Miss Polly had a Dolly (Emma Frost #2) (22 page)

My dad was very
quiet
in the car on the way home. I felt really sad
for him. Once on the ferry, we walked onto the top deck to get some fresh air.

My dad leaned on the railing and looked at the
island approaching in the distance. He shook his head heavily. "I just
don't understand. Do you, Emma?"

"I…I really don't, Dad."

"What got into her? She used to be so
sweet. She never raised her voice like that before. Nor did she ever complain
about my family. Why would she say those things, Emma?"

I shrugged and looked down at the water beneath
the ferry. The cold wind was biting my cheeks. "I wish I could explain
that to you, but I really can't. I don't know her very well, but to be fair she
did just suffer a serious trauma. Maybe if you gave her a little time?"

My dad shook his head. "No. I can't. Not
after what she said. My family is everything to me. You, the kids, you're all I
have and I'd do anything for you. I can't be with a woman who doesn't
understand that. I just can't."

"Maybe she'll apologize later on," I
said. "Maybe it was the medicine talking, or something else. The stress of
being interrogated by the police? I don't know."

My dad shook his head again. "It was
strange seeing her like that. Did you look into her eyes? It was like they were
suddenly filled with hatred. I felt like she suddenly really hated me. It came
right after I asked about the money. Now I can't stop wondering why she doesn't
want to talk about the money."

We went back to the car as the ferry approached
land. When we drove across the parking lot, my dad looked at the big stage they
had put up at the port.

"The show is tonight," I said. "I
completely forgot about that. I promised Maya she could go see it. Ida is going
to sing on stage. We should all be there and cheer on her."

My dad chuckled. "What do you think Victor
is going to say about that?"

"Oh no. Victor," I said. "I'm
never going to persuade him to come down here. He'll hate all the people and
the noise. Maybe I should just stay home then."

My dad put his hand on my shoulder. "No,
you go. I'll stay at your house with Victor."

"Would you really do that?"

"Sure. Him and me are buddies, remember?
It'll do us some good to hang out a little. Both of us, I think. I need some
quiet time and so does he. It'll be good, don't you worry."

"Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it. I know
Sophia will be so happy that I went. Her mother has come down here to take care
of the other kids while she goes to watch Ida in the show. She's been looking
forward to this. And frankly so have I. I can't wait to see little Ida up on
the stage. She surprised everyone with her big voice at the auditions. I had no
idea she had it in her. She's usually so shy."

"It's always the quiet ones that surprises
us the most," my dad said with a little smile.

It felt good to see him smile again. Even if it
was still with a sadness in his eyes. I hated to see him heartbroken like this.
He really didn't deserve it. I drove the car into the driveway and parked it in
front of my grandmother's old house. I looked at the clock in the kitchen when
we entered. Victor and Maya would be home from school any minute now. Perfect
timing. My dad walked into the living room and sat in an armchair. I approached
him.

"Do you want some coffee or anything
else?"

"No thanks, I'm good," he said.

It startled me slightly. He never said no to a
cup of coffee. "Can I get the paper for you?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Maybe a little
later."

"Oh, okay." I walked to the kitchen
and started making a pot of coffee. My stomach had turned to knots. I felt so
angry with Helle for treating him like this. As the coffee ran through the
coffeemaker I started feeling guilty for having brought up the subject of the
money at all. Would she have reacted so angrily if my dad had never known about
the money?

I shook my head and poured myself a cup. No,
there was definitely something wrong with this woman and I concluded that I
should only be glad that my dad discovered it now and not later when he had
become even more emotionally involved. This was a good thing even if it didn't
feel like it was.

I decided to pour him a cup of coffee anyway,
and placed it on the end table next to his chair. He was staring out the window
at the big trees in the back yard that I so desperately wanted to cut down so
we could see the ocean from the house, but couldn't since it would kill Victor.
It was his playground and the only place in this world he actually liked to be.
I had to live without the view.

He didn't notice the coffee. He seemed deep into
his own thoughts so I decided to let him be and grabbed my laptop. I sat on the
couch and started going through my research. I hadn't gotten much more
information for my book and it annoyed me slightly. I really wanted to write
the book about the children being kidnapped from the island.

I opened an article about the first
disappearance in 1997. Nina Kristensen, six years old. Once again I looked at
the picture of the girl and the doll that had been found on the ground. I
sipped my coffee. I found another article about the same case. This time it was
an interview with the mother who was pleading for people on the island to
please help her find her precious daughter. I felt a pinch in my heart thinking
about my own children and trying to imagine what it must feel like losing your
child like that. It made me almost sick with sadness. Then I thought about
Helle and how losing her daughter must have been devastating for her and maybe,
maybe that was part of the explanation why she seemed so troubled, why she
seemed almost like she had a split personality. She definitely had a side to
her that was quite scary and maybe it was for the better that my dad stopped
seeing her now before she showed more of her hidden side. Even if it did mean
he was back to grumbling and moping again.

I looked down at the article again and at the
picture of the mother in the interview. I remembered seeing her in Helle's
store and that Officer Morten had told me how they each shared the same tragic
story. I wondered if they both knew? If they ever talked to each other about
it?

I read the name underneath her picture. Asta
Kristensen. Then I searched for her name in the yellow pages and found her
address. It wasn't far away from the playground that Officer Morten had told me
all the girls had disappeared from. I had long wanted to go see that playground.
Maybe I should pay Mrs. Kristensen a visit while down there? Talk to her about
the book and ask her if she would be interested in doing an interview for it? I
needed as many of the mothers as possible to be able to even write the book in
the first place. If they all turned me down I would have to give it up anyway,
so I figured I might as well begin there. Face to face was the best way to
address this. If I just called her it would be too easy for her to decline my
request.

I wrote the address down on a small piece of
paper, then got up from the couch. "I have to run some errands, Dad. The
kids will be back from school any minute now."

"I'm not going anywhere. Go do your
thing," he answered.

"Okay, Dad. Thanks. It's a big help. I'll
get back and fix you dinner. The concert starts at six."

"I've got this, sweetheart."

"I don't like to leave you when you feel
like this, Dad. Are you sure it's okay?" I asked with a sigh.

"I'm fine, Emma. Really. The kids will
cheer me up. Being with them always makes me feel good. Don't worry. You know I
hate it when you worry about me. I'm a grown man. I can handle a broken
heart."

I leaned over and kissed his forehead. He patted
me on the shoulder, and then I left.

After the
briefing, Patrick slipped
into a disguise and managed
to find a cab to drive him to the other end of town. It had been sixteen years
since he was last in this neighborhood but he remembered every little detail
about it; every corner, every house, every streetlamp brought back memories of
the childhood he had spent here before his mother gave him away. Before she
cast him into a world of abuse, uncertainty, and constant fear for his life. He
had come to terms with it over the years and realized she probably did it to
toughen him up, to teach him the way of life that nothing came easily and so
on. Yes, he had many explanations for why his mother had given him away to
these people who had abused him over and over again. But he was never able to
forgive. And now it was time to settle the score, it was time for her to face
her past and what she had done.

Patrick giggled thinking about how great it was
going to be as he walked onto the street of his childhood home and passed the
playground. Then he stopped for just a short second and looked at all the
children playing without a care in the world. It always annoyed him to see
children happy. It reminded him of the fact that he had never been like them,
that he never had the chance to just play without a care in the world. Not even
when he lived with his mother. She would always dress him up in these horrible
dresses and tell him not to get dirty or even play with other kids. One good
thing she had taught him, though was that he was special, that he was different
and that one day he was going to make the world love him and run after him. And
she had been right. He was the single most popular TV host in the country right
now. If you went into a store his face was on the covers of all the magazines.
They either loved him or they loved to hate him. Patrick couldn't help
chuckling, thinking that maybe his mother didn't quite picture it being in this
way. But he had done it in his own way, hadn't he? Yes he had. Like in that
famous old song, he had done it
my way
.
And for that he was proud. He wasn't just another pretty face.

Looking at the children remembering how much he
hated wearing those dresses he realized it had started way back then. He had
always felt like he was trapped in the wrong body. It wasn't just that he had
come to hate everything about himself being a girl who was so weak that she was
constantly abused. It had always been like that. And his mother hadn't wanted
to listen. She had refused to let him wear pants like he'd wanted to. Instead
she had put ugly bowties in his hair and on his dresses. How he loathed her for
that. She was the reason for everything bad happening in his life.

Patrick took one last glimpse at the children
playing, laughing, yelling happily. A girl was on the swings singing a song.
Part of him wanted to grab her and slit her throat. Just to make her shut up.

There is nothing to be so
cheerful about, little baby doll. The world is a cruel place and soon you'll
see it, too. Then you'll never want to sing again. I make that promise to you.

Patrick smiled manically fantasizing about
killing the girl and how the happiness in her eyes would disappear and never
return. How he would shut that door of hope in her heart once she realized no
one would ever be able to save her from this, how not even her precious mommy
or daddy was going to be able to help her.

But this is not the time
,
he thought and let go of the fantasy. He took a deep breath and remembered the
smells of his childhood. Then he walked on. In the distance he spotted the grey
house. His heart started racing and his step became slower. He remembered the
door, the windows that he used to stare out of dreaming about the world on the
outside that he would one day conquer. Dreaming about escaping the house that
he had back then seen as a prison, escaping his mother's long claws that held
him back, held him so tight to herself, wondering if she would ever let go of
him enough so he could go out and fulfill his purpose? Reach his dreams?

Patrick approached the house with slow steps,
taking deep breaths to calm his beating heart. He was overwhelmed with a
sadness that soon turned into more anger. He peeked in through the window.
There she was. Right there inside the living room he spotted her. But she
wasn't alone. Patrick cursed. There was a woman there with her. His mother was
serving her coffee and they were talking. He mumbled and cursed again while
staring at them through the window.

Then he smiled.
You'll
just have to kill the both of them, now won't you?