by Rose, Willow
Salvatore felt sick to his stomach. They weren't there anymore? They had run away? Did that mean he had lost their trail? Did he have to give up already? Salvatore decided he wasn't going to.
My boys are out there and they need me. I know I have done them wrong, but it is never too late to repent. I can correct what has been done wrong. I can make it up to them. There is nothing time cannot erase. God will help me find them. No matter the cost.
But Salvatore had no money and, soon, the search for the children became too expensive for him. He had to find a place to live and a job. One day, Salvatore was walking the streets, looking for his twins, when he spotted a man lying in the street holding a hand to his chest.
"What happened?" he said and ran to him.
The man fainted just as Salvatore got there. Salvatore had learned CPR onboard on of the ships, from the chef. It was important that they knew how to help each other in case of an emergency. On the tankers, they could often travel for weeks without seeing land and they were always far from a doctor.
So with this knowledge, Salvatore performed CPR on the man and, soon, he came back to life. He sat up and coughed. Then he turned to look at Salvatore.
"You saved my life," he said. "Not many people would help a man in need in the streets. I have a heart condition. Could you help me get home to my medicine?"
Salvatore helped the elderly man get back. He helped him find his pills and found water for him to drink. Afterwards, the man looked at him and said:
"I can tell you enjoy taking care of others. I believe you would make an excellent doctor. If you'd like to become one, I would love to train you in the medical field. I'll pay for your schooling. What do you say?"
55
April 2014
THE MAN GROANED, annoyed, as he ran up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator. He had to put on his black coat to hide Deedee and he had no time to remove the stitches and take him off. Plus, he needed him to be on his shoulder when he flayed the boy.
The boy, oh yes, how he looked forward to cutting off his scalp.
"Such a pretty face, Deedee. So perfect. Such a beautiful skin. You're going to be so beautiful," he mumbled, as he ran across the hall with his brown bag in his hand. The wound on his shoulder was hurting, and he had to take a couple of pills to help with the pain.
"So pretty, Deedee. You'll be perfect. Just you wait and see."
The man had sedated the boy again to make sure he didn't run anywhere while he did what he had to.
"Of all times, why did they need me now?" he mumbled. "I was in the middle of something. Why did they come knocking on my door just now?"
He stopped in front of a door, then took in a deep breath to calm himself. Then he knocked. The woman opened the door.
The man smiled. "Someone called for a doctor?"
"Yes," the woman said and stepped aside to let the man inside. "I did. I'm Emma Frost. Come on in."
The man walked inside. He was getting tired of this woman.
Maybe you should kill her while you're here. Get rid of her. She's annoying.
You're right, Deedee. You're right. She’s in my way.
"So, what is the emergency?" he asked and looked to see if there was anyone else in the room. He spotted the other boy in the living room with his nose stuck in a book.
The woman closed the door. "The emergency you say? Well. Let's see. Maybe the emergency is my son not feeling well, or maybe I'm not feeling well. Oh no, the emergency is, of course, that my friend's son, the boy I'm responsible for is MISSING," Emma Frost yelled.
"Yes, yes. I heard about that," the man said. "Awful. But they caught the guy, didn't they? If you're feeling upset, I can get you something to relax you." The man put the brown bag on the dresser. He bent over it and opened it.
"Oh, I don't think I need to relax," she said. "But I do think you have him."
The man didn't look up. "What was that? I'm not sure I understood that last part," he lied.
"It was something my friend said when I was on the phone with him just now," she continued. "He said that a photographer couldn't get away with carrying a young boy around on the ship. But then I realized that someone else could get away with that without anyone raising an eyebrow. A doctor could. What did you use? A stretcher, right? You sedated your victims and took them to your cabin on a stretcher, right?"
The man laughed and shook his head. He grabbed the scalpel from his bag. "Now…I really have to say…," he turned his head and looked at her. He could smell her fear from across the room. Maybe this could be fun after all. It was always more fun to kill someone who was afraid.
"It's true, right? You did it…Oh, my God. Now I know where I’ve seen you before," Emma Frost said. "The black coat, the hat. You were on the deck on the first day we were here. You asked me about the boys. Did you…were you checking them out? Was that when you decided to take Christoffer? Was it, huh? Where is he? What have you done with him?"
"Now, let's not argue," the man said.
"What was your name again?" she asked.
The man hid the scalpel in his hand and moved it to the pocket of his coat. He took a step towards the woman.
"Salvatore, signora. Salvatore Rosetti."
"Well, Salvatore," she said, with the phone in her hand. Salvatore could tell her hand was shaking. It was almost hilarious. Pathetic was maybe a better word.
"I'm calling the police now and will have them come up here. Then you'll show me to Christoffer, do you hear me?" she asked.
Salvatore shook his head. "No, you won't."
56
February 2014
SALVATORE ROSETTI MOVED SLOWLY across the graveyard. The gravedigger walking in front of him showed him the way.
"It's right over here in the back," he said. "We don't get many visitors all the way back here."
The man stopped in front of a small stone. He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was a cold winter day and a thick fog had refused to leave the town all morning. Salvatore shuddered in his black coat.
"Here it is," the man said. "All they told us was to write Tweedledee on the stone. The hospital told us that was his name. They never knew his last name." He patted Salvatore on the shoulder. "Well, I'll leave you two alone."
He sniffled again, then walked away. Salvatore didn't even look after him. To him, he was unimportant. Salvatore kneeled in front of the grave, then burst into tears. He placed his hand on the stone and read the one single word.
"Tweedledee."
He wept loudly. Twenty-four years of searching for the twins had led him to this place. It was almost unbearable. For years, he had traced the twins’ whereabouts across town. He had learned about the policeman who had forced them to do dogfights, he learned about the gypsies who beat them and displayed them publically all over the country, only to end up being killed where it all began by the ones they had tortured. He had been thrilled to know that the boys had been able to stand up for themselves, that they had killed the gypsies. But after that, he had lost their trail. For many years, there were no results to his search. All he knew was that they had lived in the streets for years, but suddenly, one day, they were gone. Probably been killed, most people said. But Salvatore hadn't believed them. He refused to. They had killed the gypsies. Massacred them, one after another. They could defend themselves.
While searching for their whereabouts, Salvatore had gone through med-school and ended up working for the old man whose life he saved, working in his private clinic. On the day the old man died and left his clinic to Salvatore, the closest he ever came to having a son; Salvatore sold the clinic and spent most of the money on his endless search. Finally, when he needed to get a new job, he read in the paper that one of the cruise ships had a position open for a doctor. Missing the great ocean and the solitude of being on the sea, Salvatore decided to take it. He would look for the boys on his weeks off. It was perfect.
But the search yielded nothing for years. Not until December 2013, whe
n Salvatore finally had a breakthrough. A former nurse responded to his ad in the newspaper and told him she had seen his boys, that they had been in the hospital where she worked. Salvatore visited the hospital and found the old files.
"They were separated?" he asked the doctor in charge, who gave him the files.
"I'm afraid so," she said.
"How? Who authorized it?"
"Doctor Alessandrino," she said. "He was in charge of the hospital in the eighties. He resigned after the operation went wrong."
"Went wrong?" Salvatore asked.
"He lost one of the twins. The other went mad from the loss, unfortunately."
Salvatore bent forward like he was in serious pain. "He lost him?"
"Yes. I'm afraid Tweedledee died in 1984. Tweedledum is still in a home outside of town. But, I have to warn you. They performed a lobotomy on him in 1986 and he is not aware of his surroundings. He will not know who you are."
Salvatore had visited Tweedledum in the home and cried while holding his hand. But it was like he was already dead. He didn't even look at him. Now, Salvatore had finally found Tweedledee's grave and, finally, he could cry out his sorrow and pain.
"I'm so sorry," he wept. "It's all my fault. The way it ended it was all my fault. If only I hadn't left you that day. If only I had…"
Salvatore wept and sobbed. His salty tears hit the dirt beneath him and, as he watched them wet the ground, he was certain he heard a voice call for him.
"Papà is that you? Is that you Papà?"
"Deedee? Is that you?"
"Yes, Papà. I'm down here, but it’s so dark. I can't see anything. I can't see you."
Salvatore spotted a shovel by the wall and grabbed it. He started digging in the grave until the case appeared. He threw himself at it and wiped it clean. Then he opened it. The stench was appalling, but the sight was all he had been looking for.
In there, was his son. The skin had rotted away and he was nothing but bones.
"I'm sorry, Deedee. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you," Salvatore sobbed. "I'll give you anything you need."
"I'm glad you came, Papà. I'm so glad you're finally here."
"So am I, son. So am I. From now on, everything will be fine. I promise you."
57
April 2014
"YES, I WILL."
I looked at the doctor in front of me. He was walking slowly towards me with a weird and creepy smile on his face.
"I’ll call the police right now," I said. I hoped he wouldn't see it on my face, but I had already called Officer Del Rossi earlier and told him I believed the doctor had Christoffer.
"The doctor, aha," Del Rossi had replied. "We'll take a look at him as soon as we're done with the first man you claimed had him."
I had hung up, thinking it would be too late and that I had to do something on my own. I wasn't allowed to leave my suite, so I thought I'd bring the doctor here instead.
Dr. Rosetti was shivering as he walked. He was sweating, but looked like he was cold. Why was he wearing that big coat anyway? Come to think of it, he didn't look very well. He looked like he was sick or something.
"Before you do anything. There is someone you simply have to meet," he said with a grin.
While I dialed the number to the ship’s operator, he grabbed the edge of his coat and pulled it off.
I gasped and immediately dropped the phone, as I clapped both my hands to my mouth. The doctor picked it up.
"What the hell is that?" I screamed.
"Emma Frost, meet Deedee. Deedee, meet Emma Frost."
I stared at the head sewn onto Dr. Rosetti's shoulder. It was so repulsive. A skull that had been patched up with pieces of skin and attempted to be sewn together. It was sewn onto Dr. Rosetti's shoulder. The wound surrounding where it had been sewn on was bleeding and looked swollen. The skin around it was bloody and a yellow infection ran out from it. It was nauseating to look at and the smell was even worse.
"That is sickening."
"Well, I admit he needs a little work and that is where your boy comes in. I need his face for my Deedee. Deedee needs a new face, right Deedee?"
He’s even talking to it?
"Yes, Papà, I need a new face."
He is answering too. Of course he is.
I started backing up slowly, realizing how sick this person in front of me really was. "So you've been patching up…uh…Deedee with the skin from others?" I asked, while looking for some kind of weapon to defend myself with.
"Yes, yes. That's correct!" he said chirping happily. "Emma Frost understands. She gets us, Deedee. She understands."
"She is so smart, Papà."
"That she is."
I stared at the guy having a conversation with the skull on his shoulder. It had to be the strangest thing I had ever seen. And I had seen a lot.
I fumbled backwards and touched the wall, then slid slowly to the side to see if I could get to the door to the bedroom and maybe hide in there. Maybe find something to hurt him with, or maybe just find my cellphone. It was in there on the nightstand.
"Too bad she has to die, Deedee. Too bad."
"Just don't hurt her pretty face, Papà."
"I won't," he said and pulled out the scalpel from his pocket. He stormed towards me and I shrieked in fear. I managed to duck down just in time and the scalpel landed in the wall, cutting up the nice, and probably expensive, painting of a beach chair and hat.
Dr. Rosetti grunted, then reached down and grabbed me by the throat. He was panting and growling as he pulled me up and held me against the wall.
"She's fast, Deedee. But not fast enough."
"Not fast enough, Papà."
Dr. Rossetti stared into my eyes with such strong anger and hatred, it scared me senseless. "Please," I said.
His grip tightened around my neck. I could hardly breathe. I gasped and sputtered. "Pleeas…"
There was a strange sound…Like the cracking of a melon. Suddenly, the doctor's eyes changed drastically. His facial expression froze. Blood sputtered out of his mouth and onto my face. Then the grip on my neck loosened and I fell to the ground with him on top of me and the patched-up skull fell onto my face. I screamed and pushed it away.
Then I saw him.
"Victor!"
He was standing behind the doctor. His hand was still holding onto the shaft of the axe that was now in the doctor's back. Blood had spurted onto his face. Behind Victor, glass was shattered all over the floor.
"The fire axe," I stuttered and got up.
Victor was staring at the dead doctor and paid no attention to me. I grabbed the phone from the floor and dialed the operator.
58
April 2014
"WHAT A MESS."
Officer Del Rossi scratched his hair underneath his hat. He looked baffled. The doctor was still on the floor of my suite, in a pool of his own blood. Del Rossi had sent his officers downstairs to search the doctor's cabin to find Christoffer. I was still shaking from the attack and fear that something had happened to Christoffer.
Please, let him be alright. Poor boy. Please, tell me he is okay.
"What is that on his shoulder?" he asked.
"I haven't the faintest idea. But he called it Deedee."
"Very well then. We'll have to secure the entire suite and search for evidence."
"What about the boy?" I asked. "What about Christoffer?"
I had barely finished the sentence before Officer Del Rossi's phone rang. He picked it up. "Yes, yes. Oh, you did? Well, excellent."
He put the phone back in his pocket and smiled.
"They found your boy," he said.
I breathed a sigh of great relief. "They found Christoffer? Is he alive?" I asked with my heart in my throat.
"Yes. He was asleep when they got there. They're bringing him back here."
I breathed in relief. I looked at Victor. He was sitting on the couch in the living room, looking at his shoes. I had tried to wash off the blood from his face, but he despe
rately needed a bath. And I was going to throw away his clothes after this. I had no idea how he was going to react to this. Having killed someone isn't something you just do, then move on as usual afterwards. Even if it was to save the life of your own mother. I was going to have a long talk with him later.
"That is really good news. The doctor didn't hurt him?"
"Not a scratch," was what my men said.
"Good. What a relief."
"Like I said, we'll need to seal off the suite to secure evidence. You'll have to stay somewhere else tonight."
"Well, I hardly think we'll be sleeping in here, even if they clean it up. It just doesn't feel right, if you know what I mean."
"You can sleep in our suite, all three of you."
I turned my head with a smile. "Dad!" I threw myself into his arms.
"Oh, baby. What happened here? What is that on the floor?" My dad turned his head to face my mother, who was standing in the doorway. "Ulla, don't come in here. It's awful. You shouldn't see this." My dad looked down at me. "Are you alright? Is Victor alright?"
"I think we are. Victor did this, Dad. Victor saved me. He took the fire-axe and planted it in the back of the guy."
"Victor did that?" my mother asked. She had stepped inside anyway, curious as she was. She covered her eyes. "That is really nasty."
"Well, I told you," my dad said. "How is Victor?"
"I don't know. He's sitting in there saying nothing. The policeman needs to take his statement, but he refuses to speak. I think I need to get him away from here. But the police need me here. I have to give my statement too."
"Let me take him," my mother said. Without waiting for my reply, she stormed into the living room and sat next to him. She spoke with him for a little while, then took his Pompeii-book in her hand. To my surprise, Victor seemed to listen to her. He got up and walked with her.
"We'll just be in our suite," my mom whispered as she walked past us. "I'll make sure he gets a bath too. Don't worry. You could use one as well, Emma. And a clean shirt. Yours is smeared with blood."