Tweedledum and Tweedledee (19 page)

Christoffer didn't understand much of what he said. He was scared, terrified. He tried, once again, to get up, but the man forced him down again. This time, he slapped him across the face.

"No getting up," he said. "Stay in bed."

Christoffer touched his cheek. It was throbbing. Then he cried. "Please, sir. Please just let me get back to my friends. I miss my mom. Please, let me go."

The man tilted his head again and Christoffer knew he didn't understand his Danish. He was sobbing now. How was he supposed to explain to the man that he wanted to go back? His cheek was hurting badly. The man was giggling and looking at him strangely. He reached down and grabbed his face between his fingers and pulled the skin on his cheeks. Then he laughed and nodded.

"Very nice. Very soft and smooth," the man said.

"Please, sir," Christoffer pleaded. Tears were rolling quickly down his cheeks. The man wiped them off with a napkin. Then he smiled.

"Before we start, there’s someone I want you to meet," he said.

Christoffer didn't want to. He wanted to get out of this place. He wanted to go back to the suite where he had fallen asleep. He wanted his mom.

Help me, Mommy. Help me. This is a very bad man. I think he is a very bad man, Mommy.

The man rose and pulled off his black coat with a grin.

"Meet Deedee," he said. "Deedee, meet your new face."

Christoffer looked at the strange thing that seemed to be sewn to the man's shoulder. What was that? Christoffer gasped for air.

Mommy, the bad man has a head on his shoulder. It's creepy.

The man took one of the knives from the table. He leaned in over Christoffer, who was sweating and shaking.

"I'm sorry. This will hurt a lot," he said. He lifted Christoffer's chin so he looked into the man's eyes.

Just as he placed the knife on Christoffer's throat, there was a loud knock on the door.

54

February 1980

S
ALVATORE
R
OSETTI HAD THOUGHT
about his babies every day, every hour of his life since he left them in the dumpster. For many years, he drank the pain away, traveling the seas working as a sailor doing any kind of job they would let him. The harder, the better, since it seemed to make him forget the pain slightly, at least for a short while, the harder he worked.

But it never lasted long before it was back to torture him.

Once land-bound again, ten years later, he tried another approach. He visited his childhood church outside of Rome and asked father Adorno for forgiveness. He told him everything about the babies that he hadn't wanted and that he had regretted abandoning for every minute since.

"I even went back there, Father," he said, sitting in the confession chair. "Later that same night, I returned. But the dumpster was empty. They were gone. I keep picturing what might have happened to them. I keep wondering if an animal, a fox or maybe something bigger might have taken them."

Father Adorno thought it over for a little while. "Or maybe a kind and merciful human took them in. Did you ever think about that?"

"You mean to say, they might still be alive?" Salvatore had never dared to think the thought, but now it sparkled inside of him, this newfound hope that maybe, just maybe, they were out there somewhere.

"They might be," the father said.

"I needed to find them," he said.

"First, you must repent, my son."

"Do you think God will ever forgive me?"

"I believe he will. But you must ask him to. And you must repent your sins first."

"I repent. I repent," Salvatore said. 

After leaving the church, Salvatore realized he had no way of knowing where to start looking. He decided to start where it had all begun. At the dumpster in the alley. Salvatore made posters and placed them all over the area and, every day, he waited by the dumpster like he had said on the poster that he would, hoping someone would show up.

After three days, someone did. An old woman who told him she lived in the building next to the alley.

"I saw your boys," she said. "I found them when I was throwing out my trash one night. I gave them to the orphanage. If you're lucky, they still have them there."

Tears rolled quickly down Salvatore's face. He looked at the woman with compassion. He grabbed her hand and shook it eagerly. "Thank you, thank you so much. Thank you for taking them."

Then he ran off to the orphanage. He asked about the boys, but the manager told him they had run off many years ago.

"Four years, I believe it is," she said. "They stole money from me and we haven’t seen them since. My guess is, they were killed in the streets. Freaks like them won't last long out there. My advice to you Mr. Rosetti, is to simply let it go. Forget about them. Find a nice wife and have some other children. It's not too late for a man like you."

Salvatore felt sick to his stomach. They weren't there anymore? They had run away? Did that mean he had lost their trail? Did he have to give up already? Salvatore decided he wasn't going to.

My boys are out there and they need me. I know I have done them wrong, but it is never too late to repent. I can correct what has been done wrong. I can make it up to them. There is nothing time cannot erase. God will help me find them. No matter the cost.

But Salvatore had no money and, soon, the search for the children became too expensive for him. He had to find a place to live and a job. One day, Salvatore was walking the streets, looking for his twins, when he spotted a man lying in the street holding a hand to his chest.

"What happened?" he said and ran to him.

The man fainted just as Salvatore got there. Salvatore had learned CPR onboard on of the ships, from the chef. It was important that they knew how to help each other in case of an emergency. On the tankers, they could often travel for weeks without seeing land and they were always far from a doctor.

So with this knowledge, Salvatore performed CPR on the man and, soon, he came back to life. He sat up and coughed. Then he turned to look at Salvatore.

"You saved my life," he said. "Not many people would help a man in need in the streets. I have a heart condition. Could you help me get home to my medicine?"

Salvatore helped the elderly man get back. He helped him find his pills and found water for him to drink. Afterwards, the man looked at him and said:

"I can tell you enjoy taking care of others. I believe you would make an excellent doctor. If you'd like to become one, I would love to train you in the medical field. I'll pay for your schooling. What do you say?"

55

April 2014

T
HE MAN GROANED,
annoyed, as he ran up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator. He had to put on his black coat to hide Deedee and he had no time to remove the stitches and take him off. Plus, he needed him to be on his shoulder when he flayed the boy.

The boy, oh yes, how he looked forward to cutting off his scalp.

"Such a pretty face, Deedee. So perfect. Such a beautiful skin. You're going to be so beautiful," he mumbled, as he ran across the hall with his brown bag in his hand. The wound on his shoulder was hurting, and he had to take a couple of pills to help with the pain.

"So pretty, Deedee. You'll be perfect. Just you wait and see."

The man had sedated the boy again to make sure he didn't run anywhere while he did what he had to.

"Of all times, why did they need me now?" he mumbled. "I was in the middle of something. Why did they come knocking on my door just now?"

He stopped in front of a door, then took in a deep breath to calm himself. Then he knocked. The woman opened the door.

The man smiled. "Someone called for a doctor?"

"Yes," the woman said and stepped aside to let the man inside. "I did. I'm Emma Frost. Come on in."

The man walked inside. He was getting tired of this woman.

Maybe you should kill her while you're here. Get rid of her. She's annoying.

You're right, Deedee. You're right. She’s in my way.

"So, what is the emergency?" he asked and looked to see if there was anyone else in the room. He spotted the other boy in the living room with his nose stuck in a book.

The woman closed the door. "The emergency you say? Well. Let's see. Maybe the emergency is my son not feeling well, or maybe I'm not feeling well. Oh no, the emergency is, of course, that my friend's son, the boy I'm responsible for is MISSING," Emma Frost yelled.

"Yes, yes. I heard about that," the man said. "Awful. But they caught the guy, didn't they? If you're feeling upset, I can get you something to relax you." The man put the brown bag on the dresser. He bent over it and opened it.

"Oh, I don't think I need to relax," she said. "But I do think you have him."

The man didn't look up. "What was that? I'm not sure I understood that last part," he lied.

"It was something my friend said when I was on the phone with him just now," she continued. "He said that a photographer couldn't get away with carrying a young boy around on the ship. But then I realized that someone else could get away with that without anyone raising an eyebrow. A doctor could. What did you use? A stretcher, right? You sedated your victims and took them to your cabin on a stretcher, right?"

The man laughed and shook his head. He grabbed the scalpel from his bag. "Now…I really have to say…," he turned his head and looked at her. He could smell her fear from across the room. Maybe this could be fun after all. It was always more fun to kill someone who was afraid.

"It's true, right? You did it…Oh, my God. Now I know where I’ve seen you before," Emma Frost said. "The black coat, the hat. You were on the deck on the first day we were here. You asked me about the boys. Did you…were you checking them out? Was that when you decided to take Christoffer? Was it, huh? Where is he? What have you done with him?"

"Now, let's not argue," the man said.

"What was your name again?" she asked.

The man hid the scalpel in his hand and moved it to the pocket of his coat. He took a step towards the woman.

"Salvatore, signora. Salvatore Rosetti."

"Well, Salvatore," she said, with the phone in her hand. Salvatore could tell her hand was shaking. It was almost hilarious. Pathetic was maybe a better word.

"I'm calling the police now and will have them come up here. Then you'll show me to Christoffer, do you hear me?" she asked.

Salvatore shook his head. "No, you won't."

56

February 2014

S
ALVATORE
R
OSETTI MOVED SLOWLY
across the graveyard. The gravedigger walking in front of him showed him the way.

"It's right over here in the back," he said. "We don't get many visitors all the way back here."

The man stopped in front of a small stone. He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was a cold winter day and a thick fog had refused to leave the town all morning. Salvatore shuddered in his black coat.

"Here it is," the man said. "All they told us was to write Tweedledee on the stone. The hospital told us that was his name. They never knew his last name." He patted Salvatore on the shoulder. "Well, I'll leave you two alone."

He sniffled again, then walked away. Salvatore didn't even look after him. To him, he was unimportant. Salvatore kneeled in front of the grave, then burst into tears. He placed his hand on the stone and read the one single word.

"Tweedledee."

He wept loudly. Twenty-four years of searching for the twins had led him to this place. It was almost unbearable. For years, he had traced the twins’ whereabouts across town. He had learned about the policeman who had forced them to do dogfights, he learned about the gypsies who beat them and displayed them publically all over the country, only to end up being killed where it all began by the ones they had tortured. He had been thrilled to know that the boys had been able to stand up for themselves, that they had killed the gypsies. But after that, he had lost their trail. For many years, there were no results to his search. All he knew was that they had lived in the streets for years, but suddenly, one day, they were gone. Probably been killed, most people said. But Salvatore hadn't believed them. He refused to. They had killed the gypsies. Massacred them, one after another. They could defend themselves.

While searching for their whereabouts, Salvatore had gone through med-school and ended up working for the old man whose life he saved, working in his private clinic. On the day the old man died and left his clinic to Salvatore, the closest he ever came to having a son; Salvatore sold the clinic and spent most of the money on his endless search. Finally, when he needed to get a new job, he read in the paper that one of the cruise ships had a position open for a doctor. Missing the great ocean and the solitude of being on the sea, Salvatore decided to take it. He would look for the boys on his weeks off. It was perfect.

But the search yielded nothing for years. Not until December 2013, when Salvatore finally had a breakthrough. A former nurse responded to his ad in the newspaper and told him she had seen his boys, that they had been in the hospital where she worked. Salvatore visited the hospital and found the old files.

"They were separated?" he asked the doctor in charge, who gave him the files.

"I'm afraid so," she said.

"How? Who authorized it?"

"Doctor Alessandrino," she said. "He was in charge of the hospital in the eighties. He resigned after the operation went wrong."

"Went wrong?" Salvatore asked.

"He lost one of the twins. The other went mad from the loss, unfortunately."

Salvatore bent forward like he was in serious pain. "He lost him?"

"Yes. I'm afraid Tweedledee died in 1984. Tweedledum is still in a home outside of town. But, I have to warn you. They performed a lobotomy on him in 1986 and he is not aware of his surroundings. He will not know who you are."