Synopsis: The story takes place shortly after the conclusion of Season Four; Saga Noren, a Detective for the Malmö Police, has effectively resigned, with all but the paperwork to be processed.
Between burnout and personal setbacks, including a year in prison after being convicted unjustly for her mother's murder, Saga has decided to move on but has no idea yet what she is moving to...
Øresundsbroen – on the Danish side of the bridge...
Ilsa stood on the edge of the concrete piling. She gazed down at the water and sighed. Even in mid-August, the water was bound to be very cold.
She hated the water. Cold or not, just the thought of being enveloped in its murky embrace frightened her. From what she had read, drowning wasn’t the slow, sleepy painless hug to oblivion; gasping for life took long and was entirely painful.
She refocused her gaze down at herself, as if to see past her clothing to the hated body beneath. Too many choices she had made left her despising what she had never become, despite no support and no love from anyone to at least see her carefully on her journey.
“Fan dig!”
Ilsa cursed herself; for her self-hatred; for her guilt. And especially, she cursed herself for being a coward, as if negotiating a life without hope successfully for thirty-eight years was not courageous. She stepped away from the edge and put her hand in her Jeans pocket. Grabbing her keys, she made her way to the pavement of the bridge only to find a Copenhagen Police car parked behind her Kia.
“I was looking to take a picture but I realized I left my phone in my car.”
“Du får inte stanna här,” the woman officer pointed to Ilsa’s car.
“I’m sorry…” Ilsa understood Danish, most folks from Malmö did.
“I’m from New York. USA. I don’t understand,” Ilsa lied. She was born in New York but grew up in Sweden. The officer nodded and spoke in English.
“You aren’t permitted to stop here. You’ll have to move your car, okay?” Ilsa nodded and sighed in relief. The officer smiled and gestured broadly to the city behind her and said,
“Welcome to Copenhagen….Miss.”
She found herself replying even as the wind rushing across the bridge drowned out her voice.
“Ilsa…Ilsa Lowenstein.”
(A Bridge to nowhere)
Först - Spöken (Ghosts)
Never said it was good, never said it was near
Shadow rises and you are here
Oresundbron, A few minutes later....
Saga Noren sat in her Porsche on the Swedish side, just a few meters beyond the center marker dividing Sweden and Denmark; nearly without notice, probably due to the police tags she had yet to turn in. Breathing a heavy sigh, she exited the vehicle and walked to a nearby cable support tower, one of many interspersed on each side and up and down the length of the bridge.
She seemed almost dispassionate as she weighed her choice – literally hefting her police ID in her hand as if the scale of her decision was still tilting back and forth. She could have flung it, but no matter where it impacted the water, it would sink almost irretrievably to the bottom of the strait. It was not her identification any longer, so merely dropping it was sufficient.
And it wasn’t so much that she gave the moment any thought. Much of what she did or didn’t do merely arose from how her synapses clicked in connection at any given moment.
Memories and emotions were stored in an entirely different place in her head than nearly everyone. A regret or hurt might show itself from time to time. Even happy thoughts could make themselves known. But every bit was sitting in the middle of a circle instead of a straight line; as if today and three years ago had equal access to the immediate.
She dropped her ID into the water and turned away; no need to check the progress of its descent, since once it left her hand, it was no longer a part of her. Even if she chose to return to police work sometime later, there would be a new ID and a new challenge, as if she would even consider anything as mundane as murder a challenge.
The only real connection she had chosen to her past was the still vivid memory of her sister’s suicide. That inability, some might opine, to process emotions in the way most do left her with guilt and nearly no means of coping as we might understand. So for her, coping meant staying busy, which was not much of an option now, since she had few if any friends, no hobbies apart from reading, no job… so many of those things we take for granted had never really been a part of her world.
And no family. She had spent a considerable time falsely accused of her mother’s death, including a year in jail; almost a revenge suicide her mother had manipulated to see her daughter… her surviving daughter accused of her murder.
Despite being cleared eventually, her brief incarceration and the diminishing support by her colleagues left her with very little interest in police work. And there really was no haste to work, at least for the time being, since someone within the Skane Police Authority with a good bit of sense had arranged for compensation regarding her false conviction.
If you asked her how she was doing, her response might be a look askance along with an awkward half smile. Saga rarely took inventory of her feelings. To her acquaintances it always appeared that she had no ability to feel.
Tears rarely if ever fell from her face, but that was really not any measure of how she felt. Or that her lack of tears somehow equated with not caring. She cared as much as she could. She hurt just as much as anyone; if you pricked her as the Bard might suggest, she indeed would bleed inside, but the blood of her emotions rarely made it to the surface.
So all the guilt she still felt was undaunted. Almost like a parasite dwelling inside her with no quinine or anti-biotic, but also symbiotic in a way as the guilt drove her choices.
Once her mother was exposed to have killed herself almost solely to leave Saga in jail falsely accused? One last bit of selfish disdain for her own daughter? It hadn’t been enough that Marie-Louise had driven Saga’s sister Jennifer to suicide while blaming Saga.
Her attempt to leave Saga hopeless failed. But really that failure was almost predestined, since not once in her life had Saga ever really experienced hope….
There's never been bad, there has always been truth
Muted whisper of the things she'll move
Minutes later, Ilsa was heading back to Malmö…
Ilsa did an inventory of the emotions that seemed to pummel her. Guilt? Check. Guilt from being too scared to end it? Check. Grave disappointment over life choices? Double-check. Nearly debilitating grief? Check. More guilt from failing to save Marta… Despite her best efforts, Ilsa pulled her Kia over once she exited the bridge and began to weep. As she sat there, a Camel-colored Porsche drove past. The driver, a blonde, Ilsa would recall later, glanced over at her before speeding up and away.
“I still could have jumped,” she though as she saw the scene cross her vision like a replay for a Football match. But that guilt over her failure inserted itself, along with a psychic segue that flashed back to an even more dire time….
Four years before…
Ilsa sat at a table at Tennis Caffeet. She had every intention upon arrival to enjoy what little time she had before her date, so to speak, and she glanced over to the island that lay about one the third of the way across to Poland. She eyed her camera, perhaps some nice shots after lunch? But her daydream was interrupted by the sound of high heels clacking on the boardwalk.
“Oh, hi…" she said as the woman sat down at the table; a coffee already in hand.
“You know nothing has changed,” her sister-in-law said abruptly. There was always something about Monika that Ilsa just couldn’t nail down.
“With all the papers signed and submitted, it’s time for you to move on.” As frustrating as the news was, Monika seemed almost reluctant to deliver it.
“What does Marta say?” Ilsa looked away, almost hoping that Monika might actually insist the decision wasn’t final after all.
“Too much too soon,” Monika said. It would have felt dismissive but for the sighs they both uttered at the same time.
“Maybe someday? But this?” she used her hand in a broad gesture to point to Ilsa.
“What?” Ilsa looked down at herself. A nice summer but still prepared for a cool breeze, she wore a long cable-knit maroon cardigan over a cream-colored rayon top along with black stretch slacks and sensible black flats. Monika shook her head slowly, as if Ilsa was missing the obvious.
“You almost… you do look better than me. Can’t you understand how that makes Marta feel?” Monika looked over her shoulder, as if she could see all the way back to her house where Marta was staying.
“I’m not upset with you. But your son is and your daughter misses poppa.”
“I… I never meant to hurt anyone," Ilsa said. Monika leaned forward and grabbed Ilsa’s hand in hers.
“Nobody in the family hates you. We were just taken so aback by your…arrival. Even the name? I know you didn’t know or somehow forgot, but ‘Ilsa?’ Our Mormor?”
“I’m sorry,” Ilsa put her head down.
“It’s like the fun loving brother in law we all adored just went away. Anders disappeared and left a pretty stranger in his place.”
“I…I can change. Tell Marta….”
“No, Ilsa, no.” Monika said her name for the first time since Ilsa had started her transition.
“I can’t ask you to change. This is who you are. Marta knows that, but she isn’t ready for a woman in bed with her, and we all understand this is vital for your existence.”
“But I love my family.”
“Of course you do. But that cannot change what is… no matter what we want. Soon, Ilsa. You’ll see. Marta will at least treasure you as a sister. She just isn’t ready to love you like this, although she loves who you are.” Monika stood up slowly. She reached into her purse and handed Ilsa a small notepad.
“My number and email are on the cover. Lisa’s too.” Ilsa eyed her daughter’s cell number and sighed.
“Marta won’t give me Ulfie’s number, but he has yours. He’ll call, syster.” She stepped close and touched Ilsa’s cheek before kissing her.
“Call me next week.” She went to turn again, but walked back to the table.
“Of all the ones who we married, my Tommy got along with you best. When He was dying, you were the only one who listened to his heart. I can’t thank you enough for that, but thinking back, you behaved just like Marta and Connie and Noomi…like you had always been who you are now.” She kissed Ilsa again and walked away, leaving her former brother-in-law still a little bit lost, somewhat scared, and alone…
The sound of an ambulance siren awoke Ilsa from her dream. Four years later and the fracture of her family was almost healed. She opened her purse and pulled out her wallet. Reaching into a pocket, she pulled out two pictures. Lisa was almost ready for University. Her smile matched that of Ilsa’s. Not a momma, but just as good as a poppa, Ilsa thought. Ulfie called from time to time, but he never liked getting his picture taken so a photo of him playing football when he was fourteen was left to suffice.
She gazed at the other picture; Marta certainly seemed more at ease when the photo was taken. No words ever were spoken about them together, but they were finally at peace, at least in the photo. Ilsa raised her head and noted it had gotten darker, and she was glad she had somehow ended up in an ICA parking lot. She glanced once again at Marta’s picture and burst into tears.
Saga’s flat, a few days later….
The odd cool breeze still made its way around Malmö, and Saga found herself cold with just leggings and a sports bra. She walked to the hall closet and grabbed a slate grey zipper-front hoodie. Putting it on, she walked over and sat at her desk.
“Dum,” she said as she went through her mail. Online bills and no friends left nearly every bit of mail either junk or magazines she seemed to have inherited from the last flat owner. She tossed it all in a plain cardboard box next to the desk and turned her attention to her already opened laptop.
“Dum,” she repeated as she eyed the cascade of useless emails. Auto dealerships. Political appeals. Charity appeals. Several messages from her old boss; the frequent if unsuccessful appeal to return was met with a smile over the appreciation even if the requests were always going to be futile.
Porscheä[email protected] Only the police and a very few acquaintances knew her address, so she felt safe to open up the email.
Dear Ms. Noren:
My name is Ilsa Lowenstein. By way of introduction, I am originally from New York, but have lived the last twenty-six years in Malmö. I got this address from your partner Henrik Sabroe through the Malmö police. I understand you no longer work for them, but I hope that you will hear me out.
Saga paused and found herself almost hearing a woman’s voice; an alto with just the hint of a lisp. Saga imagined the woman to be about 170cm or so tall. Odd that she seemed to have a knack to hear and visualize people just from what they wrote.
She only then saw that the woman had included an attachment. Opening it up, she found that, indeed, the woman was about her height and pretty after a fashion. Perhaps not yet 40; too hard to tell from the photo. Her hair was a medium red, and a bit kinky. Simple jeans and Nordic pattern sweater left Saga at least not put off. She returned her attention to the email.
Henrik said that I could trust you. I believe him, since he described you as tenacious.
Saga paused again and recalled that Henrik’s description always seemed to include the mention of stubborn as well.
Please believe me when I say I am desperate. I have tried every avenue of police help throughout Skane, with nothing to show for it but tears. Please? I need you or maybe even someone like you to help me. I’ve failed at every turn and I was on the verge of giving everything up when I found Henrik and he said to contact you.
Saga winced at the expression ’giving everything up,’ as she recalled her mother’s and her sister’s deaths. She zoned in on the last sentence and shook her head.
Please, Ms. Noren? Help me find who killed my wife? Regards, Ilsa Lowenstein
Saga shook her head once again, not in refusal, but in that recognition even she could not describe that knows exactly how the woman felt. She then got up and walked into the kitchen. Reaching into the fridge, she pulled out a plastic jug of orange juice. She managed to drink almost half a liter before she smiled to herself and simply said.
”Javla....yes.”
Uggla Kaffebar, Malmö, several days later...
It was well past lunchtime. After a quick e-mail exchange, a meeting had been set up. Saga would rather have met Ilsa Lowenstein at the Burger King around the corner but Ilsa almost insisted on the coffee bar.
Saga sat at a table in the back and scoped out the entrance. No need to be foolish, she had thought, since even on her best days, she was cautious enough not to trust her first impression. After several comings and goings, the woman walked in.
“Ilsa Lowenstein,” she said as she walked to the table. Saga looked at her as if to say, “who else would you be.” She ignored the proffered handshake and instead eyed the chair across from her. Ilsa sat down, placing her purse on the chair beside her.
“I…I’m sorry for being…”
“This is your favorite restaurant,” Saga said curtly, ignoring the apology, as if it must have been common knowledge to everyone in Malmö. Ilsa’s eyes widened in question.
“It’s where you met your wife,” Saga held up her hand, interrupting Ilsa’s reply, even as she noted the woman mouthing ‘How did you know?” It was odd for anyone who might not know someone like Saga, but she was as attentive and insightful about things in other people even as she paid little heed to those things in herself.
“Habit. Both of you lived not too far from here. It means something to you.”
Saga had gotten much better at respecting things about people even if she did not understand them. And having such a fractured family with abusive and neglectful parents left her with no connection whatsoever with the wherefores and hows of sentimentality.
Almost like a chef who cares little for seafood, but keeps it on the menu because his customers do, Saga had made great strides in at least accepting in others the need for emotional attachments.
“Nobody in your wife’s family has any idea of what happened to her,” Saga stated rather than questioned. Ilsa nodded and Saga resisted the urge once again, leaving her almost permission to reply.
“All we know is that just before she took ill, she… she began seeing another man.”
“That’s not right,” Saga corrected her.
“I don’t follow you. He was…he’s some clinician at some counseling practice in Ystad. Marta never told us anything…” Ilsa said with a half-frown, evoking something of a mix between a laugh and a sigh from Saga.
“No, Miss Lowenstein. You said ‘another man,’ when he is the first man, since you are transgender.” Ilsa went to protest and Saga shook her head.
“No. Nothing wrong with that,” Saga laughed softly and answered yet another question Ilsa had yet to ask.
“I cannot…I am unable to explain why I knew that…I just knew.” Even as Saga had finished speaking, Ilsa literally cast her vision down at herself, leaving Saga another if unasked permission to interject.
“I… I heard your voice before I saw your picture,” Saga said, pointing to a light blue folder sticking out of her carry-all on the chair beside her.
“I worked with a woman for a couple of weeks in Copenhagen. You could be sisters.”
“She was transpersoner?” Ilsa asked almost in embarrassment.
“No…she just looked a bit like you, and she had a voice like yours.” Ilsa’s eyes widened in surprise, only to be replaced with a look akin to a child who feels ashamed for being selfish.
“You love your wife?” Saga said.
“Yes…I loved my wife.” Ilsa said as her eyes filled with tears. Saga bypassed the emotion altogether and stuck to the facts.
“You still love her”?!” Saga shook her head. Even after all the years between her sister’s suicide and now, Saga found it difficult recalling any emotional attachment to Jennifer other than a sense of failure.
She had glimpses of childhood moments, but their mother’s mental impairment coupled with the neglect by both her mother and father reinforced the idea that both sisters were to blame for everything wrong in the home. The blame that ultimately led to Jennifer taking her own life.
With an already firmly entrenched emotional disconnect from childhood on, Saga's struggles increased due to her mother’s manipulation. Only after Mary-Louise’s death had she learned that her mother likely suffered from Munchausen’s by Proxy; a need for attention fueled by manipulating the hurt of others.
Saga struggled to apprehend the vital need for intimacy and yet she was slowly learning to accept at least how vital it was for others. She was almost jarred by Ilsa’s comment; failing even to hear the woman talk for the past several minutes.
“I…never stopped loving her…” Ilsa’s voice trailed off. She could never begin to explain to anyone, much less Saga, how even the slightest attraction to another woman, even this long after Marta’s death, left her filled with guilt.
Many months of interrupting hormone therapy had done little to change her outward appearance since everyone always considered her ‘fey’ to begin with.
But that same departure from ‘intervention’ also led to a return for a time to other, more intrusive sensations. When her misgivings finally waned, she resumed her transition, but the emotional upheaval of change and grief left her vulnerable and even ashamed.
And that in turn led to more feelings of guilt. She felt she had betrayed Marta; a perception she would discover was almost needless and in the end completely futile and ultimately wrong, since in the end, it was Marta who drove her own estrangement; even from her sisters.
But new awakenings, however brief and seldom, also left Ilsa feeling that she had somehow also betrayed herself as well, despite the fact that it was mere loneliness that fueled any remotely romantic interests. Even after all this time it was Marta’s companionship she missed the most.
“I will poke around and see what is to see.” Saga stood abruptly and only then did she return the handshake; albeit awkwardly. She forced a smile while leaving without another word. Ilsa watched her depart before almost sinking back into her chair without a sound. A few moments later she had walked over to the counter and gotten a carry-out latte refill and left the coffee bar.
A short while later…
Saga drove over to the crime lab she once frequented. As difficult as it had always been to make the slightest of acquaintances, she at least had an ally of sorts in David Berglund, the Medical Examiner. A brief phone call left her assured that Berglund might discover some answers.
Saga stared at herself in the windshield mirror and shrugged. She got out of the Porsche and slipped off her dark blue tee, revealing a maroon sports bra. Noting that the parking garage was nearly empty, she sniffed her armpits. At least she had taken note of enough convention to avoid being seen, even if she felt the precaution was pointless waste of time. She grabbed a gray tee and put it on.
Saga locked the Porsche and walked into the building. Just being anywhere near her old job felt uncomfortable, as if by being there would somehow pull her back into what had become very painful and frustrating.
Berglund smiled in greeting. He rarely exchanged pleasantries to begin with, but did so on occasion, especially with Saga, perhaps understanding how someone even more introverted than him had need of that connection. She nodded and spoke.
“Tak. Did you find anything in the files?” She stared at the folder in his hand.
“Not so much what I found as what I didn’t find.” He opened the file and leafed through it before settling on a document paper-clipped to the blank death certificate.
“By order of the magistrate, Malmö Tingsrätt, all documents pertaining to the death of Marta Lowenstein are hearby sealed; 16 Maj 2018.”
”Nothing else?” Saga asked almost flatly. Her face rarely betrayed any emotion, but Berglund could at least decipher that she wasn’t the least bit surprised. He shook his head slightly and continued.
”There’s a toxicology report that is missing as well... the last page – the results would have been recorded on the missing page.”
”Knulla,” Saga said flatly. Berglund nodded and continued.
”Whatever happened...however she died?” Bergland began, but Saga held her hand up as if to finish his thought.
Berglund sighed in frustration. Saga could be exasperating at times, but he always thought that her abruptness was just part of how she was put together. Nevertheless, Berglund drew the same almost foregone conclusion as Saga likely did; he shook his head and laughed softly.
”Someone does not want anyone to know anything about this woman’s death.”
”Knulla,” Saga repeated as she nodded in thanks before suddenly walking out.
Saga’s flat, the following morning…
Saga sat in her living room on the small soda; a coffee mug in one hand and her cell in the other, set to speaker.
“Ms. Lowenstein…what? oh yes, Ilsa?” Saga paused and stared at her phone; so far she had spoken to the woman once, and Saga was never good with pleasantries. She continued.
“Can we meet sometime this evening to discuss this?” Saga asked.
“Yes…but considering the nature…yes… here?” Saga looked around at her apartment as if Ilsa was standing there.
“Yes. Carry out would be fine. I have an appointment around lunchtime, so maybe seven or so? yes?” Saga tilted her head and stared at her cell once again, listening to whatever nuances Ilsa’s voice might reveal.
“I’ll pick you up about 6:30. Yes… see you then.” Saga clicked off on her cell and blew out a frustrated breath. At 9 am, it already promised to be a long day.
At Monika Lindstrom’s home, Vellinge, 10:12 am…
Monika sat on the green leather sofa across from Saga. Her sisters both had called to say they would have to catch up with Saga in a few days. Noomi, the youngest of the four, was stuck in Stockholm at a Veterinarian convention, and second-born Connie was flying in from Reykjavik and her flight had been delayed.
“My… apologies. Your call last night caught me off guard,” Monika sighed in seeming frustration.
“I hope I didn’t come off as uncooperative, Inspector Noren.” Saga of course wasn’t about to tell Ilsa’s sister-in-law that she was there in a very unofficial capacity. And of course until Monika Lindstrom actually answered any questions it was premature to assume anything. Saga, nevertheless, felt a certain vibe about the woman.
“I guess I don’t understand how anything I might say could unravel this…” Monika paused, as if to collect herself.
“Mystery? It’s still hurtful in a way, since Marta stopped communicating once she left town…” Monika sighed. She reached into her purse and produced a joint, which she lit. She inhaled deeply and seemed almost to be counting before she exhaled. She looked at Saga.
“I have a tremor disorder…not nearly as bad as Parkinson’s. The stuff helps.”
Saga nodded and half-smiled.
“Anything you could say is better than what we have so far. What is your relationship with Ilsa?”
“We… we’ve always gotten along. About the time Ilsa began physically…presenting, my sister Marta asked me to speak with her. Funny… Marta stopped calling her Anders but never was able to call her Ilsa. It was just,’ Monika? Could you talk to her?’”
“She had trouble accepting her husband’s transition?” It was more of a statement on Saga’s part, but it also pulled more out of Monika.
“She was perfectly alright seeing Ilsa as a sister or family friend. Don’t get me wrong. I loved my sister...I understood completely… I knew what she was dealing with… as a woman.” Monika’s voice trailed off.
“You understood…because you lived that reality as well.” Perhaps it was Monika’s body-language that gave her away, but Ilsa had explained that Monika’s late husband Tommy, even in the midst of dealing with cancer had almost taken Ilsa under his wing.
“Ye…yes. Tommy was transgender…” she gasped, but it wasn’t out of fear or shame.
“He…she…Tommy never transitioned because the cancer came on so quickly. Ilsa understood…she was as much a comfort to Tommy as Tommy had been to her.”
“So problems with you or your other sisters…it was no more than awkward?” Saga’s face was almost deadpan.
“My sisters all knew about Tommy and they… we were relieved that he…that she had an understanding friend. I think my embracing the reality of my spouse was too much for Marta…as if she appeared weak for not understanding her own…spouse while I….”
Monika gasped and looked away, but Saga seemed to sense something underneath Monika’s tone. Almost… protective.
“Mikael… Noomi’s boyfriend at the time was still stuck in the twentieth century, but he and Noomi were already in the midst of separating. Connie’s husband Erick passed away years ago. She’s seeing a nice woman attorney from Iceland who lives in Uppsala. They’re just returning tonight from Reykjavik after visiting Sigrid’s family.”
Nothing and everything Monika described seemed to reveal much about the women.
“Ilsa did more than change from Anders, yes?” Saga looked down at her notes.
“Her name had been Nillson…Anders Nillson.our family name is Lowenstein. Ilsa adopted it when she began to transition,” Monika sighed.
“I… like I said, I loved my sister. It was almost too sad that what Ilsa had hoped would be a kind gesture to the family. Marta seemed to almost … it wasn’t as if she rejected the idea. She just never acknowledged… said anything remotely kind to Ilsa. it was almost… neutral. Like at that point Ilsa just did not matter any longer”
“From what Ilsa was able to recall, your sister had begun to see a therapist in Ystad.”
“Ye…yes…but we never learned who. At first we thought it was simply for the marital discord…” Monika paused once again to relight the joint. She repeated the routine; staring at the joint and shaking her head.
“It still helps, but like my doctor friend once said, ‘if you use it while you’re already depressed, you might get…” she shook her head as tears came to her eyes.
“Marta never told us about the brain tumor until she was walking through death’s door; and then only by a call from the hospital. Ilsa was in Amsterdam and we couldn’t reach her. Connie and Noomi and I went as quickly as we could, but in just hours after the call, by the time we arrived, the body had been seen to and no one at the hospital could or would tell us who made the arrangements.”
“I might be able to shed some light on that, but let me look further?” Saga rose and offered her hand to Monika as she stood up.
“That’s all? We’ve hardly talked.” Monika sounded almost put out but for the tears streaming off her face.
“I can see you loved your sister very much. Ilsa also said you and she were close as well.” Saga fibbed, although she had almost zoned out listening to Ilsa the other day, leaving her to wonder if Ilsa had acknowledged what Saga had suspected. She debated with herself about her next few words.
You loved your husband. When you talked about her…yes I understand…when you talked about her it was as if she was still alive…still your Tommy.” Saga would have added some sort of sympathy, but it never quite came out as she intended at other times.
“I will keep in touch. Call me if you think of anything?” Saga handed Monika an old business card with the phone number written in ink below the crossed out Police extension. Monika nodded and spoke.
“Just one thing? I’ve been trying for days to get in touch with Ilsa, but my calls go right to message and her mailbox is full. Could you…would you have her call me?” Monika reached over and shook Saga’s hand.
“Yes.” Saga wasn’t about to tell Monika that she was meeting Ilsa that evening; better to let things play off each other. she walked out to her Porsche and in a few moments was down the road on the way back to Malmö.
She looked in her rearview mirror as if she could see all the way back into Monika Lindstrom’s home. Several things were for certain, as far as saga could discern.
All of Marta’s family loved their brother-cum-sister Tommy. And as much as they did love their sister, they all seemed to care now more for Ilsa than Marta.
And one other thing? As much as Monika Lindstrom might still be in love with her late spouse? It almost felt that she also cared a very great deal for her former brother-in-law. Either way, there was another person…unknown for the present…who was pulling all the strings.
A short while later...
Saga fought the urge to just tell Ilsa to let it go and instead drove over again to the Crime Lab on impulse. She walked in and found Berglund at his lab desk sitting with a cup of what she supposed was coffee; looking as if he actually had some news. He did.
"Ah...like comedy, timing is everything. She missed the theatrical reference altogether.
"What would it be?" She shot him a half-frown, which he ignored.
"My cousin Anne knows someone who works in records at her job at the hospital. A cancer clinic, actually. You can't access it from here,” he said, pointing to his laptop.
"But there is a patient chart for a Marta Lowenstein in the system. You can...'
"Tak,' Saga said curtly even as she quickly walked out. When she got into the Porsche, she noticed her cell phone displaying 'missed call' and considered ignoring it. It was past five, and the records department at the hospital was already closed. She grabbed the cell and hit send.
"Miss...yes, okay...Ilsa? Can you be ready by six instead? Tak."
She ended the call; a long day plus low blood sugar left her with -little patience for a protracted phone call since they were meeting in less than an hour anyway. She looked over at the passenger seat at a half-eaten pastry from the day before. She grabbed the stainless steel travel mug from the makeshift cup holder to her left and downed the cold coffee along with the pastry before driving off.
Saga's flat, sometime after seven...
Several cartons of take-away food from the local Chinese restaurant as well as a large Pizza carton rested unceremoniously on Saga's kitchen table. Ilsa had done a reasonable job of laying out plates and tableware. Ignoring the plate in front of her, Saga folded a piece of pizza and used her free hand to catch the dripping cheese. After quickly dispatching two more slices and a bottle of Stigberget, she spoke.
"I have little to show for my efforts today." She lied. Her talk with Monica at least shed some light on what hadn't happened. She was confident that even before her planned talk with Marta's other two sisters, that nothing was going on; at least nothing sinister between the sisters.
"We may be able to find something if we just drive to Ystad to the hospital.
"I...I have no legal standing...I" Ilsa took a swig of Trocadero and sighed. Saga held up her expired ID.
"We have nothing to lose by trying." Saga said. She shrugged her shoulders, evoking a reluctant nod from Ilsa.
"Tomorrow first thing." Saga paused and looked out the kitchen window.
"It’s raining too hard. I am not going to drive in this, so you can call Uber..."
"Uh..." Ilsa stammered; putting her head down,
"What? You want to stay here?'
"I.... if it's not too much trouble?" Ilsa practically cowered.
"Fine..." Saga squinted at her and continued.
"I have some shorts and a top you can use." She pointed to the sofa.
"Oh…okay." Saga looked her almost sideways. Everybody can present any which way, but it was almost obvious that despite her origins, Ilsa Lowenstein had never been a man.
"What?" Saga snapped.
"Can I..." Ilsa's gaze turned slowly down the hall toward the bedroom. Saga's eyes widened and she spoke; totally if with good intentions misreading Ilsa altogether.
"Wanna fuck?" Ilsa paused and looked down at herself before answering.
"I'm sorry. I..." her eyes filled with tears and her face grew red and hot.
"You... you..." She eyed Saga up and down, taking inventory even as that investigation felt shameful. Saga nodded; not understanding altogether but 'getting it' none the less.
"You just want to what? Cuddle?" Saga was curt, leaving Ilsa to reach for her phone.
"I....you are...very attractive, but..."
"But what, Ms. Lowenstein?"
"I cannot...do not..." Ilsa looked down once again, taking inventory this time of her own body. Saga nodded and her affect softened a bit.
"Nothing... I never...but..." Ilsa struggled with her phone. Saga walked over and took the phone from her hands and eased it back into Ilsa's purse.
"Nuuuh...nothing works..." Ilsa put her hand to her face and began to weep. Saga stared at her. Even at her best moments growing up, she could barely connect with her sister emotionally despite sharing the pain their mother inflicted on them. But the careful seeding of understanding by fate-driven years as a police detective exposed to the humanity of others at least left her wanting to understand.
"And?" Ever the cop, Saga knew there was so much more to Ilsa's request. She turned her gaze sideways, as if to see all the way to Ystad. But she the shook her head in puzzlement as she pivoted, almost as if to see all the way to Monika Lindstrom's home as well.
"I...I should just go..." Ilsa said as she went to pick up her purse. Saga grabbed her by the arm; a bit more forcibly thane she intended.
"Do you snore?" She asked abruptly.
"If you snore...or if you move around? No." She pointed to the couch.
"I...I don't snore." Saga nodded. Ilsa's late wife definitely would have said something.
"And no crying. Okay?" Saga folded her arms.
"Nu...no crying...oh...okay..." Ilsa grabbed the roll of paper towels and tore off a few sheets; wiping the mixture of tears and mascara from her face.
"You look like a raccoon," Saga said. Ilsa grabbed more sheets from the roll and ran to the bathroom; emerging only a short while later, freshly scrubbed.
"Books," Saga said, pointing to the shelf by her sofa. Ilsa nodded.
"You can shower and get changed. I'm going to bed; I've been up since five and I'm tired. You can use the sofa if you cannot keep from bawling. If you can, just be quiet when you come to bed.
A short while later....
Saga felt the bed sag only a bit as Ilsa climbed in. She faced away toward the door, which surprised Saga. In a few moments the woman was still, yet she began to weep softly. Saga turned, almost eager to ask Ilsa to leave. But she only just the realized how petite Ilsa was.
"Fan dig!" Saga mouthed. Instead of being annoyed at the woman, Saga was annoyed that the moment dragged her all the way back to when she was ten and slept front to back with her sister. Another fateful appointment; this time with a past that held more precious if altogether scarce moments of peace.
"I...I'm...I'm sorry," Ilsa cried softly. Saga grit her teeth; unwilling to take the psychic bus back to her childhood. But it wasn't just Ilsa Lowenstein with whom Saga shard her bed that night. A rare and judiciously dispensed tear rolled off Saga's cheek as she found herself move closer.
"I'm sorry," Ilsa (and Jennifer) sobbed even as Saga embraced the woman.
"Shhhh..." She might never be able to explain what happened next.
"Shhh..." she repeated as she pulled away the covers. It was still raining hard, but the night was only a bit cool.
"It's okay..." She almost whispered as she began to use her right hand to 'draw' on Ilsa's back. Silly words to silly songs shared by little girls who never fit in. Saga began to hum, trying with little success to recall all the words to the tune. But in those few moments; perhaps for that moment alone, she was the big sister that she really had been for Jennifer Noren and now had become in some odd way to Ilsa Lowenstein.
The following morning, 7:12 am..
Ilsa woke to the aroma of coffee and reheated Beef and Leek stir-fry filling Saga’s flat. She walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
“I can reheat the pizza?” Saga said as she pulled two bowls from the microwave. Ilsa shook her head.
“You were right,” Saga said. Ilsa looked at her askance.
“You don’t snore. And you only cried a little.” Saga pretty much had no intent to revisit the innocent intimacy of the night before, but Ilsa smiled weakly and spoke.
“Tak..” Nothing more than that. Years of working in Skane with kids much like Saga left Ilsa with a polite caution to leave emotion unexposed.
“You still have your dick,” Saga said abruptly. Ilsa cringed. The psychic upheaval from the past few years had sent Ilsa’s transition careening off the railroad tracks, and she was only now beginning to reclaim her journey, so to speak. Her face reddened.
“Nice tits,” Saga said with a half-smile. Ilsa’s face grew darker, prompting Saga to add.
“My arm draped over you. We didn’t do anything.” Ilsa seemed to look disappointed and relieved at the same, leaving Saga to add,
“If you had wanted to, we could have, but it’s okay.” Saga placed a mug of coffee in front of Ilsa and spoke.
“Jeans and tops in the bedroom closet. You’ll have to use your own underwear. Socks are in the top drawer in dresser. It’s almost 7:30. We can be at the hospital in Ystad in an hour if we leave by 8, okay?” Saga didn’t wait but pointed to the bathroom door.
“Shower in a few. I’m all set.” Ilsa nodded and quickly downed the mug of coffee before walking to the bedroom to retrieve the clothes. By 8:04 they were on the road.
Patient Records, Nova Clinic BVC, Ystad, 9:11 am…
A quick glance at an email Berglund had sent the day before explained that rather than just the hospital, his cousin also worked part time at the cancer clinic, and would be there to meet them. She stood behind the counter, holding her hand up in caution, bur she started to grin.
“I don’t need to see your four-year- old Police ID, Inspector Noren. David phoned to say you’d be here this morning." Saga half frowned and tilted her head in question.
“Sorry…poor attempt at humor.” Anne Berglund shrugged her shoulders and laid a green file folder on the counter.
“David mentioned there was no Certificate of Death included with the file he received, but the clinic had this folder with your wife’s documents. Including doctors’ notes.” She opened up the folder and pointed to the top page. Ilsa hadn’t introduced herself, but it seemed her reputation preceded her. Ms. Berglund noticed her uneasiness and spoke.
“You don’t remember me? We met at a grief support group in Malmö a couple of years ago. My Ingrid….” She sighed, evoking a similar response from Ilsa. Saga was growing impatient, but used her fingernails turned inward to dig into her palm as a distraction.
“The doctor signed the death certificate…I guess someone forgot that there was a copy with these notes. Dr. Simonson pronounced at14:41 on the 16th.”
“I can see that,” Saga practically snapped.
“But you’ll see he wasn’t the doctor who released the body.” She pointed to the next page.
“Her therapist… you know we provide that service for the terminally ill and their families?” Anne Berglund might be as annoyingly abrupt as any professional anyone might encounter, but she was thorough.
“Note the time?” She pointed to the signature at the bottom of the page.
“15:12. That’s highly unusual for a psychologist to get that involved, much less so soon after a patient’s passing.” She smiled; proud, and perhaps more thorough than her very thorough cousin. Saga looked at the page and nodded, but as she was about to ask another question, she noticed the forname of the doctor.
“Fan dig!” She turned her attention to Anne Berglund, who merely smiled and produced a duplicate folder from the desktop below the counter.
“Fan dig indeed, Inspector Noren! Fan dig indeed!” She took a thick rubber band and wrapped around the folder before handing it over; not to Saga but to Ilsa Lowenstein. Even if Saga might not understand why it was important for Ilsa to receive the file, she nevertheless accepted that it still was important.
“Give David my best?”
“Yes,” Saga said and she pivoted to go, waiting long enough for Ilsa to smile at Anne Berglund and say at last,
“Tak!”
On the road a few minutes later…
Ilsa stared at the death certificate and tears welled in her eyes.
“Neuroblastoma? Stage four?”
“Much further along than anyone had been led to believe. She probably mistook the symptoms for the migraines you said she had,” Saga said almost emotionlessly. Death seemed to have almost no effect on Saga, but she added uncharacteristically.
“Sorry.” Saga was not being insensitive so much as being focused. She avoided glancing at the signature page placed askance on top of the certificate on Ilsa’s lap.
“A quick drive-thru for coffee,” Saga said as she pulled into a McDonalds. In a few moments Saga had parked the Porsche in the back of the parking lot and was gazing at the Google display on her phone. As she punched in the name of the doctor, the moment suddenly gained more clarity; not for the doctor’s family name, but instead for his forname.
She pointed out the name on the release document and then to the name displayed on the Google results. Ilsa’s eyes widened in fearful anticipation.
“Call Monika and see if she can get your sisters to meet us over there?”
“Are you…”
“No, Miss Lowenstein. I am sure of nothing about this SNAFU.” Having American parents, she was fluent in English, but the expression was foreign to her.
“I’m not …” Ilsa began.
“In English? Situation Naturally All Fucked Up...You know? Knulla! I have my thoughts, but let’s hear from your sisters, yes?” Ilsa nodded and in a few minutes she nodded as she clicked off her phone,
“Monika says they were coming over for dinner anyway.” Her voice trailed off and Saga spoke.
“I want to talk to both of them… to rule out the static.”
“You can’t think they had anything…”
“I am thinking that they know what they don’t realize they know. They might remember something.” Truth be told, Saga was convinced that between all of them, the truth would out, as someone once said.
“It has to be… I just has to be,” Ilsa said hopefully before the realization of what she was saying took her. She started hitting the armrest on her car door as she began to weep in low, painful sobs. Saga started the Porsche and drove out of the parking lot and away.
At Monika’s, about an hour later…
Saga had driven to Ilsa’s to let her get changed. Ilsa actually offered to lend Saga a change of clothes, but Saga begged off. By the time they got to Monika’s, two of the sisters were sitting almost impatiently in the living room. Noomi, on the other hand, was pacing back and forth.
The only one who appeared to be calm was Sigrid, Connie’s partner. She stood and walked quickly to Ilsa, offering a hug. Ilsa kissed her cheek, but hesitated embracing Sigrid. Sigrid hugged her almost heartily, none the less.
“It's alright, systir min,” she said with a soft laugh before adding.
“You won’t break me.” She walked over to Connie and kissed her on the cheek before speaking again.
“If you like, I can leave you to your mystery.” Her voice was steady, but with just a tinge of fatigue. She oddly appeared both frail and strong at the same time. Saga stepped only a bit closer, offering no greeting, but saying instead.
“If you can manage it, it would be helpful to have another voice? Someone…objective?” Saga would have added ‘please’ had it become absolutely necessary, but Sigrid saved her from that by resuming her place on the couch next to Connie.
“Noomi? Ms Lowenstein?” Saga said abruptly. Noomi stopped pacing and faced Saga. As often as Saga had used an impatient tone, her intent was simply to take charge in a logical manner from her perspective. While reason would play a part in the questions, it was the emotion of everyone's answers that she hoped would spark recollections and insight. Noomi almost seemed put out until she saw the downcast look on Ilsa’s face. She nodded and leaned forward.
“Yes?”
“Your sister tells me your ex-boyfriend was a real…”
“Kuk?” Noomi started to glare at Saga, but she broke into a laugh. At barely over 1.5 meters, she would have looked like a mellan but for her boyish haircut and the blue veterinarian lab coat.
“Yes. I can barely remember what I saw in him. He was so… Once he found out my inheritance was in a trust, he…” She teared up; not for any love lost, but rather for the betrayal. But like Monika, the hurt went beyond that.
“The way that bastard treated Tommy. A fucking therapist and a trans… hater? Tommy had just come out and…he….she was so happy even though she knew she was dying…” No sooner had the words escaped her lips when her face grew pale.
“Min söta syster...shhhhh...” Sigrid stood up and walked to Noomi.
”Connie told me all about Tommy...and her Erik...and what that Mikael did to you. So much hurt for such a...” Sigrid looked back at Connie.
”Until my Connie came along, I was convinced that I would die a spinster. Now?’ It was almost sacred listening to the woman talk so casually about her impending death, but it was exactly what Saga had hoped for, even if she might never understand the connection.
”I... I feel that sometimes myself, but then I look at you and Connie and I have hope.” Noomi nodded at her erstwhile sister-in-law before continuing.
”But also I don’t feel so stupid any more. Mikael was a player, and maybe he played us all. Bu looking at those papers...”
Noomi pointed to the medical file folder on the end table next to the sofa. She sighed before grabbing a tissue from the coffee table. She wanted to continue, but she stifled a sob at the thought of what she was unable to say. Monika stood up and walked to the hearth and stared at herself in the mirror above the mantelpiece. It would have almost looked like an overly drawn out gesture in an entirely emotive play, but she turned and spoke calmly.
”The bastard hurt Tommy because he was cruel. He hurt Connie just by the way he treated the family and how he so casually dismissed Connie's lingering grief over her Erik's death.
He hurt me because maybe he knew just how much I treasured my husband becoming my wife.” It certainly almost seemed overly theatric but for the fact that Monika did not dwell on herself.
”I think you know what you didn’t know before, Ms. Lindstrom,” Saga said.
”That you have solved everything?” Saga had already pretty much figured everything out, but if there was anything she realized that made some sense in her own story, it was that they all need more than answers. They needed closure. So she used her hand in a gesture to encourage Monika to finish what she started. Monika nodded at the gesture.
”Mikael hurt...” It was almost the last thing anyone in the room might have expected, but she continued.
”Mikael hated that my Tommy was unafraid. And he despised our sweet Ilsa for giving Tommy that strength. So he took the only thing that Ilsa cared about.” Ilsa shook her head; almost feeling ashamed and responsible for the pain she endured.
”No, my dear sweet sister,” Monika said even as she walked quickly to Ilsa’s side. She placed her hand gently on Ilsa’s shoulder.
”You never cared for our money. You never spoke a critical word about Marta despite her indifference. You always spoke highly of her even as her words pushed your kids away. Mikael could not steal a thing from you that you had not already lost. So even as you found yourself, his jealousy and hatred drove him to steal Marta herself.”
”But...but...” Ilsa began to sob. Monika pulled her to her feet and embraced her, patting her on the back as she wept.
”The fraud almost means nothing,” Connie interjected Whatever Mikael gained?” She turned to face Sigrid.
”What does money matter when how can I even count the blessings you have given me moment to moment.” They hugged; quietly and with an aura of peace.
”I don’t care,” Noomi insisted.
I hope you nail the bastard for what he did to Tommy and Ilsa...and Monika.” She shook her head almost furiously before walking quickly outside. Saga followed her progress through the door and out.
”Ms. Lindstrom?” Saga tapped Monika on the shoulder, interrupting the solace.
”I’ll be filing my report,” she began, but Monika laughed.
”I know you don’t work any longer for the police, Inspector Noren. I have friends in Skane that know about your situation,”
”Of course,” Saga said in resignation.
”But I also know...I’m quite confident in fact, that no one in any police department could have unraveled this.” Monika said as she used her hand to point to all parties present.
”I read your note about Dr. Mikael Nordstrom being the brother of the district judge who wrote the order sealing the files. Good work!
And herding a bunch of old cats like the Lowenstein sisters?” she added with a laugh. Saga missed the joke and spoke, perhaps with just enough perception to nudge a couple of cats in particular.
”I think your Tommy is happy now, Ms. Lindstrom.” Saga was almost never good at social cues like gestures or body language. Never the less, she repeated herself.
”Yes...I think your Tommy is happy,” Saga said as she used her eyes to glance back and forth between Monika and Ilsa...
(Resoltion?)
A while later...
Connie and Sigrid were staying, and had retired soon after dinner. Noomi was off in the house somewhere, and Monika was in the kitchen retrieving a bottle of wine, leaving Saga alone with Ilsa.
”I...I know it’s really not... I..”
”Tak will do, Ms. Lowenstein.” Saga shook her head slightly and only winced a teeny bit as Ilsa hugged her. Pulling away, she smiled awkwardly before joining Monika in the kitchen.
Saga turned to beat what she hoped would be a hasty retreat, but ran into Noomi...literally; sending them both sprawling. It was only then that Saga noticed Noomi’s eyes were heterochromatic. But in all the books that Saga had ever read, she had never seen pictures with this combination; much less the colors themselves. Noomi’s right eye was almost a silvery gray and her left eye was as vivid a dark green Saga had ever seen. Almost like an exotic cat, in fact.
”Would you mind removing your knee from my crotch,” Noomi said with a laugh that approximated a giggle from a teenager.
”Sure,” Saga said; a wry smile crossing her face. She stood up and offered Noomi a hand, which she accepted.
”I’m heading out. Wanna get some coffee?” Noomi didn’t wait for an answer but instead walked to the front door. Saga looked back at the kitchen and noticed Monika had returned to consoling Ilsa...or at least that’s what it looked like. Turning, she noticed that Noomi was already outside.
She walked out and headed to her car. Noomi was nowhere to be seen; leaving Saga oddly disappointed that the woman had left. She reached into her bag and grabbed her keys, but when she turned she found herself once again face to face with Noomi Lowenstein.
”Still want to get coffee?” Noomi asked. Saga nodded withouta word until Noomi stepped closer and stood slightly on tiptoe, whispering in Saga’s ear. A moment passed and Saga spoke.
”What did you just say?” Noomi repeated the gesture and stood tiptoe while whispering once again. A grin began to widen on Saga’s face and she finally said,
”Absolut...”
Hollow Talk
Songwriters: Anders Rhedin / Jannis Noya Makrigiannis /
Fridolin Nordso / Fridolin Schjoldan
Sung by Marika Torkko
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hz8jmUt0bt0
,
Malmö, Sweden, Saga Noren’s flat, 6:27 am….
Almost a daily routine, the smallish woman on the couch was half covered by a blanket thrown mostly off by the constant motion of her feet. Even in the midst of her seeming unrest, she was smiling in her sleep.
“I have to go,” Saga called from the kitchen. Noomi stirred enough to reply.
“Me, too….See you tonight?”
“Maybe.” Saga shrugged. Unlike some of her relationships of the recent past, her connection with Noomi Lowenstein was entirely perplexing. Never one for commitment, much less any emotional attachment, she found herself frustrated by an almost resentment over her own inability to ‘break free.’ Remaining close to anyone in her life brought her what she finally understood was heartache. She frowned as she looked again at Noomi, who had already returned to a contented sleep.
“Fan dig!” Saga muttered; almost a self-curse. They had even talked about enmeshment so to speak...
“I’m not ready for permanent.” Saga said even as she redoubled her attention to her lover’s crotch.
“Mmmm….me neither,“ Noomi replied with a soft coo.
“I mean it.” Saga insisted as she moved her head under the covers. Noomi arched her back in response before screaming out some pleasant Finnish expletive she had picked up three lovers ago. She collapsed back down on the bed even as Saga joined her in a comfortable hug.
“Nnnn…no commitments.”
“No commitments,” Noomi echoed before she climbed on top of Saga; burying her face in Saga’s neck with a spirited nuzzle before returning Saga’s ministrations by delving below.
“Nnnn….noooo,” Saga protested even as her hands gripped Noomi’s hair; guiding and urging...
After work...
“You’re here?” Noomi remarked as she walked in the flat.
“Why wouldn’t I be…It’s my place,” Saga snapped sullenly.
“Your ‘maybe’ this morning? Not exactly an indication of commitment, min kärlek. ”
“Stop saying that!” Saga shook her head.
“No,min kärlek!” Noomi said with a half-smile.
“I know where you stand….or sit,” Noomi quipped.
“You do not have to commit to me in order for me to commit to you."
“That makes no sense,” Saga said. Noomi’s smile broadened.
“Love does not make sense. Logic is logic and love is love. I love you…so there!” She walked over and kissed Saga on the top of the head before sitting down.
“I…I don’t know how…” Saga sighed. Nearly every single relationship Saga had before, even those which could be remotely construed as romantic included an unwritten escape clause. Saga had an almost inability to allow love to enter her life…. Almost...
“Let me show you,” Noomi said with a sigh almost echoing Saga’s. No stranger to betrayal, the woman nevertheless willed herself to a sweetness that some might even see as cloying but for her occasional foray into irony or even sarcasm. Saga shook her head, expecting the usual and often successful bartering with physical affection. Noomi replied to Saga’s gesture.
“I’m here for as long as you like…or not,” she said. She patted Saga’s hand in assurance even as she stood up. She stepped away, and Saga’s gaze darted to the bedroom door. Noomi laughed softly before retrieving her cell phone from her purse.
“Kin Long The usual?” Noomi asked. Saga nodded slowly.
”Yes…Two orders Chicken with Scallions; brown rice. Spring Roll? Yes. Delivery. Yes, that’s the address. 50 minutes? Tak,” She clicked off the phone and smiled at Saga.
“I’m not hungry,” Saga said unconvincingly. She wanted to argue, but Noomi was way ahead of her.
“We do not need to ‘do’ anything for me to love you. And you must know that I love it when we do what we do.”
“I…” Saga Noren was not so much at a loss for words as for a glut of feeling. The woman loved her. Everyone up to that point professed or showed that they were ‘in love’ with her. No single human being had ever displayed the “I am not going anywhere” love. Neither did anyone freely release her when bade to do so. As much as she might claim otherwise, there was a part of her that wanted to be loved merely for being Saga alone. Not Saga the daughter or sister or police inspector or even the lover, but just Saga. Noomi patted her chest.
“Like I said, I’m not going anywhere until I cannot be here or you cannot abide me any longer. Until that time, sötnos, I’m here to stay.” Saga’s eyes widened at the endearment.
“And no…you don’t have to start talking like a rom-com. Just be you. Period.”
Part of Saga almost wished she had some presence to speak that ‘language.'
“Don’t worry. I’ve got enough cute sayings to last us both, and you can throw something at me if it gets too much.” Noomi walked back to Saga and knelt by the chair. She drew Saga close and kissed her quickly before pulling back a bit.
“Only one condition?” Saga stared at her nervously.
“Dinner first, fucking second?” Noomi grinned as her slightly less-than-forever but mostly newly-committed girlfriend nodded.
“I…” Saga started and stopped. Noomi returned Saga’s almost flat affect with a half frown.
“I…I lied….” Saga said.
“And?” Noomi replied with apprehension.
“I…I am hungry. Dinner first…fuck second.” Saga spoke slowly. Noomi went to stand but Saga grabbed her arm; perhaps a bit more forcefully than she intended, but with a necessary urgency they both needed as she said at last.
“And….I…I love you too.” She lowered her head slightly but felt the soft caress of Noomi's hand followed by a kiss on her cheek and and even softer whisper in her ear.
"Tak, min söta Saga. Tak."
Thus far: Saga Noren, former C.I.D. inspector for the Polisstation Malmö, has helped the Lowenstein sisters solve the mystery of the protracted absence and subsequent death of Marta Lowenstein. Marta was the estranged wife of transsexual Elsa Lowenstein (nee Anders Nillson). While Marta’s death was determined to be of natural causes, her estrangement was due to the blatant manipulation of her psychologist.
The former boyfriend of youngest sister Noomi Lowenstein, Dr. Mikael Nordstrom is a borderline sadistic misogynist and transphobe with connections to the local magistrate, and after leaving Noomi, had managed to gain financial control over Marta Lowenstein months before her death from a brain tumor. Nordstrom has since been incommunicado.
In the midst of the abating turmoil of the family, Saga has become romantically involved with Noomi in what has become Saga’s first long-term relationship
As promising as Saga’s embrace of expressing feelings was becoming, it remained understandably tentative. Much like immersing oneself in a new language, the awkwardness was compounded by an innate lack of trust fueled by her parents’ betrayal and her sister’s suicide years ago.
Nevertheless, if she was tentative, she remained undaunted by the unfamiliarity of endearments and physical connections that went far beyond the merely sexual…
Show me the meaning of being lonely
Is this the feeling I need to walk with?
Tell me why I can't be there where you are
There's something missing in my heart
(More Heartache)
Noomi's and Saga's flat, late afternoon…
Noomi was sitting at the kitchen table. Saga had just walked in and was putting some groceries away.
“Hi,” Noomi said weakly. She turned aside. They had a pact, of sorts, that emotions would indeed be expressed, regardless of how uncomfortable that might leave Saga. But this was neither a caution nor any withholding. Noomi was struggling with how everything in that moment overwhelmed her. Saga stepped closer and waved without a word.
“It’s…” was all Noomi could manage before she put her head on the table; sobbing. Saga touched her arm and spoke; much softer than she had intended, but with exactly the response she expected. Noomi raised her head.
Saga could see that the redness in Noomi’s eyes meant she had been crying long before Saga had gotten home. Home? Funny thing how it was developing as a safe place for two entirely different people.
“Sigrid?” Noomi nodded yes. Noomi’s sister’s erstwhile wife had finally succumbed to the cancer that everyone desperately hoped against.
“I am sorry.” At one time an almost alien concept; Saga was integrating new ways to interact where once there might have been no interaction whatsoever.
“We...we knew it was coming. Why do I feel so surprised?” Of course, Noomi already knew the answer that still eluded Saga. Noomi… and Monika and Ilsa and especially Connie had refused to abandon hope to the inevitable. Fate would not have its way? But even hope sometimes bows to cancer, doesn’t it?
“I am worried for Connie.” The words might not have felt odd but for the fact that it was Saga who uttered them. She sat down and placed her hand on Noomi’s arm. Had she gotten smaller, or was it simply her almost-retreat into her chair?
“She hasn’t looked well, Kära,” Noomi said. Saga nodded. The family had not been beset with anything more than most, but it still felt entirely unfair that everyone had suffered loss in more ways than one.
“She…Connie spiraled after Erik died. She struggled so much after Monika lost Tommy. And when Marta died without so much as a goodbye, I think we all worried. But then Sigrid came along?”
“I...I could see the love they had,” Saga said. No mean feat for someone who had been inattentive to the feelings of others; plagued with a lack rather than a choice of misunderstanding.
“She... she brought so much healing in the midst…How much heartache can Connie be expected to bear? Where is god in all of this?” Noomi shook her head at the irony and began sobbing once again. How would her sister Connie recover from yet another loss?
How would they all face the departure of Sigrid? It was at that moment that something clicked inside Saga. She moved even closer and hugged Noomi. The first time in her life she might ever recall comforting someone.
“I…I am so sorry,” Saga repeated as she stroked Noomi’s hair.
“I...I know, Kära du” Noomi said. She grabbed Saga’s hand and kissed it gently. Of course she knew that Saga was sorry for the new loss the Lowenstein family felt. But much more than that, Noomi knew that Saga’s sorrow was not merely reflexive. It was more than just a response expected as an exercise in finally adapting to social cues.
Saga was sorry for her own sake. Noomi gazed into Saga’s now tear-filled eyes as she cried for the loss as she felt for the first time she was part of the Lowenstein family. Noomi kissed Saga’s hand; a kiss on the palm in a gentle acknowledgment that something indeed had changed in Saga...in both of them.
“I know, Kära du.”
Two days later, early evening…
“We have a problem.” Noomi remarked as Saga walked into the bedroom. She was drying her hair after a quick shower.
“I thought we agreed? I promised I would do… I’m going to be there at the viewing for Sigrid.” Saga sat down on the edge of the bed and reached over to touch Noomi’s hand, evoking an unexpected wince.
“What?” Saga actually looked hurt by the rebuff, causing Noomi to reach over and grab Saga’s hand nervously.
“OH, javla! That’s not… I ‘m upset, but not with you!” Noomi blew out a frustrated breath, but patted Saga’s hand.
“My niece Lisa… you’ll meet her and Ulfie at the viewing? She called me this morning. Her school refuses to enroll her.”
Saga tilted her head sideways slightly in thought.
“She’s going into her third year at Copenhagen. It’s a private school. They say she’s run out of funds.
“Your family is good for the money. Why the hold-up?” Saga tried with just a little success in not being abrupt. Noomi smiled weakly but waved her to shhhh.
“There’s a trust. All of us sisters agreed to give our sister’s children the means to go to school. Ulfie finished Arhaus and he is an illustrator Graphic novels. We supplement his income. Not rich by any means, but safe, you know?”
Saga really didn’t know; coming from a family where she was never encouraged. But she knew Noomi’s sisters were generous but not indulgent.
“And?”
“Lisa has… there’s an educational trust to cover everything. But the school is saying it’s no longer in effect. Someone has revoked the funds.”
“And you and Monika and Connie?”
“And Ilsa… None of us made the decision to withhold funds. That means…” Noomi stopped short and scaled the book in her hand across the room in anger.
“Your…” Saga paused, shaking her head.
“OUR nemesis is stealing Lisa’s security. The bastard , wherever he’s hiding?” If Saga had a book in her hand instead of the bath towel she was holding she would have thrown it. One of the odd things about her emotional development was that while she was wary and almost frequently distrustful because of her parent’s betrayal, once she overcame that innate trust she would be intensely loyal. Her fellow officers actually once called her a Vallhund. Like the very sociable herding dog.
“I hate him. I have never hated anyone in my life but I hate him enough…” Noomi began to sob. No one had seen Mikael since he latched onto Marta. The manipulation was never just about money with him. He went out of his way to hurt everyone in the Lowenstein family.
“I… I want to kill him.” She thrust her lips out in a pout as tears streamed down her face.
“I hate what he did and is doing. But I hate most what he has done to me, Saga.” She very rarely called her lover by her first name, but her anger shoved endearments aside in favor of self-condemnation.
“I hate what I have become, but as god is my witness I want to kill him.”
Noomi collapsed on the bed in heaving sobs. Saga leaned over and held her; stroking Noomi’s hair like she had done to comfort her own sister years ago. This was sisterly and yet not a sisterly gesture. She had tried to negotiate through her own challenging emotional fjords and finally after so many years had found a safe haven in the arms of the woman beside her.
Noomi looked up into Saga’s eyes; pleading for forgiveness.
“I hate him… I hate him…: Noomi wept as Saga continued to stroke her hair.
“Me too, my Noomi! Me too!”
The next day…
“The school sorted everything out. A very observant woman in their accounting office noted that the Trust isn’t revocable. The...the bastard manipulated things enough to cause a false alarm.
“What? It was just…” Saga paused and shook her head.
“He’s fucking with us” Her statement wasn’t revelatory about the situation so much as about how Saga indeed was becoming an integral member of the Lowenstein family. That she so closely identified with Noom’s needs as to make them their own.
“Yes! It would be hard enough for us to bear the annoyance, but…” Noomi looked away and gasped. The calming presence of Sigrid was gone, but it was so much more painful than that. Her death was sad enough just for the absence of her presence. If she had said nothing at all in steady wisdom, her love for Connie was healing for everyone. Perhaps even Saga.
“I talked with Monika just now. We…we all are going to let this go until after Sigrid’s Memorial.”
“I…” Saga wanted to argue. She could better serve the family by leaving them to their grief. She was almost single-minded once she felt spurred to action. Always filled with the need to do. But something pulled at her, and she quickly lapsed into an almost dream-like recollection…
Weeks earlier at Monika’s home for a family dinner…
Tea and coffee all around, the ever-lively herd of cats of the Lowenstein sisters had settled down enough that Sigrid motioned Saga to the kitchen. Her frailty seemed to have vanished; if only a product of her meds and her determination.
“Saga?” Sigrid smiled almost Cheshire-like; appearing prepared to impart sage, ‘I’m dying, so you have to listen,’ advice. Instead, she pulled Saga into a hug.
“I need to say something, kära syster.” Sga reflexively went to pull away, but Sigrid held fast and grasped Saga’s with hers.
”Kära syster?” Saga thought even as Sigrid kissed her cheeks and smiled as tears cascaded from her face.
”Never...Never be anyone but you. Nobody in this world is exactly like you, and that is more than enough blessing for everyone.” Sigrid smiled and shrugged; as if she was almost inviting an argument. Saga went to speak but could only gasp.
”You are a blessing! For however long you are with us, you are a blessing, kära syster,” she repeated the endearment.
”I love you, Saga.” Sigrid was literally on the eve of her departure in a way, and yet immediacy was of no consequence. She smiled and laughed only a bit; that sweet laughter that indicates a peace and joy rather than teasing; but teased she did.
”Sorry, Saga, but that’s all I have!” But Her words were filled with the wealth of love that made Sigrid who she was. Saga looked around and noticed that the rest of the family was at least for the time being, out of sight,
”I...” In perhaps the most vulnerable moment of her life, Saga collapsed in Sigrid’s arms and wept...
Slottsparken. Malmö, in the present…
It was settled that Sigrid’s ashes would be sent to her family in Iceland except for a small portion that would be scattered on Monika’s property. It was more out of a need to honor her parents, and that Connie had already reached closure before Sigrid’s death.
“We picked a nice day,” Noomi said with a half smile as everyone scurried away from the sudden downpour to the relative safety of the nearby gazebo.
“Oh no!” Ilsa cried out. Everyone turned to see her pointing at the celebrant’s podium. Sitting at the base of the podium was the small, somewhat inelegant urn that held Sigrid’s ashes; now being inundated with a cascade of rainwater pouring off the roof of the gazebo. Almost as one, everyone turned to see Connie sitting off to the side; head down in what looked like weeping.
“It’s okay,” she said as she wiped away tears from an oddly cheerful looking face.
“Today really suits her departure. No worries and surrounded by loved ones… “ Connie paused before laughing softly.
“She loves listening to a rainstorm.” The present tense of the verb wasn’t lost on nearly everyone. Ilsa began to cry.
“That…that is so sweet,” Ilsa gasped between sobs.
“You are such a girl,” Noomi teased, but walked over and pulled her brother-in-law into a hug.
“I miss Marta every day… Go ahead and cry, kära söta syster,” Noomi said in an almost whisper; softly but loud enough to evoke a response.
“Me too, Moster Noomi.” They turned to face a vaguely familiar-looking young woman. She was dressed as you might expect for a celebration rather than mourning; mid-calf pastel green dress and low-heel dark green shoes. She half-frowned and spoke again.
‘Hi,” she said. Noomi stared at the girl before shaking her head and laughing softly in a near giggle.
“Very pretty girl, but my niece Lisa is much shorter…”
“Uh…” The girl put her hand to her face; looking quite like a very familiar family member known for being given to easily crying.
“Ulfie?” Noomi stifled a real giggle as she stepped closer.
“It’s Una, Noomi,” Lisa Lowenstein stepped around the tall girl; grabbing her gently by the right hand. She guided the girl closer and placed the girl’s hand in Ilsa’s right hand.
“Hi, Poppa… Meet my sister Una…din helt nya dotter!”
Huddling under the park gazebo as the light mist turns into a downpour…
Ilsa stood only slightly apart from the rest; shaking her head in disbelief.
“I guess I’m a lot more like you than even I knew, Poppa,” Una said, using her hand in a broad gesture up and down her body. Noomi grinned but stifled a giggle. On such a somber occasion, it would not be appropriate to bring levity into the moment.
“But your Momma,” Ilsa protested. She turned and looked away, as if she was searching for something; for someone. Lisa shook her head and grabbed Unna’s arm; rubbing it gently in solace.
“Poppa? Una and I loved…we love Momma. But toward the end, even before she left, she was withdrawing. You…of course you’re not Momma, but you have always been…” She paused. Off to the side, barely underneath the shelter of the gazebo, Connie sat alone.
“Ilsa! Ilsa… come here!” Connie practically cried. Everyone walked over, but Ilsa held back. She shook her head. What words of comfort could she give to Connie that had either been spoken or left unsaid. Connie spoke again; this time barely above a whisper.
“Ilsa…please?”
“I…” Ilsa protested but quickly walked to her sister-in-law’s side.
“Yehhh…yes?” Ilsa raised Connie’s chin, feeling the tears that still fell. But Connie was smiling, and her smile quickly changed into an even broader grin.
She began to laugh, but it almost sounded much like the usual giggle Noomi employed.
“I…I guess it’s like that American kid’s book?” Heather…. Uh Lisa och Una har två mammor.” Connie’s intended lighthearted moment had the opposite effect on Ilsa, who burst into tears. She fell at Connie’s feet and placed her head in Connie’s lap; weeping. Connie stroked Ilsa’s hair.
“Go ahead and cry; dear, sweet lady.”
Only a moment later, Ilsa felt hands on her shoulders. She looked up to her left and found Lisa smiling through her own tears. But on her right, she saw than Una was standing next to a tallish, handsome-looking young man. He smiled in greeting before duplicating the same, warm gesture by kneading Una’s neck.
“Poppa?” Una said almost in apology before taking a step back and continuing.
“This is Dani, Poppa,” she took the same hand that massaged her neck and placed it on Ilsa’s arm.
“Hello. I’m Dani,” the young woman said in greeting. It was only then that Ilsa noticed two things. First; Dani was wearing a ring on her left hand. Second: she appeared on further inspection as more of a handsome woman; that androgynous look, but not quite as striking as the women who model men’s clothes.
“Poppa?” Lisa said from Ilsa’s left.
“Surprise.” She grabbed her father’s right hand and placed it in Una’s right hand, while drawing Dani close to them. As nearly everybody else looked on in puzzlement, a smile and a soft laugh Connie got everyone’s attention as she stood up, pulling Ilsa to her feet.
“Welcome to the family,” she said as her grin broadened. But instead of speaking to Dani, she leaned close to Dani and repeated the words to Dani’s tummy, but in Icelandic,
"Velkominn, litli,” Connie stood up and grabbed both of Ilsa’s hands, lifting her to her feet. Connie looked back and forth between Una and Dani; tilting her head in question as she smiled. Her gesture was taken exactly as intended and the couple nodded.
“Ilsa? Meet your new barnabarn,”she said at last as she placed Ilsa’s hands on Dani’s tummy.
Ilsa reflexively turned away, ot in embarrassment, but to look at Monika. Their relationshio was growing and Ilsa want tentative; not wanting to be realiant on Monika so much as use moments like this to guage…”
Monika smiled; resting in the comfort of knowing their pace was, so to speak; exactly as it might be for two widows coming together. Monika was fine; she grieved for Tommy long ago, and was almost supremely confident that nothing that slowed down their movement would change the growing love she had for Ilsa.
“Go ahead, min lilla kanin. Lisa and Connie and I will go home and get lunch ready. No hurry!”
Ilsa’s face grew read at the words, which she took as a tease, and it did feel almost dismissive but for the warm smile that accompanied Monika’s words.
“Take your time, min kärlek.” Monika said.
She knew Ilsa was tentative about anything how much to withhold in order to balance past and present; even in something as normal spending time with her new daughter and daughter in law.
Noomi walked over and nodded at Monika.
“We’ll be okay,” she said as the pointed to the few things remaining to be gathered. She handed the urn with Sigrid’s ashes to Connie and kissed them both.
“Are you sure?” Ilsa shouted as Lisa and Connie and Monika walked to their cars.
“It’s only sandwiches, Ilsa!” Noomi said as she walked over to Ilsa and Unna and Dani.
“Go ahead and stop for coffee somewhere. Lots of catching up to do. “ She hugged the all but kissed Ilsa on her left ear, whispering,
“I always knew you were a great mom.” Normally at a time, the family’s favorite brother in la would have resumed bawling, but in that moment, unlike the precious moments only minutes before, Ilsa Lowenstein felt…secure. Noomi broke off the hug and waved at Monika and Connie and Lisa as they drove off.
“Noomi?” Noomi turned to find Saga holding out the keys to her Porsche.
“I...” Saga paused, searching for words.
“You can’t come?”
“I…”
“Shhh,” she interrupted as she held up her hand.
“I sort of expected this,” she said. Saga shook her head.
“I…You don’t understand…” Noomi reavhed over and grabbed both of Saga’s hands.
“But I do. Back when I was in university, my classmates all made a bet as which one of us could go the longest fasting. Juices and water were okay but nothing else.”
“What?”Saga’s face turned to a frustrated frown.
“Let me finish, min kära,: Noomi said as she released Saga’s hands.
“I won the fast…fifteen days. We all went out to some Italian restaurant in Uppsalla.” Saga went o protest but Noomi raised her left hand slightly, index finger extended, as if to say, ‘I’m getting there.’
“Everyone had lasagna, but only I got sick…They had been slowly coming down from their fasts but I went from nothing to very rich, heavy food only an hour after no food for over two weeks.”
Saga tilted her head in puzzlement.
“You, Saga min kära Noren, are coming off an emotional fast after years and years of holding everyone at bay. And that’s not bad. That’s what fate and your parents gave you. My family…I am part of that kind of heaviness…that very heavy love and understanding you can’t handle.”
“But…but I want to handle…I don’t want…”
“Little bites…little portions, Saga,” Noomi looked down at herself and laughed at the irony of her words.
“Well, I little, but I am also rich, and I don’t mean my family’s legacy. She stepped close to Saga and kissed her.
“Take a nice walk...you’ve barely been by yourself. If you come over for lunch okay. If I see you tomorrow, okay. Next week? You know howI feell so no worries. I know you’ll come when you’re ready. Little bites.” Noomi kissed Saga and turned to walk away but Saga spoke a bit louder.
“But what if I want to…you know…” Saga, oddly, cound not say the word.
“Fuck?” Noomi practically shouted but Saga shook her head.
“Nuh..No…Cuh…cuddle,” Saga’s face only blushed a bit, evoking the same expression, but with a growing smile.
“Silly…I’m not on a fast,” she said with an even bigger smile…” She paused as Saga nodded.
“I have someone coming from the park to clean up. Go take your walk…” Noomi didn’t wait for a reply and began walking to the car, but halfway to the parking lot. She turned and saw that Saga was standing on the lawn, only halfway to the footpath. Noomi cupped her hands and shouted.
“If you come, don’t hurry. We’re just having sandwiches.” She turned and resumed her walk to the car, feeling a bit clever. She reached the Porsche and unlocked it. As she settled in behind the steering wheel, she looked over to notice Saga was nowhere to be seen. She started the car and drove off, laughing.
“I am not on a fast, min kära,” she said.
“I am definitely not on a fast…”
Everything comes back
Two weeks later… at their flat…
Noomi turned to the sound of the front door opening.
“Hu…hi,”Saga said as she walked into the kitchen. Noomi walked up and kissed her on the cheek. She then grabbed the carafe of coffee from the counter and poured a mug for herself before holding it out to Saga.
“You want?”Noomi asked. Saga held up her own travel mug.
“You…you don’t…you’re not surprised? Did you not miss me?” Saga asked as she placed a folder she was holding on the counter.
“Miss you? Yes. Was I worried? Only a bit. But I did tell you to take your time. I knew you’d be back. And no, it is not that I’m taking you for granted.” Saga looked puzzled by Noomi’s words.
“I trust us.,” Noomi continued mas she went back into the living room to sit down. Saga followed slowly; her confusion slowly lifting.
“I knew you’d come home when you were ready.” She smiled. Saga forgot the folder and walked over to the chair across from Noomi and sat down.
“You took my advice.” Saga tilted her head in question. Noomi shrugged only a bit.
“Little bites…”
“Oh…yes. Emotions. I guess…”
“You seem a bit distracted.” Noomi glanced over to the kitchen counter, eyeing the folder.
“Something important,” Noomi asked. Saga stared at her; wasn’t it obvious?
“I mean isn’t it what you wanted to say when you walked in?”
“Oh…yes.” Saga got up and retrieved the folder, She placed it om the end table next the the chair and sat down again; patting the folder confidently.
“We…We have him. I have him? She beamed proudly. Noomi returned the smile and interrupted with a wave.
“Again? min kära? I had evry confidence you were busy. You needed to follow your instincts. I knew…I know you would have returned, but you were busy being you.”
Noomi gazed at the folder. Saga took the hint and held the foler up, but merely patted it confidently before placing it on the coffee table. Noomi nodded;wanting more for Saga to explain than for anything the folder might reveal.
“I am sad…” Not an expression anyone might have expected, but Saga was changing.
Marta? Your sister was not the first Mikael went after. There were four other women he preyed on almost at the same time.”
Noomi wasn’t surprised that Saga had probably solved the mystery, but she was disappointed that Mikael hurt others. And she took a great deal of comfort that Saga had come to the palce of being sad for someone… the other Mikael hurt.
“All well –off or even wealthy women shaing one thing; all had some form of cancer they had no hope of beating.” Noomi’s eyes widened at Saga’s explanation.
“Yes…I am sorry but according… Do you remember that Ilsa learned the truth about Marta because my colleague’s cousin Anne..Berglund… found the missing report?” Sga didn’t wait for a response.
“She did a little digging. The women… didn’t just share the disease. They shared the same oncologist.”
“WHAT?” Noomi went from sedate to vehement in a heartbeat.
“The bastard is Mikael’s cousin. He got Mikael involved and they…” Sga shook her head angrily.
“He got the magistrate…their uncle… to help them lose the records. All three split the money…” Sga sighed; as uncharacteristic as it might seem, she made an emotional connection, recalling all the trouble her mother had cause by her deception.
“But!” Noomi protested; not against the deception, but the horrifying thought that all five women had been manipulated to abandon their families in the false hope that someone would help.
“I can only offer the resolution.” Marta and her fellow victims were beyond all help; at least in this lifetime.
“ These monsters…they have come to the end of it all. NO…They are not dead...at least not all of them. But almost as good.” Saga resisted the urged to smile, but Noomi’s nod left her to continue.
“Anne has connections, too. She has a hacker brother-in-law who has been busy. The magistrate has been arrested for falsifying his income. His punishment is that nearly all his money has been seized and he cannot discuss the matter without forfeiting the remainder of his money.” Saga sighed in near relief but Noomi shook her head.
“What about Mikael…what about Marta?” she glared at the folder; almost seeking an answer just by looking at it.
“The best for last.” Saga patted the folder.
“The doctor? It seems that the arrangement he had with Mikael left him completely vulnerable because two of the women had…have families who would not be satisfied was just losing his license…” Saga took a sip from her travel mug before holdin it up in a near toast.
“He has agreed to a relocation. Österåker Prison, but not as a prisoner. In exchange for his silence, he has agreed to generously to donate the bulk of the money cheated for to Cancer Fonden. In exchange he gets to work as the prison doctor and his connection with the fraud will be lost. Who can say if someone discovers his crimes; Anne’s Prosecutor cousin isn’t talking…for now.
“But? Noomi was already beginning to shed angry tears. Saga stood up and walked over to Noomi. Sitting down, she did something brand new and squeezed Noomi’s hands gently.
“I… I never understood much about me and anger until you told me how upset you were for wanting Mikael dead…” Noomi shook her head in protest but Saga continued.
“I now understand…why you hated yourself…because I started to feel the same way. Just like when my mother hurt me...when ahe hurt my sister.” Noomi shook her head but Saga returned the expression.
“He is dead…”
“What? That..it…”Noomis stammered.
“He had fled to Oslo. Somehow it was discovered that he lied on his papers… to practice Psychiatry so he lost his license. And that lie…that discovery got his license pulled in Ystad…” Saga resisted the urge to grin.
"And somhow most of his money was seized… Another one of our good Miss Berglund’s cousins? I guess it was more than he could take? Maybe him…maybe someone from the Albanian crime family …one of his victims was the sister of the guy in Stockholm?”
“It…Oh fuck,” Noomi breathed out a frustrated sigh before falling into Saga’s arms; sobbing.
“Shhh….Shhh,” Saga tried to recall any time in her life when she had comforted anyone. Jennifer? Yes, but this was different. She blinked back a few, rare tears before rocking the woman she loved to sleep.
The next morning…
Noomi awoke to the aroma of brewing coffee and a platter of eggs and sausages.
“I have to go,” Saga said and Noomi frowned until Saga continued.
“This afternoon I’m giving your niece Lisa a ride to the train station. Her car is in the shop.” Saga nearly giggled…maybe the first time since she was eleven, Almost clever?
“Not until four. You have your conference In Copenhagen tomorrow, but we have this morning.”
“I wonder about it all, Saga. But Monika and Ilsa have become the couple of the century. Connie is slowly healing from her loss. God love her…and Sigrid is probably looking down on her. Unna and Dani are going to have a baby… And Lisa has a boyfriend. What about us?’ She started to frown; it was the first time that Noomi seemed to express doubt unti she added.
“Do we register at Kala or crowdfund for a trip to Paris?”
“Funny…” Saga shook her head. Noomi smiled back and began to walk down the hall toward the bedroom, but turned back and waved her hand in beckon.
“Oh...…I… Maybe just cuddle?” Saga said with a half frown.
“Sure… but I’m not fasting.” Noomi turned again and kept walking. A moment later she called out.
“I love you Saga Noren!” Saga heard the bedroom door open and called back,
“I know,” before Saga turned the lights out and followed Noomi down the hall.
Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely
Songwriters Herbert St Clair Crichlow / Martin Max
As performed by Anne Ternheim
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CT7p3jnxV38
Saga Noren and other characters from the Swedish Teleseries, Bron/Broen (The Bridge)
Created by Hans Rosenfeldt; Written by Hans Rosenfeldt and Camilla Ahlgren
All other characters created by thi sauthor
Comments
Like the good conclusion
The characters are all foreign to me but the concepts and situations are transcendent so I could understand the hollow aching for love and family. Probably best that Saga's investigation work is glossed over and friendship and family take center stage. A bit over the top having so many lesbian couples in the one family but it was a keyword and only a story so it is ok. Thanks for the glimpse of a world over on the other side of the pond.
>>> Kay
I Don't Get It...
Did the doctor murder her and then claim the cancer was more advanced than expected? Even if that were the case, why would they need to confiscate the paperwork?
Eric
Further back....
Ilsa stared at the death certificate and tears welled in her eyes.
“Neuroblastoma? Stage four?”
“Much further along than anyone had been led to believe. She probably mistook the symptoms for the migraines you said she had,” Saga said almost emotionlessly. Death seemed to have almost no effect on Saga.
No one in the family knew she was sick and her remains were disposed of beore anyone even knew she had passed. No murder; all fraud. With a district mnagistrate and her oncologist all part of the conspiracy.
Love, Andrea Lena
Relationships
Fascinating and psychologically deep story, Drea. Reading how Saga attempts to navigate the world of emotions blind was heart-wrenching. Was it the trauma alone that walled her off from emotion? Or is that how she is wired? But what an absolute treasure Noomi is, to be able to get through all that . . . .
Emma
Wire? Indeed.
Yes; she is walled-off. But her chnage is that she is trying very hard to open up. The love she has been shown includes patience. Saga did not suddenly get where she is emptionally and motly not on her own, between trauma and her own 'uniqueness.' As some of my characters hve said, which Saga has begun to apprehend.
"I know you understand, but you WANT to understand. That is good enough for me" Saga is at a place in her lfe where while she doesn't remotely understand, she is almost eager to try.
Huge thanks!
Love, Andrea Lena
That is quite a Saga.
A bad pun, but an intriguing character. An emotional cripple raised from the near dead by care. Very nice juxtaposition of Ilsa and Saga in the beginning, both considering throwing their selves (literally and figuratively) off of different ends of the bridge. Tak.
Ron
It Captures
The essence of Nordic Noir perfectly, but with a little brightness at the end.
A lovely story
It is a shame that it has garnered so few kudos. 'The Bridge' and the sequels are admittedly an acquired taste but they are far more true to life than most of the fare coming out of Hollywood.
Thank you for penning this tale.
Samantha