by Willow Rose
Maybe there was another way out? There had to be an air vent somewhere. Astrid got up and went to the end wall with the shelves. She removed some blankets and touched the wall behind it, felt it, scanned it for anything that could indicate that there was some secret passage way or just a small hole that she could get through.
But there was nothing. She went through the stuff on the shelves meticulously in the hope she could find something to break the door open with. But she found nothing but the flashlight. She rose with it in her hand and ran towards the iron door. While taking the last step, she swung it and smashed it against the door, but didn't even make a bump.
She cried as she swung it again and again and destroyed the flashlight, but never harmed the door in any way.
Astrid sobbed and fell to the cold stairs.
You really are no good, aren't you? she heard her mother's voice say. Got yourself into trouble again. I knew you would. He's not going to take care of you. Be a damned fool if he did.
No, no, Dr. Jansen says I'm okay, remember? I'm good and healthy and strong. My man doesn't care about me being smart or anything. He loves me, he said.
You fool. No one loves a retard. No one, I tell you. No one!
Astrid wiped off her tears in disgust. Why did thinking of her mother always do that to her? Why did it always make her feel so bad about herself? No there had to be a way, there had to be. Astrid stared at the canned food on the shelves, then sprang up and pulled one down. Luckily it was one of those you could pull open. She didn't even need a can opener. This was good, she thought to herself as she pulled it and the sweet smell of ravioli hit her nostrils and tricked her deep hunger even more. This was very good. Astrid searched everywhere and finally found a bunch of plastic spoons. Relieved she sat down and started eating.
Things always looked better on a full stomach, mother used to say. So as soon as she had finished this can, she would find a way to get out of there.
5
2012.
We took the last ferry to get to the island. I had to drive past the local police station to pick up the key to the house as soon as we arrived. It was almost midnight as we finally found the right place. Everything was dark now and the wind had picked up in the almost barren trees outside. I walked through a pile of dead leaves someone had gathered with a broom earlier before I entered the small building they apparently called a police station. The kids wanted to stay in the car. Victor was asleep and Maya was listening to music on her iPhone. I was tired now and looking very much forward to finally entering my future home and throw myself on one of the beds. The house was still furnished, I had been told by the lawyer who gave me the deed to the house. I took that as a sign that I could move in right away.
"Are you serious?" Maya had exclaimed when I told her back at the apartment. "Do you really want to live in some dead woman's old furniture?"
"We'll get our own shipped over there eventually, but until then, yes. Plus it's a really big house. We don't have enough furniture to fill it up. I bet my grandmother's was nice. She was loaded, you know."
"Couldn't she just have left us the money instead?" my smart daughter argued. "Then we could build our own house or stay in our own apartment and not have to leave the city for some deserted island where only freaks would live."
"She left her money to grandpa, who's the rightful heir to it being her son. I was just ... I'm sorry we were just lucky that we got this splendid house out of it. I didn't expect to get anything."
"How do you know it was luck? Maybe the house is really her way of getting back at you," Maya said and went to her room.
I stuck my tongue out after her, and then returned to my packing.
The police station looked almost deserted as I entered. There was no one behind the counter.
"Excuse me?" I said and cleared my throat. "Hello?"
"Freeze!" a voice said next to me.
I gasped and jumped. A guy came out of a door pointing his fingers at me making them look like a gun. I raised both arms. He laughed.
"Boy, you scared me," I said and looked at him the way my annoying teenager did to me.
The guy laughed. I hadn't noticed until then, but he was quite handsome. Blond with blue eyes, tall and very masculine. About my age, maybe a little older but it was hard to tell. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't get out much as you can imagine. I don't get to have much fun either. Especially not at night. Boy you should have seen the look on your face."
"That was not funny. My heart is still racing."
The police officer grinned. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I really didn't mean to. It was just so tempting."
"Okay, okay. I get it," I said. "Maybe there is reason they don't let you get out much, huh? Maybe they keep you at the nightshift for a reason?"
The officer tilted his head. "I never thought about it that way. Hmm. Maybe you're right."
"You bet I am."
"I'm Officer Dan," he said and reached out his hand. "Dan Toft."
I smiled and took it. "Emma Frost."
"Nice to meet you, Emma Frost," he said and kept shaking my hand while still grinning.
"Likewise, Officer Dan."
He let go of my hand and went behind the counter. "What can I do for you at this strange hour? Are you visiting our island?"
"No. We're actually moving here. I was supposed to pick up the key here? At least that's what my lawyer told me. I thought it sounded strange but ..."
I never finished the sentence before Officer Dan dangled the keys in front of my face. "These should be the ones. We do all kinds of jobs for the public here on this station. Yesterday I walked Mrs. Olson's puppy since she had fallen and hurt her leg and couldn't walk it herself. Keeping people's house keys is the least of our jobs. It's kind of nice though. We get to know people closely that way."
"Plus it means you don't have much else to do, which means you don't have much crime here on the island. Must be kind of nice, right?" I said and took the keys out of his hand.
"It sure is," he responded.
"Well, thanks," I said and started walking towards the door.
Officer Dan ran in front of me and held it open for me. I chuckled.
"See you around," he said as I walked out.
I caught myself thinking I would really like that.
6
2012
He was wondering what kind of mood the old hag was in today as he waited for the garage door to open, before he drove into the driveway. The gravel was loud underneath the wheels of the Mercedes. Why she insisted on still driving this old car when she could easily afford a newer model, Torben didn't understand. But it was her car and her money.
Torben had worked for Mrs. Heinrichsen for as long as he could remember. Drove her around to wherever she needed to be. Did some handiwork around the house whenever it was needed or at least made sure the right people were called to fix it. He was her go-to guy as they said in the movies. Torben didn't mind that. In fact he enjoyed being needed by someone. Ever since his wife had passed away six years ago the old house seemed so empty. The kids had moved away many years ago, off to the mainland, to the big city to lives of their own and soon forgot all about their old father rotting away on the island.
Back in the day when Mr. Heinrichsen was still alive Torben had not liked his job very much. He simply didn't like Mr. Heinrichsen and the way he treated people. Well the old lady wasn't much better herself, and age didn't seem to soften her up, but Torben had known her now for many years now and knew she wasn't so bad once you really got to know her. She would boss him around, yes, but now that Yvonne wasn't alive anymore he quite frankly liked to have someone tell him what to do from time to time. It had that familiar feeling to it. Like he had a purpose.
Torben sighed and fixed his cap and tie to make sure it was on straight. Mrs. Heinrichsen preferred him to look right. She didn't like sloppiness and over the years Torben had learned to appreciate it. You didn't find much of that these days anymore. Discipline, self-co
ntrol. It was all in the character and Mrs. Heinrichsen had helped Torben build his character. She had made him stronger. Not with loving and caring attitude, no by being harsh and hard on him when he needed it the most. Like when Yvonne died. It had nearly broken him. He was about to slide into a deep depression, when Mrs. Heinrichsen told him to stop feeling sorry for himself.
"Just get over it," she had said.
She had given him a day off to go to the funeral, actually a whole week, but the next day he had shown up at her doorstep, the cap in his hand asking her if she needed him today. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she hadn't any plans, but she had come up with some.
"As a matter of fact you're late," she had said with her well-known snort that Torben had hated so much but suddenly found very comforting, very familiar. "I have to see my hairdresser in ten minutes and with all this traffic it's going to take at least fifteen."
"Then let's get going," he said with a huge smile, then brought the car out. Of course the old lady didn't have an appointment, but the hairdressers found time for her anyway. She had a way like that. She could make people jump for her.
That was when Torben realized the old woman did have a heart. They never talked about the death of Yvonne or Torben's sadness again, but they didn't have to. Somehow they had found each other, a strange sort of friendship in the middle of it all and that was enough for him. He didn't need her pity or her compassion. He needed everything to go back to normal, and so it had. It made coming home to the empty house a lot easier when he knew there was someone needing him in the morning.
Torben whistled and waited in the driveway for the big old wooden door to open, but minutes passed and nothing happened. Torben wrinkled his nose. In all the thirty years Torben had worked for the lady she had never ever been late once. A feeling of unease was starting to spread in his body as the minutes passed by and shortly after, he couldn't stand it anymore. Mrs. Heinrichsen was supposed to be at her lawyer's office on the mainland at ten and if she didn't come out now, they weren't going to catch the ferry.
Torben knew Mrs. Heinrichsen would be very angry with him for doing this, but something compelled him to walk up the stairs and walk into the big old house.
"Hello?" he said hoping Mrs. Heinrichsen had merely overslept. "Mrs. Heinrichsen? The car is ready for you? The ferry leaves in half an hour."
As he received no answer Torben's heart started racing in his chest. This was not good; he thought and ran up the stairs and down the hallway. He knocked on her bedroom door with the cap in his hand.
"Mrs. Heinrichsen. We're going to be late."
He knocked twice, three times, and when there was no answer after the fifth time, he took in a deep breath and did what he had never done before. He walked into Mrs. Heinrichsen's bedroom.
"I'm sorry to do this but ..."
Torben froze by the sight of the old lady lying on her bed with her empty eyes staring into the ceiling. Then he cried. Not because he was reminded of the time he had come home and found his wife in the same position, dead by a heart attack on the same bed she had given birth to their two sons, not because he was sad that he was now going to be really alone since no one would need his services any longer. No Torben cried because of what had happened to her body. He cried and sobbed because never in his sixty years of living had he been in the presence of such cruelty.
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Table of Content
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
Epilogue
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Itsy Bitsy Spider
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
Table of Content
