by Willow Rose
The woman didn't answer, but she didn't have to. Astrid wasn't among the brightest but this she understood. Being threatened with a rifle was very clear. This was no accident. Her being locked up for weeks in the bunker with only canned food to eat was no accident.
The woman stepped backwards and pushed something with her feet. It was cans wrapped in plastic to make it easier to transport. Hundreds of small cans with ravioli, some with soup, dried fruit, cans of vegetable, meat, jam, and powdered milk. Behind it stood a pallet with big containers of water.
"There is some boxes of chocolate and some magazines in the brown back on top to make the time go faster. You can drink the water from the tap near the toilet but it doesn't very good, so I brought you some extra. And some soap to wash your hands. If you don't use too much at a time it should suffice for a long time. There is also some new clothes and underwear in the bag, so you can change. You can wash the dirty ones in the sink," the woman said. "Now pull everything down the stairs. I'm sorry I can't help you, but I have to hold the rifle, as you can understand. If you try anything I swear I'll shoot you."
"But ...?" Astrid's lips were shivering in fear. Spending weeks in this bunker so far had almost killed her, now she was expected to spend another six months? How? How was she supposed to survive? On canned food and bottled water? Surely humans needed more than that. They needed company, they needed fresh air, they needed a change of scenery from time to time. Could she survive down here? Did she want to?
"Why don't you just shoot me and get it over with right away. I won't survive anyway."
The woman sighed. "Enough with the questions, take the food or as God is my witness I'll shoot you."
Astrid knew the woman enough to know that such a promise in the presence of God himself, wasn't to be joked with. Not coming from this woman. Astrid nodded and started pulling the food down the stairs. It was heavy and her back hurt badly.
Once she was done, she looked up at the woman again with pleading eyes. It was hard for her to understand how anyone could be this cruel.
"Will you ever let me out again?" she asked.
"No."
Then the door shut with a slam and Astrid ran to it, hammering on it with her fists, screaming and yelling.
"You can't do this to me! Why are you doing this to me? You sick bastard. You're crazy. You can't keep me in here!"
Astrid heard the outer door slam and then there was nothing but that awful terror of silence again.
19
2012
I didn't pay much attention to what my son had said at night when I woke up next to him next morning. All I cared about was that my beloved son was lying next to me, almost so close I could lean over and kiss him. Victor was still sleeping when I opened my eyes and I lay quiet next to him for a long while, just looking at him, putting my hand above his hair, pretending to be stroking it gently like I used to do when he was a baby. I leaned over and sniffed his hair. I didn't even get to wash it anymore not since he learned how to do it on his own. Tuesdays and Fridays were shower days. Everything had to be so structured with him or he felt uncomfortable and insecure, the doctor had told me. So I tried to keep a schedule and make things easier for him, but it was hard. Today was Friday and I had to get him ready for school. Part of me wanted to keep him at home for the day and just spend time with him, but then again, I knew how important it was to him that everything was the way it used to be. And Friday meant school and shower. It also meant Disney cartoons on TV at eight p.m. and a small bag of candy. The way it always was. That was what made him happy and if he was happy, then I was. I leaned over and whispered in his ear.
"Sweetie. It's time to wake up."
Victor stretched and turned to look at me. "This is wrong," he said and sat up. "Why am I in your bed? I shouldn't be in your bed. I should be in my own room. This is wrong, Mommy." He didn't look at me, but kept babbling on while getting his things together, his blanket, his pillow, his precious Pooh bear that he couldn't sleep without.
"You had a bad dream, remember?" I said. "You didn't want to sleep in your own room last night."
"I don't remember, Mommy. What did I dream about?"
"Spiders. Don't you remember?"
"But it is wrong, Mommy," he said still while looking down. I could tell by the color of his face that he was about to have one of his attacks. "I am supposed to sleep in my own bed, in my own room. I'm supposed to."
"Take it easy, sweetie," I said with calm voice. "It's okay. It was just for one night. You can go back to your own room again tonight. Nothing to worry about."
Victor's cheeks were flushing red. He was fighting to keep his anger down. "But it is wrong, Mommy. This is not my room. This is your room."
"I know, Victor. I know. Calm down, sweetie. It was all your idea."
Victor stomped his feet at the floor and started yelling. "But it is WRONG. Don't you know it is wrong?"
"There is nothing wrong with sleeping in your Mommy's bed, Victor."
"Yes, there is! When you have your own bed and your own room, then that is where you need to sleep."
Victor let out a shriek, then stormed out the door. I heard him slam his own door shut and then talking to himself real loud, scolding himself and probably me.
I sighed and pulled off the cover. I wanted to just stay in the bed and feel sorry for myself. I wanted to cry, I wanted to yell into a pillow, but as usual I did what was expected of me instead.
I took a shower, then went downstairs to start breakfast.
Maya was the first one down. She was running down the stairs, threw her backpack on the floor, grabbed her glass of juice on the table and drank it while still standing.
"I'm in a major hurry, Mom. No time to chat," she said and rushed out the door. I glanced after her and watched as she disappeared on her bike heading towards town. I sighed and put bread in the toaster. I could really use some grown up conversation by now and Maya was the closest thing I came to having one in the house. I missed chatting with her like we used to. I knew it was my own fault. I had neglected her the last couple of years, thinking she could manage on her own, and because I didn't have that extra energy to listen to her problems as well. It had been all about Victor since Michael left, she was so right about that. I started wondering if there was anything I could do for her. Maybe we could take a day off together? Go out and eat brunch, maybe? Do a little shopping?
"Where is my breakfast?" Victor asked, coming into the kitchen without looking at me. "You know I need my breakfast before I go to school, or I get cranky and can't concentrate. Did you make one toast or two?"
"Two. Just like you usually get."
Victor smiled finally and looked at me. I could tell he was relieved. Waking up in the wrong bed had somehow made him out of balance. It was unusual and that he didn't like.
"Good," he said and sat down. I placed his buttered toast on the table while wondering if I should take him to a new doctor. Somehow it seemed like his - whatever it was - was getting worse all of a sudden. It had been going so well this far. Much better than in the city, why was he all of a sudden relapsing? Because of a nightmare?
20
2012
I drove Victor to school and to the grocery store afterwards. The lady behind the counter was too busy chitchatting with a colleague to take care of me. I had to clear my throat a couple of times before she finally noticed me and scanned my groceries.
Back at the house I put everything in place, then unpacked the last of our moving boxes. I stood for a while and looked around in the living room deciding it wasn't too bad even if half of the furniture wasn't mine.
"It'll have to do," I said to myself.
I grabbed a cup of coffee and walked outside in the yard. The wind was coming in strong from the North Sea and made my eyes watery. I drank my coffee with my winter jacket on and wondered how great a view I would get if I cut down all the trees. But Victor would kill me. He had loved those trees from the day we got here. Even now when it was
getting too cold to stay outside for long, that was all he wanted to do when he got home from school. Go outside and play with his trees. He could still spend hours out there talking to them, playing and doing God only knew what.
At least he was always happy when he was out there. I wondered if he ever saw any spiders and that was why he dreamed about them.
"One day, dear trees, one day I'll cut you all down and see what you're hiding," I said out loud as if I also believed they could hear and understand. I chuckled and considered walking down to the beach to get a better look at the view. I had only done it a few times since we moved in and it was beautiful. But it was a long walk through the huge yard and there always seemed like there was no time for something like that.
"I could do it now," I said to myself, but then again I really wanted to take a closer look at my research for the book. I hadn't gotten very far but I really felt it would be worth my while to begin digging into the story of Mrs. Heinrichsen. So far I had written a few notes about her down, about her life here in the island, about what Sophia had told me, but I felt like I needed something a little more substantial. I had also found out that it had been twenty-five years since there last had been someone killed on this small island. And that was a bar fight where someone pulled a knife. Before that time, they had no records. So you could argue that it was kind of spectacular that someone had been killed, like really murdered. It was actually the first real murder on Fanoe Island. I couldn't help but think that had to be a great story.
I walked back into the house and grabbed a new cup of coffee. I brought it with me upstairs to the room I now referred to as my office. I had never had an office before, so it did take some getting used to, but it had a nice ring to it, I thought. Some days I just sat in there throwing pencils against the wall saying it out loud.
"This is my office. I'm sitting in my office. Be right there ... just gotta get something in the office. I'll get you the papers, they're up in my office."
Yup. It sounded real awesome once you said it.
I sat by my computer and turned it on. I sipped my second cup of coffee and realized it needed more milk. I didn't have the energy to go downstairs again, so I drank it anyway. I found my notes and started scrolling. It really wasn't much so far.
Maybe a piece of chocolate will help my brain think better?
I opened my drawer and pulled out the packet of Marabou-chocolate, my favorite kind. I realized to my terror it was almost done and thought that maybe it was about time I started running. Then I ate the last pieces. I closed my eyes while the crunchy chocolate disappeared and made my taste buds have a party on the way down. I closed my eyes and flushed it down with the rest of my coffee. Then I looked at the screen. No. It didn't improve anything, but sure tasted good. I chuckled and opened Google. I typed something, then deleted it again.
I sighed and leaned back. Fact was I had no idea where to start or where to end. I had never written a book before, only dreamt about it a lot the last many years, but it was a lot harder than expected. I started thinking about where I really wanted to go with this book. I pictured it as a sort of portrait of the woman, Mrs. Heinrichsen, of her life leading one day to her brutal murder.
Voices brought me back to reality. I looked out the window and spotted a couple of the neighbors gathering in the street. I couldn't stop looking at them. Sophia was among them. The strange guy Jack was there too, but was standing in his yard looking like he didn't really want to take part in the conversation.
Their voices were loud and sounded upset. I was curious and ran downstairs to get my jacket. I started finding an excuse for coming out at this exact moment.
"I was just on my way to the grocery store ... what's going on?"
No, that wouldn't do. This was a small town, chances were someone might have spotted me at the store earlier in the day, or that the woman behind the counter could have told I was there.
"I'm going to buy some bread at the bakery for lunch?"
That would do. I decided that would be my alibi and it would be even better if I added, a "does anyone need me to bring anything back while I'm there?" That would give me a plausible reason for actually talking to them, and asking what was going on.
Very good, I thought to myself as I walked out the door. Sophia saw me at once and waved. "Emma. Good you're here. You need to hear this too."
"I was just going to the ..." I realized they didn't care about where I was going or my fake alibi. They really had something important to tell me.
"What's up?" I asked as I approached them.
Sophia looked serious and it scared me slightly.
Could it be something about my kids? Why did she say I needed to hear this? Was it Maya? Was she in some kind of trouble at her school? Or had something happened at Victor's school?
My stomach turned into a knot of worry as a mother's tend to do for no apparent reason but the fact that a whole bunch of thoughts just entered their minds and made them scared of the most ridiculous and absolutely unrealistic things.
"There has been another one," Sophia said.
"Another one of what?" I asked feeling stupid for not getting it right away. I didn't know any of all these people surrounding me, only Sophia and of course Jack who stood a couple of feet away from the crowd. For a second I worried what they thought about me. Not something I usually did much, but for some reason I did at that moment.
"Another murder," Sophia said.
I felt my eyes grow wider. "What? Someone else has been killed? How? Who?"
"Irene Justesen," Sophia continued.
I could tell that the rest of the crowd knew all this already since they were nodding along as she spoke.
"Who's that?" I asked.
A woman I had only seen a couple of times at the grocery store leaned forward. "The Queen of Fitness," she said.
"That's what they used to call her," Sophia took over. "When she was doing all those videos and the TV show."
I gasped. Suddenly I knew exactly who she was. We used to make so much fun of her when I was a teenager and accidentally flipped on her show. How we loathed those pink legwarmers and the sweat band.
"How did it happen?"
"I heard it from Anne down at the bakery," Sophia said secretly like this Anne was an undercover agent whose identity was not to be revealed under any circumstances. "She told me the cleaning lady, what's her name ... Clara Hermansen, found her in her own private gym down at the estate this morning when she arrived to clean it. Apparently her blood had soaked the entire floor in there. And get this ... the killer had stuffed her sweat band down her throat."
Sophia paused for effect, waited for the people surrounding her to react. It came promptly. All the women gasped like had they rehearsed it. I turned and looked at Jack. He didn't take part in the gasping or talking. He seemed more like he was worried about something.
"Don't you think?" Sophia suddenly said and looked at me. I turned my head and stared at her. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"I was just wondering about two murders in a very short period of time on this island, it is kind of scary, don't you think?"
I nodded. "Yes. It most definitely is."
"Do you think they might be connected?" another woman asked me like I carried all the answers.
I shrugged. "I don't know. But I give you it is kind of strange. Do you know if the two killings had any similarities?"
"To be perfectly honest, we don't even know that Irene was in fact killed," I heard a voice say. I turned and looked at Jack. He was the one who had spoken. He blushed when all the ladies suddenly looked at him.
"I...I...I'm jjjjust sssaying, we ddon't kknow, ddo wwe?"
His stuttering was all of a sudden back and I could tell it was hard on him to speak. But I was also relieved to hear that he could speak normally without stuttering. I remembered reading about it and how being put on the spot or in situations of pressure could make it much worse. It made sense, I guess. I smiled at him and he smiled back. Hi
s blue eyes were gentle and very kind. I wondered about his story, that Sophia wouldn't tell me. I really wanted to hear it, but was afraid of pressuring him or making him feel bad.
"Jack’s right," I said. "We have no idea if it was in fact murder. We can't know for sure until the police also call it a murder."
"What about the sweat band, then?" a woman wearing a strange pink outfit with golden stitches asked.
"Well, I give you that," I said. "That isn't something she could have done on her own, but we don't know if that is even true, or if it is just a rumor, do we? So until it has been confirmed by the police, I believe it's very important that we don't spread too many rumors and especially that we don't make any new ones up as we go along. Fear and panic is very easily spread in a small society like this."
They all looked at me like I was a complete idiot. "That's just what I think," I said. "Now if you ladies will excuse me I have work to do."
I turned feeling their eyes on my back while I walked back to my house. I heard steps behind me. Sophia caught up with me. "Are you insane?" she asked with a low voice as she tripped on next to me towards my house. "You can't tell island people to not spread rumors. That's all they live for for Christ sake. It's what gets them up in the morning. Finally something exciting happens on our island and you want them to keep quiet about it!"
I couldn't help but chuckle. The woman had a point. There wasn't much to do let alone talk about on this island. Two killings in less than two months was quite spectacular, especially since no one had been killed here in twenty five years.
"So will you bring the wine tonight, or shall I?" Sophia said.
I laughed. Our weekly gatherings had become some sort of tradition already and something I was always looking forward to.
