Klempner - Twenty-Six Years Ago

The air is glacial, but although the breeze whips through my hair, I’m not cold. Instead, invigorated, I feel strong and ready for anything.

Standing by the frozen sea, I watch the wind drawing snow across the ice in a whirling dervish of frozen granules that lash around my feet. And I think of the last time I did this, here, with her.

Valentine’s Day coming up… I’ll be back in time.

Get her a present…

What would she like?

Something regional? She loved Helsinki…

Some of the local food?

Then I remember her bending over the porcelain, throwing up gravlax and vodka in equal measure…

Maybe not…

Jewellery?

Still persuading her to wear the emeralds I gave her…

A piece of art?

?

?

Perfect.

I head for the town centre, searching for galleries and craft shops, not knowing just what I’m looking for.

But I’ll know it when I see it…

Most are full of the kind of useless knick-knacks that are met with an ‘Oh, how lovely. You shouldn’t have.” greeting, then get pushed to the back of the cupboard: I-Heart-Helsinki fridge-magnets, overpriced chocolates and tee-shirts, dolls in fake Laplander costumes.

Weirdly, some of the gift shops are stocked with mementoes which seem to me completely out of place. Who comes to Helsinki to buy posters of London buses or ‘New York They named it twice’ tee-shirts?

Am I missing something?

Nope…

And then, there it is.

Beautifully painted by some local artist with more Js and Ks in the name than English allows: a scene of the frozen sea, painted from almost where I stood only a couple of hours ago with ice grit-blasting my clothes. A couple stand hand-in-hand looking out over a glinting scene of white and blue, and in the distance, a lone figure sits fishing.

The price, like everything in Helsinki, is horrendous, but who cares? Money is nothing. Mitch is…

… Mitch.

Padded and carefully gift-wrapped, I tuck the package under my arm and head back for the ferry port.

Time to go home…

Home?

When did I ever think of home before?

She’s waiting.

*****

Michael

“How is she?”

bowed. “The same. Not good. I’d say she’s gotten past denial, but I almost

mourning the loss

over gaining

Both bereft…

What a fucking mess.

Discovering she has a psychopath for

says, “part of the problem is

perfect father

turns out, yes.” He rubs at the back of his head. “How

be the only thing that deals with it. We simply wait for her to come out of her funk. However…” I raise a forefinger… “… What

“Like?”

she last have a bath? Or

sits there wallowing in pizza boxes and boil-in-a-minute noodles. I’m happy to cook anything we can get down her, but first, we have to get her attention.” He jerks his chin towards the lounge. “You want to get in there again? Give it another try? I think this needs your

pull up a seat, rock the chair back, cross my ankles up on the table. “No, I don't think so. Not

shift to mine.

She needs knocking back into reality.” James straightens up, plucks at a lip. “You might

silence, then, “Maybe you’re right.” He stares into nothing for a long second, then, “Come on then. You’d

Charlotte sits on the couch, hugging her knees, gazing slack-faced into the fire. She doesn’t appear

What’s she thinking...?

… Feeling….?

Fear?

Loss?

?

?

Humiliation?

There’s no softness

her

expect you to

hunches, then turns to face

“Come here.”

her self-hug to stand, then shuffles across the room to stand before him. “Yes, Master?”

Yes… humiliation…

rat-tails and her face is sallow. Clothes are creased, spotted with what look like tomato stains, and she’s still

Doesn’t smell great either…

up to her. “Charlotte, I am your Master. You will behave appropriately when we

Her voice chokes. “Master…”

almost shaking her. “Listen to me, Charlotte. Nothing has changed. Nothing. You are exactly the same person you were a few days

him. “But I’m not. I…” The words choke into

Finally crying?

Good…

sake let it

are Charlotte, the woman who reinvented herself, who knew what she wanted and took on

you wanted to go. Even though you knew it was dangerous. Even though your memories must have made that an appalling decision for you to take.” He’s still holding her, jolting her at the shoulders to punctuate his

assault and gang-rape. And just because that man might be, genetically, your sire… I don’t say father… that does not mean he has any power over you. Klempner has

of those choices is whether or not she lets something that is part of her past control

her sobs

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Comments ()

0/255