairs by transferring her weight through her arms and her uninjured right leg. Although climbing was slower than ordinary walking, she had developed a reliable technique and had already used several staircases without difficulty. That small achievement gave her a sense of independence that she desperately needed, because she refused to allow the cast and crutches to become the definition of her existence.

That evening she left the bank later than usual, tired but not particularly worried. She was already thinking about taking a shower, preparing something simple for dinner, and spending the rest of the evening with a book and a glass of wine, enjoying the quiet apartment that had once seemed so ordinary and now felt like a private refuge from everything that had happened.

She reached her apartment building and pushed open the heavy entrance door with her shoulder, balancing her handbag carefully against one side of her body while holding both crutches firmly beneath her arms. The entrance hall was quiet and illuminated by the pale yellow ceiling lights, and for a moment she felt relieved simply to be home. She approached the elevator, pressed the button, and waited, expecting the familiar mechanical sound that would carry her effortlessly to her floor.

Nothing happened.

She pressed the button again and looked at the dark indicator above the doors. A small handwritten notice had been taped beside the elevator, explaining that it was out of order and that a technician had been called, although the machine was not expected to be repaired until the following morning.

Anja stared at the notice and sighed. Under normal circumstances she would have considered the stairs merely annoying, but with her left foot encased in a cast and both hands occupied by crutches, the prospect was considerably less attractive. Still, she had climbed stairs before and knew she could manage them, so after adjusting the strap of her handbag she turned toward the staircase.

“Well, I suppose I’m climbing.”

Her voice sounded slightly amused despite her irritation, and she began making her way upward. The first flight went smoothly, and by the second she had found the familiar rhythm of placing the crutches securely on the higher step, transferring her weight through her arms, pushing upward with her right leg, and then bringing her body forward while keeping the casted left leg safely away from the stairs.

The white cast caught the weak light as she climbed, its rigid surface extending around her heel and instep while the toes were sticking out beyond the plaster. She had become accustomed to seeing those toes at the end of the cast and to watching them move slightly whenever she shifted her leg, but she was still careful not to let them strike anything. The memory of the explosion remained buried somewhere beneath every movement, quietly reminding her that the foot inside the cast was still healing.

She reached the next landing and paused to catch her breath. Her shoulders were beginning to ache from the effort, and her palms felt warm against the handles of the crutches, but she was not struggling. Only two more flights remained, and she looked upward before continuing.

Halfway up the next staircase, the lights flickered.

Anja stopped immediately, instinctively tightening her grip on the crutches. The fluorescent bulbs above her blinked once, then twice, and then several times in rapid succession, making the shadows on the walls seem to jump and twist around her before the lights suddenly went out altogether.

The darkness was immediate and almost complete.

For several seconds Anja remained perfectly still, listening to the silence. Somewhere in the building a door closed, and from far below came the faint sound of traffic through the entrance, but the stairwell itself seemed empty.

“Oh, come on,” she whispered, her voice carrying softly through the darkness.

She considered reaching for her phone, but both hands were firmly occupied with the crutches, and she knew that trying to release one of them would be dangerous on the stairs. She could perhaps have put a crutch against the wall and fumbled for the phone with one hand, but she did not want to risk losing her balance, so she continued cautiously in the darkness.

The atmosphere had changed completely.

Without the normal illumination, every step seemed deeper and less certain, and the stairwell felt strangely narrow around her. Anja could hear the rubber tips of her crutches touching the stairs, the faint scrape of her cast against her clothing, and the controlled breathing that had become slightly heavier from the climb.

She was approaching the next landing when her right foot suddenly slid forward.

It happened so quickly that at first she could not understand what had gone wrong. Her shoe lost traction as though she had stepped onto a sheet of ice, and her body lurched forward while the crutches shifted beneath her arms.

Anja reacted instinctively.

She threw her weight backward and drove both crutches firmly against the steps, fighting to keep herself upright. Her casted left leg swung awkwardly away from her body, and she felt the weight of it pulling her balance in the wrong direction, but she managed to catch herself before falling.