“Where to?” inquired the cabbie with professional courtesy.
“Airport.”
I had no ticket, no plan, no hope. Not the best basis for a sudden trip.
“Norway?” I asked, once I’d gotten to a gate.
“Yes, sir,” said the agent with my accent. “Are you checking baggage?”
Bag under my seat, I tried not to sleep, for what horrible dreams might come. Dreams with sharp teeth in the dark, behind my eyes.
It had been a long time coming, the details unknown. Instead of being there, I ran with fingers crossed. I just hoped it wasn’t too late.
Hours melted away, not sensible difference between here and there. The guys would be pissed, with this sudden change in our plans.
“Welcome back,” said customs, my passport clear.
“Thanks,” came the trained response.
There were buses galore, but I couldn’t wait any more.
I had to know the extent of the damage.
A little late, the thought came; I should tell Ashe what happened. She’d been staying at her dorm, for a bit. She’d needed some space, she had said.
Stephanie told me it was something women needed, from time to time.
I tried calling, but Ashe’s phone rang dead, the power likely off.
I tried a new tack, dialing Ragnar.
The roaming fees would be a killer, but it had to be done.
I couldn’t just leave without telling anyone where I was going.
But it wasn’t something I was looking forward to.
None of this was.
Chapter Seventeen – Varg
I’d arrived at the hospital. I entered and walked up to the nurse’s station, trying to see if there was anything on the screen to let me know where Flaka’s room was.
“May help you?” the nurse asked.
“Probably not.”
I sounded surly.
“I’m sorry?”
“Me too. Flaka Ibsen.”
“Are you a family member?”
“Her brother.”
“A moment please.”
I assumed she didn’t know. That’s why she could be so cool. It was just another name, more humanity to try and fix. Like a mechanic with cars.
“Take a seat, please.”
If I sat, I would think, and I didn’t want to think. Instead, I paced in the waiting area, chemical lemon scents in my nose.
I heard her before I saw her, and turned, seeing the double doors closing behind her.
“Peter.”
“Mama.”
We joined in sorrow, hers more informed than mine. Getting hold of herself, she took me to Flaka’s room. Machines were beeping away. Making things clearer.
My mother dabbed her eyes with a tissue, and slowly shook her head.
“Pills, with your father’s vodka. Th-they pumped her stomach. She was having trouble breathing, so they—”
She broke off into sobs. My own tears were taken up by a slow burn; diesel rage.
“Did she say anything, before, I mean?”
“No, not out loud.”
“Was there a note?”
“Honey, why—?”
“Was there a note, Mama?”
“Yes. On her computer. I found her in bed. I-it looked like she was asleep.”
I stroked Flaka’s cool cheek, just to make sure it was all real. Dreams could be cruel things. Especially when based in reality— the past coming back to bite you, even in your own head.
“What did it say?”
“I don’t know, I don’t remember.”
“But you have it.”
It was a statement, not a question, because I already knew.
“Yes.”
Attempted suicide was no longer a police matter, the law against depression long ago lifted.
“I couldn’t make sense of it at all.”
From the depths of her purse it came, small and white, folded like origami. Written in runes, so Mom couldn’t read it. Flaka’s tight, controlled script across the page. Secrets, both known and not, were slowly revealed.
“It’s written in runes. I taught her when she was 12,” I said, absently, scanning the note for answers.
“Can you read it?”
I nodded. Then, I took a breath, and began.
“I’m sorry mama, please don’t blame yourself. You gave me the best life you could. I’m sorry I can’t stay. It has gotten to be too much. Varg says they won’t come back, but they’re always here in my head, waiting. I don’t want to give them the chance. The world isn’t cruel, just some of the people in it are.”
“Oh my god! My poor baby!”
Tears sprung from her eyes, rolling down creased cheeks.
Mama squeezed Flaka’s cool hand, the tears profuse and bitter.
“She’ll be okay, Mama. The doctors here are really good. The machines look scary, but they are keeping her alive,” I explained, but I didn’t believe it.
“What could scare her enough to do this? She was such a happy girl. What happened to her? You know, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me!” she shouted.
I jumped.
Mom had never yelled before. Not even when we were naughty. That had been Dad’s job all the way along, until he left this life. We were grown by then, anyway.
“You aren’t going to like it,” I warned, but she was determined.
“I already don’t. Please, tell me what happened to her!” she begged.
So, I did. The whole sordid thing. No detail was spared, even though I knew she would see me differently by the end.
I told my mother the truth.