by Piotr Ryczko
She punched a few numbers into her calculator and locked eyes with him.
“What is 0.0434 divided by 0.0109?” She jabbed at him with her finger, demanding an answer straightaway.
“I don’t know,” he whispered under his breath, exasperation filling his face. She felt another sigh pass through her. Had all these years gone to waste?
She swivelled her head closer to him and pointed to his head.
“It’s all in here. Remember that!” She said the words slowly, one by one. Making sure he got every syllable. And as she locked gazes with him, Trond responded with a barely audible sniffle.
“You are hurting my arm,” he whimpered and glanced at her hand, which was clenched onto his shoulder.
Rene loosened her hand and retreated. In that moment, it began to dawn on her. The futility of it all. She wanted a better life for him. She had come here just to have him. She did everything they had asked of her. All by the book.
She took all the hormonal treatments that left her body in ruins. She had prolonged her stay there, on several occasions, until the word “indefinitely” began to have an abstract sound to it. And all of it was done because the staff recommended it. Only the best for Trond was good enough.
And they were right, it was all done so he could have a future. To give him a head start in this infested rat race. Something her parents were never able to give her. But despite all of this, he still wouldn’t listen. He shied away from her pleas. He ran away from his math training. He refused the clinic’s diagnostics, flailed at the staff, and spat out his medication.
Ungrateful little brat.
Why couldn’t he see the obvious? In this world, there was no place for runner-ups, and much less for the last one in the line. Besides, after what she had done for him, he owed her this much. To make her finally happy.
And she had to admit, there were times when everything in her just gave in, and she boiled over. Then she simply stared into his eyes and asked him if he wanted to be just like all the others? Did he really want to be a nobody?
But inside herself, she knew that he risked even more, because a nobody faded away into obscurity and was simply forgotten. But her boy would be ridiculed. He would be made a laughingstock just for being different.
“It’s 3.98165.” Rene heard the words uttered behind her back. She whipped her head around and eyed her son.
Had she heard him right? Had he given her the correct answer? No. It had to be her mind playing some trick on her. This was just a coincidence. Or even worse, maybe he was cheating. She inspected his face closer, then scanned around him. No, there was no way he could have seen the read-out on her calculator.
“What did you say?”
“It’s 3.98165,” he moaned out the words between tears.
Normally she would have given him a hug, anything to hush the boy down. But this was far more important; this might even be a breakthrough. She grabbed onto her calculator.
And as Trond burst into tears from the cold shoulder treatment, she inspected the display. Immediately, her eyes sizzled with excitement.
The display read: 3.98165.
Chapter 10
She was half-running towards the flat complex where Pål lived. It was a bunch of filthy blocks, a relic of the fifties when the Norwegian economy was still down on its face. Times when barely anyone had heard about the magical kingdom of oil.
Viola was about to enter when she was interrupted by a barrage of messages on her cell phone.
She grabbed a peek and heaved an involuntary sigh. Only her mother sent messages at the frequency of a machine gun shootout. And if this proved anything, it was that the only person Anne was interested in listening to was herself.
Where the hell are you, gal? Call me asap, Anne demanded of her daughter in the first message.
You’ve let me down big time! Anne’s second message followed five seconds later. This woman wasn’t about to give Viola the chance to respond.
You are a fucking bitch! Anne blasted at Viola in another message. Sorry... Anne rolled an apology and regret into one.
You still haven’t told me where you are. She followed this by yet another reminder why this conversation started in the first place.
Dear? You know I love you, was the big finale. As predictable as ever.
This was business as usual. And it struck Viola how numb she felt lately. These messages, they did nothing to her. She felt nothing.
The mere thought made her panic. She scrambled inside herself. Was she about to become just as numb as her mother, her emotions ground to dust by the constant everyday assault?
Then it struck her. This nothing, it wasn’t exactly a nothing. She still felt something. This nothingness had a foul smell to it. It reeked of Anne’s emotional garbage.
This was good. This cheered her up. Things weren’t as bad with her as she initially thought.
She crammed the phone into her purse, slashed a smirk onto her face, and raced inside.
* * *
She covered her ears and prepared for an assault as Pål’s head protruded from his door.
He certainly had a right to take it out on her. Not only had she badgered him the last time she had come, now she landed at his place in the middle of the night. She had brushed up on her twenty-second speech to perfection, and was now prepared to deliver it in ten. Which would be about how long she would have before he slammed the door in her face.
Viola knew she had burned her bridges with him during her last visit. But at this point, she wasn’t going to beat herself up over minor details. After all, the man she respected was long gone. Replaced by some spineless phantom.
How did that happen to people so quickly? Despite their professional relationship, she had spent enough time with him to become fond of his obnoxious quirks. His pedantic attention to people’s darker traits bordered on genius and served a purpose at his work. But his social misalignment did nothing other than get him into trouble.
And seeing him like this, she was afraid to dig deeper. Because she sensed Pål had a gaping hole where his heart should have been. She didn’t care for these kinds of truths. The ones that broke men and women. She fancied even less the thought that he might share his story. A tale that might well highlight that the two of them had way too much in common.
“Pål! I am so sorry. And you were so right the last time. But just give me thirty seconds. I have some key evidence. Please? Okay. Great!” She moved towards him aggressively, leaving no chance for second thoughts.
“Actually... I wanted to talk to you,” he said in an overtly cautious manner.
“What do you mean?” she croaked, almost under her breath.
“I am in,” he announced without any bravado, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.
“In? You mean in, as in you will help me?” She tried to get a grip on what was going on. What had happened to him? Had someone threatened him? Or even worse, had he had a sudden bout of conscience? Decided to change for the better? But as she tested that idea, it just felt off.
However she analysed it, there were no clear-cut answers. And if she asked, he would surely not be inclined to give them to her.
“I don’t get it. Don’t you want to look at my evidence?” she probed, searching for some trace of true motivation.
His front remained unperturbed, a closed book. So here she was, and she had gotten everything she wanted before she even stepped inside his flat. But certainly not in the way she expected it.
Was she prepared to take a chance on a wild card like this?
How many people were willing or able to help her at this moment? She didn’t see a queue. No. Pål was the only one. And this was the only help she would be getting.
Maybe Marianne was at that clinic now. But would she be there tomorrow, or the day after? How much time did she really have? Given the time window she had to work in, with or without a hidden agenda, Pål was it. He was her only shot at finding Marianne.
And as he no
dded her in with his twitchy smile, it was with an even bigger reluctance that she finally stepped in.
Chapter 11
Thursday, 11th February 2016
Morning
She had been standing in an obscure corner of the Aftenposten office for far too long. She was staring like a stupid little girl at the supposed epitome of her family’s heritage, the necklace from her mother.
As sure as she was of her goal while at Pål’s place, at this moment, hesitation crept up on her, prickling her skin. She knew that Anne was preparing some kind of farewell party at the offices for all the people who hadn’t been invited to her home. This made the whole situation more than delicate.
Viola was sure her mother would blow up if she heard her intentions. But this time, she wouldn’t use the escape hatch. She would stand up to her mother proudly and sell the bad news without the neatly-packaged lies.
This meant convincing Anne that she was in perfect control of the situation. And she had to find Marianne, no matter what.
Viola remembered little of her father as he had passed away when she was young. But she heard two kinds of stories about him. One kind was from her mother. And the other was from everyone else. She didn’t even make it past twelve before she made up her mind which kind she wanted to believe in. And she remembered that moment of realisation. How could she not? A green-eyed teenager, crushed by the fact that her mother had her own somewhat warped take on reality.
This would reverberate in everything she did in her life. Not only that, but she used Anne, the most toxic relationship in her life, as an example, a role model. And if there was anything to learn, it was how to get ahead in life using her personal take on reality. Even though life was still tough, lies made everything somewhat more manageable. Lies about her condition, lies about her relationships, but mostly, lies to herself. After all, why shouldn’t she?
Her suffering justified every lie she told.
Before she realised it, she had managed to arrange her life in a maddening configuration. One where the only truth was the work she did, the only place where she refrained from this alternate reality.
So now, as she stood not far from Anne’s office, this was the beginning of a new phase. A turning point. A new beginning. One where she would stand on her own. Where the lies would stop. Where she would dictate her own terms and be truthful to herself.
She inhaled deeply; she was pumped up and ready. Then she plunged into the chief editor’s office.
* * *
Anne’s mouth tested the bitter words. Viola had just broken the news as softly as she could. She had paid extra attention to repeat the word “postponement” enough times to ensure it would drill itself into her mother’s subconscious. But even with her pep talk, and all the stakes at hand, Viola watched as her mother grappled with what she had just been told.
“A postponement? Of your position in the Middle East?” Anne repeated the words one more time.
“A week?” Viola did her best to fill her smile with as much sugar as she could manage.
“What do you think this position is, a fucking last-minute takeaway at McDonald’s?” Anne said. “Postponement. Delays. Rescheduling. Cut the crap, girl. What’s going on? Really?”
This was her chance, as she adequately put it in her own words, for a new beginning. She took a big breath and prepared herself as she jumped out into nothing.
“I... I could... I want...” But that was as far as she got.
“What did you say, girl?” Anne hurled an impatient glance at Viola.
“Nothing,” Viola whispered. She was losing it completely. Curling up on herself like a terrified little rabbit. What the hell happened to that woman just outside of the office? She had to get out of here before she folded completely under Anne’s steel grasp.
And as Anne barely heard Viola’s whisper, her mother smirked at Viola’s helplessness, then pointed behind her.
“Nothing? Well, tell that to them.” Viola cast a glance behind her and realised the whole newspaper staff was lined up neatly in a row. This was a siege, and she wouldn’t be getting out of here alive. Unless she decided to come clean or bend under Anne’s rule.
It was obvious Anne was sure of her own victory. And as Viola’s eyes swept over her audience, she realised her mother was right. If she had any doubts about going to Syria, and couldn’t express herself in front of Anne, was it going to be any easier to spill it in front of fifty industry professionals?
* * *
Anne’s left hand massaged Viola’s neck as she thrusted her out of her office and in front of the packed crowd. Anne’s prized trophy daughter was about to give a victory speech. And if there was one thing Anne loved more than her own speeches, it was Viola’s. Not because she was proud of Viola, but because it made the chief editor look great.
And with nothing less than this expectation, they exited the office in front of five dozen people, everyone ready to burst into thundering applause. But the only thing Viola could think of was how to contain the volcano of adrenaline about to burst within her. Her shaky hands were cramping all over, so she did the only thing she could: she hid them behind her back. For every second she prolonged this situation, her mental condition inevitably deteriorated. She knew she had to say something before it was too late. Anything would do. Still, she came up a blank. She had zero idea where to start or how to break the news.
And before she could utter a word, the crowd erupted into a standing ovation. By the time the clapping had died down, Viola was a mess. These were the people whom she had worked with for the last fifteen years. A staff that respected her and trusted in her judgement.
However well she phrased it, she knew these people would sense trouble a mile away. You didn’t just postpone this kind of assignment. Just as you didn’t postpone being appointed to the presidency because you had more pressing matters to attend to.
“I... I umm... am not going,” she managed to blurt out, though the words were barely intelligible. But it was enough. Everyone got the message. And the only thing that followed was a collective gasp, which passed through the room, while all eyes remained riveted on her. Everyone tried to reconcile the words Viola uttered with the unequivocal watchdog success that they were all familiar with.
And everyone came up short.
Anne had always been a master of disguise yet, this time, her face simply short-circuited – even she had trouble concealing that it would be hard to undo Viola’s announcement.
Noon
Viola was crushed against a wall in a cramped cleaning supply room, the most secluded corner of the newspaper. Probably the only place where Anne could murder her and dispose of the body. And as Viola glanced into her mother’s eyes, she could see Anne was more than prepared to rip her daughter to shreds. For Anne, this was a public disgrace, as the last thing she had counted on was for Viola to undermine her position and dish out disobedience in front of the staff.
“This was a mistake, right? Your postponement, you can have it. Even now. But we are talking two days. Maximum.” Viola had never seen her mother like this. Ever. She had expected anger, some heavy pressure, and maybe even long-lasting resentment. But right now, she realised how important this was to Anne. To the chief editor.
For the first time, Viola sensed Anne’s words were tainted with fear. It wasn’t every day that Anne had to deal with situations beyond her control. And things didn’t get more out of whack than her own family jumping ship at a key moment in the growth of her media dynasty.
And as Viola glanced into her mother’s unnerved eyes, she began to feel sorry for her. Well, almost. But despite her conscience jarring inside her, there was one thing that came even more naturally than compassion. She put the squeeze on Anne.
“Actually, I need more time.”
Immediately, Viola saw Anne’s inner struggle. The older woman attempted to put some serious brakes on her emotions.
“What’s this? It’s that Stine stuff, huh? It has to be her. Right?” Anne
grasped at anything she could.
And her intuition was right. It was all about Stine. But Viola enjoyed seeing her mother squirm way too much to confirm it. She just shook her head in denial.
But this didn’t stop Anne from barging forward.
“You are losing it. I knew it. Exactly like the last time that woman was in your life. Right? I did everything to get you back on that horse. Only, after Markus, you never did. Not in your head. And I am supposed to treat you as a professional peer?” Anne spat out and pointed to Viola’s head, as if mere pointing would prove something was wrong with it.
“Leave my son out of this. Are you forgetting the awards I brought to the paper? How does that count for publicity? And sales? And the Middle East job? No thanks to you.” But even before Viola could finish her sentence, Anne made a sneering gesture. This in itself felt off, as her mother never expended such emotions. Not that overblown, never that crude. Viola sensed this couldn’t be good.
“You want the truth? The other candidates for the position were a helluva lot stronger than you.” Anne said.
“Including that kid Jon? What is he? Barely twenty-five? I bet he was willing to do so much more than just say thank you for that job?” Viola bit back, knowing all too well the emotional configuration going on behind the scenes there.
Anne scoffed. Then she slid right up to her daughter’s face.
“No. The truth is that I didn’t only pull some strings. I whipped everyone into submission. That’s how you got the fucking job,” she hissed at her daughter.
Viola wished for her mother to be a liar now, a con-woman delivering her ultimate trick. But she could see it in Anne’s eyes. She wasn’t lying. Not this time.
Viola felt her stomach explode as an invisible force wrenched at everything inside her. She needed to get out of here, before she lost it. But as she made her move, Anne slid over to block her way. And from the look of it, she was far from finished.
“Now. Get your shit together. And your ass on that next plane. That’s three days.”
