Easy as One Two Three (Emma Frost) (14 page)

They walked back to the hotel and the next morning they woke up to a very disturbing message from Mads' mother telling them that she was on to them and that she had cut them off. She had closed all of their credit cards and told the bank not to give them any more money, should they contact them.

They were broke.

"What are we going to do?" Signe asked with a shivering voice after they had both read the e-mail.

Mads was still in so much shock from the huge loss that he had hardly said anything all morning. Signe slapped him on his shoulder.

"Talk to me, Mads. You have to do something. We don't have any credit cards and no cash. How are we going to pay for this room? How are we going to eat today? How are we going to get money? We lost everything from our account that was supposed to go to the house, your mom cut us off and we even owe money to the casino from last night. They gave us three days to get the money. We can't come up with that amount of money in three days, Mads. Even if we sell everything we have. Even if we sell my ring, it won't be enough. They're going to kill us. What are we going to do? Answer me, goddammit!"

Mads hid his face in his hands. "I…I…I don't know. I've never been in a situation like this. I've never been without money before."

"Well I have," Signe said. "But I never thought I’d be in this situation again. I thought it was over. I thought I never had to worry about money again for the rest of my life."

Mads looked up and into her eyes. His look terrified her.

"Is that why you married me? Was my mother right about you?" he asked.

Signe hesitated. She didn't know what to say. She was completely unprepared for the question and had no answer ready. "No…no…," she said, but he interrupted her.

"I think I'm beginning to understand." Mads got up. He still had that look in his eyes. The look of distrust. "She was right, wasn't she? You married me to get away from the slum. You just said it. You married me to get someone to take care of you for the rest of your life so you didn't have to worry about money anymore. I’ve been fooling myself thinking you actually loved me, haven't I? My mother warned me about girls like you all of my life, and still I fell right into your little trap. Was it even an accident that we met that day on the dock? Were you waiting for me? Had your mother told you to sit there so I would see you?"

Signe shook her head. "No Mads. It was nothing like that."

"I don't believe you. What about the fake pregnancy, huh? Did your mother come up with that as well?"

Signe hesitated. He was right. Her mother had come up with that. It was her idea for her to marry Mads and be secure forever. But Signe couldn't tell him that. He wouldn't understand. He wouldn't understand that she had originally wanted him for the money, but now she had grown to love him. She didn't know much about love or how to do it, but she did know she couldn't bear to lose him. She did know she would be lost without him. She would be devastated.

"Mads. You know me. I love you. I wanted to marry you because I loved you. You and me, baby. We belong together, remember? YNWA."

Mads seemed calmer. Signe leaned over him and looked deeply into his eyes. Then she kissed him passionately to make him forget everything. He grabbed her and carried her back to the bed where he pulled off her clothes and tied her down using his shirt. Then he rode her wildly and without any consideration of her needs like he usually did. He was rough with her and slapped her face, then threw himself at her and didn't stop, even when she told him it hurt.

Signe gasped and let him have his way with her like she had done with her father so many times. She closed her eyes and felt calm as he punched her in the face. Finally, he had become the beast she wanted him to be. Finally, the pretty boy was gone. Finally, he was showing her how much he loved her. This was a language she understood. This was what she believed to be real love.

"YNWA," she whispered as he came inside of her and his body writhed in spasms.

"YNWA," he whispered back once he caught his breath.

And that was when she had the idea. She opened her eyes and stared into his. "I know what to do," she said. "I know exactly what we can do."

37

April 2014

T
HE NUMEROLOGIST WAS WALKING
down the hallway looking satisfied at the numbers on the row of doors.

"Sixty-five," she mumbled to herself. "Six plus five is eleven. Eleven is a Master number."

The numerologist giggled and rubbed her hands. She loved eleven more than anything. Whenever she came across this specific Master number she always felt a thrill of excitement. She stopped in front of the door with the number sixty-five, then reached her hand out and gently touched the number on the door. Then she smiled.

"So powerful," she mumbled. "If only people understood how powerful you are." 

When she was in prison, she had also been in room sixty-five. Back then she knew nothing about how powerful numbers were, but today she understood. Today she knew that there was a reason why she had been in that room. Even with all that happened to her while she was there, she now knew that it was only because she didn't understand the power of the numbers. She didn't realize that she wasn't a victim back then. She thought she had no power, no control. But if only she had been able to draw the energy from the numbers, she would never have been the victim, she would have been the one in control of it all.

But that was many years ago now. And today, she knew so much more and she wanted others to know it as well. She wanted others just like her to stop being victims and start being powerful.

"You have to choose," she always told them. "Either you're pitiful or you're powerful. You can't be both."

The numerologist had been pitiful. Back in her teenage years when she was put in prison. She had seen herself as a victim. She hadn't wanted to change her ways, she hadn't understood what the universe was trying to tell her.

Now she was passing it on to others. The message through the numbers. They had been speaking to her all through her life, telling her what to do and yet she never listened because she never knew. She never saw them. She had no idea. Not until many years later when she came across a book about numerology that opened her eyes to the power available to her in this universe.

The numerologist opened the door and walked inside the room. The girl sitting in the chair didn't even look up as she entered. The numerologist smiled and walked inside. She closed the door and locked it behind her.

"Hello, Lot. How are you? I hear you're having trouble sleeping?"

"I want to leave this place," the girl said. "I don't belong here."

The numerologist grabbed a chair and sat down. "Now, why do you say that?"

"I don't know. I just think I have somewhere to be. I think I need to do something…that someone is waiting for me. I…I…have this feeling that…." Lot hid her face between her hands.

"Lot, you…"

"See, that's it again," she interrupted.

The numerologist snorted. She didn't like to be interrupted. It was so rude. But again, she had to think about this girls' background. It was very similar to her own. That was why she understood her better than the others.

"What is?"

"I can't put my finger on it, but there is something…" The girl turned her head and looked at the numerologist. "There is something wrong about that name."

"What name is that?"

"Lot. You keep calling me that, but I don't feel like…It's like it's not my real name or something."

The numerologist scoffed. "Well, that’s just your illness talking. Remember why you're here. You are suffering and I'm trying to help you."

"I know…I know. It's just…I can't shake the feeling that there was something I was supposed to do. Somewhere I was supposed to be."

"Well, that’s just nonsense," the numerologist scoffed. "That is simply your mind playing tricks on you. You're exactly where you need to be. You got yourself in trouble and I helped you out. You're here to straighten your life out. That's all you need to know."

"But…but I don't remember anything? I don't remember how I was in trouble. What did I do that was so bad?"

"You don't need to remember the details. It's not time now to focus on the past. We're looking towards the future now, looking forward towards your new life. Now let's look at the number eleven…"

"And what's with the rat in my room? That cage over there. It keeps me awake all night. It makes too much noise."

"She. Not it. It's a she. I believe rats are calming for the soul. She's in here because it's good for you to have some company. You can take her out every now and then if you want to. She's your companion now. Now, back to the number. Eleven. It keeps popping up around you. It's the number of your room, it's the number of your name and this morning I realized it is also your number of the day. I think it means something special. I think you're going to make big progress today. Now, let's begin with what we know about the Master number eleven. The numerology meanings for number eleven must be analyzed from its structure. It is made up of two ones. As number one represents Sun, you are ruled twice by the sun. As such, you are unselfish, dutiful, and altruistic, in your nature. Number eleven is hailed as a Master Number. It has special powers to give you remarkable intelligence and wisdom. You plan your activities well and always aim for excellence." The numerologist paused and looked at the girl to make sure she was following her. Then she continued:

"Now to the dark side. Numerology meanings for eleven indicate that, like the moon never reveals its dark side, you too have a secret aspect in your personality, which you never reveal. It makes you nurse secret fears about others around you. You're very afflicted by the numbers nine and eight. If you meet it as either your day number or in someone's life number, then don't make important decisions. If you meet someone with the number nine or eight in their name, stay away from them, they will only cause you your ruin."

The numerologist looked at the girl again. She seemed pensive. That was a good sign. She was processing the information.

"Mads," the girl suddenly said.

The numerologist froze. She stared at the girl. How could this be? How could she remember that name?

"No," she said. "Mads is the number ten. That's not one to…"

The girl shook her head. "No, no. I didn't mean the number. I…I don't know where it came from. I just felt like saying it. Do I know anyone named Mads?"

The numerologist snorted. "Certainly not." She grabbed her book and got up from the chair. "I think we're done for the day."

"But…please stay and tell me. I think there’s something I remember, but I don't know what…I want to remember. I want so badly to remember everything. Please stay and help me, please don't leave me," the girl pleaded as the numerologist unlocked the door and opened it. She turned and looked at the girl.

"Please, help me remember? It's terrible to not know anything. I don't even remember my parents. Do I have a boyfriend? Do I have any siblings?" Lot asked with tears in her voice.

"Some things are better left in the past, believe me. You don't want to know," the numerologist said, then closed the door and locked it.

Her heart was beating wildly as she listened to the girl cry behind the door. The numerologist was angry. The girl was so lucky to have finally gotten rid of her past, didn't she understand that? Didn't she know how fortunate she was that she no longer had to be tormented by what had happened to her…that she no longer had to relive those awful moments in her life over and over again? She had been given a second chance, a chance to start all over. How many wouldn't kill to get that?

A man in a white coat approached her outside in the hallway. "How's she doing today?" he asked.

"Not well, I'm afraid. She needs to have her medicine doubled, pronto."

"As you wish, doctor."

38

April 2014

M
ADS WAS EXHAUSTED.
Moving the tip of his pinky had taken up all of his strength. But it had worked, hadn't it? The woman had seen it and so had the man. Now they had told the doctor and he had told them he would run more tests.

At least all hope wasn't lost. Every time Mads heard the door open and feet approach, he waited for them to begin their testing. He was saving his strength for them. Once they started, he would put all he had into moving that pinky like never before. The wait felt unbearable. Why didn't they do anything? Why hadn't they started yet?

The door finally opened and someone approached, but he knew it wasn't a nurse. He recognized the sound of the very expensive high-heeled Manolo Blahniks tapping across the linoleum.

It was his mom. He felt her grab his hand.

"How are you doing this evening, sweetie?" she asked, while touching his face gently.

How do you think I'm doing? I'm terrified.

"The doctor tells me he wants to run some more tests. I'm really excited about that."

Excited? How can you be excited? How can you still love me after all that happened?

Mads heard more footsteps, then another voice close to him. It was his sister. "Don't get your hopes up too high, Mother. They said it was nearly impossible."

"I know, dear. I know. But a mother can hope, can't she?"

Mads felt her stroke his cheek again.

"Look at him," she said. "Lying there all lifeless. He needs a shave again. I don't understand how all this hair can grow when they tell me he’s not alive. It doesn't make any sense."

"I'll make sure he gets another shave, Mother. Now you should really go home and get some rest. They won't do any more tests until tomorrow. It's getting late."

"He always was a good boy. Such a good boy."

A good boy? Since when? Don't you remember anything that happened? I failed, mother. I was a disgrace to you all, remember? I shamed our good family name, remember? I deserve all of this.