Edwina

  "Did you do this to yourself?" she asked, startled. "Edwina, did you hurt yourself?"

  Marie-Therese studied the marks closer and realized it looked exactly like the girl had pinched herself hundreds of times all over her body. Marie-Therese looked into the girl's eyes that suddenly didn't seem like something to be afraid of. In there somewhere was a child, a young girl that wanted to come out; Marie-Therese was certain that she saw a glimpse of her in the eyes. And even though it was only for a few seconds, she was there, and that was when Marie-Therese made the decision. She was going to find that girl, somehow. She was going to find her in there and bring her out.

  That was why she had decided to ask God for help. If there was anyone who could help this girl, it was Him. So after the service, Marie-Therese walked up to the pastor and asked for his help. She told him about how Edwina had acted, the impurity she displayed, and how she hissed if she came close to a cross, how she avoided all the religious artifacts in the house.

  "I strongly believe she is possessed by a demon," she said, thinking if anyone understood, it would be the pastor. But she was wrong. She was very wrong.

  "I don't practice exorcism in my church," he said. "I think you would be better off giving her to Social Services. She might need medicine or psychiatric help."

  But Marie-Therese knew Edwina had already spent several months in a psychiatric hospital earlier in her life without it doing her or the other patients any good. On the contrary, the rate of suicides exploded, and those who didn't kill themselves had strange illnesses and even cancer, just a few weeks after Edwina had arrived. No one believed it was her fault, but they did find it out of the ordinary. Marie-Therese couldn't stop thinking about the poor girl next door who had fallen from the tree house. The first family Edwina had been with had lost their youngest daughter in a similar way. The girl had been playing in the tree with Edwina when she fell.

  "I'm sorry. There is nothing I can do," the pastor said.

  Marie-Therese turned her back to him and started walking away, and then she did something she swore she would never do. She quoted her mother:

  "Guess only God can help us now."

  Chapter Twelve

  The Bering twins were the two oldest living persons in the town of Arnakke and had been since old man Andersen died at the nursing home last spring. Ninety-three years old and still going strong, was what was people said about them. When people asked them the secret to growing old, they would turn and look at each other with deep smiles in their ridged faces and tell them, almost synchronously: good company.

  The twins had been together since birth. One of them (no one remembers which one anymore) married young and moved away for a few years. Once she returned because her husband had died in a boating accident, they never left each other's side again. No one in town could tell them apart and no one knew them by any other name than simply The Bering twins.

  Since their eighty-ninth birthday, they had lived at the nursing home, where they shared a room with views over the fjord. If one got sick, it was as certain as amen in Church that the other would be sick at the same time. The story about them went that once one of them had a lump on her leg and as soon as her sister saw it, she grew one exactly like it on her leg as well.

  They didn't leave the nursing home much anymore, since with age it had become increasingly hard for them to walk, but every Sunday they liked to go to church and listen to Pastor Helge Nielsen's sermons, even though they weren't as anointed as the old Pastor Kristensen's used to be.

  And so it happened that they, this Sunday morning, noticed—to them a young woman—they would always refer to as, "Catherina Lundtofte's daughter, the little Marie-Therese" had come back to attend the service, much to their pleasure. And without intending to, they overheard her talking to the pastor afterwards, telling him about the foster child she had taken in, the one the twins had heard many stories about and believed them all to be true.

  The Bering twins had been around for a long time and knew everyone and everybody in town. They also knew about demons and people being possessed by them. Even better, they knew of someone who was great at driving them out. Not that they had met him in person, but they had read about him, and they knew he and his followers had just moved into the old campground outside of town.

  So it was with the best of intentions that the two of them, arm in arm as always, now approached Marie-Therese after she left the pastor and was on her way out of the church.

  "We might know a way," the one who was always on the right, said.

  Marie-Therese stopped and looked at them. "What do you mean?"

  "There is a way. The Way," the other one, the one to the left said.

  Marie-Therese looked at them both with confusion. "I'm not sure I understand," she said.

  The twins giggled, then turned their backs on Marie-Therese and left her to figure out the rest on her own. They had both sensed this morning that today was going to be a rainy day and knew they had to get back before noon in order to not get soaked.

  While they walked, they talked to each other in their minds, an ability they had discovered as children that they owned, but not until lately had started perfecting, since it came in very handy at the home when they wanted to tell each other something no one else needed to know.

  You know that girl is going to be the end of all of us, don't you? The one on the right thought.

  As well as you do, her sister replied.

  All our hope is with the Priest now.

  The fate of this entire town is with the Priest.

  The twins looked at each other and saw in the reflection of each other's eyes the vision they had seen so many times before, in dreams and even sometimes in broad daylight.

  The vision of death sweeping through their beloved hometown. Death dressed like a little girl.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ida was a shy child. She came from an abusive home; she had parents who drank heavily and beat her till social services took her away one day, telling her they were going to give her a new and better life somewhere else.

  Ida was nine when she was placed in foster care with this woman who treated her nicely if she just made sure to do all the housework. How this was any better than at her parent's house, she didn't understand. She missed her mother terribly and worried about her every day, and even though she wasn't beaten here, she would still prefer to be at home with her mother. How they could think she would prefer to be anywhere else in this world was beyond her comprehension. At least at home, she would be able to look out for her parents. Who else was going to hold her mother's hair when she threw up? Who else was going to clean up their mess, the bottles and filled ashtrays? Who was going to shop and make sure they had food to eat? And what about the dishes? They had to be piling up by now. Ida was the only one who knew how to start the dishwasher ever since it broke. How were they going to take care of all that without her? she wondered each day of her life for the past three years.

  The only way Ida knew how to stop thinking about her parents and worrying about them, was to work. She would cook and clean in this new home of hers and it seemed to please her foster mother, Marie-Therese, and gave her an advantage over the other kids in the house. Marie-Therese seemed fonder of Ida than of any of the others, and soon she had made herself indispensible, which was part of her plan, since she didn't want to be one of those foster kids that went from home to home all of their lives. Ida was too smart for that. If she couldn't go home to be with her parents, then she was going to make the best of it wherever she was.

  And Marie-Therese wasn't too bad to live with. Lazy as hell, yes, but she never yelled or hit the children, only the new girl Edwina seemed to get the better of her. Ida had heard her beat her with a broom; she had heard her slap her across the face and, to be honest, it scared Ida. She was afraid that once Marie-Therese found out she could slap them around a little without anyone stopping her, then maybe, just maybe she would move on to someone else next. Maybe she would start h
itting Ida if the food she prepared wasn't good enough or if the kitchen wasn't cleaned to her liking. So Ida decided she had to turn up the charm slightly. She had to be the best she could be so Marie-Therese didn't feel the desire to begin hitting her as well. She cooked Marie-Therese's favorite meals. As soon as she was home from school, she mopped the floors clean, dusted in the living room, and made sure the house looked perfect.

  It had been hard on Ida living in the room next door to Edwina, especially at night. Edwina would moan and groan all night long, sometimes even scream. Exactly what was going on with her, Ida didn't know, but the smell that came from her room made her throw up more than once. Ida was afraid of Edwina, and it killed her that Marie-Therese had chosen her to be the one to bring her food when she was locked up. Ida had seen the strangest things happen in there when she entered. One day Edwina peed on the floor, and when Ida entered with her dinner on a tray, she was kneeling on the floor, licking up the urine with her tongue.

  Ida almost dropped the tray. She stormed towards her and grabbed Edwina by the collar, dragged her away from the puddle, then threw the girl in the shower before she started cleaning the floors, afraid that Marie-Therese would come home and see it and start hitting someone, maybe even Ida for not having cleaned it up. She never told anyone about the incident.

  Edwina reminded Ida mostly of the Saint Bernard she used to have back at her parents’ house, before her father gave him away because he ate too much. He too had peed all over the floor and once tried to lick it up. Thinking of Buster again, Ida got the idea that maybe Edwina was just like her old friend. Maybe she was just like a dog? Ida figured that if she just treated Edwina like she treated her dog, then maybe they would be fine. Ida had loved her dog more than anyone in that house. So, maybe, Ida thought. Maybe that was all Edwina needed. Lots of love.

  Standing outside Edwina's door this Sunday evening, she embraced herself, finding all the love and care she had inside of her before she knocked and opened the door.

  Edwina was, as usual, sitting on the floor, her arms around her legs, her back against the wall, rocking back and forth, staring emptily into the air like was she constantly daydreaming or, as Ida liked to put it, like her mind was trapped in another world.

  Ida walked carefully towards her, trying not to startle her. She started humming a song she used to sing for her Saint Bernard when it was just a puppy.

  Edwina's eyes suddenly returned and she was now looking at Ida. Ida smiled and kneeled in front of her.

  "Edwina?" she said.

  A deep growl emerged from the girl's throat. Ida pulled back. She swallowed hard. Then she spoke again:

  "It's me, Ida. You know me, don't you? I brought you food when you were locked up in here. I cooked you breakfast this morning. I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk to you a little bit."

  Edwina stopped growling. She looked at Ida with disbelief.

  "It's okay, Edwina. You can trust me."

  Edwina kept staring.

  "I know you don't say much, but I also know that you are capable of speaking. I don't know why you've decided to never talk to anyone, but I've heard you talk at night. So I figured that maybe you just didn't talk because you don't want to. Because I know how you feel, at least I think I do. Sometimes I keep quiet for a long time, even days, without anyone noticing it. It's like no one's going to care what I say anyway, right?"

  Ida looked into Edwina's eyes. For a second, she thought she saw someone in there, someone peeking out from inside the green in her eyes. It looked like a little girl. Her mouth was open in restraint and she looked like she was screaming. Ida gasped and pulled back, stumbling over her own feet.

  Then Edwina opened her mouth and let out a sound so ghastly Ida had to hold both her hands over her ears before she stormed, screaming, out of the room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Thomas thought Minna had plunged into a state of depression, but, in fact, Minna had never been clearer in her head than she was right now. Three days had passed since they got back from the hospital, and Thomas had been living on the couch downstairs, only getting off of it when the physical therapist came on her daily visits and took him to the hospital's training facility, where they apparently worked on building up his muscles again. Minna didn't care what they did out there; she didn't care one bit about Thomas or his muscles anymore. Nor did she care about this house, cleaning it, or even staying in it.

  She decided she wanted out. She wanted to move out and as soon as Thomas got back from the hospital today; she was going to tell him, or maybe she would just leave right away and let him come home to an empty house.

  Dan could choose if he wanted to go with her or stay in this forsaken house where his sister had…died. Minna couldn't stay for one more minute, not with the tree house right outside her window, not with the sound of her daughter's body hitting the ground constantly in her head, reminding her of that awful day.

  But, most importantly, she couldn't stay in the same house as Thomas any longer. In the beginning, when she first met the girl in the hospital and guessed who she was, she decided to forgive him; she thought she could forgive him. But now? Now she blamed him for everything. If he hadn't been in the hospital, one of them would have been in the yard with Linda when…well, they might not have been able to prevent her from falling, but maybe…well, maybe if Thomas hadn't built that stupid tree house at all this wouldn't have happened, now would it? So of course it was his fault. Everything was his fault. He had slept with another woman, maybe even several other women. Then she had the nerve to…to show up and tell her, his wife, that they were in love? Who the hell did she think she was?

  Minna wanted to talk to Thomas about his affair. At first, she thought they could somehow talk it over, maybe work their way through it. Other people had done it before, and their marriage was strong, stronger than most marriages, wasn't it?

  But even a marriage as strong as theirs couldn't live through the loss of their daughter. That was simply too much. So what if Minna couldn't blame Thomas directly for their daughter's death? She did it anyway, since he didn't deserve any better.

  Minna took down her suitcase and started filling it with clothes, randomly picking clothes and shoes, underwear, she didn't care what it was, she only knew that she was going to need some wherever it was she was going.

  Dan peeked in through the door to the bedroom as she was frantically throwing things into the suitcase.

  "Mom?" he asked, then looked at the suitcase. "What are you doing?"

  "What does it look like?" she replied.

  Dan walked over and closed the lid. Minna stared at him. Her beloved son who had grown so big and so angry lately. She hardly recognized him.

  "I'm here too, Mom," he said.

  "What do you mean?" she asked, still holding a couple of blouses and one shoe.

  "I know you're sad about losing Linda; hell, we all are, and I know you're mad about Dad cheating and all, but I need you too."

  Minna felt the anger settle and her shoulders fall back into place. "I have to do this, Dan. I have to get out of here."

  "And, what about me? What about Dad? Are you going to just bail on us? Are you that kind of mother?"

  That kind of mother? The sentence lingered in her brain for a while. Was she? Was she the kind of mother who could leave her child behind? The only child she had left? She stared at him, searched his face, his eyes, for some sign of understanding, but it wasn't there. In his eyes, her leaving this house was unforgivable.

  "I'm so sorry," she said and stroked his cheek gently. Her little baby. So all grown up already. Only fifteen years old. It was way too early. Like plucking an apple before it was ripe.

  "You can come with me if you want."

  "And go where, exactly? Do you even know where you're going?" he asked.

  "Anywhere but here," she said. "Probably to Aunt Camilla's in Roskilde. You like it there, remember?"

  Dan shook his head. "I have a life now, Mom. If you and Dad
weren't so self-absorbed, you would know that I have friends here; I go to school; hell, I used to even have a girlfriend, until she broke up with me yesterday. But you don't even care enough about me to ask, do you?"

  Dan left the room, slamming the door. Minna sank down on the bed. She looked at her face in the mirror on the wall in front of her. Was that what she had become?

  That kind of a mother?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Emma felt happy in her new house. Yes, it needed some work and there was a lot for the both of them to do, but she enjoyed this kind of work immensely. She liked building her nest that she hoped would be hers for the rest of her life.

  Paul wasn't quite so cheerful when they walked around this Sunday late in the afternoon (at the same time as his favorite soccer team Barcelona played in the Champions League) in the house unpacking boxes, hanging pictures on the walls, moving furniture around, and finding the right places for it. He sighed and moaned every time Emma wanted to move something or place it differently.

  But she didn't listen to his many sounds of complaints; no, Emma decided to enjoy this new life whether Paul wanted to or not. It didn't matter anymore, she thought, and touched the small bump on her stomach. It had grown a lot the last week and she knew it wouldn't be long before she couldn't hide it any longer. But Emma had a reason for waiting, for postponing the inevitable. She knew Paul wasn't going to be thrilled about this baby coming…no, not at all. It was one of the first things he said to her when they met.

  "I don't want kids. Kids get in the way; they are nothing but a disturbance in people's lives. They destroy everything."