A CHILD MADE TO ORDER: gripping psychological suspense

by Piotr Ryczko

  She had to get out of there.

  She had run to her room and begun to pack. Now, she eyed her fingers again. They were still cold, stiff, and useless.

  * * *

  That is when Magda rushed into the room and locked gazes with Viola, who immediately hid her hands beneath the bedcovers.

  “I know what you are trying to do.” Viola choked on her own words. She couldn’t stand this anymore. Everything was splintering inside her. “These women. Their sweet little stories, these lucky kids,” she hissed.

  “What do you mean?” Magda asked.

  But Viola only scoffed, shook her head, and got back to the packing. Useless old woman’s hands or not, she was packing her bag and getting out of here.

  “I showed you everything so I could convince you. You are right. But you are not seeing one simple thing. Do you have any idea what kind of hope this place can be for other women? For women like you.” Viola jolted up.

  A revelation flashed back and forth between the women. She sensed her eyes, her fingers, her own thoughts, everything about her, was cracking inside her. And however much Viola tried to conceal it, Magda saw right through her.

  This was exactly what Viola desired.

  “How many years have you attempted to have a child? And you never gave up hope, did you?”

  Viola felt shredded by this question.

  “No... I... need to leave. Now.” Just as she said these words, she began to flee; her feet carried her away in panic, to a place where she wouldn’t suffocate on her own truth. But not before Magda moved in her way, grabbed her by the shoulder.

  “See that paper hanging on the wall?” Magda pointed her finger towards a poster taped to one of the walls.

  Viola couldn’t understand what it had to do with anything. It was the most mundane poster of a mother nurturing her little one. But Magda gently pushed Viola towards it, and continued her argument.

  “You see this paper? That’s the single most beautiful thing in the world,” Magda said.

  Viola peered closer and noticed that handwritten along the lower corner were months in chronological order from left to right. Upwards in nice rows shone small heart-stickers. She couldn’t quite count the amount of hearts, but on many months, the stickers went out of the paper sheet and onto the wall. And then it struck her, that one red heart meant a child born in this place.

  “Isn’t this fantastic?” Magda’s face beamed at her as she referred to the hearts. “Don’t you understand that they are what we are here for?”

  She had arrived here convinced that she had to get to the bottom of one simple question: How could these women even think of giving up their lives into the hands of some freak experiment? Because, ultimately, that’s what it was. An unproven technology that was barely in its infancy. And no other words than lunacy came to her mind when she considered it.

  And then her mind was thrown back into the past, her last twenty years. A place where she had all but assaulted her body with countless hormones and other dubious medications during her IVF attempts. Despite this, she had persevered and had Markus. And right now she knew she was one of those women.

  Was that lunacy?

  When she glimpsed at these children for the very first time, it was as if someone had turned on an invisible switch inside her. Suddenly, she realised Magda was right. These small miracles would never have come to be, if not for this clinic’s intervention in the natural course of things.

  As her eyes focused on all the hearts on the poster, she had trouble counting them, there were so many. A part of her thought this was a breath-taking sight, but another part of her was just terrified. Of herself. Because she realised she had no idea what she would do next.

  Night

  Viola’s bag was still unzipped with some clothes hanging out. At this point, it was the least of her concerns. The only thing that occupied her mind was how to make it out of the clinic.

  She needed an exact tempo for her escape, fast enough so no one would catch on that she was leaving, but slow enough not to seem utterly desperate.

  While nearing the reception, she felt everybody’s eyes stabbing at her back. Curious and perplexed glances. There was never much traffic in and out of this place, but at this hour, in the middle of the night, it was unprecedented.

  Viola was prepared for everything, even being forced to stay against her will. But she knew that if anyone got in her way, she would scream and claw her way out.

  And this very thought, an uncanny determination, must have been written all over her face as she passed the reception, because no one even dared ask her what she intended to do outside. In the middle of nowhere, in a blasting snow blizzard at minus twenty-five degrees. Covered by her jacket but still wearing her patient’s gown.

  Viola turned her head one last time, and looked at the staff. There was no commotion or alarm – she was in the clear. But when she whipped her head back, she crashed into a wheelchair which barricaded part of the entrance.

  Her heart jumped, and her body curled up. It was the albino boy, scrutinising her with intense reddish eyes. This time he looked frailer than ever, sweat trickling down his forehead at the mere effort of sitting upright in his wheelchair. Before she could utter a word, he gripped her hand, held onto it and squeezed it way too hard. She gasped in silence. Then tried to shake him off, but his nails just bit themselves deeper into the skin of her palms.

  He pushed the chair towards her, and slid his quivering body up to her ear.

  “She is here,” he whispered.

  Her wild eyes scrambled for the quickest way out of here, as she shook off his hand and finally darted out of the entrance. As she made her exit, her mind was dazed and muddled beyond reason.

  And before she knew it, she was knee-deep in snow, barely able to barge forward. She attempted to cover herself, but it was useless. The snowfall just kept whipping at her body, and punished her face.

  But then she froze as she felt something in her hand.

  Inside her palm was a translucent metal container the size of a thumb. It couldn’t have made it there while she packed, and certainly not while on her way out. So, that left only one possibility.

  The albino boy.

  He must have put it into her palm.

  She inspected it closer and realised she had seen something like it before, as they were used to store patients’ DNA profiles. Its outer appearance was just as anonymous as the rest of the clinic. No name, or any information, other than it was marked with the InviNordica’s logo, their DNA helix.

  But as she peered closer, she noticed two cotton swabs.

  * * *

  As Viola fought her way towards where Pål and Ronny had parked, an overwhelming dizziness gripped her. Her sight blurred out of focus, making further progress impossible. Her feet began to fail her, and her body cramped with the tension. At first she thought it was the minus twenty Celsius which wreaked havoc on her body. But that was not it.

  As she finally reached Pål’s parking place, she realised neither of them were there. Pål’s car was, though.

  She spun around, several times. And at every turn, she felt a growing confusion clawing its way into her mind, twisting her thoughts into an indecipherable tangle.

  She had always had a clear goal, a concrete sense of a destination, one that kept her afloat. But now, as she stood here, in the middle of the snow-covered street, she had absolutely no idea where to go. And even if she had some kind of goal which would fill her life with new meaning, would she want to go down that road? Or was she simply deluding herself?

  She didn’t know where she belonged anymore. She didn’t belong among the women who could become mothers. She didn’t belong with the ones who could become pregnant. And she certainly didn’t belong to those who could adopt either. So what was left for her? A childless emptiness? Was that the only thing for her in this world?

  PART THREE: Demons

  Vlog, 59 th entry 23.4.2012

  Her head slid into view of the
webcam as she greeted her public with a childlike smirk filled with nothing but optimism. Two years had flown by since her first post initiated this path. And at this instant, she felt on fire. And why not? She had all the reason to be euphoric. She struck a sensitive chord with her viewers, causing her public to explode in numbers.

  “Hello Dolly to you girls! Today is a special day. It’s two years since we started, and something extraordinary has happened in my life. I’ve got you. All fifteen thousand, two hundred and fifty-two of you, to be exact. That’s phenomenal, and that’s Hello Dolly to you all!” she shrieked into the webcam as her natural high climbed to yet another mountain peak.

  “Take Trine from Drammen. Thank you for writing to me and sharing your personal story. You, darling, that’s the reason I am here. A year ago, Trine stood before a gruelling choice between two places for her next IVF. She’d used up her two attempts and had one last free attempt available to her. But when the hospital explicitly stated she had only a seventeen percent chance of success, she changed her course and instead chose a private clinic that promised her a sixty percent success rate. But going private meant she also had to dig deep into her own purse. And as you all know, this one can crush anyone’s piggy bank. I’ve been there too, Trine. I feel you.”

  “Everyone around her advised against the private clinic. But the only thing she had before herself was the magical number of sixty percent. A doctor at the hospital shook his head and told her the sixty percent is good, maybe even magical, because it’s good to be optimistic, but not based on false expectations. She told him to shove his talk about false expectations somewhere. Then she left the hospital. Yes, the cost differences were dramatic, but it would all be worth it. The sixty percent held the key to the magical kingdom of fertility. If she was sure of anything, she was damned sure of that.” She peaked into another dramatic curve of Trine’s story. And she felt her body tingle as she built up the climax of her tale. Damned fine storytelling, that’s what it was. And she knew that.

  “But as Trine got to the hospital and went through the treatment, it ended in an abysmal failure. Drugged by all the hormones, emotionally shell-shocked, and barely able to fight for her rights, she confronted the clinic’s authorities with their PR policies. And their response? They back-pedalled to all hell, saying that sixty percent statistic was only viable for a woman with a normal body weight. And since Trine was quite overweight, she supposedly produced way too many eggs. Then they pushed the following simple fact down her throat. It was her own fault, being overweight, that is. She was the one to blame, that she didn’t read the fine print on their contract and statistics. She responded that it was no wonder she gained weight, when they pumped her full of Lupron, flare, and anti-flare protocols and whatnot. With a hormone hangover like nothing she had ever experienced before, she left, heartbroken and depressed. And as she concludes in her mail, this was her last IVF,” she whispered in a subdued tone, delivering the punch line with the reverence it deserved.

  “Phew, Trine! Some story! I am eternally grateful that you had the courage to open up like this, and share your personal experience with everybody. This means so much to everybody. But please don’t lose hope. And, darling, please remember, you can’t change the way your body is built, you can’t change the damned crap shoot that the IVF cycle is, and you can’t change the grief infertility put you through, but you can change the way you react to all of this in the future. You can tell yourself each and every day, what a miracle you are. With or without a child. You hear me! And I am with you all the way, darling. I am with the rest of you gals too! Remember, if you wanna talk, I am available to you all 24/7. Hello Dolly to you all!” She terminated the web stream and grabbed onto her laptop.

  She checked her site stats and watched as the comments rushed in, her ‘likes’ soared, and her viewership blew sky-high. Her eyes burned with a compulsion she couldn’t push away. No. She welcomed it with an open heart. She couldn’t hide the fact, she loved every second of it. This was what she lived and breathed for.

  But most of all, this was one step closer to the realisation of her goals.

  Only two years away.

  Chapter 22

  Monday, 15th February 2016

  Dawn

  Viola couldn’t shut her eyes. Her tears had frozen a long time ago into some unrecognisable structure that stifled her eyes. Not that it actually mattered, after all, the only thing in her mind now was to just keep on walking. The direction wasn’t really that important, and certainly not the goal. She just needed to keep on moving until dawn arrived.

  Still, she felt a remote thought spinning away in some dark corner of her mind, telling her she could pick up her cell phone, turn it on, check if Ronny had left anything for her. But right now, that thought seemed distant, almost alien, as if it wasn’t hers anymore. Not the Viola she had known. Not the woman who had chipped away her life, bit by bit, until there was nothing left.

  And for every step she took, she became more and more convinced she was closer to forgetting everything. The clinic, her old job, her mother. Ronny. Everything had to go, if she was to survive the re-awakened flood. And she knew that if she was to make it till dawn, she would have to dig much deeper. She had to forget where she lived, where she worked, whom she was, but most of all, she had to forget Markus.

  But as the dawn began to break, she stopped. She noticed an old couple standing in the middle of the street. Their hands were filled with huge chunks of bread, and were casually feeding them to a reindeer in front of them.

  The huge animal’s gaze was placated, as if it were a puppy yearning to cuddle. Its eyes showed without a doubt that it was more than thankful to be fed at this hour. And for every piece of bread that was shared, it stepped even closer to them, which caused their old, wrinkled faces to glow with contentedness. And for every piece shared, the old couple squeezed their hands together.

  Bewildered by its warmth, the ice around Viola’s eyes began to dissolve. Melted by the tears that trickled down her cheeks again.

  She felt her chuckle, coming from some strange place. A happier place inside her, one that wasn’t dead yet.

  She yanked out her phone, switched it on for the first time since exiting the clinic, and saw a succinct message from Ronny.

  Grønland, Police HQ, come ASAP!

  Morning

  “What do you mean he is not here? Check again! Ronny Larsen.” Viola’s eyes scowled at the man’s refusal to cooperate. She stood at the Grønlandsleiret Police-HQ with a long queue of people behind her. And everyone was pissed at her, including herself.

  It had taken her most of the morning to get into the city. The blizzard had crippled Oslo. Street lights were out, cars were stranded on every street corner, and the usual mayhem ensued. With her nerves jangled badly, and having gotten no sleep the night before, she barely managed to stand upright.

  She had fought her way to this place. She had waited patiently, like all the others, for more than an hour. And now, this officer, who had absolutely zero clue as to her predicament, told her to beat it. So, at this moment, she felt quite justified in indulging in her anger, and smashing his face against that hard-edged pinewood desk. At least in her fertile imagination.

  The officer, aware of her desperation, yet oblivious to her inner monologue, eyed her with contempt.

  “Thank you, Madame. Next!” he bawled out, then moved his eyes on to the next person in line.

  Viola was stunned. What the hell was that? She wasn’t done. She spun around. A myriad of faces whizzed by her, and her mind tried to do the impossible: locate Ronny in this huge hall. But when this bore no fruit, it struck her that she was out of time. So she grasped at the only thing that made sense at that moment.

  She began to scream as loud as she could. Repeating two words endlessly, until either her throat failed her, or she was carried away to the looney bin.

  “Ronny Larsen! Ronny Larsen!”

  * * *

  Rarely had anyone made such a spect
acle at the station, and to the bemusement of several hundred spectators, she was carried away towards the holding cells.

  But before they reached their destination, a man appeared in their way, and before she knew it, he dispatched everyone around her.

  She swerved around and immediately locked gazes with the stony-faced, older police officer. She scanned him, and realised that if someone could help her, this was her man.

  About fifty, with obsessive attention to his clean appearance, quite probably a detective, Viola was certain this man carried some weight around the station. She was about to launch into a lengthy explanation, but his nod was more than enough to interrupt her.

  “Miss Voss.” The cop didn’t even bother to phrase it as a question. He simply stated the fact. As she nodded, he continued with an underlying sigh in his voice.

  “A mess, huh? You need to come with me. Now!”

  Midday

  The only thing that separated her from Ronny and Pål in the interrogation room was a one-way mirror. She knew they couldn’t see her; it wasn’t physically possible. Despite this, she felt Ronny’s and Pål’s eyes stabbing at her. Accusing her of everything that she was guilty of.

  She quickly learned that the officer who had prevented her trip to the holding cell was the Chief Inspector. She had met him only five minutes ago, but just being in the vicinity of him already made her stomach convulse.

  The man possessed an ambivalence about him, a quality that made him difficult to place.

  The only thing she was sure of now was that his eyes seemed to drill right through her. And instead of exposing who this man was, she felt as if no corner in her life was left unturned by him. She didn’t get nervous around people, so why did her knees feel like jello? Was he judging her? And why, all of a sudden, did she have a problem with this?