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[toto45]

Stranger

'Ouch!'

'Are you alright, Max?' Susan called from the bedroom.

'Yes,' Max Cain answered, irritably dabbing a tissue on the razor nick. 'I cut myself shaving. Where's the styptic pencil?'

'Second, left-hand drawer: where it always is.'

Susan sighed. Husbands, she thought with fond exasperation. They never know where anything is. You'd think he hadn't lived in the same house for the past seven years.

Max opened and rummaged through the bathroom cabinet.

'Oh yes, here it is.'

Odd, he thought, I shave myself without a cut ten thousand times, hardly looking at my face. Then one day... What a wretched nuisance.

He winced as white wax stung, staunching the flow of blood. Nasty cut. Right there on the chin. Probably take days to heal.

The styptic pencil dropped from his grasp into the washbasin. He swore as he fumbled for it. It was as though his fingers had lost sensation and were slowly learning to grip. He felt odd. When he shaved, it was as though he was guiding the blade over an unfamiliar succession of hills and valleys, which is how he cut himself. He gloomily stared at his misted reflection in the mirror. Then, tightening the sash on his dressing gown, Max went into the bedroom.

Susan was already dressed and was making the bed.

'You'll need to hurry,' she warned. 'The clock's batteries have run down, so the alarm was slow. You've taken forever in the bathroom. Let's see the cut.'

She swiftly examined his chin. 'I don't know what you're complaining about. It's amazing how quickly you heal. If I ever scratch myself, I bleed for hours. Your shaving nick has nearly disappeared. I can almost see it healing as I watch.'

When Max stumbled down to the breakfast table, he found Susan seated beside their three-year old daughter, Petra. The little girl beamed at him.

'You look awful,' Susan decided. 'Are you feeling well? You're puffy around the eyes.'

'I'm not 100 per cent. I feel, sort of muzzy. It's like a cold. Anyway, I better snap out of it. There's plenty to do at work today.'

Susan nodded. 'Same here. Are you still fine to pick up Petra from the Preschool? I wouldn't ask, except Jane is still on holidays. She has another week to go. Did I tell you we got a card from her yesterday? They're now in Burgundy and Stewart says he's bringing back some bottles, to sample at our next dinner party.'

Max sat down tiredly. 'That's nice,' he said, without interest. 'I'm fine to pick up Petra.'

It was, in fact, difficult to arrange his day so that he could leave work early and pick up his daughter. Usually, Jane Marsden, their neighbor and friend picked up Petra, together with Jane's son, Jamie. The two children would play happily at Jane's flat, until Susan could collect Petra.

It was a convenient, but not ideal arrangement. Susan felt guilty she didn't spend more time with her daughter. Still, she told herself, the money she earned would ensure Petra received an excellent education. Besides, Susan loved working. She was now the best salesperson at Magellans' Estate Agency. Having completed a political science degree at Adelaide University, she had drifted through a series of casual jobs for the next three years, before meeting Max. A chance encounter with a school friend, gained her an introduction to Magellans'. She began as a receptionist, soon graduating into sales, which was when her career became turbo charged.

It's sometimes said that if a person pours energy into a job they like, wealth will look after itself. It was certainly true for Susan. Last year, she had netted over $250,000 in commission. In the next 12 months, she expected to exceed $400,000.

Max's career wasn't as spectacularly successful as his wife's. He held a senior position as financial director at Duesberrys. The company, which operated from an industrial estate at the base of the Mt. Lofty Ranges, 25 minutes from Max's home, was an electronics and precision engineering plant. Jointly owned by a Japanese and Korean consortium, the plant manufactured medical equipment, including pulse recording machines and imaging equipment. They competed against German and Swiss companies and were gaining a worldwide reputation for excellence.

It was nearing the end of the financial year and Max still needed to tidy up the accounts for the auditor. He had already put in many hours of overtime and hours of solid work lay ahead. He really couldn't afford time off, even for such a necessary task as picking up Petra from the Preschool Centre. James Paramore, the CEO would no doubt hear of his absence and hold it against him, conveniently forgetting about all the time Max freely invested in his job.

At the same time, Max loved his daughter, savoring every moment spent with her. It was, he acknowledged, little to ask that he occasionally help out with the domestic duties.

Neither Susan or Max had planned to have children for several more years, but when Petra came, Max found he loved being a father. She was such a quiet, undemanding and affectionate child. Even now, she was sitting there, while Sue...

He became aware of Susan staring at him.

'What is it?'

'Oh, I don't know,' she replied. 'You look different.'

'Different in what way? Fatter, thinner, younger, older?'

'Just different. Not like you.' She trailed off, then shook her head as though to clear her thoughts. 'Oh, don't take any notice. I'm just talking nonsense. Anyway, I'll see you at around 7.00 am. I have a second inspection on the Bowler's property. With luck, they'll sign the Contract Note tonight.'

When Max arrived at the plant, the security guard, without leaving his post, checked the car's registration and the pass Max held out the window, then raised the boom gate. Max faintly heard the man's greeting as he drove the ramp into the executive car park.

Parking in his designated spot, he took his briefcase and several ledgers from the car, locking it as he left. He caught up with Roger Norrington, the Marketing Director, who had just parked his BMW and was striding toward the lift. Roger turned at Max's call and looked puzzled. Then his face cleared.

'Max, sorry. I hardly recognized you. Must be the light in here, or perhaps my glasses. How's Sue? Will you tell her my daughter's delighted with the flat she leased? We must have you over again, soon.'

The two men entered the lift and ascended to the executive floor. As they walked down the corridor to their offices, secretaries and other work colleagues greeted the two men. Some hesitated, glancing curiously at Max, before passing by.

Before going to his office, Max visited the washroom. Washing his hands, he looked at his image in the mirror. There was something odd about his appearance, he decided. It was hard to say what. He looked subtly younger, leaner and more deeply tanned. When he growing up, he had often wished he were better looking. Now, having gradually resigned himself to having a pudgy face and thick body, he was surprised to realize for the first time that he was tolerably handsome. Far from feeling pleased however, he felt disconcerted to see his familiar character overlaid by a stranger's face and body. It was almost as though two images were focusing together. How could this happen? A man doesn't physically change within 16 hours. The question seemed absurd, but something uncanny was happening.

He examined his chin, looking for the shaving nick. It had disappeared. Feeling distinctly uneasy, Max dried his hands and retreated to his office.

'Good morning, Mr.Cain,' his secretary looked up from her filing, her smile changing to a puzzled frown.

'Morning, Jessie,' Max responded, hurriedly going into his office and shutting the door.

Max worked on the accounts for several hours. He found work helped, but the uneasiness remained, crouching at the back of his mind.

Around lunchtime, Jessie phoned through to say that she was going to lunch and had asked the switchboard operator to screen his calls.

As soon as he judged she had left, Max came out of his office door. Checking to see the corridor was deserted, he hurried to the washroom. This time, he was shocked when he looked in the mirror. A stranger stood in his place. He raised his hands, watching the stranger run his hands over his face. The man was younger and better looking, but Max was horrified that he no longer recognized himself.

He fled back to his office, asking himself over and over what he should do, without gaining an answer. He returned to his desk and was seated, staring blankly at the pile of balance sheets when the door was thrust open.

Roger Norrington burst in cheerfully. 'Max, it's time for a bite. Want to join some of us? We thought we'd try that new place...' He trailed off as Max looked up.

'Who are you?' Roger demanded. Looking at the covered desk and files, he continued, 'What are you doing in Max's office? This is a secure area. You're accessing confidential data.'

'Roger, it's me,' Max began, but his colleague had already picked up the internal phone. 'Security,' he was saying,' Come to Max Cain's office immediately. We have an intruder in a secure area.'

He listened to the phone. 'Yes, I'll stay with him until you're here, but hurry.'

Max rose from his desk and pushing Roger aside, rushed out of his office, nearly colliding with Jessie.

'How did that man get in here?' he heard Roger demand and his secretary's confused reply.

Willing his legs to run, yet feeling at any moment, his rubbery muscles may fail, Roger stumbled down the corridor to the lift, and frantically pressed the button. The door sprang open. It closed, moments before Roger reached the lift. Then Max was in the carpark, his legs firmer. He managed a shambling run to his car, unlocking it. He flung himself into the driver's seat, fumbling with the ignition key. The engine fired and max savagely yanked the transmission lever into drive. The car roared out of the park, tyres screaming.

Straightening the car out of a spin, Max pressed hard on the accelerator, hurtling across the courtyard toward the exit gate. The heavy steel beam had been raised to allow a truck delivering bottled water to pass. Seeing Max's car approach, the guard pressed the button again and the beam that had begun to fall, hesitated and rose. Max drove up hard against the bumper of the truck, willing it to move faster. The phone rang in the security guard's post and Max glimpsed the man pick it up, listen, then lunge toward the gate control. As the beam fell, the truck began to accelerate and Max was through, the falling beam tearing away his car's back bumper bar.

Max slowed as he neared the Preschool Centre. He stopped beside a park and with slow breathing, lowered the frantic race of his heart. He had no plan, other than to pick up Petra and take her home to wait for Sue. Perhaps Sue could see a way out of his nightmare. He felt desperately alone.

A young woman came out of one of the rooms at the Preschool Centre. Max hadn't seen her before. Introducing himself, he told her he had come to collect his daughter.

'It's very early,' the woman said doubtfully, 'The group has just started their afternoon nap.'

'Yes, I'm sorry to be a nuisance,' Max said, struggling to sound contrite. 'This is the only time I could get away.'

'It's irregular, but well..Wait here.'

She left him waiting in the corridor and went to fetch Petra.

Max let out a sigh of relief. It was fortunate this girl had met him. The Preschool owner, Mrs. Betty Nordstrom knew Max Cain by sight.

The assistant returned, holding Petra's hand. Seeing the tall figure in the corridor, Petra dropped the assistant's hand and ran forward, calling 'Daddy'.

Then she stopped and peering up at Max, said accusingly, 'You're not Daddy.'

'Of course, I am.'

You're not Daddy,' Petra repeated, her voice rising to a shriek. 'Daddy told me never to go with strangers. You're not Daddy.'

'What's going on?', the assistant demanded. 'You told me Petra was your daughter.'

Max bent down, speaking reassuringly to Petra. 'Yes, I'm Daddy. I just look a little different. Don't I sound the same?' But even to Max, his voice had an unfamiliar edge.

'Now, stop this nonsense,' he ordered. Losing patience, he seized Petra by the arm, but she squirmed out of his grip. 'I'm not going with you. Send him away,' she wept, 'He's just saying he's Daddy.'

The child's cries brought Betty Nordstom bustling down the corridor.

'What's all this noise? Who is this man?' she demanded.

Petra, taking advantage of the confusion, darted away, back to the safety of her playgroup.

'He told me he's Petra's father,' the assistant began. 'He said he had come to collect her.'

'And you didn't think to ask for identification,' Betty returned scornfully. ' He looks nothing like Mr.Cain. If he said he is, then he's a liar and either a kidnapper or a pervert. And you were ready to hand him an innocent child.'

The assistant blushed and began to cry.

'Look, Mrs. Nordstrom, I really am Max Cain. Let me show you my wallet. Here's my driver's licence and credit cards. I can prove who I am.'

'I'm not interested. I've never seen you before in my life. Now clear out. I'm phoning the police.'

'I'm Petra's father,' Max persisted. 'And I'm not leaving without her.'

Betty lashed out with her foot, kicking him hard in the shins. Max cursed at the pain.

'Now, clear off and never come here again. ***** disgust me. I'm ringing the police to keep an eye out for you. I'm also phoning Mrs. Cain to warn her that you're lurking about.'

Max, still cursing, hobbled away. He eased himself into his car and closely watched by the two hostile women, drove away.

Betty Nordstom turned to her assistant, who was sniveling into a handkerchief. 'Now, stop that,' she ordered briskly. 'Get a grip and learn a lesson from this. Dry your tears and calm Petra. I'll ring Sue Cain at Magellans' so she can come and get her daughter.'

Max finally slowed his car and finding a quiet suburban street, he parked. He sat for a long time, head buried in his hands. Finally, he decided that he must go to Sue and explain. He didn't look at his cell phone, knowing there would be urgent messages for him to phone her and return home. When I get home, Max told himself, everything can be sorted out.

Minutes later, he unlocked his front door and slipped inside. Susan was in the lounge room, comforting Petra. She gave a startled cry and jumped up. Seizing Petra's hand, she edged toward the door. 'Mummy, that's the man,' Petra whispered urgently. 'He said he was Daddy.'

'It's alright Sue,' Max hastily reassured his wife. 'It's me. I know I don't look the same. I don't know what's happened. I'm at my wits' end. Help me.'

Susan reached the door and pushed Petra out into the hallway. 'Run up to your room, darling and lock the door,' she ordered. 'Don't open it, unless I tell you to do so. I'll be up shortly. I just have to talk to this man.'

Susan stood trembling at the door. She held up a warning hand when Max tried to approach. They stood listening to the sound of Petra's feet rushing up the stairs. The bedroom door slammed and they heard the key turn in the lock.

Susan turned to the intruder and her self control wavered.

Taking a deep breath, she began. 'Now, who are you? Why are you telling me this ridiculous story? Why are you wearing my husband's clothes,' she glanced out the window, 'and driving his car?

'What,' she asked in growing horror, 'have you done with my husband?'

'Sue,' he began again, starting forward, but stopping when she shrank back in terror. Then she slipped out of the door, slamming and locking it.

A moment later, before he had time to react, she activated the internal security system. A steel shutter rolled down over the windows, trapping Max in the room.

Three months later, Susan was escorted to the office of Dr. Rex Weatherby, Head of Psychiatric Services at 'Avenstone', a high security hospital for the insane.

'Mrs. Cain, such a pleasure to see you again,' Weatherby beamed. Coming from behind his desk, he touched her arm gently and, looked at her with a well-practiced expression of sympathy. 'How are you coping?'

'Alright, I suppose,' Susan answered listlessly. 'Who's this?'

A tall, middle-aged man in a dark blue suit stood up. 'I'm Detective Inspector, Jason Thorpe,' he said. 'We haven't met, but I've been spearheading the investigation into the disappearance of your husband. Have you been getting full co-operation and assistance from my staff?'

'Yes,' Susan said absently as she sat down. 'Everyone's been attentive, but I still don't know what's going on. Has that man been charged yet?'

The two men exchanged glances. This was never going to be an easy interview.

'No, Mrs. Cain,' Thorpe admitted. 'The reason is there's no evidence of a crime.'

'What do you mean?' Susan retorted. 'A man turns up. He tries to kidnap my daughter and later enters my home. He's driving my husband's car, has his wallet and is wearing his clothes. Isn't obvious he killed my husband and assumed his identity?'

Thorpe hid a sigh. 'I'm a policeman, Mrs. Cain. I can only arrest someone if there's reasonable evidence of a crime and some presumption of guilt. Even if I arrested this man, the D.P.P., sorry, the Director of Public Prosecutions has advised me this case could not go to trial. There are doubts the man is sane enough to understand the charges, much less mount a credible defense.'

Seeing Susan about to speak, he continued. 'Please let me finish.

'Of course, it's very odd that the man comes to your house, wearing your husband's clothes and so on. We have to ask however if a crime was committed, what that crime was. If he were using the credit cards to clean out your husband's bank account, then he would be guilty of theft. If he wanted to kidnap your daughter, surely he wouldn't have gone to the Playcentre where Mrs. Nordstrom knew Max Cain. Then he enters your home - trespassing, I grant you - to tell you he's your husband.'

Susan shrugged,' He's insane. Doesn't that make it even more likely that he's a deranged killer.'

'Insane? I don't know,' Weatherby interjected. 'Deluded, certainly. Over the last three months, I've done everything possible to break this delusion. In every other way, he presents as a rational and intelligent man. He genuinely believes he is Max Cain. To help prove his point, he willingly underwent various tests. I've used drugs, including the so-called truth serum, then hypnosis..'

'And he volunteered for a lie detector test,' Thorpe put in. ' I know that's not conclusive, but there was no hesitation when we asked who he was.'

Thorpe continued, 'Members of my team have examined your husband's clothes and personal effects in minute detail. There's no forensic evidence that a crime was committed. I can't imagine a man of your husband's size and physical condition being overcome without a struggle.'

'Tell me you at least know who he is,' Susan snapped.

'No,' Thorpe returned. 'His description doesn't fit any missing person's report. He was never convicted of a crime here or overseas.

'It's the most bizarre case I've encountered,' Thorpe mused. 'Both the medical and investigative teams have subjected this man to the most demanding interrogation. You can't fault his knowledge of Max Cain's business. He knows his business affairs. He talks about Mr.Cain's childhood. He provides the most intimate details of his relationship with you. All of the questions that you suggested we ask him have been correctly answered. He's even added details that you've agreed are accurate. I can't understand how, even with your husband's complicity, he could know as much as he does.'

Weatherby took over. 'This is an intelligent, balanced individual, perfectly capable of operating in society. He simply has an unshakable conviction that he's someone he's isn't. Even in that area however, we're making progress.'

'So, he's starting to believe he's not Max?'

Weatherby shrugged. 'I don't know. At least, he's now prepared to accept a new identity. He's agreed that we'll build him a new life. He'll be known as David Ruhle.

'The breakthrough came when we showed him your husband's fingerprints, dental records and DNA, compared with his own. I think he realised then that he would never convince us he was Max Cain.'

Jason Thorpe said, 'We've agreed to release him. Actually, he is a voluntary patient. Without his agreement, we couldn't hold him here.

'One of the conditions of his return to society is that he relocates in another State. He's not permitted to contact yourself or your daughter. For some reason, he found that very hard - actually, he broke down and cried - but he finally agreed. He won't worry you again.'

'So he just walks free,' Susan said bitterly. 'You've called me here to tell me that.'

'The case isn't closed,' Thorpe assured her. 'We'll keep searching for your husband. The file remains active and any fresh leads will be investigated. At the same time, we need to reassign priorities, given our limited manpower resources.'

During the interview that followed his arrest, Stanley Brogden, the notorious killer, admitted meeting Susan Cain.

As part of the confession that secured him a lighter sentence, Brogden recalled Susan's words when she hired him. 'He's not getting away with this. He's stolen my husband and my life. Because of him, my daughter is growing up without a father.

'This man doesn't deserve to live.'