by Karin Dahan
62
Chapter 4
I don’t sleep much that night, one nightmare after the other plays in my mind as soon as I drift off. The fear of what could have happened if the mysterious stranger hadn’t come to my rescue still shakes me to my bones. The feeling of powerlessness turns my fear into a burning sense of anger, that grows and grows by each waking hour. I shake my head at the ignorance of my frail attempts to fight myself free. Of course, I would never be able to escape two Scully members.
No matter how hard I try I can’t be in control of my life or my destiny. The government took away my family and left me alone. Now, I can hardly go into town to trade because I can’t protect myself. My weakness restricts me to living in hiding and now they will also take away any future possibilities to see my old home again.
I give up on trying to get any sleep, but my body is too exhausted to move from the comfort of my fluffy duvet and pillow. I don’t know how long I lie looking up through my skylight. But I see the night blue sky slowly give way for the burning colors of the sunrise.
My parents built my bed into a square that sticks out from the main building, large enough to fit a mattress and some small shelves
63
behind my pillow for storage. The top of the square is a skylight, giving me a clear view of the branches and sky above. I used to fall asleep so fast when I went here as a child. Seeing the shadows of the tree and its leaves dancing above my head, illuminated only by the moon and the stars lulled me into a deep sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Now it has the opposite effect. My fear creates monsters out of the dark shapes outside and the quiet night makes me focus on any strange sounds that could mean danger.
When the morning light shines brightly onto my bed I finally get up. I walk slowly over to the sink; my legs are sore from the long walk yesterday. My body hurts from the way Ivo handled me. I wash my face with some cold water and the look of my reflection in the mirror startles me. The dark circles under my forest green eyes make my tired face look older than it is. The hopelessness that seem to stir under my gaze speaks a million words.
I slowly lift my shirt to find a black bruise along my ribs. The strong punch produced a bruise so painful that it stings every time I exhale. I clench down my jaw tight as a single tear escapes my eye. My hands have turned into fists at my side. The government took my parents, I will not let them keep me from seeing my home one last time.
64
I pull my hair into a messy knot in the back, rinse my face one more time. This time my reflection doesn’t scare me as much. Tomorrow I’ll go home.
The day goes by in a blur. I can’t afford to let my tiredness, or my pain keep me from my chores. Losing yesterday for the trade and another day tomorrow makes me behind schedule. I have to make sure I take in the ripe crops and plant new ones in their place. I can’t eat all the tomatoes I pluck, so to keep them from perishing I make tomato sauce that I pour into glass jars and store for the winter. The ripe herbs will be dried and made into spices and the spinach washed and then frozen. It all takes longer than I expect. I can’t move as fast as I’m used to, so when the sun sets, I’m left standing in a messy kitchen, hungry and tired.
As the light gives way to the night, I sit down for a second in my Dad’s favorite reading chair, trying to muster up some the last twinge of energy I need to finish the day. My to-do list isn’t long now; clean up, make dinner, pack for tomorrow and then bed. But, the thought of it makes me want to cry. I lean back and let the soft padding of the chair comfort me. “I miss you Dad,” I say as I run my hand along the worn
65
armrest. So many of our evenings in our tree house would be spent with Mom in her chair and Dad in his. I would use a big pillow to sit on, perfectly comfortable for a kid’s body. I never use it now since it provides no comfort like my parents’ chairs do.
I let the memories of happier times play before me as the room bathes in darkness. Some evenings we would all just sit and read with candles as our only source of light. Other nights we would play cards together. Mom hated to lose so Dad and I would secretly always let her win. Now I have no one to play with and I hardly read books anymore. I know them all by heart now and my mind is never still enough to let me focus. Instead, I work. If I work hard enough during the day, falling asleep is easier at night.
A noise from upstairs wakes me. I look around the room and it takes me a second to remember where I am. How long have I been out? Another small bang comes from upstairs and I quickly stand and start up the stairs to see where it’s coming from, grabbing a flashlight from the shelf.
The cold wind rustles my hair as I peek outside in the dark night. My flashlight shines on the roof and lands on my hairy friend Musk. His eyes turn toward the light as he stops what he’s doing. “Hey there
66
buddy …” I begin but my voice scares him. He quickly jumps away to the safety of the leaves, leaving behind a nut he was trying to open. “Not so friendly today, huh.” I close the door and quickly climb back down. I turn on the lights and the messy kitchen become visible again. I’m tempted to turn them off and head to bed, but I know I need to clean up, and my stomach growls to remind me I haven’t had dinner yet.
That night I sleep like the dead. My body and mind are too tired for my regular nightmares to take hold. Instead, I dream of my mother, her last hug and her last words of encouragement. But, this time we don’t separate, no one is hunting her. Instead we sit back down at the dining table, I play with the bible again, just like I did that day. After a while Edward and Dad join us, and the four of us sit, talking and laughing for hours.
When the morning sunlight wants to wake me from my sleep, I try to resist. For once, I would rather stay in my dream where I’m safe and loved, where life is not hard and lonely. But, the bright sunrays won’t let me, and I wake to find my cheeks wet from tears. Emptiness fills me as I stare up to the swaying branches above. I turn on my side and the pain in my ribs shoots up through my body, reminding me of
67
my nasty bruise. I push myself up, away from my warm bed and its promises of more comforting dreams. It’s time to go home for a visit.
The dark cement wall rises like a giant wave in the distance as the noise from the busy construction echoes among the trees. I’ll never be able to cross this thing once it’s finished. From the look of it they are halfway there.
As I get closer, I’m reminded of an ancient fort from Edward’s history books. The wall’s purpose can’t only be to keep a few thieves out. That could have been handled with security cameras and guards. This looks like heavy protection against something else. Or it’s to keep everyone inside. I swallow hard as I think about how lucky I was that this wall was not up when I had to run away, I would have never gotten out.
Even though it has been a while, I still know these streets by heart, every security camera and every hiding spot. Being a teenager in the city gave me good practice for sneaking undetected towards my old home.
All the houses on the outskirt of town look the same, small square boxes. They’re all white and the colorless area gives a sterile
68
feel. The logo of The Green Company depicted on the flags hanging outside each house are the only source of color. Strange how a logo turned into our country flag.
I pass my old school on the way and after that the grocery store where my parents would get their monthly payment of items. As I get closer to our house the architecture changes, from the small squares to larger two floor homes with a little more personality. I never noticed it when we lived here, but now I realize that the different houses have a meaning. A bigger house means a more important job. I turn off from the street and sneak along the bushes in the backside of the row of houses. It’s in the middle of the day so I know everyone’s working, but I’m still careful not to go in the open.
I spot our garden a few houses away. The large greenhouse makes it break away from the otherwise cookie cutter gardens. Our
lawn holds several planting boxes where the grass otherwise would have grown. The greenery that was otherwise so trimmed and neat now looks overgrown and wild.
As I get closer, I see how branches from the plants inside have broken through the glass on the greenhouse and now reach their leaves toward the sky. The sadness I expected grows with each step I take
69
towards our house. The silly daydream of seeing my parents out and about in the garden, safe and alive, no longer have any place in me. I know they’re not here.
My key still fits in the porch door, but the handle hasn’t been used in so long it seems stuck in its place, determined not to move. I stand there, trying to wiggle the handle, using all my force to open the door. Going in through the front door is out of the question as I would be too exposed. After a few curses the handle finally gives way and I can sneak inside. I’m met by stuffy air and for a second it’s hard to breathe.
To my surprise the house looks messy, drawers are pulled out and left open, with whatever they held scattered on the ground. An even more chaotic scene meets me in the living room where all the books have been pulled from the bookshelves and left to cover the whole living room floor. I’m so puzzled at this scene that my sadness is gone. Who has been in this house, and what were they looking for?
Every room is the same, messier than the previous one. This isn’t the home I remember, the comfort I expected is replaced by a tiny and growing fear. Maybe coming here was a big mistake?
As I head out, my eyes land on a family portrait hanging in the
70
hallway. It looks out of place the way it hangs so perfectly straight where everything else is crooked or broken. In the photo I must be about five years old, standing in between my parents that each hold a hand on one of my shoulders. The happiness radiates from the image and without a second thought I pick it up and stuff it in my backpack.
I know I should head to my treehouse but I’m so close to Edward’s that it feels like something is pulling me in the direction of his house instead of the direction of the safety the forest provides. Maybe Edward is home. Maybe he was away for some work thing the last time I was there? He could be just minutes away from me. I have to take the chance.
The color of his house stands out amongst the other white ones and it feels like I’m seeing things with new eyes this time around. Why is his house painted green when others are kept white? I hate that I never bothered to see the world around me enough to ask questions when I had the chance. Or that my parents never bothered to tell me anything. A foreign feeling of anger towards my parents startles me and I quickly push it away and focus on the path ahead.
I still have Edward’s keys on my keychain, but his backdoor is not locked. No one never bothered locking it, I guess.
71
His house looks the same as it did the last time I was here, just with a thicker blanket of dust covering his furniture.
I’m defeated as I slide down onto the kitchen chair; the same one I sat on when I had the last conversation with my mom and the same one I had when I dreamt about my family’s last night. Only now I’m all alone.
My fingers play with the necklace my mother hung around my neck the last time we were here. The small golden plate is warm against my touch. What was it my parents did that was so bad? I know they were good people. They wouldn’t commit any horrible crimes.
I stare down on the table as my mind is trying to find an answer. It’s like I’m trying to put a puzzle together but I’m missing half of the pieces. That’s when I notice the table looks different. Everything else is in the same place, even the small hand-embroidered tablecloth is in the exact identical position. The thing missing is the Bible, the one I was playing with that day and the same one I had in my hands in my dream. I don’t know why this bothers me. But something nags at me and I look around the room to see if I can find it. I stand so hastily, filled with new energy at my mission, that I stumble on my chair and fall on my knees. I cringe at the pain in my ribs from the impact my tensed body causes.
72
My mouth opens in distaste as I see where my hands land, right on the dark brown spot on the floor.
I sit back on my legs, but I’m not able to move my hands. I notice the small indents on the wooden floor, I run my fingers over the scratches. It seems perfectly matched with my hand and horror fills me. Was this my mother work? Did she scratch the wooden floor in an attempt to get further away from her assailant; like an animal trying to get away from a predator?
At my first visit long ago, the blood stain repulsed me. Now, it fills me with a strange sense of closeness to my mother. I lay down on top of the discolored floor, trying to get as close to her as possible, grabbing at whatever comfort I can.
The floor is cold against my cheek and the small particles of dust creates a discomfort. But I welcome it, anything to distract me from my thoughts. I stay like that, with my eyes closed, wishing for the first time I was dead like my parents. It would be so much easier to give up. Just stop living. But my mother’s words force themselves into my head again, like she is here, knowing what I’m thinking, survive for me.
I open my eyes; I have to get up from this floor. Time to go now Eddie, before you go too far into the rabbit hole. Right when I’m about
73
to push myself up something catches my eyes. A piece is missing from the kitchen island and something in the darkness underneath reflects a small golden light. I push myself closer and reach in with my hand, I fumble in the darkness but then my fingers find something square. I recognize the touch of a leather binding and push further to be able to put my hand around it.
Dust flies into my face as I pull the book from its hiding. I sit up and look down at the missing Bible. How did it get under there? I cross my legs in front of me and blow off the remaining dust. As I do, something falls out onto the floor in front of me. It’s a folded piece of paper. It looks new with its crispy white color compared to the faded pages of the Bible.
When I turn it around, I notice a handwritten note on the back, and I recognize my mom’s cursive way of writing instantly. It feels like my heart does a flip at the familiar sight.
Edward, I don’t have much time.
They’re coming for me. I don’t know how they found out we took the documents so fast, but they already have Alec. Please take care of Eddie. She will need you now more than ever. You know where she is.
74
Make sure this gets in the right hands, so what we did won’t be in vain. I love you.
I don’t notice my own tears until they hit the paper, smudging some of the letters with the moisture. I read my mom’s writing over and over again. I can see the urgency in her handwriting as her otherwise perfectly shaped letters now bleed into each other making some words difficult to decipher. It’s hard to tear myself away from my last connection to her, but I force myself to open the papers to see what information was worth dying for. I recognize almost all the chemical formulas that line the paper. They’re mixed in with mathematical terms, making it look like the strangest math test I have ever seen. What is this thing?
I can feel a slight headache coming on. I’ll have to look at this more closely later. Now isn’t the time or place.
I fold up the paper and put it in the inside pocket of my jacket. It’s too important to put in the pocket off my jeans or in my backpack. I glance around the room, knowing this will be the last time I’m here. “Goodbye Edward,” I say under my breath and exit the same way I came.
75
The small fence still lines his backyard. The new wall hasn’t reached here yet. I easily find my way through the same hole as two years ago. Suddenly, I hear what sounds like a branch breaking and I scan the forest for any sign of life. But I see nothing more than trees and leaves. I quicken my pace anyway, walking with determination towards the safety of my treehouse.
After walking for about thirty minutes, I still can’t shake the feeling. The forest makes me uneasy,
something I hardly ever feel when I’m surrounded by nature. I stop for a second to listen, closing my eyes so all I focus on are the noise of the forest. I hear the birds sing in the treetops and in the distant I still hear trucks working on the wall. The wind plays with the leaves and it calms me.
Right when I’m about to open my eyes, the sound of leaves crushing on the ground reaches me. It could be from an animal, but I find it strange that a large animal like that would be walking this close to a populated area. I move to stand against a big tree, letting the broad tree trunk hide me.
I hear it again. Only this time it’s followed by more noise, more footsteps; it’s getting closer. I look up towards the tree trunk, measuring it with my eyes to see if I could climb it. I’m a good climber, but the
76
distances between the branches might make it difficult. It’s the only option I have though. I see no other good hiding places nearby. I spin around to face the tree and jump toward the first branch. Just when my hand wraps around the bark something startles me. “Don’t run now Eddie,” the voice echoes through the forest and the use of my name catches me off guard. “We are on your side, we aren’t here to hurt you, okay?”
