Life Will Have Its Way (6 page)

The late season blossoms opened their petals and hints of creamy, warm citrus drifted into the air to mingle with the twirling chirp of a young Lark. The sun rose lazily over the hilltop casting a warm, yellow glow on the backsides of the scraggly oaks that covered the skyline. The light of the morning worked its way through the curtains. Brena’s eyes opened and for one tranquil moment she enjoyed the first peaceful breaths of a new day. She leaned her head back, pushing it into the chair, soon realizing she wasn’t in her bed then remembering why. Her chest became tight, her heart feeling the pain of a long, merciless stab. “No, no, no,” she cried out looking quickly about the room and realizing she was alone. Why was she alone? Why was no one there? Why hadn’t someone bothered to wake her? Why hadn’t someone come to tell her they’d found Evie? She took slow, careful steps toward the children’s room fearing the sight of Evie’s empty bed, still unmade from the day before. “Erich! Lukas!” She called out before reaching their door, hoping their voices would make the sight less painful.

Her husband rushed in behind her, “Brena!”

She turned toward him.

“I don’t want you to become alarmed,” he said in a calm, reassuring voice as he pushed her back to the living room and eased her into a chair. She looked at him through sad, swollen eyes. He was serious, but not overly distraught. What did his expression mean? She couldn’t decipher it and found it confusing. She was sure she knew what he was about to tell her and couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t more upset. Taking up where she’d left off the night before, she lowered her head and started to sob. “No, no, please not my baby,” she wailed. She grabbed him anxiously and pulled him down toward her.

“Brena, Brena, stop. It’s not that. It’s not Evie!”

He pulled away. She looked so different, so unfamiliar, her milky complexion was now a splotchy red, her body shivered and her eyes seemed dark and foreign.

“It’s not Evie,” he repeated, “it’s the boys, we think they went to try to find her on their own.”

The excitement I’d felt about seeing the girl, the excitement that had been building during my entire commute became a beautiful flower picked too early and maliciously crumpled when I noticed two men standing near the front of our building. I recognized them instantly as plainclothes policemen. I had always wondered if they had any idea how obvious they were. It was as though they’d over thought the notion of blending in so much that their efforts actually cancelled themselves out. I wasn’t exactly surprised to see them. I had been expecting them. Everyone expects them.

Act natural. Act natural. My steps quickened as I drew closer to the stairwell. No. No. Too fast. Too fast. Slow down. Slow down. Neither of the men seemed interested in my presence, even as I came face to face with them. They were bored and cold. The taller of the two pulled up his sleeve to look at his watch, I could tell he was irritated by what he saw. I turned to go up the stairs, fearing they would realize I was the one they were waiting for. I’d made it nearly to the top of the landing when I heard the shuffle of feet on the sidewalk behind me. I tensed, waiting for an angry hand to be thrust around my arm, pulling me back, causing me to lose my balance, making me fall into the faceless, nameless person that had decided to take me under their charge. The shuffling click of the steps grew closer, I waited to hear them burst up the stairs behind me. I closed my eyes, unable now to move at all. The rhythmic pattern continued down the street and I filled my lungs with air. I didn’t need to look behind me to see who the steps belonged to. I already knew that person. I knew too well the person that had seen potential trouble and wanted to become invisible, their eyes static, their face frozen in a grimaced smile, every movement stiff and unnatural.

I stepped into the corridor prepared to collapse with relief until I noticed two more policemen stationed directly outside my door. I took another deep breath and started down the hallway. My legs felt like logs, joined with loose leather straps to my torso. My knees wouldn’t bend and the distance to my apartment seemed to grow farther with every step.

My presence had gone completely unnoticed until the entrance door slammed heavily behind me. The conversation was stopped abruptly as the attention of both of my awaiting guests was turned toward me. I knew it would be no use to turn back, my immediate future was inevitable, I had become a driver on an ice slickened road destined to collide with an immoveable object.

As I drew closer I could see that the first agent was watching my approach with arrogant amusement. The other seemed shy, almost embarrassed. Where I came from, the police were men you feared, they were to be hated and loathed. You would do everything you could to avoid being in their presence, ever. If you had the misfortune of crossing paths with one of these men, you would try to avoid eye contact and absolutely avoid conversation. Avoidance was surely the best method, yet here I was with no way to avoid them.

I soon recognized the arrogant one as a former classmate. His name was Friedrich. He didn’t give any indication that he recognized me and even went so far as to mispronounce my name. He hadn’t always been so self-assured, as a matter of fact, the boy I remembered was insecure and awkward. The victim of an unfair amount of bullying, he’d received quite a bit of grief for his unfortunately colored hair and freckle-covered skin. The other was familiar too, I couldn’t exactly say I knew him, but I certainly knew of him. He’d attended a neighboring school a class or two behind me. Before an injury took him away from the field, he’d been known citywide for his good sportsmanship and unusual athletic ability. His name was Marko.

I stopped a few feet from them.

“We’re here to talk to you about a certain, um, should I say, suspicious activity that’s been reported in the building,” Friedrich stated coolly.

I asked him to be more specific. He told me he wasn’t able to be more specific, explaining that suspicious activity covered a wide range of situations so he would leave it to me to tell him what had been going on. I found his strategy interesting but certainly wasn’t going to fall for it. Our eyes stayed locked, neither wishing to be the first to blink or look away.

“I have nothing to tell.”

“Fine,” he said smugly, “but if you want do it that way, I suppose we’ll need to take a look inside.”

“What? What on earth for?” I shrieked.

“Look miss, you‘re facing some pretty serious charges here, I think you should know that it’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

“Serious charges?” I looked back at him, confused. I knew it was safe to assume that someone had reported seeing me with the girl, but found it quite a leap to consider helping a small child get back to her grandmother without involving the police a serious charge.

Friedrich stood over me with the anxious lean of a racehorse, he watched impatiently as I fished the keys from my purse and worked them in the lock. The instant the door was opened, he forced his way past me and into my apartment. My thoughts flipped through the events of the previous night, I tried to brush them away. I needed to stop thinking about the girl, stop thinking about Anja, but I was feeling apprehensive just knowing how recently I’d had something to hide, someone to hide. Someone sitting at my table. Someone sleeping on my couch.

Friedrich spun around slowly in the center of the living room, his fingers held in the shape of a mock set of guns as he turned. I realized the temporary bed was still made up on the couch and tried not to show reaction when he moved toward it. My heart skipped a beat as I watched him throw the pillow and blankets up into the air. I felt relief when I could tell he hadn’t found any significance in them. He powered forward, yanking the cushions out and roughly shoving his hand in the opening at the base.

I could tell he’d grasped upon something, his hand fished around for a second then he whipped it back out. He was clutching a small, wrinkled notepad, he flipped through the pages, pausing to read some of the entries. When he realized it was nothing more than an assortment of grocery lists and reminders he flung it on the floor behind him. His hand plunged back into the base of the couch to be drawn out again with another prize. This time it was a colorful silk scarf that I hadn’t seen for months. He held it in front of him, pulling it flat, he stared at it for an uncomfortable amount of time before casting it aside. When he realized nothing else was to be found he straightened up, emitted a low, guttural groan and dusted off his hands.

He moved to the kitchen where he casually pawed over the things on the counter, rifled through a few papers and opened the door to every cupboard. “We have knowledge that you may have been involved in some sort of kidnapping,” he said, without looking up from the drawer he was churning through.

Kidnapping? Did he just say kidnapping? I felt weak and queasy. Was what we were doing actually considered kidnapping? No! How could it be? We hadn’t taken the girl, we hadn’t stolen her! We were helping her. We were protecting her. We were protecting her from people like him!

“Kidnapping?” I snapped, much louder than I’d intended. “Are you serious?”

He squinted his eyes, analyzing me closely. His gaze was penetrating, it made me feel guilty, guilty for things I hadn’t done, guilty for things I’d never even thought of doing and never would do. He slammed the drawer shut catching a pencil between the base of the cupboard, it made a loud cracking noise and we all turned in the direction of the sound. The shattered pencil clung to its lower half and hung lifelessly over the outside of the drawer. Friedrich’s face blushed, his eyes moved nervously around the counter top before becoming inexplicably filled with anger. He whipped the drawer back open and shoved the broken halves roughly inside. 

He left the kitchen and went back to the living room where he walked along the outside wall, inspecting every detail. He carried on as though he were a child on an Easter egg hunt, refusing to leave a stone unturned, searching even the most implausible places, even places that were blatantly and obviously far too small to conceal even the tiniest colored egg. He was being so oddly thorough, I expected at any moment that he might produce a pair of Latex gloves to theatrically snap into place around his wrists.

Without warning, he made a sudden burst for the bedroom. I listened helplessly as he swung open closet doors, moved clothes hangers along the rack and whipped around curtains with great enthusiasm. All the while Marko just stood there, quietly, observing. His hands were folded low over his chest, his eyes wandered about the room, looking at nothing in particular. There was a sort of sweet awkwardness about him. It seemed as though he may have wanted to say something, but never did.

“Well. Imagine that,” Friedrich said sarcastically as he reentered the room, “everything seems to be in order here. If you can believe that.” He sighed heavily then tilted his head, looked at Marko and motioned toward the door, “Let’s go.” While he collected his things he looked around the room again, not so much in the crazed way he had done before but more like someone that was just curious to see what sort of things were filling a space they just happened to be in. He started in the direction of the door, pausing as he approached me. “So how have you been? I haven’t seen you in quite a while.”

So, he did remember me, or at least this version of his personality seemed to. I couldn’t decide whether he had been pretending not to know me earlier or if he honestly just realized that we knew each other.

“Oh, uh, not bad,” I answered, feeling uncertain about how friendly I wanted to be with the guy. I couldn’t immediately recall the nature of our relationship during school and wasn’t sure if familiarity should be considered a blessing or a curse.

“Good, good. Good to hear,” he replied as he continued past me.

They were so close, so close to the door, when Friedrich stopped abruptly, his eyes fixed on something under the coffee table. He plunged forward and in one fluid movement pushed the chair to one side, lowered himself to the floor grabbed whatever he’d seen and returned to a standing position. He looked at it quickly, then shoved it into my face. I had to pull myself back to avoid being hit with it.

“What do you call this?” he nearly shouted.

It was the girl’s bunny. It must have fallen from her bag when Anja dropped it.

“Looks like a stuffed toy to me,” I said mockingly, amazed that I had resisted the urge to give everything away at the mere sight of the girl’s toy.

His head jerked back, “Oh really. You expect me to believe this thing is yours? This is your stuffed…” he turned it over in his hands to take a better look, “bunny?”

“My grandmother made it.” I said softly, hoping my low tone would help cover the lie.

He let out a long sigh, his mouth scrunched up, moving side-to-side while he thought. I could tell he was embarrassed again and looking for a way to save face.

“Okay, whatever,” he snapped as he flung the bunny at my chest. “But now that you’ve given me more time to think about it, I realized there are still quite a few unanswered questions, so…” he looked victoriously toward Marko, “you're gonna have to come back to the station with us.”

“What questions? Anything you want me to answer, I can answer right here.” I looked to Marko for support, he swallowed hard and looked away.

Friedrich cleared his throat, “I said… we’re going to need you to come with us.”

I looked around apprehensively, wondering when I might see my apartment again.

“Am I being arrested?” I asked.

“That’s up to you.” Friedrich answered.

“Is it? Is it really up to me?”

I’d gone too far. Friedrich’s expression turned cold and unforgiving. His face was starting to take on a dark purple undertone and it looked as though his necktie had suddenly been cinched too tight. Marko was starting to appear nervous, he looked at me pleadingly, his dark, thoughtful eyes begged me not to continue to press Friedrich. He reminded me of a child that was used to seeing his parents bicker and had become painfully perceptive of the cues that would lead to a full blown argument.

I asked for a minute to grab a few things and after a quick dash through my bedroom and bathroom, I stood by the door with my bag and told them I was ready to go. Friedrich reached for the door. The knob was fussy and he struggled to open it, he backed away humbly and allowed me take over. For a split second, I actually found myself feeling sorry for him.

My sympathy didn’t last long, as we walked down the hall toward the front entrance Friedrich motioned arrogantly towards Anj
a’s door. “Oh yeah, by the way, we’ve already talked to your neighbor.”