by Willow Rose
Emma managed to stay away from them, but the sisters kept bothering her and letting her know that she needed them, and Emma knew it was only a matter of time before they would beat her till she accepted being a part of the gang. So the day after her fourteenth birthday, she packed her suitcase, the very same one she was now packing in the house in Arnakke, and walked out the door of her parents’ apartment without a word to anyone, not even a goodbye to her parents. She hadn't come back until four years later, when she knew Pernille was doing time in a juvenile detention center in Roedvig Stevns in South Zeeland (where she lost two fingers, something she would never talk about afterwards).
Her parents had been relieved that she was alright, but things were never the same between them again. Secretly, Emma thought that they were happy that she had left back then. Pernille had caused them so much sorrow and trouble that they couldn't deal with another child going bad. Her mother told her she was happy she was well, but that she thought it was best if she stayed away from them and never came back. Emma knew it was because she was afraid of the rest of the gang members seeing her there. So, Emma had left them once again and hadn’t seen them since.
Emma looked at the bird and thought it reminded her of herself. Destined to be alone all of her life, destined to always be moving from place to place, never settling down, never stopping, always leaving someone she loved behind. Was that really all there was for her? Emma touched the bump on her stomach and smiled. No, this was supposed to be the beginning of a new life for her and, a few months from now, she was never going to be alone again. This was indeed the beginning of a new area of her life, and this thing, this little person growing inside of her, was someone she was never ever going to leave.
Emma sat heavily on the bed. Strange noises were emerging from the neighbor's house, but that didn't bother Emma. Once you have lived your entire life in the ghetto and later in the street, you got used to the constant noises, and you learned to tune them out. No, what bothered her was what she was about to do. Leaving her boyfriend, the father of her child, just because of what he had done. Yes, it was terrible and, yes, it might mean that he had to go to jail for drunk driving, but was leaving him really the solution? It had been the solution all of Emma's life; wasn't it time she put a stop to it? Was she going to run for the rest of her life? Every time things got a little complicated or a little difficult?
"You can't run every time trouble comes knocking at your door," she mumbled and leaned back on the bed. She stared at the ceiling of her new old house that she had grown so fond of. Where would she go? What about Paul? Didn't she love him? Do you leave people you love just like that?
Emma drew in a deep breath of air, and then sat up. She picked up the phone and dialed a number.
"Yes, I would like a taxi to thirty-two Langholm."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ida's eyes had gotten used to the darkness and she could see more and more as the hours passed. There were no windows in the small room, but light came in from under the door that she was leaned up against. It was enough for her to be able to see the floor and the nearby surroundings. Her wounds were hurting badly now, especially the one on her lip that had become so big now she could hardly move her lips and, even worse, hardly speak or yell anymore. She could barely move her body because the pain was too overwhelming. She was thirsty, so incredibly thirsty it made her tongue stick to the roof of the mouth. There was blood everywhere; she felt like she had lost so much and it made her feel weak and feeble. Maybe it was just the hopelessness that had crept in on her the last hour or so.
I'm gonna die down here, aren't I? I'm gonna lie on this forsaken floor for weeks and weeks and slowly bleed to death, or maybe the fever I'm feeling, the heat coming from the infected bites will spread and slowly shut down all of my organs one by one.
The thought fed the growing despair. She had heard Sebastian come home; she was certain she heard his voice somewhere between the cries coming from Edwina. The man had to be back too, Ida thought. It had to be him; she could hear yelling in between Edwina's cries. Ida wanted to be worried about Edwina and especially about Sebastian, but she simply couldn't find the strength for it anymore.
She looked into the darkness and felt the small eyes staring back at her. They were just waiting for her to die, weren't they? Waiting for her to give up the fight, then they could finish her off, eat her and leave nothing but the fleshless bones to be found once someone thought of finally searching the basement.
Well, not just yet, Ida thought, and kicked with her leg to scare them back. Don't think I'm going without a fight.
But Ida felt feverish and was in severe pain. Her belly hurt where the rats had bitten and scratched her, but the worst were her legs. The bites down there were deep and ugly; they seemed to be infected, or was she just imagining that? Did she even know what it looked like when a wound was infected? Maybe they were just so painful because there were so many of them? Maybe she felt feverish because she was tired, because she had slept badly last night and now was trapped here? Maybe? Ida sobbed while trying to move her leg once again. There was so much she hadn't seen, so much she wanted to do with her life…before…well, her life had hardly begun, right? That was what she had told herself through all those hard years. This was just a phase. One day soon life would be great and wonderful and filled with love. Soon she would grow up and find her prince (or just a nice husband who didn't drink and beat her would do) and then have a child like Sebastian, whom she would treat like a prince, spoil rotten, smother with love, and give all the toys he ever wanted. Ida sniffed. Yes, that was her plan; she wanted to make up for all the bad parents out there, especially her own. She was going to be the best mother this world had ever seen. Not that Marie-Therese had ever been bad to her; no, as a matter of fact, Ida liked it here, and she liked making Marie-Therese happy by helping her out in the house. But foster children never quite feel like they belong there, like they’re wanted. Ida always felt like she had to make up for the fact that she was bothering Marie-Therese by her presence in the house by making her dinner and taking care of the younger kids in the house.
Ida was wearing nothing but a T-shirt and panties when she had gone into the basement, and now the T-shirt was ripped to pieces and was tacky with her blood and she could hardly stand wearing it, since it was constantly touching her wounds. She kept freezing, then feeling hot, then freezing again. The floor felt cold against the skin of her legs. In the faint light coming from under the door, her thigh had looked like the fields in the fall when they had just been plowed, and she almost felt sick simply looking at it. The rats were still staring at her, making scratching, screeching sounds. She held onto the hammer in her right hand and, every now and then, she used her strength to lift it into the air to make sure they knew she was still holding on to it. She had a theory that, as long as she held on to the hammer, they would keep back. Ida gathered some of her last strength, crawled up on her hurting knees, whimpering in pain and agony, lifted the hammer, and swung it against the door. It left a mark next to the others she had made within the last couple of hours, but still didn't make a hole. Exhausted from the effort, she fell to the floor again, panting, trying hard to not slip into that gray haze that felt so alluring.
In the darkness, the small eyes were fixated on her, waiting for her to give in, looking like they wanted her for reasons dictated only by fate alone.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
It was like the ice cream was laughing at her. Marie-Therese didn't want to eat it; she had lost her appetite and felt horrible. She had gotten a bad headache, and the worry for Ida was eating her up inside.
"Can I have yours if you're not eating it?" Sebastian asked.
"Of course," Marie-Therese said, and pushed the ice cream towards Sebastian, who dug in immediately with his spoon. It felt comforting that he seemed to have forgotten about Ida and about what had happened earlier in the day, at least as long as there was ice cream in front of him. But like so much else in this w
orld, that didn't last forever either, so she told him to go play once he was done. Marie-Therese stared out the windows of the ice cream shop, worrying about Ida, trying to figure out where she could be if…if she hadn't gone back to find her parents.
Next thing Marie-Therese realized, it had become night outside. Ida had to be home now, she thought, didn't she? Marie-Therese had a rule that they could go out and play in the afternoon if they wanted to (Ida never did), but they had to be back at sunset, when the streetlamps went on.
Marie-Therese realized now that she had lost track of time. Sebastian was playing in the playroom at the ice cream shop and Marie-Therese went to get him.
"We're leaving, Sebastian," she said.
He came out and took her hand. As they walked home in the dim light from the bright summer night, Sebastian suddenly stopped.
"I don't feel so good," he said. Then he turned to the side and threw up in a bush.
"Too much ice cream," Marie-Therese said, then suddenly felt uneasy herself. Nausea overwhelmed her, and she tried to hold it back, but a few seconds later she joined Sebastian. Panting she raised her head and looked at Sebastian.
"What's that?" he asked and pointed at her chin.
Marie-Therese touched it and looked at her hand. It was blood. She found a napkin in her purse and wiped it off. "It's nothing," she said. "I must have bitten myself or something."
She grabbed his hand and they began walking. "But you didn't eat any ice cream," he said.
Marie-Therese chuckled nervously, and then patted his head gently, while feeling an eerie worried feeling grow along with the nausea that she told herself was nothing but worry.
Inside the house, she was overwhelmed by the loud TV in the living room. Marie-Therese had left it on when she left to drown out the noises from Edwina's room, and prevent the neighbors from talking. If they thought it was coming from the TV, then they wouldn't know what was really going on in the house. The Priest and his companions were still at it in Edwina's room, and it made Marie-Therese even more uneasy. She stormed into the kitchen.
"Ida?"
But she wasn't there. The note was still on the refrigerator. Marie-Therese sighed and took it down. She threw it in the garbage can, then walked to Ida's room, but as she expected, she found it empty, and there was no sign that Ida had been home while they had been away. Marie-Therese felt a pinch in her heart. Had Ida really left them? Was she gone for good? It wasn't unusual for foster children to run away from home. Marie-Therese looked out the window and only hoped that she had a place to stay for the night and that she wasn't in the hands of some serial rapist.
Marie-Therese helped Sebastian get into his room and drew his bath.
"Why are they still in there?" he said. "I can't sleep when they’re yelling like that."
Marie-Therese sighed. "I know, kiddo. But they're trying to help Edwina, trying to help us all. It's important. It'll be over soon."
Sebastian took off his clothes and threw them on the floor, then climbed into the tub. It was the first time Marie-Therese had spent this much time with the boy and, she had to admit, she quite enjoyed it, enjoyed his company. She started washing his hair, rubbing shampoo into it and made a funny hairdo. Then she laughed, took down a small mirror from the wall and showed him.
"I don't like it," he said, while playing with a small boat in the bubbles.
"What don't you like? That I wash your hair or that I make it look funny?"
"When she screams. I don't like what they do to her."
"Edwina?" Marie-Therese asked, but needed no answer. "Tell you a secret?"
Sebastian nodded eagerly.
"I don't like it either."
"It's creepy," he said.
"It is, isn't it?" Marie-Therese answered, while washing the shampoo out of Sebastian's hair. As the soap ran into the water, Edwina let out a scream from behind the wall so spine-chilling it made Marie-Therese jump.
Sebastian looked up. "What was that?"
Marie-Therese helped Sebastian up from the bathtub, and then put a towel around him. "Put on your PJs. I'm gonna go see."
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Emma closed the door to the taxi and rushed out. She ran past the receptionist, took the elevator up to the fourth floor, and then ran into Paul's room. He smiled and lifted his head when he saw her. She ran to him and kissed his bruised face.
"Careful," he said, when she tried to kiss his broken lips.
Cautiously, she kissed him again and again.
"What's that all for?" he asked between kisses.
"I just realized I really love you," she said and looked into his blue eyes.
Paul sighed and turned his head away. "You shouldn't love someone like me." He was about to cry and Emma could tell he didn't want her to see it. "I thought you had left," he said with almost a whisper. "I was certain you would be long gone by now. You should. You really should leave. Get as far away from me as possible."
Emma nodded, and then sat on the chair. "I was considering leaving you," she said. "I even packed my old suitcase."
He turned his head and looked at her with surprise. "Then, why didn't you?"
Emma shrugged. "I thought I'd stick around a little while longer. See how things turn out."
"You know I won't be able to ever walk again, right?"
Emma swallowed hard. "Yes. So they told me. But it doesn't matter, Paul. I love you and I'm having a child. We're having a child."
Paul sighed and looked at Emma's stomach. She tried to smile. "What if I don't love you?"
Emma laughed. "You're just saying that to make me leave. But it won't work, Paul. I’ve been down that road, and I'm not leaving this time."
"I might have to go to jail. I killed someone, Emma."
Emma leaned over and tried to grab his hand, but he pulled it away. "I killed someone innocent," he continued. "I hit her with my car and killed her. She was someone's mother, for crying out loud. She was somebody's wife. I destroyed that family. How can I expect you to live with that, when I can't? I don't know how to live with that."
"We'll just have to take it one day at a time, won't we? I know it was an accident. I just know it."
Paul scoffed. "Yeah, an accident caused by me drinking my brains out, that's what it is."
"I don't blame you for any of it," she said. "I really don't. I forgive you."
Paul stared at Emma. Then shook his head. "See, the problem is that I don't. I do blame myself and I don't forgive any of it. You really shouldn't either."
Emma sighed deeply. She felt tears pressing on.
"I probably won't even be able to perform down there anymore. How's that for a life, huh?"
"Not everything is about sex…"
"Everything in our relationship has always been about sex," he interrupted her.
"Well, maybe it shouldn't have been; maybe it's time to change some of that. Maybe we could build up a new relationship this way."
"A new relationship? I don't want a new relationship. I want my life back; I want to have sex with my girlfriend on the kitchen table like I used to. I don't want a pity relationship where I can't stand the way you look at me. Like now. I can stand the way you're looking at me right now. That look…that glare of pity in your eyes. You feel sorry for me and I don't want that. I made my bed, now I have to lay in it. And I suggest you find someone else to take pity on, 'cause it sure as hell isn't going to be on me!"
"Paul…"
Paul turned his head away and stared out the window. Suddenly, his torso began jerking in spasms. The monitors started beeping next to him and a nurse came running.
"What's going on in here?" she said with a strict voice. "You've upset the patient. He is not to be upset. He has suffered severe head trauma and can't sustain being agitated. Please leave this room immediately."
Emma gasped and rose from the chair. She walked backwards towards the door and watched as Paul's eyes rolled back in his head.
Chapter Forty
Ida slappe
d her cheek to stay awake. If she fell asleep, the rats would eat her. Her feverish mind was certain of it, just as sure as it was that those rats weren't just ordinary house rats. These were something different. Their size alone showed Ida that something was very wrong with these rats. Their glowing eyes in the darkness that were constantly fixated on her were another thing. How many were there? Hundreds? Thousands? They seemed to fill up almost all of the room.
Ida gasped as she heard a squeaking sound next to her. Then she tried to pick herself up from the floor. One of them was coming closer now and she could see it as it stepped into the dim light coming from under the door. It was sniffing across the floor, its nose and whiskers vibrating, its eyes glowing. Ida's heart started to race. She lifted the hammer and held it tight in her hand as the rat continued towards her. It seemed to follow her trail of blood, sniffing its way towards her body. Ida felt a chill roll down her spine. What were these monsters anyway? Some kind of flesh-eating aliens?
She was sweating now and wiped drops off her upper lip. Her arm hurt badly when she moved it that high. Worst of all was her legs. They felt like they could explode at any moment. The pain was unbearable.
The rat came closer and Ida tried to move her leg to scare it off. She let out a scream of pain and her leg barely moved. The rat hardly noticed; it kept coming closer, and now Ida realized it was only a scout. Behind it followed the rest of the army, a giant flock slowly approaching her leg as far as she could see. Like an ocean of rats all moving in the same direction, walking so close there was no space between them. They seemed to be sniffing the blood, even licking it off the floor. Now they were growling like dogs, showing off their enormous teeth; were they snapping them at her—or was it just the fever?
Ida tried to pull her body back up against the door with a deep moan. The rats were coming closer now. Growing increasingly bigger and more vicious by the second.
