A Step to Nowhere (38 page)

Chapter 3

“Inga? Inga! Wake up.”

She was startled and opened her eyes. She expected to see Eagle, or Drake, or some fat dude unzipping his pants, but instead she saw the face of the stranger who had saved her. What was his name? Alan? No, Alman. His name was Alman. Strange name for a guy with dark-blond hair and hazel eyes. He said it was the name of his grandfather even though she didn’t ask, and it was strange to mention considering the circumstances.

The rain had stopped. Alman still sat in the car, looking at her. The door on his side was open. Inga looked outside and saw a wall of trees. On the left there was a shed-like structure. A door with loose wooden boards dropped on one side. There was a pitchfork and a spade by the wall.

A house stood on the right. Pretty big, old, brick, the windows covered with white curtains. A house like any house, nothing special. Probably stood apart from a small town. Who knew? Not her for sure.

“You can get out,” said the young man with the simple face and not-so-simple name.

Holding her shirt with one hand, Inga opened the car door with the other and stepped out onto the ground. Pain from her injured feet flew through her body like an arrow; cold wind grasped her wet hair and seeped under her shirt. Inga’s teeth chattered from the cold. She wanted to cry from pain while she walked to the house. She tried not to step on her whole foot, just on the sides, but it didn’t help much.

There was the aroma of fresh baking in the house, striped rugs on the floor, and the walls were covered with flowery wallpaper
. Almost like my house
, Inga thought. She cried again, couldn’t help herself, but now from happiness.

“Can I call my mom?” she asked, swallowing her tears.

“Oh,” Alman said. He shook his head, looking ashamed. “We don’t have a phone here. Too far for a connection. But tomorrow we will go into the town half an hour from here. It’s called Quiet River. It’s a small town but it has a sheriff and phones. We can’t go now. It’s dark, far, and I’m too tired.”

“I understand.”

Inga heard steps behind her back. Alman’s facial expression changed, but Inga couldn’t tell what it meant. She turned away from the guy and saw a middle-aged woman. She was dressed in a pink terry cloth robe; white slippers with bunny ears were on her feet. Her red hair was cut short. She wore glasses and held a rolling pin covered in flour in her hand. The woman’s face seemed kind even though she didn’t smile.

“This is Inga, Mom. She’ll be spending the night here.”

The woman observed Inga from head to toe and then smiled.

“Sure,” she said.

Not a question was asked about the girl’s strange appearance, her almost naked body, or her bare feet smeared in blood, about her scratched face, or the fact it was the girl’s first time in the house, but still she was going to spend the night. It was as if there was nothing surprising in this situation, as if it happened every day. Inga didn’t question it. She was deeply grateful and too exhausted to think. This family enjoyed helping people; that was what Alman had said.

“Mom, Inga is going to sleep in our
empty room
.”

Inga noticed that Alman’s voice changed slightly. It introduced hardness, like his mother was arguing with him even though she didn’t show any sign of opposition.

He emphasized the word
empty
and Inga wondered why. She also wondered why his mother’s smile twitched, practically disappearing before coming back again. Her eyes narrowed for a second.

“Inga will go to that room now, Momma. And I think she’d appreciate a hot dinner.”

“Oh, no, no, no! I’m not hungry,” Inga said and turned to Alman.

He just nodded.

“I’m sure my mom already has dinner ready. So there’s no trouble.”

“Yes, sure,” his mother said.

Inga didn’t know this woman, but though she was not happy (and why would she be?), she kept smiling and the expression in her eyes didn’t change.

“I have groceries in the car,” Alman told her and turned to Inga. “Let’s go,” he said.

He walked into the depths of a dark hallway and gesturing for her to follow him. She did so, going past the kitchen, where she noticed an elderly man sitting at the table. He paid no attention to her and continued reading a magazine. Next was a living room, where Inga saw the nape of a redheaded person sitting in an armchair in front of the TV. The door to the next room was closed and Alman stopped in front of it. He pulled a key out of his pocket and stuck it in the lock.

Inga, feeling as though she had been struck by lightning, clenched her fists and took a step back.

The door into her room/cell was always locked.

Alman couldn’t know what was going on in her head and didn’t notice her condition. He pushed the door open, took the key out of the lock, and held it out to her. Inga held out her hand, enfolding the key, and observed with amusement how the little piece of metal touched her palm. She was free. She could go in and out whenever she wanted.

Alman entered the room, snapped the switch, and a bright light blinded Inga for a moment.

“Come in,” the guy called.

She unwillingly moved her eyes from the key, squeezed it in her hand, and took a step into the room. It wasn’t empty as she had imagined. There was a twin bed with a neatly spread blue cover; there was the same striped rug as in the hallway. A picture of a little girl and a dog hung on the wall above the bed. By a window covered with thick blue curtains stood a table and a couple of simple wooden chairs. Even though the room didn’t have any other furniture it still looked cozy, homey. Inga looked at the bed. She could sleep there as long as she wanted. Tomorrow she was going to wake up — alone — and call her mom.

“I think my sister has some clothes in your size. I’ll get something of hers for you to change into.”

Inga turned to Alman.

“I’m going to bring you antiseptic and bandages,” he said and pointed to her feet. “You can take a hot shower if you want.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

Alman smiled for the first time since they’d been together.

“I’ll see what my mom made for dinner. I think it’s soup with dumplings. Do you like soup with dumplings?”

“Love it,” Inga said, remembering hard, cold macaroni and burned burgers that she had eaten in the house of terror. She had vomited the first time but then she got used to it.

Alman nodded and left the room, closing the door behind.

Inga walked to the bed, sat down, put her hands at her sides, and looked around until Alman came back with a bowl of steaming soup. Inga jumped up when he knocked. He put the bowl on the table, with a spoon beside it, along with two pieces of bread. He told her to enjoy her meal and left again. He promised to come back soon.

Inga heard a high-pitched girly voice but couldn’t make out the words and she didn’t try to. She attacked the soup, hurriedly swallowing, and had almost finished eating by the time Alman returned for the last time that night. He had a pile of clean clothes. On top of it she saw bandages, a small bottle of antiseptic, and cotton balls inside a plastic bag.

“Here’s everything you need,” he said. “Bathroom is in the hallway on the left. The white door; I’ll leave it open.”

“Thank you very much,” Inga said, swallowing soup.

“You’re welcome.”

Alman shifted from one foot to the other by the door like he wanted to say something else. Inga waited impatiently, holding her breath. She expected him to say that now she had to pay for everything. And better to do it with her body.

“Good night,” he said and left the room.

Inga exhaled and closed her eyes. He just was a kind, caring young man, and she was unusually lucky today. He helped her with no conditions and she … Could she trust someone after everything that had happened to her? Could she trust men again?

Soup warmed her inside, but her stomach was awake and angry after the smell of food stole into her nostrils. It was asking for more. Inga persuaded herself not to think about anything bad, opened her eyes, and helped herself to the rest of the soup, wiping the bottom with a piece of bread. Then she checked the clothes and discovered sweatpants, a T-shirt, new underwear, socks, and a white towel at the bottom.

Inga hung the towel over her shoulder, grabbed the clothes, bandages and antiseptic, and opened the door.

The hallway was empty. The sound of a TV came from the living room. It looked as though the whole family was there, because the lights were off in the other rooms as far as she could see. Inga walked to the bathroom on her tiptoes to not draw attention to herself. She sat on the edge of the ceramic bathtub and investigated her feet. They were cut and scratched. Inga imagined how painful it would be to wash them, but could this pain compare to what she had been through? Never. This pain was even going to be pleasant, because it was for her own good.

Inga examined the bathroom. It looked like any other despite the isolation of the house. White tile, a white sink, a bathtub, a plush rug on the floor. Inga stepped in the shower and turned the water to hot, so her skin would barely tolerate it. She closed her eyes, enjoying the heat spreading through her body. Her muscles relaxed, and peace and calmness entered her heart.

When Inga left the shower, she wiped herself with a towel and poured antiseptic over her feet, clenching her teeth to stop herself from shouting. She thought the hair on her head was moving from pain. She applied bandages to her cuts (thankfully they were not too deep) and put the socks on. The clothes fit as if they were bought for her. Before leaving the bathroom, Inga looked in the mirror. The swelling was almost gone from her left eye but it was red from broken capillaries. A faded bruise was on one of her cheeks, scratches all over her face, and a scar on her forehead from Eagle’s chain.

Inga sighed and returned to the room. The dirty bowl was gone.

She took the cover off the bed, folded it neatly, and put it on the chair. She didn’t have pajamas so she went to bed in the clothes she had on. She wanted to lock the room but thought her hosts might get upset; they might think she didn’t trust them, so she decided against it. She opened the door a little bit to see if they had gone to bed and heard muffled conversation.

“She needs help, Momma,” the guy said. There was metal in his voice even though he talked quietly, maybe fearing that his guest would overhear.

“It’s a very strange situation,” his mother said.

“I want her to stay.”

“Okay, she stays. How do you see all of this working?”

“My brother’s insane,” a young voice said. It was Alman’s sister, who was possibly younger than Inga.

“Stop it,” her brother said. “Talk quieter.”

“Go to hell.”

“Momma, she’s asking for it.”

“Stop, both of you. I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“Momma, when have I asked you for anything?”

“All the time,” the woman said.

“Oh, come on!”

“Dylan, why are you quiet?” the woman asked.

“Huh?” the man sounded lost.

“As usual. Flying somewhere.” The woman didn’t sound happy.

“Mom, please,” the voice begged.

“Son.”

“Momma.”

“Okay! I don’t want to talk about it. She can stay now, but we’ll see. We’ll see.”

The conversation seemed finished and Inga closed the door. She stood by it for a few minutes rethinking about locking it, but then dropped that idea and went to bed. She pulled a blanket to her chin and lay with her eyes open, listening to sounds from the hallway. The room was absolutely dark. There was not a single lamp outside. Even the moon hid behind the clouds, so it wouldn’t disturb people who were trying to sleep. The TV in a room down the hall kept playing, and Inga heard quiet voices again, talking or arguing.