by Piotr Ryczko
“I deleted my Facebook account so I would not have to look at those gut-wrenching new baby pictures all of my... ex-friends were sharing. And every time I applied for a new job, I was terrified that the people there would attempt to get to know me. The real fucking me. A person.” She felt anger wash over her whole body. Yet this time, the anger felt like a relief. It fuelled her mind, and pushed her farther and deeper into the pain.
She summoned up the little strength that she had left, gasped for a deep breath, then spat out the rest.
“I survived by running away for twenty years. And you know what? I still have the very same sign I hung up all those years ago. But by now it’s some fucking joke. A naive reminder that certain things just never pass.” By the time she was finished, she was trembling uncontrollably.
“So, do you still want to debate my need?” she finally spat out.
It was as if she had dropped a bomb in the middle of them. The doctors’ faces were drained from this public confession as their numb eyes shied away from her direct gaze.
Magda fished out her phone and speed-dialled.
“Get Miss Viola Voss a room.”
Late afternoon
Viola’s toes cramped as she stood on the freezing tiles of the changing room floor. She tried to wiggle them to get some warmth while she changed into a patient’s gown.
Still, the change had gone according to plan. No one had bothered to check her bag. Inside the bag were her cell phones. Two of them. One was packed in casually and was meant to be found and confiscated. But there was the other one. And it was crammed into a side compartment, private enough to survive even the more thorough search. It was the key to her plan, the only way she could contact Pål after she got settled in.
And as she glanced up, she realised she had a nurse and some kind of clerk before her. Both of them bored their eyes into Viola as she changed. Not exactly her idea of privacy. But they didn’t seem too preoccupied with Viola’s distress.
The clerk nodded the nurse off, suggesting some privacy. And as the nurse disappeared, he flung a bunch of papers in front of Viola, then presented himself as the clinic’s legal advisor.
He told her he was there to make sure Viola understood the legal side of these contracts. First and foremost, what it entailed for both sides, as the man stressed several times.
Viola knew what that meant. This errand boy dressed up as a lawyer was here to make sure she signed all of them without so much as a squeak of protest. And as the man laid out all the NDAs, contracts, obligations, and payment plans, he went over all the terms of Viola’s stay.
“That NDA, that’s standard-type issue. But since you will be progressing to the west wing of our program, it has some non-standard paragraphs. Please, consider them as perks,” he whispered and opened up the payment plan as proof.
Her eyes scanned over the treatment costs, medication costs, lodging costs, clinic’s services, and so on. And as she realised the prices had been slashed by close to ninety percent, uneasiness crept up on her.
How many women did they get through this door who had mitochondrial disease? A disease found in one of fifteen thousand women. Take a wildly optimistic guesstimate, five a year. And how many of those were desperate enough to proceed with the treatment? Make that one, maybe two.
How many cells filled with fresh mito-d did they get out of them? Surely more than enough to recompense the costs of the treatment. Embryonic stem cell research was a big deal, and her kind of cells were a hot currency. And even if the patient didn’t give her permission, it wasn’t exactly a guarded secret that some clinics divided the single cell after Pre-implantation Diagnosis. A second cell was created, the perfect specimen for further stem-cell research. Outrageous private IVF prices, topped up with behind-the-scenes cell-research, that was one way to ensure the company’s steady growth.
She knew her condition was special. And she was sure she would receive preferential service. But as she glanced at the numbers, her stomach wrung inside out. They didn’t just need her, they were desperate to have her.
She pointed towards the payment plan, and sent him a questioning glance.
“The clinic’s policy. You are on special terms, Miss Voss.” He grinned at her. And she proceeded to sign the thing. Once she was finished, the lawyer grabbed her bag and emptied it out onto the table.
Nice, neat.
And without even a hint of Viola’s approval.
One of the phones fell out.
“Hey, that’s private stuff.” Viola whipped up her head and sent the man a sharp glance. But he grabbed gently onto Viola’s shoulder and hushed her protest.
“Miss Voss, if you care to take a closer look at the NDA, the document you just signed, you will see we are forced to do this. Precautionary rules. For your safety. And everyone else’s,” he assured her, and sent her another one of those placating grins.
Then he felt over her bag again, and this time his face lit up, as he located and fished out the second phone from its concealed compartment. With glee on his face, he tucked it away into one of the clinic’s baggies. And with it, Viola’s plan.
“Like you see, Miss Voss, you are on special terms.”
Chapter 33
Evening
She had a very limited timespan to find any clues to Marianne’s whereabouts. And the only way that would happen, would be if she found Ingrid.
But she had no illusions about whether Magda had made sure the staff would be paying careful attention to her whereabouts. And sure enough, there was rarely a moment where Viola felt completely alone. Whether it was a nurse watching her during a diagnosis, or some other staff member paying close attention to her whereabouts, she couldn’t get away from the prying eyes.
So she came up with a half-measure. She informed the head nurse about her spinal disc hernia that demanded frequent movement, especially walking. After some hefty discussions, and way too many protests from the staff, she was finally allowed to take longer walks around the clinic’s premises.
This gave her the required pass to search for Ingrid. She trotted as fast as she could without calling unnecessary attention to herself. But she quickly found out that this would prove more difficult than initially thought. There was an unusually low count of patients in this place, and most of the rooms were simply locked. In a matter of two hours, she was not only stumped but empty-handed.
When she finally found some patients, she made her inquiry about Ingrid. But no one seemed to be willing to help. And the last thing she wanted to do was ask the staff. Way too many ripples and unwanted attention.
At the end of the day, her body felt punished. Not from the walking, but from the unease lashing at her mind. She kept reminding herself she was tough as hell. But the reality was, she was anything but.
In situations like this, she couldn’t stand herself, or her weaknesses. They seeped through like a leaking roof and flooded her all over: worries she had ruined her life in the last week, doubts she was doing it for the right reasons, and self-flagellation over what she had done to Ronny. And even her mother.
The longer she stayed at this place, the worse this would get, she knew that. With her plan in shambles, Ingrid nowhere in sight, and Pål waiting for a call that might never come, she realised she had no idea what to do next.
Night
Late at night, Viola slumped down in the darkness of the TV room. Not because she needed to be here, or because she wanted to watch whatever was on the tube, but because in the murkiness, only occasionally lit up by the TV, she could quietly vent her frustration.
She had nowhere to turn, and tomorrow wouldn’t be better. She would be faced with even tougher choices, as Magda expected her to proceed with the treatment.
Her attention was immediately drawn to the tube. On it was one of those sci-fi movies from the early nineties. A title with Ethan Hawke that Viola had failed to see. She rarely had time for movies or books, and certainly not some kind of wild dystopian speculations about a possible fut
ure. She watched Hawke’s graceful features, yet she couldn’t bring herself to remember what the movie’s title was or what it was about.
Her mind wandered back to her situation. What the hell was she doing here? She had to accept it, Ingrid was gone. She would never see that woman again. And with her, all the answers Viola was hoping for.
And the more she thought about this, the more she realised there was only one way out of this. It was time to stop. Tomorrow, she would pack. Then leave this place for good.
All of a sudden her thoughts were interjected with a barely audible racket, originating from a chair way back in the room. Viola twisted around and noticed a familiar contour. She got up, and as she trotted towards a woman hiding away in a secluded corner, she heard a stream of barely audible words.
“Damn, damn, damn...”
And as Viola came even closer, she realised the words were interspersed with an occasional whimper, delicate enough so as not to be heard by anyone else watching the telly. Soon enough, Viola recognised the face.
It was Ingrid.
* * *
The last time they met, Viola couldn’t tear her eyes away from Ingrid’s radiance. The girl possessed an out-of-this world glow, something only a fulfilled body and soul could hope for.
Yet now, as Viola first glimpsed Ingrid, it was as if she eyed someone else. A torn face smeared with crass layers of mascara. Viola wondered if the woman was able to see anything beyond them.
But most of all, the woman’s glow was replaced with a helpless dullness. She avoided direct eye contact with Viola while her posture told the whole story, it looked as though someone had given Ingrid way too many benzodiazepines. Either to calm down her nerves, or maybe just to shut her up.
The young woman’s weakened hand scribbled slower than a two-year-old learning to draw. While she attempted to put down something unintelligible on the piece of paper, she gnawed at herself in a subdued whisper. As Viola approached her closer she finally heard what the young woman was saying.
“Am I a bad person?” she flogged herself. It was clear that for every time she repeated this sentence, it slowly evolved from being a question, transformed into an answer, then finally ended up in a full-blown judgement on herself.
Some place deep inside Viola, maybe the place where her heart used to be, was moved by this sight. Viola knew that once she would have done everything to soothe Ingrid’s pain. Under normal circumstances, that is. But these were not normal circumstances. Viola needed her answers, no matter the consequences or moral hangover this might spew up later.
“Please, what’s going on, hon?” Viola probed gently at first, but the woman failed to respond. Instead she continued to mumble to herself.
“Am I bad?” she said and tried to lock gazes with Viola, but her eyes refused to obey her. Her words were then immediately followed by a sob. This time a little bit louder. Enough to draw the staff’s attention.
Viola noticed one of the nurses made eye contact with them, worried some incident might be afoot. Viola rested her hand on Ingrid’s shoulder, then caressed her subtly. The woman relaxed enough to become quiet.
“They promised me it would be perfect. You see that, don’t you? But now, it isn’t. It’s anything but. And I wanted so badly for my future kid to have a better life. You see. Don’t you? Huh?”
“What? Your future child? Don’t you have a child? Who was that kid back there when we first met? Wasn’t he yours?”
“Whaaaat? No. No... Did I say that? Nooo... Silly me… I didn’t say that. Did you hear that? I’ve got my son, Tobias.” Ingrid struggled to make sense of what she had just said and, all of a sudden, she began to chuckle at her herself. Viola couldn’t be sure anymore what the woman actually meant. Not only were her eyes fogged up on some drugs, but she was losing her mind as well.
If Viola was to get anything from her, she had to hurry, before the woman’s awareness retreated. Or worse, the staff grabbed her and took her away. And maybe the way to go about it was to give the girl a little reality check. Maybe even scare her.
“Ingrid, I know people like that. If there is anything they made you do, forced you to lie, anything at all, you need to tell me now.” Viola whispered in a hushed, yet urgent tone.
Yet as she put the pressure on Ingrid, the woman’s eyes remained just as fuzzy. Viola was losing patience and gripped her arm, pressed Ingrid into her chair and slid close to her. Then fumed into Ingrid’s ear.
“Listen, girl. What you are going to hear now, your future might depend on. I am not going to repeat myself. Tomorrow or the day after, at the latest, this place is going to be swarming with cops. Now take a look around. Do you see any other reaching out a helping hand? No. I am the only one you’ve got. You have to tell me who was that boy you were with. Because he certainly wasn’t yours.” If Viola didn’t have a hold on the young woman’s arm, she would have attempted a run for it, in spite of her condition. Ingrid’s eyes fluttered with panic, sobering up, reassessing her situation.
“The clinic. They promised to do the fix. Splice a couple of genes in my future child. Only a couple. But now they say there might be side effects...” She gulped up everything at once.
“They can’t help you with the mitochondrial disease treatment? Is that it?” Viola pursed her lips at Ingrid.
“Mitochondrial disease? No... No. No. No. Not that. Another gene. They said they could do it but his immune system might get damaged.” Ingrid’s voice began to take on a feverish pitch. Until it reached the nearby staff. Viola tempered Ingrid while she eyed the nurse.
“What gene?” She pressed Ingrid with even more urgency for the rest of the truth.
“What? Ah... his homosexuality gene. I am a Christian after all. But I still want to have him. You see? Does that make me bad?” She explained herself then searched Viola’s eyes for approval.
Viola’s mind went numb as she heard her. Was it some kind of joke? She checked Ingrid’s eyes once again and it began to dawn on Viola that it was anything but.
As her eyes wandered, they fell back on the TV again. She began to recognise the movie again, something about some kind of dystopian society subdivided into groups. What were they? Valids and in-valids, some genetic haves and have-nots. Yet, the movie’s name still escaped her.
Viola’s mind snapped back to reality. She realised she still hadn’t got what she had come here for.
“So, who was that kid when I first met you? Why did you lie to me? Did they force you?”
But before she could do anything, Ingrid curled up into her own shell and began to sob for real. And this time, it took only a couple of seconds before the nurse was upon them. Before Viola could intervene, the staff member dragged Ingrid away to her room. And when Viola wanted to accompany them, she got a scolding glance from the woman.
Viola was left alone in the shadows of the television’s queasy lights. As her eyes took in the movie again, she could see that it was nearing its finale, as the main character, despite his genetic limits, managed to attain his goal. Despite the hurdles, he packed his body onto the spaceship. Made his way to the stars, and with it, he fulfilled his ultimate dream.
Viola watched the ending and felt bitter. She was struck by how blatantly false it felt. And she realised she had never felt farther away from her own goals than at this moment. She still had no idea if Marianne was here, nor where to look for her if she was.
But when she was about to get up, something fell out of her lap. She leaned over and picked up a crumpled piece of paper. On it were scribbled a few words.
Marianne is in the west wing.
Chapter 34
She felt bed railings as they cut into her thighs. Her thoughts should have focused on Ingrid’s message. Yet the only thing that pounded at her mind was how deeply these rusty railings carved into her body. This felt familiar for some reason, as they made her body ache all over. Maybe because it was just like the dream she held onto for so many years.
She had always had a clear pictu
re of herself, a woman who pushed on. Someone who got things done and accomplished her goals, no matter what came her way.
Yet now, when she approached her destination, her body folded into some unfamiliar sickness. Her mind spun uncontrollably in all sorts of directions. She knew exactly what she should be doing now. So why was she sitting here, wasting precious time?
What Ingrid had shared with her was undeniable. However much Viola tried, she couldn’t explain away the facts that had been shoved right in her face. These women’s greatest weakness was being ruthlessly exploited. She saw it in Ingrid’s eyes, and immediately recognised this could have been her.
If Viola had learnt anything in her life, it was about dreams that could bring down the whole house. These kinds of dreams were the easiest to take advantage of. And the people at this clinic seemed to have made it their business to do so.
If she called the police right now, it would be the right thing to do. The most sensible way out of this. It would put a swift end to everything. Both for these women, and certainly for her dreams.
And maybe then, her hopes, her dreams, the ones which had poisoned her a long time ago, they would finally be released. Giving her room to breathe. Giving her a chance to start her life over again. Something she didn’t doubt would be good for her. After all, didn’t someone tell her they were the root of her suffering?
Yes. It would be a new start.
Then it began to dawn on her that through all these years, despite that Markus brought into her life ceaseless worries, bottomless angst, and grief, he also brought with him the most blissful moments she had ever experienced in her life. The ones which carved themselves into her soul, and showed her what it meant to be alive. Did one recompense the other? Was the price she and Markus paid for her dream worth it?
Then her eyes fell on the scrap of paper from Ingrid. And all of a sudden it was clear. There would be no call. No police.
