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Siblings [4]

Silja Henningsdottir's picture
Submission type:


Poppa will be so pleased to have you home?’


Silja let the words dwell. She looked into her lap at the hands wringing themselves. Her knuckles had gone white. Shock was giving way to anger. To say she hated her father was not even scratching the surface. He was to blame for everything that was bad in her life. He was the one who left home in a drunken stupor, abandoning her and her mother. If he had been there, Silja was certain that the camp and everything connected to the camp would not have happened. But he wasn’t. It was all his fault. If he had been there for them, not drowning in the bottom of a bottle, not driving her mother crazy with his drunken ravings. She remembered lying awake, listening to the arguments, to the crashing dishes, wishing the happy times would come back.


And now all he wanted was to play happy families on a remote farm somewhere in Kaibab? As if that could ever atone for the damage he had done to her. She remembered the pathetic inebriate slob who had tried in his own way to persuade her to come back to him that day in Beau’s Bar. He could hardly stand up on his own. He disgusted her.


Now, Hanne was about to force her to go back. Away from Hope. Away from the Kjaer Spivey’s. Silja watched, her hands had balled into fists. Away from Anneka!


No!” Silja screamed. Before she realised she was the best part of the way across Hanne’s desk, one hand grabbed a clump of Hanne’s hair, the other was clutching her throat.

Her momentum carried her and before she realised, Hanne’s chair had toppled and they were both in a heap behind Hanne’s desk with Hanne cursing her, trying to regain some advantage. Their eyes met, matching Icelandic grey, filled with fury. Hanne had a hold on Silja’s wrist trying to stop her from throttling her while the other hand waved around desperately trying to find some purchase in order to push against Silja.

But Silja had all the advantage, she growled. She was beyond any sense. She looked down at Hanne and saw fear. She wanted to squeeze, hard!



And she probably would have, but for the strong arm that wrapped itself around her neck, lifting her clear of Hanne and dragging her from behind the desk.


Dwight had heard the commotion and immediately dashed from his desk into Hanne’s office. He noticed how light Silja was as he dragged her off Hanne. He pulled her away, stood her up, turned her around and drew back his fist.


Silja was confused, she saw the maddened eyes of Dwight, whereby a few seconds ago she was looking at Hanne’s fear. She saw the huge fist pulled back, she screwed her eyes shut and waited for the blow.


Dwight. STOP!”


Hanne’s voice barked out and the fist stayed. He let go of the front of Silja’s jacket. Silja’s knees gave way.


Silja opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was Dwight tidying the mess on Hanne’s desk. He saw her open eyes and immediately went to stand behind her, placing his huge hands on her shoulders, though without any undue force. Hanne was back in her chair, leaning forward supporting her chin on arched fingertips. Her eyes were cold.

You have forty-eight hours to get your stuff together.” Hanne announced coldly. “And don’t think about disappearing. Otherwise your file goes viral and every low-life, every piece of scum, every bounty hunter will be on your trail. You will never be able to put a nose outside. Never be able to take your dearest Anneka anywhere.”


Hanne stood up, leaning forward on spread fingertips. Her face was void of any sympathy. “Clear?”


Silja swallowed hard. She would not let Hanne see her cry. She nodded. Hanne nodded back.


Dwight. See Miss Henningsdottir out, please.”

Silja felt the huge hands grasp her jacket and she was escorted down the stairs and out into the street. She did not turn around as she heard the door close behind her.


But she ran. She ran, stifling tears. She would not cry even though her lungs burst for more air. She ran desperately all the way to Joe’s house, she fumbled the keys several times as she opened the lock. It was late, SHE was late. She hoped Joe and Kirsten were asleep.


She ran up the stairs as fast as her heels would allow, thanking providence the house was still. Finally she made it to her room and firmly closed the door.


Finally she let it go. For the first time that night she let herself cry. All the fear, anger, hurt, frustration. She stifled the sound as best she could with her bedcoverings. She hoped no one heard. She was lost. What was she to do?



What about Anneka!


Joe Spivey's picture

((Oh, Joe always sleeps with one eye and one ear open. A case of having to really, if you are Joe. Burglers, assassins, angry customers, Reavy? Joe has and will handle them in his own way (up to and including hiding under the bed). Crying teenage girls though? Not really his department so I can imagine Kirsten getting a nudge. Of course, if Joe has been drinking then all bets are off. You'd have more chance of waking the dead.

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.

Silja Henningsdottir's picture

IF joe has been drinking????

Iss eggsackertly wot I said .....    Idd-eee- oot !

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