A CHILD MADE TO ORDER: gripping psychological suspense

by Piotr Ryczko

She wouldn’t let go of the dream. She couldn’t.

  Friday, 19th February 2016

  Morning

  Viola was looking at the sealed door to the west wing. The night had taken a brutal toll on her. With less than an hour of sleep, she was barely able to keep her legs straight.

  The moment she approached the door, she realised this was a fortress, electronically hooked up to biometric fingerprint scanners, with the small bonus of CCTV cameras recording each entry. She wasn’t getting in here, that was obvious.

  And she had found no way to get in touch with Pål. Had he given up on her? It wouldn’t surprise her. Their agreement had been for a daily update yet two days had passed with zero contact between them. The poor guy probably felt she had abandoned him yet again. And even if Pål decided to call in any law enforcement, it would most certainly be way too late. She was on her own.

  But she also had a plan. It was as simple as it was desperate.

  Her train of thought was interrupted as she caught a glimpse of a staff member who approached the door. He swept his thumb through the fingerprint scanner and made his way into the west wing corridor.

  She knew she would be recorded, leaving traces of her entrance. But she also knew this gave her a time window, way too short, but maybe still long enough to make her way through the west wing.

  If Marianne was there, she would find her.

  But as she swerved her body, about to make a run for the door before it closed, she heard a familiar voice behind her back.

  “Miss Voss!” It was Magda, and the only question was if the woman had spotted her mad plan of rushing into the west wing.

  “I was... umm... About to do tests. In there?” Viola reached for the closest thing to an explanation, but couldn’t help herself that it turned into a question.

  She knew she was making an ass of herself. More than that, she was about to jeopardise everything she had fought for, if she didn’t come up with something more credible. Her thoughts were immediately reflected in Magda’s response.

  “Right. Probably not in there. Anyway, I was looking for you. I am sorry, but you have to leave us. Now.” Magda announced her decision without any further reasons, her eyes already pointing Viola towards the exit.

  “What’s going on?” Viola couldn’t grasp what lay behind Magda’s decision. Surely, it couldn’t be that she was standing here. But then it struck her, there must be something more.

  “Read the NDA? Maybe you should have thought about it before you dragged your mother in here,” she lashed out.

  “But I didn’t! Viola protested. The last thing she would do would be to invite Anne there. Anne had made an ultimatum preventing her from approaching this place ever again. Had her mother had second thoughts after Viola’s visit?

  “Yes, you did. Or is that a freak accident that she is in the reception right now?”

  “Do you think I want a story with this? If so, then why am I still here? The easiest thing would be to pick up the phone and talk the cops into paying a visit here. Has that happened? And the last week, I’ve broken the law way too many times to count. I’ve sacrificed two of my most important relationships. Just to be here. Please. Give me twenty minutes to talk to my wobbly mum. I can calm down her nerves. I can also reassure her there is nothing to fear. That’s all I ask of you.” She knew her plea was filled with desperation, but at this point, she didn’t care. Anything to put out this fire.

  Chapter 35

  When she made her way into the reception, she realised there was no Anne there. Distraught, she looked around until her eyes landed on a woman’s back.

  When the woman turned, her mouth spat out another piece of Snus. Then she welcomed Viola by baring her rotten teeth. Stine.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Viola whispered, all the while peeking over her shoulder at the agog nurses who, from the look of things, had more than enough time to eavesdrop on their conversation. Viola pushed Stine aside and towards the entrance, preventing any unwanted overhearing.

  “Come again! What the hell I do? What is Miss doing? Huh? A mess. That’s what Miss is doing.” Viola quickly grasped that the old woman was fuming with uncontrolled anger.

  “Do you have any idea what you coming here might cost me? How will I find your precious daughter if I get thrown out of this place? Listen! This whole thing, it shouldn’t be my problem anymore.” Viola glared at Stine. It was about time to set the old bat straight.

  “Not Miss’s problem?” Stine whispered hoarsely, and proceeded to dig into her purse. Something that turned out to be way more difficult than initially expected. Viola watched as the woman’s frustration escalated, yet this time not because of Viola but at the mess inside her purse.

  “An officer. Chief Inspector from Grønland. He paid me a visit yesterday. Asking questions about Miss Viola. Nice little fellow, ain’t he? Huh?” Viola heard Stine utter the words, but she had trouble focusing on their content as she watched Stine bare that sick grin again.

  “So...?” Viola’s words trailed off in the most anticipatory manner. She knew this didn’t bode well. Her intuition, which for the most part didn’t fail her, gave off blaring warnings of what was about to come. And soon enough, Stine pushed an innocent-looking envelope into Viola’s chest.

  And when she opened it, there they were, the rest of the pictures Viola had received from Anne. When she first laid eyes on them, they were mostly of the women here, playing with their kids.

  Amongst them, there had been the picture that could implicate Viola in the whole affair. But it was way too vague and could be called into question by any legal proceedings. Anne may have used those pictures, but simply as a deterrent, to prevent Viola from digging any further.

  Yet, right now, Viola eyed what she presumed to be the complete set. The pictures that her sixth sense had screamed existed, but which she had never seen.

  Until now.

  And there it was. Leaving no doubt as to her identity. Full frontals of Viola, smiling, listening. Perfect material for glitzy centrefold close-ups, if one so wished. Only this time, the only centrefold Viola would be making, would be as the main story of her own paper, her reputation and persona shredded beyond any repair.

  “So, if I give this to him. Does it make it Miss’s problem?” Stine lashed out at Viola with the obvious, and only now was Stine showing her true self, something even Viola didn’t expect of her.

  But what worried Viola more were the clear implications of what had happened behind the scenes. It began to dawn on her that these pictures weren’t some crazy fluke, an accident that just happened by itself. Far from it. They had to have been part of a plan, much earlier on. But by whom and for what ends? This was something she couldn’t grasp.

  “Stine, if she is anywhere, it would be the west wing. But it’s way off limits to me. The only way to get in there is if I do the treatment myself.” Viola voiced the only clues she had to go on, hoping it would placate Stine, but the only thing it managed to do was collect an indifferent shrug from her.

  “So?” Stine slid closer to Viola. And as Viola felt the old woman’s ragged breath on her chin, she thought she would vomit. Not because of the smell of her rotting teeth, but mostly because she knew what Stine would demand from her.

  “I can’t,” Viola whispered.

  Despite that she gave out no concrete information, just the mere mention of the treatment, gave voice to a most tangible horror. Viola wasn’t about to risk the remaining shreds of her sanity. She wasn’t about to throw herself into the emotional snake pit called her past. And Stine would have to deal with that. Without any explanations.

  But what followed was only silence filled with Stine’s indifference. Viola realised the old woman wasn’t prepared to empathise with her inner drama.

  “Personal reasons. Dammit,” Viola added, and made sure she left no doubt. But the old woman’s face blanked out.

  “Miss, I care diddly shit for personal reasons.”

  Viola’s mind raced, a
nd her stomach churned into some impossible knots. She realised now there might be no other way out, other than to share her truth.

  No.

  Bringing back those memories would grind her to dust. And even if she summoned some strength to talk about them, would Stine even care? Viola’s eyes locked with Stine’s, then she shook her head no. Stine eyed her, sighed, and pushed the envelope into Viola’s hands.

  “Keep them. I got my own. Bye.” She screeched her rubber boots as she made her way towards the exit.

  This abrupt end shook Viola. She had presumed she held the best hand. It was she who had the mitochondrial disease. The very thing that gave her a free pass to this place. And it was she who had managed to talk Magda into something that resembled trust.

  But that was before Viola found out about Stine’s pictures and her intentions. The woman had no second thoughts about going further with her blackmail.

  Still, what terrified Viola most at this moment were the consequences of the whole matter. She knew what some parts of the media did to people like the ones in the clinic.

  She had always tried to remain unbiased in each of her stories. She knew that credibility was the most important thing a journalist could possess. But she had seen way too many of her fellows blurt their own political and ethical attitudes right out into the open. And then they had tried to convince the public their stories remained impartial. And she was certain that the same men would sit high up on their moral stools, and pretend neutrality while they lashed out at the clinic and these women’s actions.

  No. She had to stop Stine, no matter the cost.

  “What? Wait. Listen!” she begged Stine.

  Viola’s voice was loaded with a strong undercurrent of desperation, and it had an impact, as it stopped Stine and focused her attention back at Viola.

  “Listen, I was never supposed to have Markus. But I didn’t listen to the doctors. They warned me. Even if the child made it through the pregnancy, the odds were heavily stacked against him. Yet... I still didn’t listen.” Viola dug for a deeper breath.

  “And when he was... born... he was healthy. Can you imagine that? And then, he was in that bathtub one day... and he... he... just slipped. But it was nothing. Just a small, stupid bruise from hitting the side of the tub. Surely it was my fault. But he was okay. He was okay,” she babbled. “But then he just fell asleep. And... and... never woke up again. The doctors told me it was because of a genetic defect. He was sick after all. Mitochondrial disease. And the fall, it made the defect come back.” Viola was about to implode, the past crushing at her every pore.

  The strain was just way too much, and her body began to shudder. Her hands gripped at the railing, seeking some support, yet she realised too late that there was no railing there. She barely recovered.

  Her senses began to shut down. One by one, they abandoned her. Her hearing submerged below some thick, fluid substance, her sight blurred out of focus. But she pushed on with the confession with the faint hope that she would convince the old woman.

  “Not a day goes by when I don’t wake up with a burning desire to still have a child. But then I remember Markus. Every day I wake up and dream that some doctor will tell me I can have a child again, and it will not be some 50/50 crap shoot but a guarantee of success. And every day I tell myself I must be mad to even entertain these thoughts. This is never going to happen. Then I came to this place and I finally met this doctor. She made this promise to me. And right now I understand, I can’t. Do you understand what you are asking of me? I can’t. I can’t do this. Not for you or anyone. Never again. I see that now.” Viola spewed out the last words. And as her whole reality slipped away from her, she held onto the only comfort she had left. She wasn’t doing it for herself. This was for their children.

  Stine stepped back.

  “Miss does the treatment. Only way to make up her sins.”

  Late morning

  Her pale fingers jerked at the patient’s gown, digging into her thigh again. Her mind kept sliding in and out of the grimy reality, in and out of focus, Stine’s words still echoed away in her head, wringing her into a decision she wasn’t ready for.

  Then her mind was yanked back to the present, as she felt Magda standing over her.

  “All sorted out?” Magda eyed Viola, and judging from her expression, immediately sensed something was way off.

  “I had doubts...” Viola said.

  “If you could get rid of her?”

  “No. If it was worth it. Any of it...” she said, but caught herself in the sheer stupidity of this act. Did she still have any illusions Magda could change any of it?

  “And now?” Magda’s concern was clear. Viola understood she was doing very little to placate Magda’s growing concern. But here she was with her gut torn to shreds. Here she was, pressed up against the wall. The gene therapies were readily available to her, the dream of her life, a healthy child, was within her reach.

  And if that wasn’t enough she was still convinced she was doing this for more noble reasons, other than her own need. The women who needed to be saved. They were her sisters. And if anybody understood their struggle, it should be her.

  Only she had gone through as much as they had. Only she understood what it was to arrange her life according to one desire only. And only she knew what it was like to finally get pregnant but still battle with self-doubts. How it felt to wake up every morning and disbelieve everything about this miracle of life. Unease and constant checking. Checking for the heartbeat, checking for the gestational sack. Only she knew how the pregnancy was tainted with fear instead of celebration. And why shouldn’t it be? After so many of the disappointments that infertility brought with it. Why shouldn’t she do everything to protect herself from a potential heartbreak?

  She glanced up at Magda, bit down her teeth, then put on her best smile.

  “I am ready for the cycle.”

  Chapter 36

  Saturday, 20th February 2016

  Afternoon

  They said the operating room with its cushioned table was state of the art. So why was her body twisted into some freakish position? The table cut into her thighs and distorted her spine.

  The whispers from the nurses enveloped her. The less she heard them, the more her fears surfaced, spinning her mind into some murky interpretations. Were they commenting on the folds around her stomach? Maybe something was wrong with her diagnosis? Or simply just making fun of her? Anything to make it through yet another boring day.

  Her eyes glanced up at the LED screen just over her. In an instant, it lit up and exposed a glass catheter that slid into view, revealing what she presumed to be the embryos. They were neatly lined up in rows on the glass surface.

  One of the doctors loomed over her with his burdensome smile. She could feel his breath. Was she imagining things or was his breath tainted with alcohol? Barely noticeable, covered by a heavy aftershave, but still there.

  Although she had little technical knowledge of the inner workings of this profession, she recognised him as an embryologist. His stubby finger led her attention towards the LED screen again, suggesting some vital information was coming.

  “Miss, please direct your eyes to the screen. I need you to select the embryo numbered #X045 and #X053, which are the best suited specimens. Can you confirm the choice?”

  How could she choose between what was in front of her? Each embryo stemmed from her body. A part of her. Each one the possibility of a life.

  It didn’t take long before her prolonged silence collected the staff’s curious glances. Maybe some of them were capable of concern, but right now, she only sensed impatience.

  “Miss Voss. Are you okay?” A voice prompted her.

  What will happen to the rest of them? Yet, she didn’t have the strength to voice this question. For them, it was pure formality. If she had got as far as this table, she shouldn’t be asking in the first place.

  The staff would inform her in their most casual tone that considering her age,
she was a suitable candidate for the insertion of two embryos into her body. Simply because of the smaller chance to conceive her own eggs. Of the fifteen possible lives on the screen, two, at most, would make it into her body. The rest would simply be frozen or dispensed with. How silly of her to even care. After all, wasn’t she getting what she came for?

  From the look on the medics’ faces, everybody realised she was having second thoughts. Soon enough she also heard sighs. After all, for them, it was the most peculiar thing to go through. Especially at this stage.

  “Dispensed with?” she heard herself say out of nowhere, even though no one had said anything that might cue her strange question.

  And this confused the medics even further.

  “Miss Voss. Do we proceed?” the embryologist pressed at her with his question. Viola grasped for any kind of resolution within herself. She knew that if she aborted this moment, there would be no going back. No second chances.

  It was all about freeze, flush, repeat.

  All these doubts were only her sentimentality talking. She asked these people questions that she already knew the answers to. The IVF industry had a mission to help women in need. It communicated to women all over the world that their fairy tale ending was just an embryo transfer away. And they did this despite discarding thousands of embryos each year. The clinics would protest this, and reassure everybody that the embryos were frozen for later use, at least those that were deemed worthy. But could anyone be absolutely sure which ones were deserving of life and which ones weren’t?

  Nobody cared to mention this, much less object to it.

  So maybe it was silly of her to dwell on these minor details. Way too many of the hormonal drugs, clouding her line of reasoning. This clinic had good reason to flush a couple of lives down the toilet.

  “I confirm.” Viola clenched her teeth and voiced her final decision.

  Freeze, flush, repeat.

  Late afternoon

  As she was wheeled towards the west wing, she expected to feel something.