A CHILD MADE TO ORDER: gripping psychological suspense

by Piotr Ryczko

  Chapter 30

  She was back at her home, up in her bedroom. The only positive thing right now was that Ronny hadn’t yet come home from the night shift. She considered herself lucky, as there would be no confrontation. Their relationship wouldn’t bear that. She knew it would be easiest if she vanished. Just like Marianne. Maybe this would raise a lot of questions but, ultimately, it would also save a lot of heartache.

  But then, she felt someone staring at her back. It was him. He stood behind her. Observed her. How long had that been?

  “What’s going on?” Ronny voiced his question, searching her face for any clue to the reason behind her frenzied packing. Yet, this time, his words were tainted with fear.

  “Gotta go away for a job. Be back in a few days.”

  “You going back there? To that clinic?”

  “Where the hell did that come from?” She was in an uproar, but was stung by the hypocrisy behind her reaction. How could she be angry at him when he had shown how far he was willing to go for her?

  “From the same place, where I watched you sacrifice that policeman’s reputation. I know you. You wouldn’t do that if there wasn’t someone valuable. Back there. This is not one of your stories. It’s your body. And what about your condition?” His tone was filled with pleading, begging her to stop this. But she wouldn’t stop. No. She couldn’t. Her choice had been made, and the only thing left for her was to flee.

  She eyed her bag, all packed and ready, grabbed it and began to leave. As he saw that, she felt his disappointment hanging heavily in the air. She knew what he was thinking: wasn’t he worth more than this? Hadn’t he given her more than she was giving him now?

  She knew he was at an emotional cliff edge. It was only two days ago that he had almost left her. How much more beating could they take?

  “You’ve fought half of your life for a relationship. Lied about your condition so we would be a couple. And now... after all this shit. Look! I am still here...” She saw it in his face; he couldn’t grasp why she behaved this way.

  “And now you are going to throw it all away?”

  Her stomach clenched into a knot as she heard his words.

  “Because after this... I can’t anymore. I just can’t.” She had known it was coming, but he had finally said it.

  Somehow she had hoped she would make it out the door before he managed to summon enough strength to voice his feelings. But there it was. The plain truth.

  When she broke the silence, she did it with a nod. She was fully aware of what he had said. And accepted it.

  This only aggravated him more.

  “Who the hell are you doing this for, really? Is it to help that woman? Or just...” His voice grew even more desperate.

  “Go ahead. Just say it!” She pleaded with him to finish what he was going to say. She saw it in his twisted lips. There was no going back now. He took a deep breath, then let it all out.

  “Just to fulfil your own fucking needs, right?”

  Ronny never got his answer, nor any confirmation. She knew that if she stayed here long enough, she would have to be honest with herself.

  And at this point, it was just asking way too much of her. It was easier to run out. Sacrifice what they had.

  Chapter 31

  Morning

  Pål had nightmares. Many of them. He dreamt he wet himself in bed like a sickening brat. But when he woke up, he realised it wasn’t a dream. The bed was soaked.

  Then he heard the doorbell, and immediately cursed at whoever had dared to wake him up in the middle of the night. But as he drew the curtains away, sunshine punched itself through the drapes. His blinded eyes rushed towards the clock. It was ten twenty-five. In the morning.

  And the doorbell still wouldn’t stop ringing.

  He dragged himself towards the door, as he tried to make sense of his bathrobe. To tie it up, make himself decent. Right or left, this or that. It didn’t matter anyway. Why did he care, really? He wouldn’t open that door anyway. He never did. Because there was never any reason to.

  Despite this, he slid next to the doorframe and remained there. He put his ear to the cold steel and listened.

  “Pål, I know I made a mess...” He heard a faint whisper on the other side. It was that goddamned journalist. Wasn’t it enough that she ruined his life once? Or was his recollection of the past jumbled up again?

  “Pål, I need your help. How is that for pathetic, huh? I need your help with those women.”

  The begging tone in her voice gave her away, he realised she was desperate. Probably way too scared to go back there by herself.

  Lately, nobody wanted his help. At least not since... not since... Him and Her disappeared from his life.

  He preferred to call them that. Him and Her. It was easier. More detached. It kept the worst monsters away. The ones that broke some people. But not him.

  He slid even closer to the doorframe and listened. Yes. She was still there.

  “All these years... I pretended to be okay. You know how that is?” she whispered to him.

  She should speak for herself. Maybe she had problems, but he was just fine.

  Except that no one else thought so. Certainly not his shrink, who barged into his apartment twice a week. He treated Pål like a retarded child who couldn’t even manage a quickie to the toilet, much less taking care of the mundane things, like paying the bills, or even buying groceries.

  Maybe Pål forgot some things. From time to time. But it was nothing serious.

  “And I just know... some part of you cares.” He heard her whisper a plea thickly layered with despair.

  And these words reverberated in his mind.

  But did he really care? Maybe a long time ago. Before the essential stuff got ripped away from his life. However much that damned shrink had tried to confuse him, he had a clear recollection of why he lost his son and wife.

  Well, sort of.

  And on the other side of the door was a woman who had bombarded what was rest of his life to shreds. So why should he care about what she had to say now?

  “Yes, you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t listen to me now.” He heard her choke on her words. Was she crying? He breathed in and listened.

  “I don’t... care.” Pål croaked out the only words he could manage in response.

  Immediately, he heard a rustle on the other side, and felt it as she slid closer to the door. He silenced his breath and felt her next to him. Viola’s words, his thoughts, they didn’t really matter. Nothing she said would sway his decision. He would never open that door.

  And then, tears began to streak down his face.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  It was because of the door between them. This steel frame, a barrier, made this intimacy possible. Something that would have never happened if he saw her eye to eye.

  This proximity, between him and her, it was the closest he ever got to a simple hug. And he felt something he hadn’t felt since he lost his family.

  A little bit of human.

  A sigh passed through his body as he pushed away the lump in his throat. His whole body quivered, he knew he would regret this but he reached for the bolt and began to unlock the door.

  Late morning

  Viola sat beside Pål in his car, and took in the subtle features of his profile. His skin was stretched across his face as if his corpse had received an all-too-eager makeover at a funeral parlour.

  As she eyed Pål, her gut feeling told her this man would never find his way. His family, their deaths, his condition, the irrationality of it all, made Viola think he would never recover. And none of this was his fault.

  Yet he had let her into his apartment, listened to her plea, and finally said yes. Despite what she had done, how she had treated him, he was still willing to help her. Only this time it was different.

  This time both of them were risking so much more. She had received a clear ultimatum from her mother, and right now, she was headed towards the clinic, about to go agains
t everything she had promised Anne. This choice was irreversible, personally and professionally.

  She knew she had built up a hall of false mirrors. A kaleidoscopic insanity which couldn’t hold for much longer. Standing right in the middle of this, she had lost track of which image of herself was the original one, her true self.

  Yet when she eyed Pål right now, she realised here was a man who had lost it all. Then lost himself. Despite this, he was still with her. Willing to help her. And all of a sudden, her problems felt quite insignificant.

  Maybe he didn’t have anything to lose anymore, maybe he felt some kinship in their mutual hell. Or just maybe, he realised that the only thing that made sense at this point, was to be of help to others.

  She eyed Pål, squeezed his hand.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  PART FOUR: Crash

  Vlog, 120 th entry 3.2.2014

  “After three attempts, the dice were rolled. Riksen, Oslo’s university hospital, told me to get lost. They didn’t have anything more to contribute to my pregnancy. When I asked them for a recommendation to another clinic, another IVF, they told me to take it easy. Think about it. Reconsider my options... Come again! What options? No fucking way. So I’ve found illegal ways through the Net and through social media. Because the Norwegian Health System won’t lift a goddamned finger to help me. And what do you know! Immediately, I got branded as one of those hysterical fertility tourists. Willing to pay up hard cash. No better than a prostitute. But I am not a whore looking to sell my body. Don’t you see this is about something entirely different? I won’t take it easy.” Sara wrenched her voice into the web camera while Marianne sat beside her.

  The blogger realised that Sara couldn’t contain her tears any longer. They began to roll freely down her cheeks, streaming her mascara all over her face. Marianne’s eyes lit up as if with fire, the way of an anchor-woman when she felt she had one hell of a story.

  She wiped the smirk off her lips, and slipped into the field of view of the webcam. Then she nodded with full emotional engagement.

  “Listen to her, gals! Sara here is one of my most ardent followers. She came here all the way from Bodø – that’s 2000km to you folks. And she did it just to talk to me and share her story. And by God, what a story it is!” Marianne pepped up the audience with her blistering enthusiasm.

  Meanwhile, she noticed Sara had become unglued. She halted, then threw herself over the girl. Hugged her to herself. And while she stroked the weeping girl’s forehead, she proclaimed to her public:

  “If anybody tells you that you need to take it easy, they are goddamned liars. Sara here is barely thirty. But from thirty-five, the quality of her eggs will dramatically drop off, and her time will be running out. What then? Will she still listen to those liars? That she should be fucking taking it easy?” She finished and grabbed Sara’s head, then forced the woman to look her right in the eyes.

  “Sara! You are on the threshold of a cliff with your fertility. Don’t let anyone tell you what to do; you have options!” Marianne knew she had to make this girl see the truth. And she was getting through to her as Sara nodded sheepishly back to her.

  But then Sara stopped and whispered to the blogger.

  “Marianne? I met a man recently. Warm, compassionate. Do you think I should talk to him about this?” Sara stumbled with the words but finally voiced her question. Then she glanced at Marianne, her eyes filled with respect, looking to the oracle for life advice.

  But as Marianne heard this, she glanced Sara over, then shook her head in disapproval.

  “I don’t have any man to share my grief with. You know why? Because I am sure I won’t find one who understands me. And you know why? Because I am ashamed, just like you are, girl! Because everyone around us thinks you’ve failed as a woman. You are a second-class citizen, baby. A convict of your fate. Do yourself a favour. Forget about him, dear.”

  “But, but he is so considerate. Maybe I should talk to him? Maybe he would understand?”

  “Sara! Sara! Baby! Get a grip on yourself. Just listen to yourself. Hear that? Just think about it. The one thing you were meant to do, that only we can do, you’ve failed at. And miserably at that. Remember who you are, Sara! And if you should forget, then just listen to your period. How do you feel when it comes around?” The blogger held Sara close to her. Whispered to her. Marianne knew this girl needed her more than ever. Sara was lost, and it was her duty to make her see this fact.

  “It’s a joke?” Sara asked, but was unsure if her answer was the correct one. Then she focused her tear-filled eyes on Marianne’s face. And the blogger clapped at her like an obedient dog.

  “That’s right, girl. It’s one cosmic joke. And the last laugh is on you. What’s the point? That’s how you should feel. The period is a fucking taunt! And so is this man. Because when he learns the truth, that’s how he will think about you. Right?”

  Sara nodded back a resounding yes with her puppy eyes.

  While she still caressed Sara with her fingers, Marianne switched off the webcam and grabbed the mouse to see her site statistics. This was one stupefying show, and she expected nothing less than a flood of comments and bravos.

  She caught her breath. And congratulated herself. She was good.

  No. No. No.

  She was freaking amazing!

  But as her eyes scanned the results, she felt knives carve into her throat. She couldn’t believe what was happening. Her show was dropping like a boulder in the water. People were switching her off like she was some kind of leper. It was a damned exodus.

  Chapter 32

  Afternoon

  Magda sent Viola another weary glance. Behind the older woman was an entourage of a dozen doctors. And all of them watched Magda restlessly.

  When Viola had arrived at the clinic, she had fought a small battle with the staff at the reception desk. But no amount of pleas would convince an otherwise serviceable team.

  Viola realised how quickly things change. After all, just a couple of days ago, everyone here was prepared to do everything to satisfy her slightest whim. Yet now, it was obvious nobody cared about her recent stay, and even less about her genetic condition.

  So, when the nurse at the desk had finally issued an implicit warning that Viola’s badgering would cause a friendly visit from the local police, Viola had blasted right past the desk and through the clinic.

  She knew this was short-sighted, or maybe just plain stupid. And indeed it had caused an immediate uproar, but it had gotten Viola all the way up to Magda’s office, to her doorstep. Where Viola had stumbled upon the female CEO with her band of followers.

  And now, as Viola’s eyes went back to Magda, she realised she had about ten seconds to convince Magda about the authenticity of her motivation.

  The presence of the doctors didn’t help. Viola wasn’t sure how much they actually knew about the CRISPR splicing activities in their own clinic. But if she presumed right, probably only a few select people closest to Magda had any idea how far things had gone. Viola had a hard time imagining any more would be involved, certainly not in Norway, and definitely not on a larger scale. She gathered most of the doctors had a strong moral spine and would never even consider these kinds of human clinical trials.

  So this made the matter even more difficult, since she couldn’t reveal her conditions or what lay behind her last visit. And the last thing she wanted to do at this moment was use Magda’s secretive trials as leverage against her. Viola knew Magda wouldn’t be blackmailed, and even if Viola were to do it, it would only be a bluff on her part.

  “Sorry, I can’t allow you inside again.” Magda pursed her lips as she thrust the plain fact at Viola. Something Viola recognised as an irreversible decision made long before she set foot in this place.

  “Doctor. Should we continue our rounds?” One of the doctors locked gazes with Magda, suggesting this was not the time or place to comfort patients with way too much baggage on their hands.

  Viola
winced at the doctor’s impatience. She had come way too far to blow it now. She wouldn’t be stopped by Magda’s brush-off, and certainly not by this entourage of overpaid middle-aged schmucks.

  “Just about finished here,” Magda bit back at the doctor, reminding everybody who was still in charge. Anne and Magda shared a lot in common, and this uncompromising demeanour was further proof of that. If anything, it made Viola feel right at home.

  “Miss Voss, you asked why I won’t let you in, right? Well, let me recheck my facts...” Magda’s words were drenched in sarcasm, as she drilled her eyes into Viola. “After lying to my staff, after that microphone stunt, you suddenly realised how badly you need to become a mother again, huh?” Magda rasped at Viola.

  “Goodbye, Miss Voss.”

  “What do you know about my fucking need?” Viola spat the words hoarsely at Magda’s back. This got everybody’s attention. The CEO stopped in her tracks, swerved around, and searched Viola’s face.

  “Doctor, this is nonsense. Send this lunatic off.” One of the doctors summed the whole situation up quite succinctly, but Magda held him off with a steely glance. Then she nodded at Viola to make her case.

  “You know what? I was twenty-three years old when I hung a sign over my bed. It said: And this too shall pass. It was a comfort that however bad things got, someday they would get better. And since then, everything I did, every choice I made, was in an effort to survive. I never shopped at malls during the days, as there would be too many kids there.”

  Viola felt her chest constrict again. An invisible force stemming from these words, causing her to gag on the lack of air. But she had to go on. No matter what.

  “I shunned relationships just because I knew where they were all headed. That row of questions, which I wasn’t prepared to answer. What about babies? How do you feel about them? No pressure, but you are forty and time isn’t on your side, huh? Maybe we should up our frequency, you know? Go about it a little bit more scientifically? Maybe you are not relaxed enough? You should really take it easy, huh? Those kinds of questions.” She couldn’t breathe.