Читать книгу Marked For Revenge - Emelie Schepp - Страница 10
ОглавлениеTHE INTERNATIONAL TERMINAL at Suvarnabhumi Airport in Bangkok was swarming with people. Long lines wound around from every desk, and from time to time the clerks yelled out names of people who were requested to contact the information desk. The sound of suitcases arriving on the conveyor belt at baggage claim thundered through the hall.
Large groups were chattering noisily, babies were crying and couples were arguing about their travel plans.
“Passport, please.”
The woman behind the check-in desk put her hand out.
Pim held her passport with both hands to hide the fact that they were trembling. She had been told not to panic, to relax, to try to look happy. But as the line in front of her got shorter, her anxiety grew.
She had fiddled so continuously with her ticket that it was now missing a bit of the paper in the corner.
Her stomach hurt.
The nausea came in waves, and she wished she could just stick her finger down her throat. She wanted to spit—the amount of saliva in her mouth increased with every wave of nausea—but she knew she couldn’t. So she swallowed, again and again.
Two lines away, Noi stood obsessively flicking her backpack strap. They avoided looking at each other, pretended they were strangers.
For now, it was as if they had never met.
Those were the rules.
The woman behind the counter tapped on her computer keyboard. Her hair was dark and pulled into a tight ponytail. The airline emblem was embroidered on the left pocket of her black jacket, underneath which she was wearing a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar.
Pim stood with one arm on the counter. She leaned slightly forward in an attempt to reduce the pain in her swollen belly.
“You can put your bag on the belt,” the woman said, examining Pim’s face. Taking a deep breath, Pim swung her suitcase onto the conveyor belt.
Nausea ran through her like an electric shock.
She grimaced.
“Is it your first time?”
The woman looked at her questioningly.
“Going to Copenhagen, I mean?”
Pim nodded.
“You don’t need to worry. Flying isn’t dangerous.”
Pim didn’t answer. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say. She kept her eyes on her shoes.
“Here you go.”
Pim took her boarding pass and immediately left the counter.
She wanted to get out of there, away from the woman, away from her wondering gaze.
She didn’t want to talk to anyone.
No one.
“Hey! Wait!” The woman behind the counter called to her.
Pim turned around.
“Your passport,” she said. “You forgot your passport.”
Pim went back and mumbled thanks. Clutching her passport to her chest with both hands, she walked slowly toward security.
* * *
Alone again, Jana Berzelius sank slowly to her knees. The pain was excruciating.
She just wanted to close her eyes. Carefully, she touched the back of her head, feeling the wound. Her fingers were immediately covered in blood. She wiped them on her jacket and looked around. Her maroon hat lay fifteen feet to her left, next to her briefcase. She carefully crawled to it, feeling the hard ice against her legs, knowing she couldn’t stay out here on the cold ground.
Then she noticed the bitter taste of metal. She spit and saw that it was red.
As red as the color of her hat.
She counted to three and struggled to her feet again. It felt like someone was stabbing her in the head, and the world was spinning. She supported herself with one hand on the wall of the pink archway.
She didn’t yet have the strength to walk.
So she stood there, letting the blood run down her neck.
* * *
Pim was shaken awake by the plane flying through turbulence.
She clutched the armrests, breathing quickly. Nausea radiated through her body, causing her heart to pound even faster.
She craned her neck in an attempt to see Noi, who was sitting in a window seat seven rows behind her. The headrests were in the way.
The plane was quiet. Most of the passengers were sleeping, and the flight attendants had withdrawn behind the curtains. The lights were off, but here and there a reading light glowed above someone’s seat. Some people were reading, others watching movies on the tiny screens mounted on the seat backs in front of them.
The plane shook again, this time more forcefully.
Her palms were damp with sweat, and she kept her death grip on the armrests, closing her eyes and trying to focus on taking long, slow breaths.
Her stomach was aching.
She suddenly had the urge to go to the bathroom and glanced over the headrests toward the bathrooms at the rear of the plane. After a brief moment’s consideration, she unlatched her seat belt and slowly stood. Walking carefully down the aisle, she gripped one headrest after another along the way to keep her balance.
Her stomach cramped up again, and she started panicking.
The plane’s jerky movements made her sway and bump against the seats.
A quiet voice from the cabin crew encouraged all passengers to remain in their seats and fasten their seat belts.
Pim stopped, hesitating, but continued toward the bathrooms.
She had to go, there was no stopping it. No waiting, either.
Not even for a minute.
She stumbled forward and had just reached the back of the cabin when the plane suddenly dropped. She lost her balance and fell to the side, but she was able to keep herself mostly upright until she reached the door of the bathroom. Rushing in, she closed the door behind her and locked it.
The pain in her stomach was unbearable.
She opened the lid and looked into the toilet. The stink of industrial toilet cleaner and urine hit her in the face. On the floor lay damp, trampled, ripped hand towels. The white plastic faucet dripped, and she could hear the thunder of the engines clearly.
Pim gave a start when there was a knock at the door.
“Hello? I’m sorry, but you must return to your seat,” yelled a voice in English.
Pim tried to answer, but her body crumpled in pain. She pulled down her pants and sat on the cold seat.
“Can you hear me? Hello?” the voice outside continued.
“Okay,” Pim said.
Then she could say nothing more.
Panic had captured her in its iron fist. The pain in her stomach slowly sank farther down in her gut.
She held her breath, sitting absolutely still for thirty seconds. Then she got up and again looked into the toilet.
There it was. A capsule. Lying there in the toilet.
“I’m sorry, but you really have to return to your seat now! All passengers!”
There was pounding on the door and the handle jiggled up and down.
“Yes! Yes!”
Pim wiped herself, tossed the paper in the wastebasket, pulled up her pants and carefully reached her hand into the toilet to retrieve the capsule.
She retched when she saw the brown film on its surface.
Holding it under running water, she carefully rubbed the rubber membrane with soap and water a few times.
She knew what she had to do now. She had no other option.
When the pounding on the door started again, she opened her mouth and placed the capsule on her tongue, tilting her head back, her panicked gaze fixed on a point on the ceiling.
She sweated profusely as the capsule slowly slid down into her stomach.
* * *
It was early morning when Jana Berzelius saw her reflection in her two-hundred-square-foot bathroom. She had managed to stumble home and pass out on her bed the night before. She decided to work from home today, having no desire to put in an appearance at the Public Prosecutor’s Office, or risk questions or curious glances from colleagues or clients. She didn’t want anyone to see her in the rare moments when she wasn’t totally put together.
She rested her hands on the square sink mounted on a black granite countertop. There was no cabinet underneath, instead only a shelf with folded snow-white washcloths in two perfect stacks. The shower was enclosed with dark tinted glass and the showerhead came directly out from the ceiling. The floor was Italian marble, and the room also held two closets and a white bathtub. Everything was sparkling clean.
Jana stood there in a camisole and panties. Her skin was covered in goose bumps.
Her face was swollen and her neck ached.
She cleaned the wound on the back of her head, replacing the bloody bandage with a clean one.
She was thinking about Danilo. She had thought about him all morning. He had attacked her, abused her and again tried to kill her. The thought of it all made her tremble in rage. If that skinny Goth kid hadn’t appeared, she might not be standing here—she might be dead.
Danilo had been vicious and brutal. He had had the advantage and had left her feeling completely powerless.
It was a strange and unpleasant feeling.
She shook her head and tucked her hair behind her ear, his words echoing in her head.
I’m warning you. Follow me one more time and I’ll finish what I started here.
She tried to massage her aching muscles but gave up, letting her hand fall back to the sink.
One more time and you’ll regret it forever. Understand?
The message was unmistakable. It was a death threat, and she was completely certain that he meant it.
But what was he so scared of that he would want to kill her?
He was the threat—a threat to her, her career, her life. So why did he want to kill her? He could destroy absolutely everything for her if he wanted—but as long as he stayed away from her, he was no threat. As long as she stayed away from him, she was no threat to him, either.
She shouldn’t have followed him. I have to keep him out of my life, she thought, becoming aware that she stood at a crossroads. She had to make a decision.
She had nothing to gain from him. Next time, he would kill her. She knew that for a fact. She simply couldn’t let there be a next time.
Never.
Never.
Never.
She’d made up her mind. He would never be a part of her life again. She was finally going to put her past behind her.
Her hands trembled against the cold, hard porcelain.
The walls were closing in on her, and she was having trouble breathing. She understood that letting him go was the most important decision of her life. It meant letting go of her horrific childhood, her past, and moving on with her life—but she had lived her entire life with the uncertainty of who she was and had just begun to find answers.
She looked into the mirror. Her eyes narrowed.
There is no time for hesitation, she thought, turning around and yelling as if Danilo were standing there. She hit the door, aiming again, kicking, screaming.
Panting, she sat down on the floor.
Her mind was racing. Memories of him washed over her like a tidal wave. His face in hers, his ice-cold eyes, his hard voice.
I’m warning you.
“I have to,” she whispered. “I don’t want to, but I have to.”
She got up carefully and repeated this again and again, as if to convince herself that she was making the right decision. Slowly she stepped back to the sink and forced herself to breathe calmly.
From now on, everything is different, she thought.
From now on, I’m done with Danilo.
