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?”

she’s gotten past denial, but I

mourning the loss of

over gaining a

Both bereft…

What a fucking mess.

word…” I say. “… Discovering she has a psychopath for a parent. It’s

of the problem is that not knowing much about him, she’s cooked up some idealised vision of

perfect father who

He rubs at the back of his head. “How the hell do we deal with

come out of her funk. However…” I raise a forefinger… “… What we might

“Like?”

did she last have

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

up a seat, rock the chair back, cross my ankles up on the table. “No, I don't think so. Not this time. On this occasion, I think she needs what you give

eyes shift to

She needs knocking back into reality.” James straightens up, plucks at a lip. “You might like to know,” I add, “that

stares into nothing for a long second, then, “Come on then. You’d better be there too but stay

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

What’s she thinking...?

… Feeling….?

Fear?

Loss?

?

?

Humiliation?

no softness in his

maintaining her vigil of the

you to look at me when I address

turns to face

“Come here.”

stand, then shuffles across the room to stand before him. “Yes, Master?” But she

Yes… humiliation…

since God-knows-when, hangs in greasy rat-tails and her face is sallow. Clothes are creased, spotted with what

Doesn’t smell great either…

behave appropriately when we speak. Your face

Her voice chokes. “Master…”

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

look at him. “But I’m not. I…” The

Finally crying?

Good…

sake

victim. You are Charlotte, the woman who reinvented herself, who knew what she wanted and took on all comers to get it. The woman who took the world by the throat

James continues. “Charlotte faced down everything life threw at her. I saw you do it. I saw you auction yourself to the highest bidder; to me; because doing so would take you where you wanted to go. Even though you knew it was

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 no hold over you unless you give it to him. And you are too strong to let

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

sobs

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