by Willow Rose
And that was when she finally decided to start to speak. She didn't look at me, but words simply spurted out of her so fast it was hard to find out what it was she was trying to say. It sounded almost like a nursery rhyme the way she almost sang the words.
"Wet-critters, drip-drip-drip. Little critters ha-ha-ha, small little critters, crawling up the water, drip-drip-drip. First, we saw the head, then the eyes-eyes-eyes in the water staring up at us. Blink-blink-blink. Little critter in the water, in the pipes, bang-bang-bang, banging all night. Plumber came, hurry-hurry-hurry. Must get the critters out. Ha-ha-ha! First, we saw the hair. That was what we saw, ye-e-e-s-s, that was what we saw. And then…then the eyes and the nose, nose, nose. Little wet critters, splash-splash-splash, dripping on the floor, drip-drip-drip." While speaking, Laila Lund was doing something with her fingers, and it reminded me of my own children when we sang Itsy Bitsy Spider. She still wore that grin on her face, and her eyes seemed to be rolling around in her head.
Madder than a bat.
The door opened, and the nurse from earlier came in. I looked at her.
"Is she talking about the wet critters again? I feared she might start to do that. I’m so sorry," she said and approached us. "It creeps me out. Maybe we should stop for now. Besides, Laila needs her nap now."
I rose to my feet. I threw a glance at Laila, who seemed to still be in another world. As the nurse grabbed her chair and turned her around to roll her away, she looked at me one last time, then said, while tilting her head from side to side:
"Drip-drop, drip-drop, drip-drop-DEAD!"
35
I made it home just in time to prepare afternoon tea. Victor stormed through the front door a few minutes later and greeted Skye, who was already waiting for him in the hallway. Me, he didn't even say hello to before he rushed out into the yard, holding Skye's hand in his.
I sighed and returned to the kitchen where my bread was baking in the oven, and then Maya came home. She slammed the door, and I heard her backpack fall to the ground. I walked out to say hello, but she was already halfway up the stairs.
"Hello?" I said. "No one wants to even say hi to their mother?"
Apparently not. Maya was probably still mad about what had happened earlier this morning. I didn't quite understand how I ended up being the bad guy in all this when she was the one who had messed up. Maya had a way of turning these things around and making me feel guilty. It was a gift.
Our afternoon tea became strange and very silent. I knocked on Maya's door, but she told me she wasn't hungry and then asked me to go away. So, it was just Victor, Skye, and me. The kids didn't say a word but were obviously communicating on other levels, since they kept snickering and giggling. I don't think I had ever heard Victor snicker before.
"So, how was your day at school?" I asked my son in the hope he would engage just a little with his mother.
He didn't even turn his head in my direction. He just kept staring at Skye and she at him. It was like their minds were locked into one another's and there was nothing else in this world.
This can't be healthy, can it?
"Victor?" I asked. "Victor?"
He still didn't react. It was like he was completely detached from this world, my world, the real world.
The kids rose to their feet, then stormed out into the yard again without even a word to me. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, sipping my hot chocolate and finishing my buttered bread with jam. I was wondering about Victor when my thoughts drifted off to earlier this day and my visit with the crazy Laila Lund. I shuddered slightly when thinking about her and those rolling eyes and the words she had said. I was trying to make sense of it, which I kind of knew was impossible, but part of me still desired to.
Wet critters? Dripping on the floor? What did she mean? Critters in the pipes? What kind of critters?
I got up, walked to the bathroom in the hallway, and stood outside, staring at the closed door. I hadn't had been in there since I had seen something slip into the drain, something big and wet. The plumber had told me it could be frogs, but somehow, I didn't think that's what it was. It was something else, and the very notion of it made me shiver. I couldn't escape the thought that so often I woke up at night because the pipes moaned and groaned and sometimes even thumped. What the heck was down there?
Little critters in the water, in the pipes, bang-bang-bang, banging all night.
I shook my head almost violently. This was silly. It was more than that; it was stupid. Ridiculous, even. Insane to listen to some crazy woman babbling along.
I scoffed and walked back to the kitchen, grabbed the plates, and began to clean up. I was making Danish meatballs—Frikadeller—for dinner and put on my apron to start preparing it when there was a knock on my door.
36
Hanne shuddered. It wasn't because it was cold inside the bathroom. No, the reason for her shivering was the sound of the dripping water. Usually, that sound wouldn't make the hair rise on her neck the way it did now, but these drips were different somehow. They sounded exactly like what she had heard the night before, and the one before that. That same sound of water dripping, keeping her awake all night.
Had it followed her? To her work?
Nonsense. How would that be possible? Don't be stupid. You're a woman of science. There's probably just a leak here as well. Someone left a faucet on. Don't be silly, Hanne.
Hanne closed her eyes and imagined herself on Crete with Per. They went there every year in February when the sky was dark gray in Denmark, and the sun barely rose. February was the worst month in this country, Hanne believed, and she always tried to get away. Just to get a few rays of sunlight and maybe a swim in the ocean. She couldn't wait to go again. Things had been tense at work lately. Ever since they lost the subject. They had all been interviewed about their role and whereabouts on that day when there had been a breach. B-3 had been her subject, her research. And now she was gone. Still, they didn't know whom to blame for the disappearance. No one knew how the subjects managed to get out of this secure location. It seemed impossible, at least they had thought it was. For days, they had searched for B-3 on the island and around the lab, but B-3 remained gone without a trace. Hanne couldn't quite grasp how the subject would even manage to survive without being seen. The world out there wasn't a place for her. Wouldn't they have heard about it if someone had found her? Hanne believed they would.
When Hanne opened her eyes again, the dripping had stopped. She looked under the door of the booth and realized a puddle had shaped on the floor. A puddle of water.
Hanne gasped, then got up. She pulled up her pants and opened the door. She stared at the puddle on the floor, then at the sinks. They were pretty far away. How had the water gotten all the way over here? Was there a leak in one of the toilets maybe? But the puddle seemed so round and didn't seem to be connected to any source.
Where did the water come from?
Hanne walked around the puddle, then looked toward the sinks again. Maybe there was a pipe somewhere that dripped? As her head remained turned, she heard a small drip coming from behind her, and she turned to look with a gasp. But nothing was there. There were rings in the water though.
Hanne stared at the water moving beneath her, then heard a slow slithering sound coming from above her. Heart pounding, she lifted her glance and looked up.
What she saw up there under the ceiling made her stop breathing. Her first—and final—thought was that of excitement, as the pillar of massive water began gushing down her throat, being forced explosively inside her body till she slowly suffocated.
37
"Yes?"
"You don't recognize me?" the man standing outside my door said. "We met…months ago. My wife…Ann?"
My heart skipped a beat. "Oh, dear Lord, I’m so sorry. I didn't recognize you. Brian, right?"
He nodded.
"I’m so sorry; come on in."
"Thank you," he said and followed me inside.
We walked to the
kitchen where I served him some hot chocolate and bread with butter and jam. I didn't ask him if he wanted anything, but just assumed he needed it. The way I was raised, you didn't let anyone inside your house without feeding them. It was a Danish thing, I guess. And it was impolite for the guest to say no, so it went both ways.
He smiled a sad, yet affirming, smile. "Thank you."
I grabbed a second round myself, and we ate. "So…Brian. First of all, I’m so sorry for your loss."
He took in a deep breath like he needed more air for what came next, then nodded. "Thank you."
"How're you holding up?"
"I…I…Not so good, to be honest."
"Well, it's a big loss," I said and sipped my hot chocolate. For some reason, I kept hearing my mother's annoying voice in my head telling me not to drink that sugary stuff. She had a way of getting in my head at the most inconvenient times. I ignored it. "And quite unexplainable. Have the police come any closer to figuring out what happened to her?"
"Well…they kind of think I might be involved."
"No!"
"Yes, I’m afraid so. They keep asking me to come to the mainland for questioning. They can't seem to figure out how she landed in our bed when she drowned."
I sipped more of my hot chocolate while looking pensively at him. "It is strange. You have to give them that."
A tear shaped in Brian's eye and he wiped it away.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I’m making you emotional. That wasn't my intention."
"It's okay," he said. "I had promised myself that I wouldn't cry, but it's…hard. I feel so…guilty."
"That's only natural," I said. "Anyone would feel that way."
"Yeah, well for me, it's a little more than normal guilt. See…I was with this woman…when…it happened."
"A woman? Another woman?"
He nodded. "Yes."
"Ah, I see," I said. "So, you do have an alibi, but not one that you can tell. She married too?"
"Yes," he said and bit his lip.
"And she wouldn't confirm your story even if you told it?" I asked.
"Nope. Can't risk it, she says. She would lose everything."
"But so will you if you go to jail over this?" I said.
"Don't think she cares much about that," he said and took a bite of his bread. A little bit of jam stayed on his upper lip and jiggled up and down as he spoke.
"That's why I’ve come to you."
38
"I need your help."
Brian took another bite of his bread. I gaped at him. "You want my help? How so?"
He exhaled a deeply-felt breath. His fingers were tapping on the side of his cup like he was contemplating something.
"I read your book."
I blinked a few times, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. "You read my book? Which one?"
"The latest one."
"Where the Wild Roses Grow?" I asked and took a sip from my cup.
He shook his head. "No, the one they're all talking about. Waltzing Matilda."
I almost spit out my hot chocolate.
"You read that?"
"Don't be so surprised," he said. "My sister recommended it to me."
I stared at him, not quite knowing what to say. I had done absolutely no PR for the book and, frankly, I didn't think anyone would read it after what they had said online and in the newspapers. I had hardly even been thinking about it at all since I had doomed it a failed project.
"Your sister? She read it too?" I asked, wrinkling my nose.
"Yes, is that so strange?"
"No…I just...thought…well, I didn't think anyone would read it. Not after what they wrote about it and about me."
Apparently, I had said something funny because Brian burst into loud laughter.
"Are you kidding me? Everyone is reading it. They all had to see what the fuss was about, and I’m telling you, they like it. When I bought the book, it was number seven on the bestselling list."
My eyes literally popped. "What?"
"See for yourself."
I grabbed my phone and went on the webpage. I scrolled down to the rankings and then looked up at Brian.
"It's number one in the store now."
"There you go. And so well deserved. It's good, Emma. I really liked it. And it is also the reason why I’m here."
I looked down again just to make sure my eyes hadn't betrayed me, but it was still true. The book had more than a thousand reviews, and almost all of them were four or five starred. Most of them praised the book for being fiction and praised me as an author for having a wonderful imagination and for finally sharing it with the world.
How on earth is that even possible?
Brian leaned forward and placed a hand on top of mine. "I need your help finding out who killed my wife. You're my only hope if I want to stay out of prison, the way I see it."
"But…but why me?" I asked, putting the phone down. Lots of news to digest all at once.
"Because you believe in the supernatural. You're the only one I know who does around here."
I swallowed hard. "The supernatural? Why do you say that?"
"Because of your book. I know that most people think the book is fiction, but I don't. Had you asked me a few weeks ago, I would have answered differently, but the more I think about my wife's death, the more I realize something out of this world happened to her."
I cleared my throat. "Why exactly do you say that?"
"Because she drowned in our own darn bed."
I nodded. "Okay. But couldn't someone have placed her there to make the blame be cast on you? After drowning her, I mean?"
"Yes, that's a valid point," he said, but then there’s this." Brian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small container. Inside was what looked like plain water.
"What's this?"
"A sample. There was a puddle on the floor next to the bed when I found her. I took a sample of it and had it analyzed. My wife used to work with stuff like that, so I called up one of her co-workers at the lab and asked for a favor. They came back with this," he said and unfolded a piece of paper. He handed it to me. As I took it, I realized his hand was shaking.
"Read the second line," he said.
My eyes fell on the paper and on the words, but I wasn't sure I understood them. I looked up.
"Human DNA?"
He nodded, holding the container up in the light. "Yes. This water isn't normal water."
"But…how is this possible? How does the water contain human DNA?" I asked and handed the paper back to him.
He shrugged. "I don't know. That's what I was hoping you'd help me find out. Somehow."
I grabbed the container and looked at the water inside it, letting it slide up the sides.
"I’ve seen this before," I said. "And I’m afraid your wife isn't the only one who has fallen victim to this…whatever it is."
Brian's eyes widened. "Really?"
I shook my head, found my phone, and pulled up an article in the local paper about the death of Sven Thomsen. I showed it to Brian.
"But it says he died of natural causes?" he asked. "That he had heart problems?"
"I was there," I said, "when they found him. And I saw the exact same type of water in a puddle right next to his dead body. My guess is whatever killed your wife went after him too, and who knows…maybe others as well?"
"H-how do we figure that out?" Brian asked.
"That's where I come in. If there is anything I’m good at in this world, it's research. Leave that to me."
39
Maya felt miserable. She couldn't sit still on her bed, even trying to watch Netflix on her computer; she'd catch her mind wandering away a few seconds later. Even trying to do her homework, she found herself unable to concentrate.
What was going on with her?
She decided to Google it. According to the Internet, she either had HIV, a concussion, or lead poisoning. It could also be anxiety, another webpage suggested, possibly caused by stress. That s
ounded most plausible to her, so she looked up more about that. After all she had been through…losing her memory, being kidnapped, and almost being killed by a serial killer she believed was her boyfriend, maybe it wasn't so strange to feel a little anxious every now and then.
She was halfway through an article about stress disorder treatment that she had to restart three times because she kept losing her focus when her phone rang. It was Christina.
"Hi there, stranger. What's going on? We hardly spoke at school today. You seemed so distant. Are you okay?"
Maya took in a deep breath and looked out the window. "I don't know. I think maybe not. I keep feeling so restless, and I can't concentrate on anything. I tried to read up for the history test tomorrow, but none of the words seem to be sticking. I keep looking out the window, and I don't even know what I’m staring at or what I’m thinking about. I don't know what to do. I’m completely out of it. I can't eat anything either because my stomach feels like a knot. I can't think; it's like I can't be in my own body, I can't…I’m afraid that I’m having an anxiety attack or something. I don't know, I am so confused, I keep checking my phone constantly like I am expecting something, but I don't know what it is, I can't…"
"And exactly what are you thinking about when your mind wanders off?" Christina asked.
"What am I thinking about? I…I don't know…"
"Oh, I think you do."
"I think about this morning, I guess," Maya said.
"Ah, and exactly what happened this morning? Why were you late for school?" Christina asked. "You weren't alone, were you? I mean, both you and Alex were suspiciously late."
Maya sunk down on the bed with a deep sigh. "I guess I am thinking about him and the way he almost…kissed me. I keep running over that same scene again and again, but when I think about it, his lips actually touch mine."
"He kissed you? For real this time?"
"Well…no. I mean, he almost did. My mom came in right when he was about to. But he wanted to. And so did I, I guess…"
