"Well, you should," my mother snorted, just as Maya and Victor came through the door.
"Should what?" Maya asked and sat down.
My mother smiled at her. "Look at how beautiful she is. Look at that skin. It's perfect."
Maya made a grimace.
"Don't do that, Maya," my mother corrected her. "Don't frown like that. It'll give you wrinkles."
Are you kidding me, Mom? Talking about wrinkles to a fourteen-year-old? Don't you think her self-esteem has it hard enough being a teenager and all?
"Mom should what?" Maya asked again.
"Your grandmother thinks I'm getting fat and old and she thinks I should be more concerned with that, which I'm not, since I don't care about those things. I think there are many other things more valuable to focus on in life."
I poured Victor a bowl of cereal, like usual, when my mother stopped me.
"I baked," she said, and opened the oven. "Gluten-free, no wheat," she said with a smile.
I frowned. "Mom, we're really not into all that stuff. We like real food."
"Just try it," she said, and pulled the bread out. She cut a slice and put it on a plate. "Here, give the boy that instead of that sugary stuff in the cereal box."
"Mom, Victor always gets his cereal. This is the way he likes it and that's what he is getting."
"I'd like some," Maya said, and raised her hand.
"Nice to know that there is at least someone sensible here in the house," my mother said and cut her a piece. "Cheese on it?"
"Sure," Maya said.
"Here you go my dear."
Maya took a bite, then smiled. "This is actually not so bad, Mom. You should try it."
I bit my lip and growled, then placed the bowl of cereal in front of Victor, who started eating immediately.
"Don't be late for school," I said, when my phone suddenly rang.
It was Morten.
"Just wanted to say good morning," he said.
"Well, good morning to you as well," I answered and left the kitchen to be able to talk more privately. "How'd it go yesterday? With the mother of the deceased woman? How'd she take it?"
Morten exhaled. "It wasn't good. I’ll tell you that much. She was very upset."
"Well that's natural. Could she tell you anything useful?" I asked.
"Only that she had suspected for a couple of days that Susie hadn't taken her medicine. She had been trying to hide it, but the mother sensed that she might have been manic in the days before her death. You know how people with bipolar disorder have either manic days or depressive days."
"Yeah, like there is nothing in between. They never have just ordinary days unless they're on medicine."
"Susie often cheated on her meds, her mother told me. She had gotten good at hiding it from her mother, but there was something in her behavior lately that tipped her off. She was actually going to ask her about it on the day she disappeared. Anyway, I have no idea if it means anything, but it was worth writing down."
"Sure. Any news on the body and who it belongs to?"
"I'm on my way down to the station right now. We're waiting for the forensics team to ID her. I hope it'll be later today."
"Then off to tell yet another relative the bad news, huh?"
"Yes, I know. I just want to get it over with."
"Did you search Susie's home?"
"We did. We didn't find much, though. Nothing that could connect her with you. She didn't even have any of your books. But the strangest thing was, we didn't find any of her meds. Her mother said she had several kinds of medicine that she took and that they usually were in the cabinet in the bathroom. But we never found any of them."
"That's odd," I said pensively.
"That's what I thought. Anyway how are things with you? Getting any writing done?" he asked.
"Well, no. I'm kind of stuck on that. Furthermore, I have a visitor. An unexpected one who’s a little annoying. One of those you can't say no to, but really wish would leave soon."
"Oh oh. That doesn't sound good. A family member?"
"My mother."
"Ah, I see. Well how bad can it be?"
"It's horrible. You have no idea."
"Why is it so bad?"
"Where to start? First of all, she left all of us four years ago without any explanation. She hurt both me and my dad and it’s a little hard to accept the fact that she all of a sudden wants back in our lives. I have no idea how my dad is going to react. Second of all, she's on this freaking health trip and now she wants all of us to join in. She has seriously baked a gluten-free, wheat-free bread. I mean, what is even in that? What is it with people and gluten these days? Does anyone even know what it is and why we all of a sudden can't eat it?"
Morten burst into laughter. "Oh I needed that," he said. "A good laugh. Well, I guess you have your hands full. Is it really that bad?"
"It is. Now she is having Maya eat it."
"So she baked a bread. What is so bad about that?" Morten asked.
"You're missing the point. It isn't the fact that she baked bread that annoys me. I love baking myself and love it when someone else bakes for me. No, it’s the fact that she’s come here with all her wrong values about how appearance is the most important thing, and now she is putting them all on my daughter. I don't like it. I really don't."
Morten chuckled. "I think you might be putting a little too much into a loaf of bread."
"Really? You should hear her. All she talks about is how she thinks I'm getting old and fat and that I eat all wrong and…and you should see her, Morten. She's had so many facelifts, I swear she looks almost Asian. She is pumped with Botox, how is that for healthy living, huh? To pump your face with toxins."
Just as I said the last words, I turned and spotted my mother who was standing right behind me. My heart dropped.
"Well maybe she’s just very insecure," Morten said on the other end.
I stared at my mother, not knowing what to say. "I gotta go."
I hung up.
"Mom…I…I'm s…"
"I just wanted to tell you that I made you another pot of coffee. Your usual kind and not the kind that is spiked with wrong values."
Then she turned around and went back into the kitchen.
Me and my awfully big mouth.
10
March 2002
LIVING IN FEAR IS the norm in my house, Alexandra thought to herself while watching her now six-year-old son Samuel play with his cars outside on the tiles on their patio. He was making the cars bang into each other violently and then he’d throw them through the air against the window where Alexandra was standing.
I should say something. I shouldn't let him get away with that. I shouldn't let him just throw the cars at the window. It might break. I should tell him that. Tell him to stop, that it is wrong behavior. I really should.
But Alexandra realized she didn't dare. She couldn't risk him throwing another of his fits. Last time she told him to clean up his clothes after himself when he had thrown them on the floor in the hallway, he spat at her, ran into the kitchen, and broke every glass and plate he could find. She’d hid in her bedroom with her heart hammering in her chest until he went quiet, hours later. When she came down, the boy had not only broken everything he could get his hands on, he had also smeared feces all over the walls.
That was when Alexandra finally sought help. She took the boy to specialists on the mainland for an evaluation. The first evaluation brought a diagnosis of Sensory Integration Disorder. They told her Samuel simply couldn’t live in his body. His levels of hyperactivity, impulsiveness, and aggression were off the charts. More evaluations and consultations by top professionals revealed severe ADHD and an unspecified Mood Disorder. Alexandra read every book she could find on ADHD and the other diagnoses. She tried different behavioral plans, special diets, therapies, and all other approaches she could find.
Nothing worked.
Alexandra thought about all the hours she had put into finding out what
was wrong with the boy and shook her head in despair. It was wearing on them, tearing their marriage apart. Poul was almost never home anymore and often he isolated himself in the garage where he was fixing up an old car. He never spoke much to the boy, which seemed to only worsen his condition. Caring for Samuel seemed to be all that Alexandra's life was about and it was exhausting her. She had no energy for her husband and they were drifting apart rapidly. Her life had been reduced to being about nothing more than getting by day-by-day, hour-by-hour.
Samuel was in school now and, in the beginning, that had helped slightly with the situation. Every now and then, he could be the old caring and loving Samuel that Alexandra remembered him to be and, on those days, she was determined to never give up on him. But on the bad days, he seemed to be preoccupied with aggressive and violent thoughts, telling her that bad things came into his head…Telling her he loved weapons and dreamed about killing. Those were the days when she wondered if it was even worth it to keep trying. She never knew what mood he’d come home in and, even if it was good, it could shift in an instant. He could snap and, suddenly, everything changed. She would be afraid of him and fear what he might do to her.
It was the most terrifying feeling in the world. To be afraid of your own child.
Luckily, this day had been good so far. Samuel had come home from school telling her he had fun, then run outside to play. It had been at least two months since his last serious tantrum so maybe, just maybe things were shaping up a little? Maybe he was, after all, getting better?
His last one had been bad, though. It had happened in class when another student had taken Samuel's crayons and cracked all of them. Then Samuel had taken a pair of scissors and stabbed the classmate in the arm. The scissors had gone through the skin and the boy had been in the hospital when the principal had called in Alexandra and Poul for a talk about Samuel's future at the school. Alexandra told his story and, considering his condition, they didn't expel him…not yet at least. Alexandra dreaded the day when they would. And it would come. She was certain it would.
Alexandra stared at her boy, enjoying the peace in the house while he was playing outside. Her phone rang and she went into the kitchen to pick it up. It was her mother who had called for no apparent reason. Alexandra talked to her for a few minutes, then returned to check on her son. Samuel was still sitting on the tiles, but the character of his play had changed drastically. He was no longer playing with his cars. He had caught a black bird that he was now torturing by cutting off its wings and legs with a small kitchen knife.
Alexandra gasped and knocked on the window.
"Stop that, Samuel. Stop that immediately!" she yelled. "Leave the poor bird alone. Do you hear me? Samuel!"
Samuel turned his head like an owl and stared directly at her. He held the bloody knife up in the air.
"I heard you Mommy, dear. I heard you loud and clear."
Then he laughed.
11
February 2014
"MOM, I…"
I stepped inside the kitchen and found her standing by the counter, staring out the window. Maya yelled that she and Victor were leaving for school.
"Bye, sweetheart," I yelled back, wishing myself back to the days when she would kiss me endlessly before leaving and didn't want to let go of me in the mornings because she hated to leave me alone.
"It's okay, Emma," my mom said, and wrapped her bread in foil. "Just know that I'm trying here, alright?"
I grabbed the coffeepot and poured myself a cup. It smelled heavenly. "I know you are," I said. "It's just…"
She turned to look at me. I hated the fact that she looked the same no matter what mood she was in. Her eyes told me she was upset.
"It's just what?" she asked.
"It's just all a little overwhelming right now. I mean, you haven't been a part of my…of our lives for four years now and, all of a sudden, you come back and expect us to just forget everything?"
My mom exhaled. I sipped my coffee, thinking I really needed the caffeine right now.
"I know," she said. "It was silly of me to think that there was still a place for me here, that my family actually had missed me."
"We did. I did a lot. But it's gonna take some time to get used to…and especially with all the new stuff. All the health stuff. It's not…It's not how I remember you."
My mother looked confused. She wanted to say something, but was interrupted when someone rang the doorbell. I put the cup down and went to open it. Outside in the snow stood the mailman. He was smiling.
"I have a package for you today, Emma. It looks big."
He held it up. It was big alright. Then he put it on the ground and handed me the clipboard.
"You just need to sign here."
I grabbed the clipboard and pen and signed it. The mailman kept smiling and looking at the package.
"Sure is a big one. What is it?"
I shrugged. "I have no idea. I didn't order anything, as far as I know. Maybe it's for Maya. She always orders all kinds of stuff. Come to think of it, she did order some clothes. That's probably it."
"Hope she didn't max out your credit card on this one," the mailman said.
I smiled and shook my head. "Me too."
I grabbed the package and lifted it in the air. "Well I'd better get it inside. Thanks."
The mailman lifted his cap and nodded. "My pleasure."
I went back inside to my mother in the kitchen and placed the package on the kitchen table.
"What on earth is that?" she asked.
"I have no idea. There is no sender on it. It might be something Maya ordered."
"But it has your name on it?"
"That is strange. Maybe it is for me after all?" I said. "I'm opening it to see what it is."
"I'll get the scissors," my mother said, and handed them to me.
I cut off the tape, then ripped the package open. It was filled with bubble wrap. I pulled it out and threw it on the table. Then I saw something.
"What is it?" my mother asked.
"I don't know. It looks strange…"
I reached my hand down and grabbed whatever it was between my hands, then pulled it up.
"Oh my God," my mother gasped.
I looked down and, as I realized what it was that I was holding, I immediately dropped it and started to scream.
12
February 2014
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"
My mother couldn't stop screaming. She clapped her hands to her mouth. I looked at her, then down at the head that had landed back in the box when I dropped it. Its bloody eyes looked back at me. My heart was pounding rapidly. I stumbled backwards. I touched my face in frustration, then realized they were smeared in blood from holding the head.
"What was it, Emma?" My mother continued. "It…it…it looked like…Tell me it wasn't, Emma. Tell me it wasn't."
"I…I'm afraid it was…"
"Where did it come from? Emma? What is going on here? Talk to me. Why was there a head in that box?"
"I don't know, for crying out loud. I don't know, Mom!"
My entire body was shivering as I kept walking backwards, away from the staring head in the box, so it wouldn't be able to look at me anymore.
I heard a noise at the front door. Someone was knocking, then the door opened. "Hello? Is everyone alright in here? I heard screaming."
The door to the kitchen opened slowly and the mailman peeked in. He looked at my mother, then at me. "What happened?" he asked, horrified.
"The box you handed me," I said. "It…it…"
"There was a head in it," my mother said from behind her hands.
The mailman looked at her, then walked towards her and looked inside the box. "Oh my God," he exclaimed, then closed the lid. He looked at my mother again. "Are you alright?"
She removed her hands from her mouth, then shook her head. "Who…who would do such a thing?"
The mailman put a hand on her shoulder. "You look pale, Mrs. Don't you want to sit down?
"
He pulled out a chair and helped my mom sit. "Miss," she said. "I'm divorced."
The mailman lit up. "Oh, well, then miss…?"
"Ulla," my mother said. "You can call me Ulla."
"Very well. Would you care for a glass of water, Ulla?"
"Yes, please. That would be nice."
The mailman found a glass and poured tap water into it, then handed it to my mom. I heard the front door open and more people enter. Seconds later, Sophia opened the door to the kitchen with a loud bang.
"What's going on here?" She looked at the mailman and my mother, who both looked like schoolchildren caught kissing in the schoolyard.
Sophia turned and saw me. "Are you alright?" she asked.
I looked at her, then shook my head. I pointed at the box on the wooden kitchen table.
"You don't want to look in there," the mailman said.
"I'll decide that for myself," Sophia said, and opened the box. She blinked a couple of times, then closed the lid again. "Well, that explains a lot."
I turned on the water and started washing my hands, frantically scrubbing them to get the blood off. Then I found my cellphone and called Morten.
"You need to come immediately," I said. "Someone sent me a woman's head in the mail."
Morten arrived with blaring sirens, then stormed inside, looking at me. I was still standing by the sink rubbing my hands with a towel, trying to remove the feeling of having someone else's blood on me.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes. Just take that thing away from me," I said.
My mother gasped as Morten opened the lid and looked inside. The mailman took her hand in his and put the other on her shoulder.