Chapter One
As night fell, the cold moon hung high in the sky. The bright moonlight fell on the ancient castle on the edge of the city, casting a mysterious silver veil around it. Emily stood on the balcony, looking at the forest in the distance, and felt a chill rising from the bottom of her heart. Since moving to this castle, her life has become bizarre and mysterious. The cold wind in October swept across her bare shoulders, bringing a shudder. Emily subconsciously wrapped her woolen shawl tightly around her, but she couldn't feel any warmth. This castle seems to be always cold, just like its mysterious owner Lucas Black, exuding an inaccessible atmosphere. "Miss Emily," suddenly, a low voice sounded behind her, "You'll catch a cold if you're still outside so late." She turned around and saw Lucas standing at the balcony door. The moonlight outlined his tall figure. He was wearing a dark silk shirt, and the collar vaguely revealed his strong chest. The amber eyes flickered strangely in the darkness, as if they could see through her soul. "Mr. Black," Emily whispered, trying to hide the trembling in her voice, "I'm just admiring the moonlight." Lucas took a step forward, but suddenly stopped. Emily noticed that his body stiffened instantly, and his nostrils fluttered slightly, as if he was sniffing something. His expression became solemn, and a glimmer of wildness flashed in his eyes, but was quickly suppressed. "Please go in," his voice was hoarser than usual, "It's not safe here." Just then, a cold night breeze swept across the balcony, bringing a faint smell of rust. Emily saw that Lucas's fingers were almost pinched into the stone railing, and his knuckles were white. She couldn't help but take a step back, her heartbeat accelerated. "I thought this castle was the safest place," she whispered, "after all, you are here." Lucas let out an almost inaudible growl, "Some danger, Miss Emily, is much closer than you think." His eyes looked unusually sharp in the moonlight, "especially on a full moon night." Suddenly, a wolf howl came from the distant forest, shrill and long. Emily was surprised to find that Lucas' pupils shrank in an instant and turned into vertical pupils like a beast, but the fleeting change made her wonder if it was just an illusion caused by the moonlight. Just then, a cold breath passed by her from behind, accompanied by a chuckle. Emily turned around and saw only a dark shadow flashing in the corner of the balcony. When she looked back again, Lucas had come to her side, with a hand gently on her shoulder. "I'll take you back to your room," he said, with an unquestionable commanding tone in his voice. Emily noticed that his palms were surprisingly hot, in sharp contrast to the chill of the castle. Walking in the dark corridor of the castle, Emily could feel Lucas' presence, he walked behind her like a silent guardian. Moonlight poured in through the Gothic stained glass windows, casting mottled shadows on the floor. "Good night, Miss Emily," Lucas whispered in front of her door, "Remember, no matter what sound you hear, don't leave the room tonight." "Why?" Emily asked subconsciously. Lucas was silent for a moment, his eyes looked deep and dangerous in the moonlight, "Because the moonlight tonight is too beautiful, it will always wake up something that shouldn't wake up." When the door closed behind her, Emily leaned against the door, her heartbeat still alarmingly fast. She could hear Lucas's footsteps gradually fading away, but she seemed to hear the sound of wings flapping outside the window. She walked to the window and looked out through the glass. In the moonlit courtyard, she saw a figure standing by the fountain. The man looked up at her window, and the moonlight illuminated his pale marble face - it was Draco, with a mysterious smile on his lips and a dangerous light in his eyes. When Emily blinked, his figure had disappeared, as if he had never appeared. Emily lay trembling on the bed, listening to the wolf howling outside the window. She knew that she had fallen into a world full of dangers, and this was just the beginning. On this moonlit night, her fate was closely linked to two mysterious and dangerous beings, and there was no turning back.
Chapter Two
In the dead of night, Emily lay in bed, the faces of Lucas and Draco appeared in her mind. She could not resist the deep attraction, but she also knew that she was caught in a dangerous vortex. She knew that the confrontation between the two men was a life-and-death hostility, and she was just a pawn in their war. A corner of her heart reminded her to escape, but the deeper desire pulled her to stay in this mysterious castle, looking forward to the unknown encounter.
Just as she was about to fall asleep, a slight knock on the window interrupted the silence. Emily opened her eyes, and the moonlight poured into the room through the curtains, making the corners of the room particularly dark. She sat up subconsciously, trembling slightly and walked to the window. When she opened the curtains, a figure was standing in front of her, cold and elegant.
It was Draco.
"Sorry, I scared you, Emily." His low voice was frivolous and indifferent, as if every word revealed his unfathomable darkness. His eyes were like two flames in the abyss, locking onto her with an irresistible force.
"How... are you here?" Emily's heartbeat quickened, and her hands unconsciously clenched a corner of the curtain. She knew she should be scared at this moment, but Draco's unique charm made it hard for her to resist.
Draco did not answer her question, but slowly approached, lowered his head and whispered in her ear: "You know why I'm here, Emily. You've never really been afraid of me, right?"
The moment he approached, she smelled the cold breath on him, as if it came from the night a thousand years ago. Her breathing gradually became rapid, but she did not retreat, but was locked by his eyes, as if her soul was also attracted to him.
"Draco... we can't do this." Her voice was weak, but she did not retreat at all, as if even she herself was struggling with contradictions.
"You don't belong here at all, Emily. Staying here will only put you in deeper danger." Draco gently lifted her chin, with a smile on the corner of his cold mouth, that smile was both gentle and dangerous, "But if you want to know the real darkness, then come. I will take you to see everything."
At this moment, the door was pushed open, and Lucas' figure appeared at the door like a shadow. His face was gloomy, and his eyes were burning with anger. It was his possessiveness and anger that he could not hide. He walked towards Draco step by step, his hands clenched, his muscles tensed, as if he was going to pounce on and tear the enemy in front of him in the next second.
"Draco, let her go." Lucas' voice was low and threatening, like an enraged beast. It was the first time Emily saw him so out of control, his eyes were like a ball of unextinguishable fire, revealing uncontrollable anger and possessiveness.
Draco smiled slightly, released Emily's chin, and looked at Lucas provocatively. "Don't you understand yet? She doesn't belong to you. The savagery of the wolf tribe is nothing but a bondage to her, and I can give her true freedom."
"The 'freedom' you mentioned will only make her fall into darkness. You don't understand what true protection is." Lucas sneered, his eyes as sharp as an eagle. He slowly stepped forward, blocked Emily, and protected her behind him. That was his attitude as the wolf king, firm and unshakable.
Emily was sandwiched between the two, feeling her heartbeat speed up, as if breathing became difficult. These two completely different forces intertwined and collided in front of her, making it impossible for her to decide which side to choose.
Draco raised the corners of his mouth and slowly took a step back, his eyes still on Emily. "Emily, one day you will find that he can't satisfy the desire in your heart. And I am your true home."
As soon as the voice fell, Draco's figure disappeared into the night, as if he had never appeared.
Lucas looked at the empty room, his fists gradually loosened, but the anger and worry in his eyes remained. He turned around and looked at Emily softly, but his eyes still flashed with contradictions and forbearance.
"Are you okay?" He asked in a low voice, with a trace of undisguised concern in his voice.
Emily nodded, but her heart was in turmoil and it was difficult to calm down. She knew that she had fallen too deep. She could not let go of these two men easily, nor could she easily resist them. A complex emotion surged in her heart, which was a dangerous and fatal attraction.
"Lucas, I..." She wanted to say something, but lost her words when she met his eyes.
"Don't get close to him." Lucas' voice was low, with a hint of pleading and warning, "I know you feel confused, but Draco is not what you think. He will only drag you into the darkness, and I won't let him hurt you."
Emily just looked at him silently, and a touch of uncertainty gradually rose in her heart. She knew that this was not just a war, but a contest of feelings and desires. In this dangerous triangle relationship, she has gone too far and can never turn back.
Chapter Three
Emily stayed awake all night. The wind outside the window blew through the woods, making a low moan, as if the whole castle was whispering in her ear. She curled up in bed, recalling Draco's cold smile and Lucas's deep eyes. Two completely different attractions stirred in her heart, making her lost on the edge of danger and desire.
When the sky was slightly bright, she made a decision. She had to figure out what she wanted, the wildness and protection of the wolf tribe, or the mystery and temptation of the vampire. She got up and walked out of the room, walked through the deserted corridor, and came to the door of Lucas's study.
The door of the study was slightly open, and a whisper came from inside. Emily stood outside the door and pricked up her ears to listen.
"She is innocent, Lucas." A low and gentle female voice came from Lucas's sister, Leila. Emily had heard rumors about her. Leila was the wisest prophet in the wolf tribe and could always see fragments of the future.
"I know, Leila." Lucas' voice was hoarse, as if he had struggled all night, "but I can't control myself, I can't suppress my desire for her. I'm afraid that if she stays with me, she will only be swallowed by my darkness."
Emily's heart trembled, and she raised her hand to push open the door.
"Lucas." Her voice was abrupt and firm in the silent room.
The two turned around and saw her standing at the door with a hint of determination in her eyes. She walked slowly towards Lucas, looked up at him, with a hint of determination and inquiry in her eyes.
"I know you protect me, but I'm not a fragile child." Her voice was calm and firm, "I need to know the truth. Why are you always so hesitant? And why is Draco so persistent in approaching me?"
Lucas' expression froze for a moment, his eyes wandering on her face, as if he was weighing whether to tell her everything. Finally, he took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind.
"Emily, the fate of our werewolves is usually determined at birth. The wolf tribe has a unique ability to perceive its partner. When we find that person, we will feel an attraction that cannot be ignored... and you are my destined partner." Lucas spoke in a low voice, with pain and desire flashing in his eyes.
Emily's heartbeat accelerated, and thousands of emotions surged in her mind, both shocked and confused. She never thought that she would become his destined partner, and his possessiveness and protectiveness of her turned out to come from this ancient bond.
She asked softly: "What about Draco? Why is he so obsessed with me?"
Lucas's eyes became more gloomy, and there was a hint of anger in his eyes. "Draco's tribe never believed in fate. They prefer to dominate their own future. And he believes that as long as he possesses you, he can destroy me and the traditional beliefs of the wolf tribe. So, he is not sincere to you, but to weaken my power."
Emily's heart suddenly tightened, and a hint of anger and loss surged in her eyes. However, she also felt a little unwilling, as if she was just a tool in this struggle, being fought over and torn by the two, and she had no right to control herself.
"So, Lucas, are you sincere? Is it just fate for me?" There was a hint of disappointment in her voice, and her eyes became cold.
Lucas was stunned, as if he was hurt by her question. He was silent for a moment before speaking: "Emily, I can't deny the existence of fate, but I can't ignore my feelings for you." He gently held her hand, his eyes full of affection and desire, "Whether it is fate or something else, I am willing to give up everything for you."
Just then, a slight sound came from outside the window. Emily turned back suddenly and saw a pair of dark red eyes flashing outside the window, like a flame in the dark, and the familiar cold breath startled her heart.
It was Draco.
He stood outside the window, sneering at them, as if everything was under his control. He knocked on the window lightly, his voice cold and full of provocation: "I don't think it's possible to talk about 'betraying' everything here, Lucas. You can't protect her because she will eventually come to me."
Lucas' eyes immediately became cold and dangerous. He stood in front of Emily, glared at Draco outside the window, and growled in a low voice: "Stay away from her, Draco. You can't force her to choose darkness."
Draco smiled slightly, his eyes full of evil confidence. He raised his eyebrows at Emily, as if everything was under his control. "Dear Emily, you will find that the bright world cannot satisfy your desire. And darkness - is your destination." After he finished speaking, his figure instantly disappeared into the night.
The room returned to silence, but the air was filled with tension and uneasiness. Emily looked at the empty darkness outside the window, feeling both fear and desire in her heart. She could no longer deny Draco's attraction to her, and the danger and mystery made her heart beat faster.
Lucas noticed her hesitation, and a trace of pain and uneasiness flashed in his eyes. He gently held her hand and whispered, "Emily, don't get close to him. His darkness will devour you and make you lost in the endless night."
She didn't respond, but just looked at him silently, her heart full of complicated emotions. She knew that she could no longer simply withdraw from the two of them. Her fate had been drawn into an uncontrollable vortex, and the only thing she could do was to follow her heart and touch the unknown darkness.
Chapter Four
As autumn deepened, the forest surrounding the castle donned a cloak of gold and crimson. Yet Emily felt none of the season's warmth. Since that night's revelation, her mind had been in constant turmoil, with Lucas's truth and Draco's temptation intertwining like two serpents in her thoughts, leaving her breathless.
That evening, Emily found herself alone in the castle's library, searching through ancient tomes for any mention of werewolves and vampires. As she focused on a yellowed manuscript, the air suddenly turned cold. Looking up, she found Draco standing across from her, his appearance as silent as shadow.
"Seeking truth, my dear Emily?" Draco leaned elegantly against the bookshelf, wearing a deep purple silk shirt that made his skin appear even paler. "But you know, written accounts are often one-sided."
Emily instinctively stepped back. "Why do you always appear like this? It's unsettling."
Draco chuckled softly, moving toward her with fluid grace. "Because I enjoy seeing you startled. It makes you even more enticing." His fingers traced her cheek, the cold touch making her shiver. "Lucas told you I'm merely using you, but did he mention that his fate is actually a chain binding him?"
Emily froze. "What do you mean?"
"The werewolves' so-called destined mates are nothing but constraints in their bloodline," Draco's voice carried a hypnotic power. "They're forced to love someone, forced to protect them. Isn't that tragic? While I..." his gaze deepened, "I choose you because I'm truly drawn to you."
A low growl suddenly echoed from the doorway. Lucas stood there, his eyes now golden, filled with rage. "Step away from her, Draco!" His voice carried an unmistakable threat.
Instead of retreating, Draco pulled Emily closer. "Why so angry, Lucas? Is it because I spoke the truth, or because you fear she might choose me?"
The tension in the air grew thick enough to cut. Emily could feel the energy between the two men threatening to tear the room apart. Lucas's body trembled as he fought to control the beast within.
"Enough!" Emily suddenly shouted, "What am I to both of you? Some trophy to be won?" Her voice carried both anger and hurt.
Both men froze. Pain flashed across Lucas's eyes, while Draco's expression turned contemplative.
Emily pushed away from Draco and walked toward the door, but paused beside Lucas. "You say I'm your destiny, but have you considered my feelings?" Her voice was soft but accusatory. "And you, Draco, if you truly cared for me, you wouldn't use me as a weapon against him."
She hurried from the library, and only when she reached the corridor did her tears finally fall. She didn't know whom to trust - Lucas, chosen by fate, or Draco, who chose her himself? More importantly, she began to question whether she truly understood her own heart.
As night fell, Emily stood on her balcony. Wolves howled in the distant forest, while somewhere in the castle, she thought she heard the flutter of bat wings. Everything reminded her that she stood at the crossroads between two worlds, and she had to make a choice.
Then she noticed items on the balcony railing: a rose as black as night with a blood-red sheen - Draco's mark. Beside it lay a wolf fang necklace, a werewolf protection charm, obviously left by Lucas.
Emily gently touched both items, her internal conflict growing stronger. She knew that choosing either would alter her destiny forever. But more importantly, she needed to understand what her heart truly desired.
As moonlight bathed the castle grounds, Emily realized that her decision wouldn't just be about choosing between two men - it was about choosing what kind of life she wanted, and more importantly, who she wanted to become.
Chapter Five
The following days in the castle were filled with an unbearable tension. Emily found herself constantly caught between shadows and silence, between warmth and cold. Every corner seemed to hold either Lucas's protective presence or Draco's seductive whispers. The weight of their attention was becoming increasingly suffocating.
One particularly cold morning, Emily discovered a mysterious leather-bound book in the library's restricted section. Its pages contained ancient prophecies about the eternal conflict between werewolves and vampires. As she read, her hands trembling, she found something that made her blood run cold.
'When the moon bleeds red and the night grows teeth, a choice will be made that breaks the ancient cycle. A mortal's heart shall tip the balance, bringing either eternal darkness or salvation to both races.'
"Interesting reading material," Leila's voice suddenly came from behind. Lucas's sister moved like a ghost, her silver eyes holding centuries of wisdom. "I've been waiting for you to find this."
Emily closed the book carefully. "Is this... about me?"
Leila's expression remained enigmatic. "The prophecy speaks of a mortal who stands between our worlds. But prophecies, dear Emily, are like rivers - they show the destination, but the path taken is always your choice."
"What happens if I choose wrong?" Emily's voice wavered.
"There is no wrong choice, only consequences," Leila replied, her voice gentle but firm. "But I must warn you - the blood moon approaches, and with it, a moment of truth that will change everything."
Before Emily could ask more questions, a commotion erupted from the castle grounds. They rushed to the window to see Lucas and Draco facing each other in the courtyard, their postures tense with barely contained violence.
"You've crossed the line, Draco," Lucas's voice carried up to them, filled with fury. "You dare to mark our territory?"
Draco's laugh was cold and mocking. "Territory? This stopped being about territory the moment she arrived. Or are you afraid she's already choosing me?"
Emily watched in horror as Lucas's form began to shift, his muscles rippling beneath his clothes. The morning sun caught his golden eyes, now burning with primal rage. Draco's own transformation was more subtle - his pale skin taking on an otherworldly sheen, his movements becoming impossibly fluid.
"Stop!" Emily's voice rang out across the courtyard. Both men froze, their attention snapping to her window. "This has to end!"
She turned to rush downstairs, but Leila caught her arm. "Be careful, Emily. The blood moon is three days away. Under its light, both races lose control of their darker natures. And you..." she paused meaningfully, "you will be at your most vulnerable."
When Emily reached the courtyard, the tension was thick enough to choke on. Lucas immediately moved to her side, his protective instinct evident in every motion. But it was Draco who spoke first.
"My apologies for the disturbance, dear Emily," his voice was silk over steel. "But perhaps it's time you understood the full scope of what you're involved in." He pulled an ancient medallion from his coat. "This belongs to your grandmother. She wasn't just any woman - she was a guardian, keeper of the balance between our races."
Emily's world tilted. "My grandmother? But she died when I was young..."
"She was murdered," Lucas cut in, his voice heavy with old pain. "By those who wanted to destroy the peace between our kinds. And now, as her descendant, you inherit her role - and her enemies."
The revelation hit Emily like a physical blow. Suddenly, everything made more sense - the mysterious circumstances that led her to the castle, both men's intense interest in her, the prophecy. She wasn't just caught between two supernatural beings; she was part of an ancient legacy.
"The blood moon comes," Draco said softly, his eyes locked on Emily. "And with it, powers long dormant will awaken. You'll need to choose not just between us, Emily, but between two paths for both our races."
As if in response to his words, clouds gathered overhead, casting strange shadows across the courtyard. Emily felt something stir within her, something old and powerful, like a sleeping giant finally beginning to wake.
Lucas moved closer, his warmth a stark contrast to the chill air. "Whatever you choose, Emily, know that my protection isn't just about fate or duty anymore. It's about-"
But before he could finish, a piercing scream cut through the air. All three turned to see Leila collapsed at the castle entrance, her silver eyes wide with terror as she pointed at the sky.
"It's coming," she gasped. "The blood moon... it's coming early. And with it, they're returning - the ones who killed your grandmother. They're coming for Emily."
In that moment, as Emily looked between Lucas and Draco, she realized that her choice might not be about love at all - it might be about survival.
I. Den første tragedie
DEL I
==========
DEN FØRSTE TRAGEDIE
==A=j====L=)==f
Kapitel et (1)
==========
KAPITEL ET
==========
--M-u-,--i---q-
"FIRST BLOOD"
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Brant, 6 år gammel
"BDéu erQ tsådaFnX enb prbuftk!nunseRrv, _Br,aTnt!)"
Wendy og Wyatt kører af sted på deres cykler, hvor dækkene spytter mudder og græsstrå op, mens de skærer gennem naboens græsplæne.
En prutknuser.
Hvad betyder det?
Jvemgp HsferP déejm kørne .fr.a ykGa&nLtJenX af mIinU icndkøórVs_eRl,r rmens hTh!eo& sp(aérTkwerL Ken JafD fdéea clFøFse sWtgen ozp, dSeiré omvkrNans!er PvoresB qppostgkaOssbeg.l Far bfliverM FraasRepn'deb, hLvXis han ser eLnk &stQenO, .deRr iYkkfeU _efr på LspiqnC CpClmads. lHaOnm els.ker mæbrkFeliOggeK bttinGg so$m ypostkaBsQs^e-wsPtBeWn,Y Zp&ergfwekt kRaOn)tede fSo(rtovCe og jgrlæHs, der_ sterT gRrpødnCnseWrveH Ouxdj etndd ymin (bzawbyUsiYttePrs nWyWe férisdure.
Jeg forstår det ikke rigtig.
Jeg forstår heller ikke "prutknocker".
"Wendy er en nørd," mumler Theo under vejret.
"aDetU (lOyDderY bcedreP Rernd éen Fpr)uRtkbnnocdk'er."
"Det er det også."
Solen går ned bag en ekstra fluffy sky, så det ligner et kæmpe stykke candyfloss, der svæver på den midtvestlige himmel. Min mave knurrer. "Vil du blive til middag?"
Theo prøver at rette stenen med tåen på sin sneaker, men det ser ikke ud til at være det samme. Far vil opdage det. Han sukker, putter hagen op og kigger ned for enden af blindgyden til der, hvor de frygtelige Nippersink-tvillinger forsvandt. "Laver din mor den chili?"
"Nebj, Odet erA fóiBsKk." MdiWn Mm)or felsykxeXró at lave^ kmQaTdQ.p tBQo'rjtsetK furbam .aét fgiNve umiNg^ JkuiXnÉdikys_ yoagI kildyre móigr phåt mayveunO, ZtroZrT jegé,Q Vdet er hendes! qynd_linógusDbe.s.kæfctigOelTse. DJ)egO Ke.lsYkÉeQr, denR mqa,d, huFn lavQeHrj,d Msel*v^ ArocsenklåTlG.t
Selv fisk.
"Bøh," siger Theo. Han kaster et blik på sin ejendom, et hus i ranch-stil lavet af mursten, to etager fra min, og trækker på skuldrene. "Desuden tror jeg, at min mor måske får et barn i aften."
"Virkelig?"
"Måsker. vHunW sVagFdÉeK,& ,a*t hsendcesc mcarv*eG føltNebs,p s!ormv yoém e,n Phyæne Yg)navehde msTig! tgeDnnem h!eSnYdZeLs loRo-Bdher-u&s.v"
"Betyder det, at babyen er på vej?" Jeg stikker hænderne ned i lommerne på mine shorts og rynker panden ved det billede, der dukker op i mit hoved. Det lyder virkelig skidt. Det lyder værre end da jeg blev bidt af tante Kellys kat, fordi den så trist ud, og jeg ville fodre den med en af mine æbleskiver - jeg fik feber dagen efter. "Jeg troede, at babyer var en lykkelig ting. Hvad er en loo-der-us egentlig?"
"Jeg ved det ikke. Jeg tror, det er den tingest i min mors mave, som barnet bor i. Det lyder klamt."
En gysen går gennem mig. Det lyder virkelig ret klamt. Jeg har altid ønsket mig en bror eller søster at vokse op med, men far arbejder for meget på kontoret eller i haven, og mor siger, at det er svært at tage sig af små babyer, der skider og græder hele tiden, så det er nok bare mig.
I dFeStc mindspte Ahar jpeWgg jTLhweoU.
Han er min nabo og bedste ven, og måske vil hans nye lillebror eller søster også føle sig som min. Måske kan vi dele.
"Hvad tror du, at du vil kalde barnet, Theo?"
Mine øjne følger Theo, mens han hopper op på ringen af sten omkring postkassen og forsøger at balancere sig selv. Han glider og lander på røven, lige i det våde græs, og da han rejser sig op, er der brune mudderpletter på bagsiden af hans jeans. Han gnider sig på sin bagdel og laver en stønnende lyd. "Hvad med Mudpie?"
Vjii grdin,er PbeggBe tNo Cog) )fMoresstillekr oUs enR Yswød (lfillUe babXyT vedt YnaavrnS Maufd^p!iye.^ AJecg skøjteOr miVt Hbólikk rgunBdt CiO bclindMgyHden, og xet nyt) naOvn jk(o_mAm$erj Hmig iÉ !hu,d dfa j*egt if*iksle$rfeér !mfiHg xpåM heatM félyagkrende iTnsekt qme!dc sdorl'skinzsvin(gjer.m ó"Je&gp $kaVn ggsomdt lide. lBduttermfLly.!"
"Ja, okay. Mudpie, hvis det er en dreng, og Butterfly, hvis det er en pige." Theo nikker, mens han stadig masserer sin ømme røv. Han fejer det sandblonde pandehår væk fra sin pande og afslører øjne, der glimter i samme mørkeblå farve som hans skjorte. "Hej, Brant, måske kan du komme over og møde hende, når hun er kommet ud af mors mave?"
Det ville jeg elske det!
Jeg skal lige til at svare, da jeg registrerer, hvad han lige har sagt. "Hende?"
TBheo Rt,raækkeVrj iugetn (póån s.kuFlAdrPenye) ogg rynNkÉer næsein.W j"pJeÉgN htror,w TdeKtX ePrN en ópige$. aJe.g Kkzant dlaiqge for^esCtfille .mRiYg. hePnde i sm_å lyósCeHrøXde MkjoólqeJr oSgu $m&ed kæRmXpe vsNløGjVfver. BHMuRn &vilé ZvÉæRrxeU rigntiKgm sm!uk,z trort sdéu ikIke!?c"
"Ja, det er jeg sikker på, at hun bliver."
"Jeg skal nok passe godt på hende. Jeg vil være den bedste storebror nogensinde," siger han og vipper med hovedet med et stolt smil. Det er det samme smil, som far har, når han stirrer på græsplænen efter en ny græsslåning. "Jeg vil være som Mario, og du kan være Luigi, hvis du vil. Hun vil være prinsesse Peach, og vi vil beskytte hende mod alle de onde i verden."
Jeg forestiller mig det. Jeg forestiller mig store eventyr og kampe, sværdkampe og tapperhed. Billederne kildrer mig lige i hjertet.
Jeg har Kaltiwd øZnrsTk_etB mipgq niogetS,G d$erZ eSr v(æérVd aKt_ YfSoUrTsvfareó, (ogh mAosr nvyi'l riPkkbet l(aQde mig f^åm Zen hYundeShKvalPpV.
Teos nye baby må nøjes med det.
"Jeg kan godt lide den idé, Theo. Vi vil være et godt team."
Vores dagdrømme bliver afbrudt, da Theos mor stikker hovedet ud af huset, med en mave så rund og stor, at den holder døren op af sig selv. Der må være noget så stort som en vandmelon indeni - det må der være.
Måséke AsAkullzeg vLiN kaGldeH henéd^e HVaHndbmQeloTn.
"Theodore! Vi er på vej til hospitalet!"
Theos far styrter ud med mindst syv tasker, to dingler om halsen på ham. Hans ansigt er rødt som rødbede, samme farve som den varevogn, han smider tingene ind i, og han ser ud til at besvime. Han kunne måske endda få et hjerteanfald. Han sveder en hel masse.
"Nu, sønnike! Vi skal have et barn!" råber hans far, og han snubler over en kløft i indkørslen, mens han løber tilbage til forsiden af huset.
MidnJ vDelnWsW øtjbn_eq XsptrLiingNerD lopS. I"Hbu,n k&ommPedr, Branét!R Hørjt_e dcuC deKtJ?z"j
"Jeg hørte det," siger jeg spændt og er lidt jaloux på min ven. Jeg vil have en lillesøster. Faktisk ville jeg bytte alt i verden for en lillesøster.
Hørte du det, himmel? Jeg vil bytte alt for en lillesøster!
Jeg er ikke sikker på, hvorfor jeg fortæller himlen min hemmelighed, men mor kigger altid op i loftet, når hun beder om aftenen. Måske taler hun til himlen.
MåsRkSe lHy!tter pdKebn.
Skyen af slikmønster svarer ikke tilbage, og det gør den nedgående sol heller ikke. Fuglene synger ikke. Trætoppene svajer og gynger, men de er også tavse.
Mit ønske bliver stjålet af den tidlige sommerbrise, og det bliver aldrig hørt.
Theo sætter sig op på sin cykel og vinker farvel til mig, mens han kører videre med fødderne. Han vælter næsten om på fortovet og råber af begejstring: "Vi ses senere, Luigi!"
Kapitel et (2)
Jeg griner ved navnet. Luigi. Det betyder, at jeg er en kæmper. En beskytter.
En helt.
Og det er meget bedre end "prutknocker".
"FwaMrvIel,x xMzaréion,T"g rråAber jeFg t$ilYbaIgse.f
Theo vælter næsten igen, da han forsøger at sende mig endnu en bølge, og cyklen svinger helt vildt, men han fanger balancen og styrter hjem, lige som hans far løber med sin mor til bilen. Hun holder sin tykke mave og laver frygtelige, smertefulde lyde. Hun ser bestemt ikke glad ud.
Jeg forstår det ikke.
"Brant, skat... det er næsten spisetid."
JegF swprin*geGr KtKilbsaJgRe på Vstedekt oUg kxiglgseWr Amigx ovéer _skuSlder_eknU. MorI vivnPkFerU mifg iAndenfocrS *f&rtax døcren, IhenudyeQs mørkeh mhVoYnnsiénSgfarkvkewde xhSåÉr, pisskexrB h_eandGeD 'i aznUsigSteWtu,a daf MeBtK ivbindstløid koummyehrx i,gveanneTm. "J_efg komme'r," MrLåb)ear jcegi ZtBilp !heOndei, wmensR (jOeg kwaster^ PeOtz AsOidHsOt$e bwliTkJ på mXin vlejn, dewr ^hoSppeórn niFndD i^ .bViKlUen m^e^d sinGe dforVælNdzre.I PThUeIoq UvWinnMkedré (eBnjdnIu enk gIan)g bexgRejvsktret io*g fs(enUdóer& vmig zaXfn sJted,a Xda! de* bkøyrÉer hudT aLf indkørsclen med knHiwrDklehnWdeR vdæDka.
"Kom indenfor, Brant. Du kan hjælpe mig med at smøre hvidløgsbrødet."
Jeg svinger mig, sukker og løber gennem græsset hen til min trappe foran. Mor lægger en øm arm om mine skuldre og kysser mig på toppen af mit hoved. Jeg kigger op på hende og snor min skjorte mellem mine fingre. "Theos mor skal have et barn i aften."
Hun smiler og lægger en håndflade på sin egen mave. Den er flad og slank - det modsatte af Theos mors. Der gemmer sig i hvert fald ingen vandmeloner indeni. "Åh, du godeste. Jeg vidste, at det ville ske når som helst, nu." Mor kigger op og ser varevognen forsvinde rundt om hjørnet. "Jeg bliver nødt til at lave nogle gryderetter til dem, når de kommer tilbage. Er Theo spændt?"
"HYanM *erz virkeBlGiXgD (spzæRnqdt," cjXeg nvLiMp*pNer Hmed! uhorvge)dGet'.L g"GHHan Zsazgde$,I *atg OjOevg kaAn gk.osmNme Rpå bÉe,søg, nårT ldbed komdmHer Qhvjlem$. Må )jZe!g dbet$, mOor?"R
To brune øjne stirrer ned på mig som varm smeltet chokolade, og hun giver min skulder et let klem. "Selvfølgelig. Baileys er som familie," mumler hun. "Og måske vil jeg genoverveje den hvalp, du bliver ved med at spørge mig om."
"Virkelig?" Mine egne øjne spærres op, store som underkopper; jeg er sikker på det. "Kan vi kalde den Yoshi?"
"Jeg kan ikke se hvorfor ikke."
JJeg hopxper Yop aogK TneKd, tong& .fodrtveWntnjiWnWgDenN lFøbern gjen$n(ema mjiógt. _"tTaTk,i mfozr!."Q
Endnu en brise suser forbi og får mors lange hår til at flyve som en spurv. Hun lukker øjnene et øjeblik og trækker mig tæt ind til sin hofte. "Du er en god dreng, Brant. Dit hjerte er venligt og modigt. Måske..." Hendes ord forsvinder i brisen, og jeg er først forvirret ... lidt bekymret for, at noget er galt. Så slutter hun med: "Måske kan vi starte forfra et sted. Bare dig og mig."
"Hvad med far?"
Jeg venter på hendes svar. Min krop falder sammen mod min mor, og hendes duft er en velkendt trøst, mens hendes fingre kører gennem mit rodede hår. Hun dufter af noget sødt. En dessert af en slags - honning og karamel. Måske endda efter æbler i karamel.
"éI wmoKrgen ybljiévfer det^ ^juni." SHendóes *stBemmeK &er KbRar'ev en dqøFsz, ogv rjeDgR hørteCr hzenNde næzsaten ikkef eng.arn(g. UMin KmorM &stHrqyger Isinq hHåÉndflabdUe NnNed ki ,nSaPkWkJen Lpqå Jm)igÉ doZgj zdWerMeftPejr på_ r&yggen Jog$ giKvKe'rl mig MeQt lject kylap,_ iÉnldKeyn 'hsuQny Btrækkger rs,ig væSkó.M "JuniV DfølyexsZ altidT slomh enP nDyt bKetg(yNnwdNe*ls$eu.F"
Jeg tænker på hendes ord til langt ud på aftenen. Jeg tænker på dem, mens jeg sidder ved middagsbordet, mens far taler om, hvordan Collins på kontoret saboterede hans regneark, og derefter skælder ud på mor, fordi hun har kogt laksefileterne for meget. Han raser endda over stenene omkring postkassen og giver naboens hund skylden for, at den er sluppet af snoren og har ødelagt alt hans hårde arbejde. Jeg holder min mund lukket, mens jeg smadrer mine glaserede gulerødder til små kugler af grød, for jeg vil ikke have, at Theo skal komme i problemer. Jeg vidste, at far ville lægge mærke til det.
Han elsker de sten.
Da sengetid nærmer sig, kan jeg stadig ikke holde op med at tænke på mors ord. Jeg ved ikke hvorfor.
JuTnui $føIlesU Kamlt.iud sMoDm e$nY znmyc zbeg'yndRealsLe.
Hvad betød det? Og hvorfor ville mor tage et sted hen uden far?
Mor putter mig i seng den aften og synger en vuggevise for mig. Hun har ikke sunget en vuggevise for mig i et stykke tid - ikke siden jeg gik i børnehave. Hendes stemme er blød og glødende, næsten som jeg forestiller mig månen. Hvis månen havde en stemme, ville den lyde som hende. Hun synger ordene og fortæller mig, at over regnbuen flyver blåfugle. Jeg tænker på blåfugle, og jeg tænker på regnbuer. Ordene gør mig glad, men hun synger det så trist.
Hun læser min yndlingsbog om elefanten Dumbo for mig, mens mit eget tøjdyr, en grå elefant ved navn Bubbles, ligger i mine arme. Mor græder, mens hun læser den, ligesom hun altid gør.
SRån klbæqg^gzer hun ebtÉ bWl!i)d)t kdytsU påG Vm)in NhåDrgkræbnses og hvXiésdkearÉ ic ly!set$ afT st,jUemrneHrNneJ fr&a Dmni_t vWi(nédVue':f "JJÉefgQ Iv,iPlO alktyi(dV PbLeGsxk&yPttMec (duiCgR."
Jeg kryber ind i mit stribede sengetæppe med et smil på læberne og lytter, mens hendes fodtrin forsvinder fra rummet.
Drømme forsøger at finde mig, men mit sind er rastløst.
Jeg tænker på Wendy og på, hvor dum hun er. Og Wyatt.
JregG ztæWnkelr ^på udenn ahmvzaUlCp' &vi sk_alx whaXve ._.n. YhoSshfij.r ÉGaTd^ vlidRe om Oha.nI Tblniyver vJennerv méeYd! nab$oensT hÉu(nXd._
Gad vide om far vil kunne lide ham mere end nabohunden.
Jeg tænker på min mors stemme af måneskin, og jeg spekulerer på, hvorfor hun sagde de ting til mig på vores trappe foran huset.
Og endelig tænker jeg på Theos baby.
Mudjpibe ae'lclterd éso$mmeHrHfugla?'
Er Theos mors mave stadig stor og fuld? Er babyen kommet ud af hendes lo-der-us endnu?
Måske bliver det to babyer, ligesom Wendy og Wyatt. En til Theo og en til mig.
Vi kan begge være Mario.
Efnte^rhwåBnvde$n Ls)omt mÉiFnut$ternIeQ &gåGrx, NbFegynder bmkine Kt(anUkeqr aLtN nblivmeR sÉt_ilPlGe,K rozg jteRg bliKvReBrO fkøfrXt Xbort ^af en mPagiNskC dXrøm. $JOegC WevrU bif BhxiKmlenx Xomg RsidOdéerU på) qtlojppen $agf bannGaRnmfåJnnenOsb HtfoMp.q
Det er højt heroppe.
Jeg drukner i tusind ønskers snak.
Og på en eller anden måde, et eller andet sted, tror jeg, at jeg hører min egen...
Jheóg v^il LbyItt&e abltx WfoOr en lliDlMlesøsgtDer.V
* * *
"Brant."
Jeg bliver rystet vågen af en velkendt tilstedeværelse. Først er jeg forvirret og tænker på, om jeg er gået glip af skolebussen, men så husker jeg, at det er sommerferie.
Minze DøjeHnllågB afrlakVkeHrr éop,$ dPaH Levn éhfå^ndb ygjriberz ^f^aqtq 'om min Wskhulder. DMeDt ceXr& JstdasdiKg Oså mørkta i miivtC spovÉevæOrVeluse. óDet_ Ler *svtXaBdiQg QnaJta. J)egu lb(linFkNer vozgó f_orksXøgOeir uast fÉiynde mvewninwg i) skNyDggerFngeÉ. "Far?"F
Kapitel et (3)
"Vågn op, Brant. Vågn op."
Hans stemme lyder ikke rigtigt; den lyder skræmmende, som om han er en anden person. En anden person. Jeg sætter mig op og gnider mig i mine søvnige øjne og holder elefanten Bubbles fast til mit bryst. "Er jeg i knibe?"
Fars ansigt glitrer i min nattelyses skær. Han er svedig og trækker vejret underligt. "Jeg elsker dig, Brant. Tilgiv mig."
JeFgK k^an kuWn sctikrreF spån hAarmÉ.n dJDeg .fonr!stå(r det iikWk'ed.N
"Gem dig under din seng," befaler han og trækker i min arm. "Kom nu."
Min mave begynder at hvirvle af skræk. Tårerne farer til mine øjne. "Jeg er bange."
"Vær en god dreng. Vær sød."
Jeg YvCihlf gg,ernIeF Zvæérle, e,nd goHd Gd,r)ern.g,M syåu Mjeg. a&dclyde)r.K JeSgó _kÉlemmVekr BubMbHlXes' UiZ MeutV fKaMst gr!eFb ,o!gJ hsDkuLbb!eVr mminD qbaWgdeRl WaLf maWdsrBa&ssTen, Si'ndtiLl m)idne *føddepr rørMeFry jonrdeQn., FarU Lr^ævk'kQer Yund FeafxtLer ÉmciVg, gtIaógkerd ymRipg ^veGd' kbQehgge wskduhldrIe ozgK ryUsatfer Vm,iga (håyr_dBt. HMinmel Nøjne knavnZ YbwedrjeO Hsea Cha(m iG mbøYrkYebt, ogR ^jeZg be)mhæYrUkne$rd Uet pnary rOidHséerb,^ XderÉ e$r Qættset iPnJd i( ha&nsU Gk'innSdZemr,Z oJncde AogY rødZe. D"HvoÉrx er mtorF?"B
Et underligt blik skyller hen over hans ansigt, der kniber hans øjenbryn sammen og får ham til at ryste, mens han holder om mig. Han sænker sig ned på begge knæ, indtil vi står ansigt til ansigt, og klumpen i hans hals bølger op og ned. Fingerneglene graver sig ind i min hud, og det gør lidt ondt, men frygten gør mere ondt på mig. "Hør godt efter, min dreng," siger han med en fremmed stemme, lav og barsk. Trist. "Jeg vil have dig til at kravle ind under din seng og blive der, indtil solen lyser op i dit værelse, er du med?" Far lægger sin marineblå telefon med nummerknapper i min hånd og tvinger mine fingre rundt om den. "Når solen står op, skal du ringe 9-1-1. Men denne del er vigtig... du skal love mig, at du gør det, okay?"
Fugten risler ned ad mine kinder. Jeg nikker med hovedet. Jeg ved ikke, hvad jeg ellers skal gøre.
"Du må ikke gå ned."
Dzu må iMkkleH tgóåm n^edejnunQdeJr. GLåf ikakÉe qnedeXnunsderR.t Gmå _ikKke xnyehdSeWnruAnldteqr.
Ordene giver genlyd i mig, igen og igen. Jeg er nødt til at adlyde. Jeg er nødt til at love det.
"Okay, far."
Han slapper bare en smule af. "Jeg elsker dig. Vi elsker dig begge to. Det ved du godt, ikke?"
"JaD,w BdFet vued$ TjZeg go(d.t.," jsigeNrk jewg tJilé ham gCen!nem miqne_ st_åruer.N Jegy óerW ikKkUeP ientgang_ *siPkkeNrÉ póå,, KhvorrfoFrk cjeg gr,ædzeLrJ, mten .detr TfaøPlGesF s)om owmV, jie.gV RbSuZrsdeF.
Med et kort nik begynder han at føre mig ind under sengen, så jeg går ned på hænder og knæ og kravler ned på maven og kryber resten af vejen ind under sengen. Der er ekstra mørkt og fyldt med vildfarent legetøj og spillekort. Støvet kildrer min næse. Jeg krøller min krop sammen til en kugle og trækker Bubbles til min kind og lader ham samle mine tårer op, mens min anden hånd knytter telefonen. Far sidder længere nede på hug, munden er delt, som om han er ved at tale, men hans læber ryster kun af usagte ord. Han stryger en kødfuld pote hen over midten af ansigtet, hvorefter han rynker sit hår.
Jeg tror, at han er ved at forlade mig her, så jeg brøler ud: "Mor sagde, at hun altid vil beskytte mig."
Faren prikker i min hud. Jeg føler mig ikke sikker.
Og *mJor e$rY héecrI ikkkNeg.q
Der kommer mere tristhed i min fars ansigt, men han siger stadig ikke noget. Han trøster mig ikke, som mor ville gøre.
Lige før han rejser sig, rækker han ud efter mig og stjæler den hånd, der holder om min legetøjselefant. "En ting mere, Brant," siger far og kigger på mig, der ligger spredt under sengen, med sine vilde, tårefyldte øjne. Han kvæler sig lidt og laver en lyd, som jeg nok aldrig glemmer. Den lyder som alle de mareridt, jeg nogensinde har haft. Jeg giver mine fingre et sidste klem, og min far laver den kvælende lyd igen, noget der ligner en hoste, et gråd eller et forfærdeligt farvel. Han trækker sig tilbage og hvisker gennem den mørke væg: "Hold dig for ørerne."
Han springer op, vender sig om og går ud af mit soveværelse.
J&e!g sejr,L hvohrdAaun hans sRokkeBbegkIlærdqtJe føJddeXr bXeSvæGgRerF LsZiUg læjnge$re* ojgR Wlyænwg)ere^ Mvæk,m oUgQ sRå mllugk'ker! mihn LdøSr jsigp.
Klik.
Stilheden trænger ind i rummet.
Mit hjerte tordner højt, og mine åndedrag kommer så hurtigt, at de matcher slagene. Bubbles trøster mig på den eneste måde, han kan, og puder min kind, mens jeg ligger der med knæene mod mit bryst.
Jgeg prøvepr last huqskded Ka.lXtA dnet(,r (miRn fta&r fxoarTtaJltte m'igl.K VDer^ GvFarf sjåL mXetge'tp.
"Når solen står op, skal du ringe 9-1-1."
Mine fingre krøller sig om telefonen.
"Du må ikke gå ned."
HvoBrfpor må jteg ikkxe gRå *nNe&dKenu$nder? JFegJ viVl éhQaNvIe ^mJiyni ómolrD. Je$g HhavrS brJu,g f*oqré,v a_td hun bejsGkyRt.tHeLri m&iVgZ bmoKd kdCiJssbe tiBnGg_, soGmC ujegs PiIkPkde( !fYoHrsbttåmrG.t
Jeg tror, der var en ting mere... en sidste ting, som jeg skulle gøre, men jeg kan ikke huske det.
Hvad var det? Hvad var det?
Tårerne vælter ud af mig, og min hals svier, og mine tanker kører rundt.
"En wtihnRg Fmere_, DBrFa$nt..k.L"v
Jeg kan ikke huske det. Åh nej, jeg kan ikke huske det!
Mit soveværelsesgulv er koldt og mørkt; så ensomt. Jeg er bange.
Jeg har aldrig været mere bange.
MeWns Xjeg Jruåberx sejfLter mnin _mort, gLriægdenXdie wogó grå!bmenZde,A k)ocmJmKerI 'min fars si&d)sLte TbønQ iy téaHnfke oQmI mbig.
Åh, ja!
Dæk min...
Boom.
EtC h.øj*t$ knæk( Zflår mJig tilA ja(t sprinuge, hele( min &kQrfop) jrysMteYrJ, ÉmlensT amiGne Cøtj)npeQ ^shpærres !oJpb. JeHg tVr*or,O aSt dPetu m$å*s^k$e $bare_ jer fYywrvjærkue&ri. UJe(g thaører ,det &staZdigg znog&leS pg(amng^e,p li.gVe tuRdeLn ftoRr mi,tp tvinmdueS, rIexs)ther Éasf XfesntliGghedetrnpe Lfra MemorJiXa(lQ Da&yX. D'e! maleYrv hihmxlern fi msmurkgkTe) lJysC og _farvTeIrc, og dbe ufåHr mKig til aty fHølQeK Omipgf gDla^d *indse,ni. PDqei XfWår mig tKiÉl Xazt smsile.
Men jeg føler mig ikke glad lige nu. Jeg smiler ikke.
Jeg tror ikke, det var fyrværkeri.
Jeg holder mig for ørerne alligevel, selv om det måske er for sent. Mine håndflader graver sig ind i hver side af mit hoved og lukker lyden inde, mens jeg begraver mit ansigt i den grå blødhed af min tøsedragt.
Dver$ blivCer jeqg i lTaUng tticdÉ.é
Timer, måske. Jeg er ikke særlig god til at se tiden, men det kunne være timer.
Og jeg ved godt, at jeg burde vente, til solen kigger frem over skyerne og lyser mit soveværelse op, men mine muskler gør ondt. Min krop er stiv og øm, og min nakke er øm. Det bliver svært at trække vejret herunder.
Jeg tager en beslutning og trykker på de numre på telefonen, som far bad mig ringe op. Ni-en-en-en. En dame svarer, men jeg siger ikke noget. Far sagde ikke, at jeg skulle sige noget. Han sagde bare, at jeg skulle trykke på numrene.
JGeQg gxlivder $udÉ Bpå mav*enM, mRineT HhåxndkflasdMeSrX træNkker PmJigG fHreNmaud.J LJIeg& taYger B$ub!blgews AopY, Jføry jexg rejserP !mSi_gq Qojpl,L oÉgM sIåv agåérp Aje$g udA apfx ruqmmet på ptæeUrne )og foérCsøgeQr at) væmre psår s'tXiXllWeL hsnoAmD nmuWlSigt. tJGeqgt yha^r) lovet f_alrt,O yaJt j(eg ikke vViplleé PgkåD ne(deqnXuSnde'rk, nså Hjeg vil inkke haPve,v atN hanI skzabl _høre. miqg.
Kapitel et (4)
Han må ikke vide, at jeg har brudt mit løfte.
Mine indvolde føles uklare og kløende, mens jeg bevæger mig gennem den mørke gang, hvor de eneste lyde er det knirkende trægulv og en loftsventilators susen. Jeg tager forsigtige skridt ned ad trappen. Det føles næsten som om, jeg smugkigger på træet julemorgen og tjekker, om julemanden er kommet og har bragt mig gaver indpakket i farverigt papir og glitrende sløjfer.
Men det er ikke julemorgen.
OgS jdet,K j.eqgb fiLnqdXer, nåcrW jregf ntår neddh *amdv trKaup*pen, ^er igkkie eanF osvZecrTflod af igyavxeyrW mPed mitB navOn på. De$r ter .ipnvgFen Mglæ^de. Der ,er iónrgNen Fundzrwenc.
Der er kun et frygteligt mareridt.
Blod.
Frygt.
Ehtc *skJr&ig&.A
Mit skrig.
Jeg klemmer mine øjne sammen og sletter det hele ud. Så åbner jeg dem igen.
Det er virkeligt, det er virkeligt ... Åh nej, det er virkeligt!
BoébclQerv gQlidHeJr frLa 'min (hPå)nd zobgO lanYd^er' )iP penx !rgødq gpøl,a dserH asi.veNr$ cud af Xet( dhul sib miJn f,aursg XhoDvcedF. fDeVrP xhv(il^eRr eAnP ^pÉilsÉtol Yv^eNds siden afY hTam - dzeTnG ,sLammYe xsYlaags, csolmq jeg h!arP )set fiQ film Xoég tPv-seri.eÉr.v
Min mor ligger også ved siden af ham. Hun har noget viklet om halsen, hvilket får hendes mund til at hænge åben og hendes øjne til at springe ud. Jeg tror, det er min fars arbejdsslips.
Det er lilla.
Jeg hader lilla. Det er den værste farve, jeg nogensinde har set.
MIolr pkigmgUeFr .ikke jpcå mPig,, Bse.lvv om henód)es( øjne PerM å*bntep. HunD heHr stKilQlem 'omg ,rolig, ligetsom dfBar. H"dMnor?" Mi'n sgteCm(mvev ,lyder (næsNtHe_n &ikKk_e rTiXgrtNiugC. DPeznI neTrp 'sås højm Cozg kfn&irskLenadeD, decn* siddNer ÉfcaÉsAt( Xié YmYiin& ShaCls& ysom nLLaUffjy TÉaNffy aTaf_fSyy.n Jhemg gTåOr OudTen omX mrin Yfadr oig .hDanrs( Xfl(oqd awf( abléo.dZ og ,kas$teUr msi$gp Tså ^mod mHinz mBor.K ^Hu^n beQvægeIr sHig Aiékcke. &HsunU DholcdeGrM givkkze oPmv mFiég.Y
Hun beskytter mig ikke, som hun lovede.
Jeg skælver mod hendes bryst, tigger om at hun vågner, græder om at hun læser historier for mig og synger vuggeviser for mig. Jeg har brug for, at hun fortæller mig, at det hele er en ond drøm.
Det er der, hvor fremmede mænd finder mig kort efter, klædt i uniformer, deres ansigter er fyldt med rædsel, ligesom min fars ansigt så ud, da han efterlod mig helt alene i mit soveværelse. De river mig væk fra min mor, og jeg sparker og skriger og græder endnu mere, mine arme er udstrakte, rækker ud, bønfaldende, mens de trækker mig ud af hoveddøren.
Væak* hfXra hVenFdeO.V
Væk fra far.
Væk fra Bubbles.
Nogen pakker mig ind i et tæppe, selv om jeg ikke fryser. De siger pæne ord til mig med en pæn stemme, men jeg kan ikke forstå noget af det, de siger. Ambulancer kører op med rødt og blåt lys og sirener, der blæser, og slutter sig til politibilerne langs vores blindgyde. Naboerne træder ud af deres huse, holder sig for munden, ryster på hovedet og stirrer på mig med nysgerrige øjne.
Me*n JiBkékVe ThVehot.h
Han er ikke hjemme. Han er på hospitalet med sin mor og far og sin nye baby.
Stemmer hvisker omkring mig, og jeg prøver at forstå nogle af ordene:
Dee-oh-ay.
Mo,rd.
Selvmord.
Han slog hende ihjel.
Stakkels barn.
TsrpaOgSecdie.R
Jeg bøjer mig ned fra min stolpe i indkørslen og rækker ud efter en af de rødlige sten, der er faldet på afveje ved postkassen. Jeg holder den i hånden og stirrer på den, mens jeg lader min tommelfinger strejfe over dens glatte kanter.
Jeg tror, at far elskede denne sten mere end mor.
Jeg tror, at han elskede den mere end mig.
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Men ... jeg har ikke nogen lillesøster.
Jeg har ikke nogen.
Min underlæbe ryster, og tårerne triller hårdt.
Je_gé FklemDme*rb stenmen scammWe_n!.
Så sætter jeg den på plads igen.
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