by Joanna Bell
"Fuck!" Someone shouted. "Fuck, Sam – he's going to break the goddamn restraints!"
"Sir!" Another voice joined in, this one female. "Sir, calm down. We're trying to help. You've been shot, we're medics – we're taking you to the hospit–"
My right arm suddenly broke through the ropes holding it down and I reached for the throat of the first person I could find, digging my fingers hard into his soft flesh.
Someone screamed in the ensuing commotion. "Get the – get the Ativan! Get the fucking needle, he's strangling Sam!"
And then unconsciousness came for me again, quickly that time, and with a small, sharp pain my neck.
The next time I opened my eyes, I was floating in bright whiteness. Surely, surely this, now, was death? At first I seemed to be floating, but then when I tried to lift my limbs, I found, once again, that they were restrained. Multiple suns watched over me, bathing me in light. And then a woman appeared, her expression cheery but watchful. She reached down to my sides and my ankles, apparently checking the ropes, and then she spoke.
"Good morning, sir. Do you know where you are?"
"No," I grunted, trying the restraints myself. I was not dead. I was still being held. And soon, I knew, things would get much worse. "Who are you? Where have you – where is your Lord? Your King gave me his fealty not one moon ago, woman! Bring your Lord to me so I can tell him what will happen to his people if I am not freed at once!"
But the woman did not respond to anything I was saying. She held an object like the one Jim had dropped in the dwelling that I had once thought might be the Great Hall, and scratched at its surface, also like he had done. And then she looked back up at me, feigning concern.
"You're in the hospital, sir. You were shot in the left arm, but you were pretty lucky – no major arteries were damaged and the surgeon thinks there's a chance any nerve damage will heal with time."
I didn't know what a hospital was. Or an artery, or a nerve, or a surgeon. Not that it mattered. Only one thing mattered.
"Bring your Lord!" I demanded again. "The sooner you bring him, woman, the less trouble I'll make for your people. Because there is going to be trouble. The winter is at least two moons off, maybe more, it's enough time for my men to find me – and to find you. And when they see what you've done to their –"
Another woman, in the same white dressings, entered the room and the two of them conferred in quiet voices, ignoring me.
"Do you have a name, sir?" One of them asked me a few moments later. "You didn't have any ID on you when you came in. I'm Natasha, by the way, and this is Kirstin."
Did these dull women not know who I was? What I was? What did my name matter if they'd seen my sword, the fineness of the gems inlaid into the hilt, and the gold loops that hung from the leather belt around my waist?
"Voss," I growled. "I am the Jarl! I am the Jarl of Jarls and I promise you, your Lord will not be happy with the consequences if you continue to –"
"Sir, if you could just give us your name?"
I yanked my right arm hard against the restraints and both women leapt forward to hold me down as one of my restraints suddenly snapped.
"Didn't he just come out of the anesthesia?" Kirstin asked her companion, baffled.
"Uh, yeah. He did. He – sir. Sir! Please! We are here to help you!"
"BRING YOUR LORD!" I shouted, losing my patience with these infuriatingly presumptuous peasants. "Bring me your Lord, woman, or I swear I'll see to it that your husband loses his head first. Now!"
"You can stop calling me 'woman,'" came the haughty reply, as the two of them re-secured my right arm, which seemed to be temporarily weakened by the loss of blood I'd sustained. "You're not going anywhere, and I'm certainly not able to bring the Lord in to speak to you. We have a resident chaplain if you'd like to –"
"Is Sophie here?" I asked, changing tack. These people sounded like her. They were dressed in a way that reminded me of the way she had been dressed when I first saw her on the beach. If their Lord wanted to seal his own people's fate by staying away, perhaps I would be better off asking after the woman I'd come south to locate.
"Sophie?" Natasha replied. "Sophie who?"
"Sophie Foster," I told her, remembering the name she had first given herself.
"Sophie Foster?" Kirstin asked, eying me. "Sophie Foster from the River Falls PD?"
River Falls. River Falls. I knew that name. Sophie herself had mentioned it to me one night, when we spoke of where we were from.
"Yes. Yes, Sophie Foster from River Falls. Bring her to me."
The two women looked at each other, smiling the way women do when they mean to giggle but don't want to offend. Were they smiling at me? What had I said that was funny? It didn't matter, because I could tell from the way Kirstin spoke of Sophie that she was familiar with her. I had to get out. I had to wait until the women left, break the ropes that held me, and find Sophie myself.
"You certainly have a way with words," Natasha chided me, the way one chides a child for snatching an extra honey-cake when he thinks no one is watching. "But there's a couple of officers just outside, I could ask if one of them –"
An older man, with a fat belly and graying hair, strode into the room. He was dressed in the same dark outfit of the man I'd encountered close to the woods, the one who was able to summon thunder with his fingertips despite looking like he wouldn't be able to best a young boy in combat.
"Let me talk to him, girls," he addressed the two women before turning to me. "What this about Sophie Foster? What do you want with her?"
"Bring her to me," I repeated. "Is she close by? I must see her."
"You won't be seeing anyone I don't want you to see."
He was old and fat, but he had an air of authority about him. "Are you one of the Lord's men?" I asked. "I asked your women to bring me the Lord –"
"I'm Jerry," he cut me off. "Jerry Sawchuk. I'm the Chief of Police here in River Falls, and it's me who's going to determine whether or not you get to see Officer Foster. But if you think I have the power to summon the Lord himself into this hospital room, you're going to be sorely disappointed."
"Sophie Foster," I repeated myself, while Jerry examined me as if I were one of the most curious things he had ever seen. "Not Officer Foster, Sophie."
"Officer Foster and Sophie Foster are the same person," he said. "And you didn't answer those pretty nurses when they asked for your name, did you? Why is that? And what business do you have with Sophie?"
If my mind wasn't so dulled by the loss of blood, I may have started to suspect that Jerry, Natasha and Kirstin were deliberately trying to drive me into a rage. It was clear I was a person of status, and yet all three of them steadfastly refused to show me my due respect, preferring instead to further deepen my conviction that they would suffer first, before any of their people, when I was free.
"I am Jarl Ivar," I said quietly. "I have come south, through land your King has already ceded to the people of the North, to find Sophie."
"Jarl Ivar, huh? That's quite a name you got there, Jarl. And as far as I know it, River Falls doesn't have a king, so it would be inaccurate to say he'd ceded any of our land to you. Do you even know where you are, son? Do you know how you got here? The medics say all the tests came back negative – no drugs, no alcohol. I reckon your main problem is you're crazier than a shithouse rat."
"You think me crazy?" I asked, chuckling. "You disavow your own King and it's I you think dull? You make your own death certain, old man, whether at my hand or King Edmund's."
"I'd arrest you for uttering threats, if you weren't already under arrest for assaulting one of my officers, as well as breaking and entering." Jerry replied casually, as if it were the weather we were discussing. "That sword you were carrying, though – that's the real thing. Nearly sliced my damn hand wide open on the blade! Where did you get a weapon like that?"
"What kind of man is it that doesn't understand the sword of a blade is sharp?" I asked, intending to insult but al
so to ask a genuine question. "What is this place?"
"I told you, you're in New York State. River Falls Hospital, to be exact. Where do you think it is?"
"York?" I asked, remembering Sophie's claim to be from the place. "I'm in York? It's not possible, I rode south from Thetford."
"Not York, New York State. And you most certainly are here. Now, are you going to tell me what you were doing standing in the middle of the Renner's kitchen after kicking their door down? Are you going to tell me where you got that sword? Or am I wasting my time here? Because if I'm wasting my time, I'd quite like to get down to Parson's Deli for a turkey sandwich before they close, if you don't mind."
"I'm looking for Sophie," I said, yawning as a wave of tiredness washed over me. "And if you bring her to me at once, I think we might be able to resolve this without any blood being spilled."
"Oh I think we're gonna be able to resolve this without spilling blood regardless of whether or not you see Sophie," Jerry responded. "You're just about the most articulate nut job I ever saw, though. If you change your mind and you feel like talking to me, let one of the nurses know, alright? I –"
Jerry and I both turned our eyes, at the same moment, towards the doorway, where the sudden sound of running footsteps could be heard.
"Sophie!" A voice shouted. "Sophie, stop! Jerry's already in there, he doesn't want – SOPHIE!"
And then there she was. Her cheeks were red and her eyes, as they landed upon me, got so wide I half thought they were going to spring out of her head.
"Oh my God –" she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand and looking from me to Jerry. "Oh my –"
"Do you know this man?" Jerry asked her. "He's been asking for you – and pretty insistent about it, too."
My eyes met Sophie's again as we stared at each other. I needed to free myself – and she needed to be punished – but in that moment I was free to experience the pure joy of seeing her there in front of me, unharmed and beautiful.
And then, instead of telling Jerry that she knew me, and as she stood rooted to the spot, blinking like she couldn't believe what she was seeing, she looked away and, in a voice that only shook a little, told the old man that she'd never seen me before.
Twenty
Sophie
It was him. It was clearly him. Even with one of his arms heavily bandaged, and laid up in a hospital bed in River Falls in 2018, it was him. I blinked and coughed, certain I was seeing things, but there he still was when I looked again.
Ivar. Ivar the Viking, from the 9th freakin' Century.
"Uh," I stammered, panicking, when Jerry Sawchuk asked me if I knew the man I'd spent a healthy chunk of the previous week naked with. "I – uh – no, no. I don't. I've never seen this man before in my life."
The lie came quickly, almost unthinkingly. I had to do it. If I admitted I knew who Ivar was, Jerry was going to ask me how I knew him, and where we'd met, and what our relationship was – and I wasn't going to be able to answer any of those questions. I did it to protect myself. I did it to protect him, too. He didn't know where he was. He probably thought he was going to be able to fight his way out of the hospital!
I wanted to go to him. My poor heart, hammering in my chest as I lied to my boss – who was already very unhappy with me for taking an unannounced 'week off' in the midst of my comeback from a period of leave – ached to see the Viking there in bed, with his arm bandaged up. What had happened to him? All I knew was I'd gotten a call from my partner Dan, stationed at the River Falls Hospital, and saying they'd arrested a man for breaking into the Renner house, that he'd been shot, and that he was demanding to see me.
Luckily, Ivar was smart enough to realize I was lying for a reason and shut his own mouth.
"Is this her?" Jerry demanded, gesturing towards me. "Is this who you wanted to see? How do you know this woman?"
The Viking turned away and looked out the window, refusing to answer. And after a few more attempts, Jerry gave up.
"Fine. Come on, Sophie, let's go."
I didn't want to go. I wanted to talk to Ivar. I wanted to explains about guns and hospitals and police and make him understand that he wasn't going to be able to use physical force to get himself out of this one. I also wanted to say sorry. I knew he was in that hospital bed because of me, because he'd come looking for me and fallen through the tree unknowingly, the same way I had but in the opposite direction.
Before I followed Jerry Sawchuk out of the room I turned and glanced back at Ivar for less than a second. The context in which I was seeing him may have been wildly different, but the pull between us was still there. Sure, I wanted to talk to him. I needed to talk to him, because there were things he needed to know about where he was and how we did things here, in this new place. But apart from all of those sensible, rational thoughts was the part of me that wanted to turn around and crawl into bed next to him, to lay my head on his chest and let him run his strong fingers through my hair.
"Maybe I can talk to him?" I asked Jerry as we left the hospital. I was pretty sure what the response was going to be, but I had to try. "You said he asked for me by name, right? I don't know who he is but maybe he'd be more willing to talk to me than –"
"No."
That was it. A snapped 'no.'
We kept walking, Jerry silent, letting me stew for a few moments before we got to his cruiser and he turned to face me.
"You shouldn't even be here, Sophie. You know that. You're a good cop, we both know it, but your behavior has been – well, it's been erratic. And don't give me that look, you know damn well any other job you'd get fired for taking a week off without telling anyone. I've got half a mind to do it anyway, even if we're understaffed and you're a good cop – when you show up, anyway."
"Please," I started, "Jerry, please. It's difficult to explain but I didn't mean to be gone for a whole week. I didn't –"
Jerry shook his head. I'd only managed to annoy him further. "I'm sorry, Foster, but I'm placing you on leave again."
"But –"
"And if you want me to fire you, as we both know I'd be well within my rights to do, just keep talking."
Damnit. I took a step back and looked down, trying to come across as respectful as possible. I also took Jerry's very clear signal and stopped talking. He got into the cruiser, shut the door and then rolled the window down to look at me.
"Get your shit together, young lady. Whatever it is you need to do, do it. I've been more than patient with you. Any more slip-ups and I'll have no choice but to let you go."
"Yes, s–" I started but he pulled away before I could finish. I wanted to be angry. I felt angry. But even I knew I didn't have any real reason to be. My boss was right. From his perspective I must have looked like someone whose only wish in life was to be fired.
I walked back to my car and drove home. Ashley was at my mother's house, after my mom had furiously on keeping her for a couple of days after my return. She'd reported me missing less than 24 hours after I – well, after I went missing. Jerry and Dan had only managed to keep it quiet because the media interest was dying down by then. So my poor mother had spent more than a week trying to keep her own worry that whoever had taken Paige Renner and Emma Wallis had now taken her own daughter under wraps – so as not to worry her granddaughter. When I got back, and went straight to her house to tell her I was safe, that I wasn't kidnapped, that I'd just needed a week away to 'think' (sure, as an excuse it was lame as hell – but I didn't know how else to explain it), she'd pulled me into her arms and buried her face in my neck, weeping. And then, when Ashley had left the room to get me a glass of water, my mother had slapped me – quickly and quietly but not gently – across the face and leaned in close to hiss in my ear:
"This is by far the stupidest thing you have ever done, Sophie. Do you have any idea how worried I was? How worried we were!? Don't you ever – ever – do something like this again. Don't you ever leave your child wondering where her mother is."
I'd wanted to expla
in. The words waited there on the tip of my tongue, clamoring to come out, to prove it wasn't my fault, that it hadn't been my choice to worry either of them. But they stayed unspoken as tears sprang up in my eyes and my cheeks burned hot with the slap – and the shame of my mother's rebuke. And then Ashley had walked back into the room and I'd blinked my tears away, smiling shakily up at her and thanking her for the water.
I found Heather standing in front of the refrigerator, staring, when I walked into my house.
"Close the door," I told her gently, nudging it out of her hands. "You'll let all the cold out. Are you hungry? I told you you could eat anything you want."
Heather looked up. "Uh – what? Oh yeah. Yeah, I had a – I had a banana. And an apple. From the fruit bowl."
"A banana and an apple?" I asked. "That's all you've eaten today?"
"It's been almost 35 years since I tasted banana, girl. I'm easing myself back into all of this food. There's – there's so much of it. I keep coming back to the fridge and just staring at all of it. I hardly recognize anything. Well, bread. And eggs, and milk. But," she grabbed a tray of takeout sushi leftovers and held it up, "what's this?"
"Sushi," I replied. "And I hope you didn't eat any of it. Here, give it to me, I'll throw it away."
But when I tried to take the plastic platter out of Heather's hands, she clutched it ever more tightly. "No. No, it looks fine! What – you're just going to throw food away like that? What did you say it was?"
"Sushi. It's made with raw fish and it's been in there for over a week," I replied, laughing. "It would definitely not be a good idea to eat this."
Heather let go, turning back to the fridge's contents. "Su – what? Sushi? Raw fish? Are you on some kind of strange diet?"
"You don't know what sushi is?" I asked, surprised. "Everyone eats sushi. This is, like, totally not exotic. If you don't like raw fish you can get it with –"
"Oh I'll eat anything," she replied, grinning back at me. "Believe me, almost 40 years in the past and a couple of serious near-misses with the kind of starvation Americans don't even understand will do that to you. Magnus and I once spent an entire winter living on rotten sneeps and grass. Grass!"
