Authors: Tina Lindegaard
”I can finish school, keep my friends...”
She feels a hard push and sees the mirror image of a young woman being thrown unto the bed while a tall, muscular man stands above her. When she lands on the bed, it's as if the sound of an exploding glass bubble fills her head and sends her out of her body. She feels the pain of him holding her wrists, and hears the sound of a drawer being opened.
"No! No! Not like this."
But he doesn't stop.
”Not like this, not like this.”
She turns away from the mirror and feels the tears running down her face. She feels the rope around her wrists.
"Oh, this is even better that I thought it would be."
She can feel his hoarse whisper like a warm breath against her ear. His determined hands grab her dress and she struggles against the pain.
"Even in death, you won't let go. You can make something as simple as a piece of paper seem possessive and demanding."
She clenches her teeth, feeling pain from her lip. She can taste the iron from the blood, but she cannot hold back the anger.
"You have abused me, over and over. My body, my mind....everything that I am."
She struggles for breath, fighting the tears that are so close to the surface.
"I don't have time for tears now. I should be celebrating your death. You're gone now - out of my life."
She struggles with her breath and her tears as she throws back her head.
"And still you won't let me go, you still trap me in this life!"
Her breathing is now reduced to small gasps.
"What else have you planned to destroy my life with? Will you just go on, and on, and on, and..."
Her voice is blurred and her breathing stops. The tears are streaming down her face, and she's no longer trying to stop them. The sound of the engine starting is full of expectations, and she slowly drives down the drive way out onto the empty road, pressing her right foot down hard. She rubs her eyes, not caring about her make up. She's still crying. Her voice is only a whisper.
"The truth is that I'm scared."
"Did you get hold of Marc Jones?"
Petra's tone of voice is higher than she expected and she looks nervously at Nathan. It's obvious that he doesn't recognize the name.
"The investigator."
He smiles and nods.
"Yes, yes, he's on the case."
"Do you need me to follow up on it tomorrow?"
He shakes his head ad gets behind the desk.
"No, I'll do that myself. Drive safely."
She looks at him for a long time, but he's busy leafing through the case file she has just given him. She nods and leaves him even though she has noticed that the fire is dying out. She looks at her watch.
”He'll have to fix that himself, I have other things to do.”
"Shall I lock up when I leave?"
"Hmm,"
Petra stops at the door, impatiently waiting for his answer. She looks at her watch again, and when she looks up, he meets her eyes.
"Yes, thank you. That would be nice."
She nods and quickly leaves the office.
"Petra?"
She takes a deep breath.
"Yes."
She's back at the door.
"Please close the door behind you."
She nods and closes the door behind her. He can hear her steps on the hard wooden floors of the office and then it's quiet. He hears the beeping of the alarm being activated.
He and Denize had been shopping, but chance wasn't planning to let go of them. When they came back to the car, the girls were standing on the sidewalk in front of them. Their mother greeted them politely, helping the girls into the car next to theirs and strapping them in. Denize had looked at Nathan, and he still remembers the feeling of them sharing a thought. For the first time, they had followed them. They sat silently in the car, watching the girls. He still remembers the double swing that had been painted in bright red and yellow colors. The girls spent almost all their time in it - always facing each other. Only on rainy days did they sit on the porch instead. They had been completely wrapped up in their play, and they could hear their laughter in the car through the open windows. Sometimes they would sit on the steps leading up to the yellow house with the white windows. Nathan had often wondered who their father was, since the house looked like it did. But they never saw him - it was as if he wasn't part of their life. The dark haired girl looked just like her mother, but the blonde girl didn't look like either her mother or her sister.
Suddenly, he feels a lust for life and a vitality rushing through him. He looks at the Stuart Pettersson file that Petra has left neatly on the table – the edge of the cardboard in line with the desk – before placing the other case before him. He gets up and walks to the corner of the desk – resting hos index and middle finger on the cover of the case. When he removes his fingers, they leave dark brown stains of sweat on the cardboard. He looks at his fingers wondering about the sweat. He puts his fingertips to his forehead where there are also beads of sweat. He looks around for signs that the room is very hot, but sees none. No dew at the edges of the windows - everything seems normal. He lets himself fall into the chair of the client side of the desk, slowly exhaling through pursed lips, while moving his hand over his sweaty brow. He looks at his hand for a long time before getting out his handkerchief. He breathes heavily before the words finally find their way.
"I can’t help wondering if you knew something I don’t, Stuart."
Silently, he looks at his own reflection in the windows. With difficulty, he gets up and picks up the case that’s due in court in the morning. He looks at the dark stains on the cover and puts it in his bag.
"There must be some reason for postponement."
He closes the bag and puts it on the desk.
"I just have to find it."
He turns off the lights over the desk and then the lights in the rest of the office. He carefully closes the door of the office and crosses the hall that separates the office from the private part of the house. The hall is dimly lit – the big paintings throwing shadows over the walls. He opens the door to the living room where it’s dark.
"Petra!"
He stops himself, realizing that she has already left.
"Why didn’t she light a fire...?"
He snorts. He slows down and his body seems to collapse a little. His shoulders are drooping and he keeps moving his hand over his face, as if he has remembered something that won’t go away. He stops in front of the fireplace. He instinctively wants to hold out his hands to the fire, but that makes no sense now. The room is dark, lit only by the full moon that’s clear in the sky between drifting clouds. His eyes come to rest where the fire should have been. He breathes deeply. With some effort, he straightens himself and starts to light the fire. As the flames come to life, he walks over the cupboard and takes out the whisky. He looks at the label.
”It’s from before Denize!”
He hesitates and just stands there, holding the bottle and a glass. Then he moves the glass over in the hand already holding the bottle, skillfully pressing the crystal glass against the bottle with his index finger.
He opens the cupboard again and takes out a box of cigars. The flames are strong now and sparks begin to fly with their characteristic sound. He stands in front of the fireplace, feeling how the heat is slowly getting too strong to be pleasant. He puts down the things on a small table and then moves it over to the heavy arm chair. When he sits down in the chair, he is so tired that he feels an intense physical discomfort. He sighs deeply as his body settles into the chair.
”Who am I kidding? I’m getting old.”
He sighs and pours the whisky before opening the cigar box. He touches the cigars.
"Hmm. Dry. They might be OK after all. It’s a good thing I didn’t offer them to my clients, though. Petra must get some new ones."
With a practiced movement, he lights the cigar.
"Hmm."
He picks up the glass and holds it up to the fire, the light playing in the cut crystal. He inhales deeply, and tears start to fill his eyes.
"Honey, I know you don’t approve, but today has been ..."
He wets his lips.
"…confusing, even for an old defense lawyer. I don’t know what to believe and what not."
He turns his hand, and the golden liquid spins in the glass, making a wonderful display of colors. He carefully tastes it, and feels the same sensation as the first time: A dusty taste that tears a little and then suddenly hits the sense of smell.
Wow! It’s been a long time. Ha, I guess it had become a little too much of a habit at the time. I never even tasted it back then."
With empty eyes, he stares at the fire, drinking and inhaling by turns, and soon he feels the effect. He smiles and moves down further in the chair. For a long time, he doesn’t move. He remembers the worried look on the doctor’s face. Both times Nathan was there, he tried to get an answer from him, but the doctor just shook his head and said.
"The tests will show. I will let you know as soon as I have the results."
The look in the doctor’s eyes suddenly seems frightening, just as it had when he had been there with Denize. He scratches at his neck, his movements gradually getting more abrupt, faster and harder. His body is tense. He sighs and slowly lets his inner calm return.
"I wonder if we’ll meet again soon, Denize."
He smiles as if he’s smiling at his wife, but his smile soon fades. He can no longer picture the small mole next to his wife’s right eye. With a sudden movement, he gets up. He stands in front of the chair with a vacant look in his eyes, wobbly from the whisky. He remembers all the times Denize had asked him to drive by the yellow house. Almost, every time, they had seen the two girls sitting in the swing. He remembers the first time he had met them. They had smiled at him, genuine and trusting smiles. Now it’s as if Evy’s face resembles the face of the blonde girl, but also contains something more, something more familiar.
”Now I’m just a drunk old man...”
Nathan falls back into the chair and lets the memories of the time before Denize got sick overwhelm him. Slowly he realizes that Evy’s eyes resemble Denize’s, and the thought is pleasantly comforting. But it also makes him feel a slight unease – and Stuart is lurking in that uneasy feeling.
"You don’t even know who the father is."
His words had been like a slap in the face. But nothing she said could change his mind. Only a few days later she had suddenly felt unwell during a dinner and they had only just reached the limo when she had fallen into a deep sleep. When she woke up the next day, she was bleeding profusely and was feeling sick. When she took a pregnancy test the next week, she was no longer pregnant. She was furious and had accused Stuart of all sorts of things, but he had insisted that the abortion had been spontaneous. She lets her hand fall away from her stomach and bends down to pick up the letter. She covers herself with her robe and sits down on the bed with one leg crossed, looking at the envelope. She takes out the letter and lets the envelope fall down on her naked thigh. Her face changes and early signs of age become visible in the small lines that appear. Her eyes scan the letter - Stuart’s handwriting is sloppy as usual.
”I can take any one of his letters and the writing will be sloppy... and they will always start in the same way.”
Her hand touches her lips and she laughs - a deep, sarcastic laughter with a scary note that she has never noticed before. She looks over the edge of the letter and is met by her own merciless reflection. She knows the woman in the mirror, but there is also something strange about her. It’s not the same girl who grew up in the yellow house. The girl who loved her sister and spent hour after hour in the big swing with her. In the beginning, it had been much too big for them, but the bars and the small door had meant that the two three year olds had taken their naps in it too. They had never grown out of it, but one day it had suddenly broken under the weight of two ten year olds, who were still flying magic carpets, sailing rough seas or flying over enchanted landscapes. A world of magic where they meant everything to each other and where safety was a warm coat they never took off.
"Hmm, where did the rain go?"
Small, insignificant noises indicate that Petra has arrived. He closes his eyes again for a little while. He puts down the whisky glass and breathes heavily a couple of times. The bottle reveals that the first glass was not the last, and he is punished by a violent headache. He looks at the extinguished cigar in the ashtray. He closes his eyes and smacks his lips loudly. Then he pushes himself up in the chair and starts looking after the other cigar he had started smoking late that night.
"Hmm."
Finally he gets up and drops the blanket he had covered himself with when the fire had died out. When the blanket lands at his feet, it reveals a whole the size of a saucer with blackened edges. He stares at it for long time, and then he bends down slowly, but stops the motion, suddenly overpowered by the headache. After a few seconds he continues the movement. When he grabs the blanket, the cigar fall out.
"Nathan."
Petra is suddenly in the door.
"Yes."
He still looks at the cigar, his voice distracted.
"You have to be in court in half an hour."
Nathan finally looks up at Petra, and you can tell from his face that he has heard her. He nods absentmindedly.
"Hmm."
He looks at the blanket one last time and picks up the cigar. When he stands up, he puts his hands to his head.
"I’m too old for this."
"Nathan?"
This time Petra’s voice is determined.
"In half an hour."
"Yes, yes. Call and ask for a postponement. We have a new witness."
"We do?"
Petra sounds surprised.
"It’s an old case."
Nathan sends her a crooked smile.
"That’s all you need to know."
"Is there a new witness?"
"As far as you’re concerned, there is."
He blinks and looks down.
"But as far as I’m concerned, the witness will disappear again later today, so tomorrow you’ll call them up and say that it was a false alarm."
"Nathan, I’m not doing that."
"Listen Petra, there’s a witness. End of story."
"Nathan."
"Petra. Make the call."
Petra gets that uneasy feeling again, but slowly nods and closes the door behind her.
Nathan studies the cigar before carefully putting it in the ashtray, walks over to the garden door and throws the blanket out on the tiles.
"That’s where it should have been hours ago."
He breathes deeply and feels the clear autumn air filling his lungs.
"Well, I need to find a witness, or Petra will never talk to me again."
He grins and looks around before scratching his neck.
"Aspirin must be first on the agenda for today."
He leaves the room and walks carefully through the hall and up the stairs.
"Can I sit here next to you?”
Evy and Linda had looked at each other and then looked up when they heard the crackling sound of candy bags. He gave them one each and sat down on the steps beside them. They had told him about their travels in the swing, about their mother, where they went to school, and where they played after school. At some point, the man had gotten up and taken out a camera from his pocket. He had laughed.
"Smile."
Evy still remembers her surprise. They hadn’t answered him, but only looked at him while he took a series of pictures. He bent down in the knees and took more pictures – some from the front, some from the side.
Then he had quietly walked down the garden path again, waving goodbye before disappearing down the road. They had sat in silence, watching him leave until they heard a car taking off. They had been wearing their bright summer dresses, their toes wiggling in their sandals as they ate the rest of the candy.
"Do you want the raspberry one, and then I can have the green one?"
Linda had put her hand into Evy’s bag and put the green sweet in her mouth.
”My God, that’s 15 years ago.”
In the mirror, Evy notices that her hair is tangled after sleeping, and she straightens it with slow movements.
"Who did you just talk to, girls?"
Their mom was in the door.
"Where did you get that candy?"
Both talking at the same time, they had told their mother about the stranger. They had looked at each other, because their mother had run down the garden path before they had finished.
"Which way?!"
Silently, they had pointed in the direction the man had disappeared. Their mother was gone for a long time. When she came back, they had looked at each other again and moved a little closer together. Her steps were firm, but her face had a faint expression of surrender. She had stopped on the path.
"What did he look like?"
They had both spoken at the same time.
"Stop, stop. He’s taller than me, right?"
They had both nodded.
"How old?"
They had laughed, and Linda had answered, boldly.
"As old as you."
Their mother chose to ignore that.
"He’s blonde, right?"
They had nodded again.
"He was wearing a suit?"
Again, they both nodded.
"Black."
"And the suit was black, yes?"
They had nodded, then their mother had nodded and turned around and walked down the path.
"Mom?"
There was a question in Linda’s voice and their mother had turned around.
"He had blonde hair that fell down over his forehead."
She had moved the sweet to the other side of the mouth.
"He kept moving one hand through it."
She showed how with her hand. Their mother had looked at them for a long time.
"And he was around 40."
She hadn’t waited for an answer from them, but only shaken her head and looked down the garden path and then back at the girls.
"Never do that again. If it happens again, scream as loud as you can."
Their mother had walked toward them and, as she passed them, had ripped the bags out of their hands before going into the house.
Evy runs her fingers through her hair, carefully checking it in the mirror before putting down the envelope and closing her robe.
When Nathan is back in the living room, he’s holding a cup of coffee. He has changed his clothes, and the aspirins have clearly started working. He picks up his phone from the small table next to the chair, brushing the whisky bottle in the process and almost tipping it over.
"Hmm."
A feeling of guilt washes over him, and he stares at the chair he had just been sitting in.
”Denize would have been furious about this.”
He straightens himself.
"OK, let’s start the day."
He brings the phone over to the open garden door and breathes deeply while looking out at the park,
”exactly like any other day, if only I didn’t have such a headache.”
He laughs.
”Maybe that’s my punishment.”
He looks up at the clear autumn sky, then he looks down at the phone, checking the text message. He doesn’t recognize the number and checks his phone log from the day before.
"Oh, good."
The number from the text is the last number he called the day before. He smiles and crosses the hall while reading and enters his office. Passing Petra, he holds out his cup.
”Will you please fill this?”
Petra takes his cup. Nathan doesn’t look up from the phone. When he reaches the door, he stops and turns, looking at her sternly.
"Did you make the call?"
Petra nods.
"And?"
"And?"
"How long was the case postponed?"
"Till next week. You have to be in court in exactly one week."
"Thank you."
He turns but stops the movement and looks at her again.
"Remember to put it in the calendar."
Petra can’t hide her surprise.
"I always do that."
Nathan looks at her a little, then he nods and walks through the door.
"Of course you do. Don’t forget my coffee."
He sits down at his desk and dials the number from the previous day.
"Is that Marc Jones? Nathan Wilkins here. About the text message, can you come to my office today?"
Nathan’s voice suggests that saying no is not an option. Petra puts the full coffee cup in front of him. Nathan nods at the case that should have been to trial this morning. Petra stops.
"Marc, I need you to call my secretary about a case. I’m sure there’s a witness that hasn’t been found yet. I need you to find this witness for me."
"Just call the main number. My secretary will give you more details.
Petra leaves the office, shaking her head.
"And Marc. The case you texted me about…I ask you to keep that between you and me. I’m surprised to hear that you have been working with it before. When can we meet?"
Nathan swallows.
"As soon as possible."
Nathan listens intensely while looking at today’s calendar.
"Today is fine and the time is fine too."
Nathan breaks off and stares into space with empty eyes.
"Hmm."