Cold Hell - 8. Chapter 7

I wasn't good at parties. I could hold my own socially but inside I always felt like my skin was crawling and my head would explode - even at my own birthday.

The people around me were strangers with familiar faces, stand-ins for a movie. They provided the illusion of me having friends - and yet every one of them was connected to my father. They either worked for him or with him in one way or another. They were here at the request of my father, men and women who didn’t know me from Adam.

They smiled at me, clasped my hand, hugged me, and kissed my cheek; they asked me the same questions. How are things at the academy? What are you doing with yourself? They beamed but behind their eyes the truth was there, and in their emotions. They despised me - why they despised me I didn’t know, and neither did they. Perhaps they sensed there was something different about me.

There was always one person who showed up to my parties no matter the day or time who I genuinely liked and who genuinely liked me. Uncle Charlie. He wasn’t really my uncle but he insisted I call him my uncle.

He’d been with Aamodt Corp since before I was born, when my father was my age. He started out as an assistant to my grandfather and was now co-CEO alongside my father.

Squat and built like a boxer with big hands, he had a shock of white hair and pale blue eyes. In many ways he looked like a bulldog. Over the years, as he’d gotten older he’d grown a belly. He was loud and often said what was on his mind; he was completely different from my father, who was cold and unemotional.

“Come here you little shit!” He came towards me with his arms spread, a big grin on his face. He held a wine glass in one fat hand. When he hugged me it was like being hugged by true family; you can always tell, even without being an empath, when someone is hugging you because they want to hug you and when it’s just etiquette, like shaking hands, or kissing someone on both cheeks. In this case it was genuine and I didn’t mind. “Jesus,” he said when he stepped back, eyes wide behind his spectacles, “I swear you look more and more like your mother with each passing year. You must be her male copy.”

I always take pride when people say this: You look like your mother, you take after her. Some people mean it to be a criticism, as in my-mother-the-eccentric-shut-away but I always felt pride when I heard this. From Uncle Charlie it was the greatest compliment anyone could give me.

“It’s good to see you, Uncle Charlie,” I said. “It means a lot to me that you came.”

Everyone else was standing in the ballroom, dressed in their suits and dresses, watching us out of the corner of their eyes. Perhaps they were whispering about us or perhaps they were just having their own conversations. I’d had a few glasses of wine at the start of the party and I was feeling a little more bubbly and slow. The drink helped to dull the data flying around the room straight into my brain: the thoughts and emotions like buzzing little bees.

“This is for you,” Charlie said, pushing an envelope in my hand. “You won’t hurt my feelings if you wait until after the party to open it.” From the way his voice was slurred I would wager he had about as much to drink as I’d had. Maybe even more. The emotion coming off him was warm and fuzzy, like the fur of a cat.

“I’m going to open it now,” I said.

I peeled back the flap of the envelope carefully as not to rip the envelope too much; inside was an ID, my ID. But it was fake, the age rounded up to twenty-one instead of eighteen, and I had a goatee around my mouth. I looked up at Charlie and cocked an eyebrow.

He smiled mischievously. He looked like a monkey in a suit who knows he’s done something he’s not supposed to. “So you can go out to bars without being stopped now. I had it made so the fancy mechs we came out with can’t tell it's fake. Just don't tell your mother...you know, who gave it to you.” He stepped closer so only I would hear him. “Where’s your father?”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “He’s not here.”

“And your mother?”

“Upstairs.”

He frowned. “Still not feeling well, then, eh?”

I shook my head, feeling the first stab of worry and sadness, though I doubt even in my intoxication it showed on my face; it had become too natural of a habit to not let it show. “She was doing well for a while, coming out of her room, and eating. She even gained the weight she lost back...but now she’s back to where she started. And the doctor who checked on her, who gave her multiple EKG’s can't find anything wrong with her because medically and physiologically there is nothing wrong with her. It’s just like she’s lost the will to live.”

Uncle Charlie gave me a pitying look. “I know it’s hard because she's your mother and all, but it's your birthday and I want you to do your best to try and enjoy it, you hear?”

I nodded. He slapped me on the back and said, “Knock ‘em dead.”

I milled around the room, drinking wine and having conversations that didn’t interest me in the slightest. I wanted nothing more than to have one of the chauffeurs drive me into the city where I could try my ID. There was a leather bar I wanted to try called The Tassel, where only men were allowed in.

The torturously slow atmosphere became more excited when Father's new state of the art hovercraft landed on the pad and he came strolling across the lawn in a three piece suit. He grinned broadly as everyone crowded around to hug him, to catch the glory of his attention. Even though it was my birthday he was the man of the hour. He grinned and waved but his expression was as fake as everything else about him. When he saw me standing in the middle of the room away from everyone else his grin widened but the look on his face was only a simulation of love.

“Happy birthday, son,” he said. “It’s hard to believe you are eighteen, a man now.”

Then he came over and hugged me. The crowd cheered and laughed. I smiled back and thanked him for showing up at the party; I was every bit as synthetic about him. I think that's one of the reasons why I hated him - and by the same degree myself - so much.

I couldn't stand being in the crowded room much longer, so I stepped out onto the patio to take a breather. The night was cool and wet, misty with sleet. From where I stood I could see the fountain just before the black wrought iron gate surrounding the property; the waters had frozen over into ice. My face stung from drinking too much spirits. Spirits? I thought. Why do they call it spirits? My head was always full of such questions. People were both a great source of fascination to me, And an annoyance.

Not a minute had passed before the patio door opened again. Annoyed, I turned to see who it was. If it wasn't for the fact I was drunk, I would have known who it was, but the drink had muffled the voices and images around me to the point of being unintelligible.

It was my father, which meant I wouldn't know what he was thinking or feeling anyway - a fact which caused me great irritation and relief. He looked at me for a moment, a man who knew nothing of imperfection, not a hair on his head or button on his shirt out of place. He was the man everyone loved, desired by men and women alike.

And yet I didn’t have to be an empath to know he was a black hole, a monster in disguise. He was not the hero everyone thought him to be, the hero he presented himself to be. I've known this in my gut for as long as I can remember.

"The party's in there," he said, nodding at the double glass doors.

"I don't like parties," I said.

He snorted, joining me at the ramp. "Everyone loves a good party."

"Not me." In there I could maintain the facade we got along, the perfect father-son team...but in the rare moments when we were alone I used any opportunity I could to show him the truth. "What do you want?"

Father pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from the lapel of his jacket. He nodded down, dark eyebrow upraised. I shook my head - I didn’t smoke and never had.

"You’re mother's not well," he said, looking out at the fountain.

"I know. I've known for a long time."

"She's dying."

"I know that too."

He looked at me through a cloud of smoke. "When she goes, it'll be just you and me."

"So?"

"I want you to start shadowing me around the corporation: traveling to the locations, seeing what I do…"

"I don’t want your position as CEO."

"Why not?"

I looked away. Some part of me was afraid of how he might react. "Don’t pretend like you don’t know why."

His face softened in some resemblance of sympathy. "I know I haven't been the father you've wanted…"

I couldn't hold back a snort even if I wanted to.

"...but you have to understand I've been ruling a kingdom, as you will one day. You are an Aamodt, it's in your blood."

"The day I take over your company will be the day hell freezes over," I said.

If he was angry or shocked, his face didn’t show it. All he said before going back in the house was, "It's inevitable Danni. Don't try to fight it."

                            …

After the party ended and everyone had gone home for the night, I went upstairs to the third floor, where my mother had kept herself in her room for most of the last two years. The only time she ever came down was for the occasional breakfast or to walk around the greenhouse.

I cracked the door open silently to peek inside. To my surprise she was sitting upright in bed, dressed in a silky slip, her blonde hair made silver by the moonlight streaming through the windows. She must have parted the curtains so she could bask in its cold, ghostly light.

She looked at me and smiled. A bar of light from the hallway swept across her face, showing me what the madness and isolation had done to her. There was a bruise on her cheek from where she had struck herself the other day. The nurses on staff had had to give her a sedative to calm her down. There were moments when she was not herself, when the affliction that runs on her side of the family drove itself into her mind like the sharp end of a screw; like the fear of turning into my father, cold and emotionally taciturn I feared the encroaching threat of insanity that bit at Mother's heels.

The bruise had already turned a bright shade of green. Her affliction had eaten at her physical health as well. Gaunt from lack of sunlight and nutrition, my mother', Olivia Ammodt, was slowly but surely wasting away.

For the moment she was herself.

"I didn't mean to wake you," I said.

"Don't be silly, you know you didn't. I was just listening to the party. I could feel your boredom all the way from here." She shifted her feet so there was room at the end of the bed for me to sit.

I closed the door so there was nothing but moonlight to see by and sat down, feeling the mattress sink beneath me.

"How are you?" I asked

"For now things are silent. I can actually hear myself think, feel my own feelings." She shrugged. "In the next few minutes it could be a different story. Tell me about the party."

"Uncle Charlie gave me a fake ID so I can start going to the bars and clubs."

She laughed, a rare musical sound I'd heard only on a number of occasions. "I liked Uncle Charlie from the day I met him. He's a good man, through and through. He's been good to this family and most of all he's been good to you." Her face turned serious, more like her regal self. Like the eyes of a cat, her eyes reflected the moon making her look something other than human. "And what about your father?"

I felt my mood darken immediately. Out of habit I arranged my face so she couldn't see how I was feeling though I knew she could sense it all the same. It was impossible for us to lie to one another. "He wants me to start shadowing him at the branch here in Stockholm."

She rolled her eyes as if this was exactly what she expected me to say. "Of course he does. You're of age and just like his father expected of him, he expects you to take over so he can retire and spend the rest of his life tanning on the beach and doing whatever he fancies. But you don't want to, do you?"

"No."

"What do you want to do with your life?"

I sighed. "I don't really know. It's hard enough just trying to separate myself from his expectations."

She nodded. "I know what you mean. For the last thirty years of my life I feel like I've been nothing more than a trophy to him, my only purpose to bear him an heir." She hastily added. "That came out wrong, you know I love you more than my life." She took my hand. Her skin against my skin was cold enough to shock me. I could feel the breaking down of her thoughts, and consequently, her body. Like a dying light, she was getting ready to blink out.

On the inside as well as out she was cold as ice, and that coldness was beginning to seep its way into me. It stole my breath; it frightened me. She herself was frightened, so when our fear mixed together it was overwhelming.

"Danni I need you to listen to me and feel me so you know I'm telling you the truth. Do you understand?"

I was too paralyzed by my fear to nod let alone speak so I spoke through our connection. Yes.

Olivia stopped speaking with her words but with her thoughts and feelings. I'm dying. I've been dying for sometime, slowly, small particles of me slowly drifting away. This madness that has come over me, it is common in our family. It happened to my mother and her mother before her. I never told you this because I'm afraid it would frighten you. I don't know if you will get it one day too - it has never been passed down to a male child before…

I could feel the insurmountable weight she carried on her shoulders. It was the weight of the world, all the happiness, anger, grief, and confusion passing through one being, and it was like watching the flood of a dam. It was too much for her to carry the weight of everyone else let alone her own emotion.

I could feel tears rolling down my cheeks. Physically I was breathing, inhaling and exhaling oxygen through my body, but internally I was suffocating.

I want to die. I want to sleep forever. I have but days. Hours. I want you to promise me that you will live your life. I want you to live the life you choose to live, not the life your father or anyone else wants you to live. I want you to find the man God has made for you. I want you to fall deeply in love, learn to show emotion and express yourself. And I want you to know whatever choices you make, I will never be disappointed in you, I will always be proud of you, and I will always love you.

She released me.

"Oh Mom," I gasped and hugged her, clung to her as if she were a life raft in the middle of a hurricane at sea.

She held me and rocked me in a way she hadn't done since I was a child. When she'd given all the comfort she had to give she nodded at the door, back to acting like a queen. She told me to clean up my tears, freshen up, and go out and enjoy the evening. "And Danni," she said, "no regrets. No feelings of guilt. You have nothing to feel guilty over."

I nodded shaking, knowing somewhere deep in the back of my mind this would be the last time I'd see her.