Crying in the Night

Posted on Sat May 11th, 2024 @ 1:16pm by Dr. Winston Sinclair & Solveig Kallestad
Edited on on Sat May 11th, 2024 @ 1:54pm

3,637 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: Summer's Fading Light
Location: Kallestad Residence - Gibbon, NE
Timeline: July 2016

It was a balmy July evening with clear skies and a gentle breeze winding its way through the “city” of Gibbon, Nebraska. With a population of less than two thousand people and clusters of drab little buildings, it was hard to imagine a place like it could be called a city. The citizens tried their best of course, and the majority of the permanent residents took pride in their little corner of the world, but the reality was it was a boring and forgettable place where nothing ever happened. It was that very trait that had made it one of the destinations assigned to those immigrating to the States after the shut down of Project Aesir in Norway. It had a large enough population that people could simply merge into it, but also a small enough population that were something to go wrong it could be explained away as some natural catastrophe if whoever was in power felt so inclined.

The navy blue Hyundai Sonata pulled into the long driveway leading up to the craftsman styled house. White paneling was mixed with dark grey brick on the foundation and pillars supporting the columns of the front porch; a chimney stood proud on top of the gabled, dark shingle roof. It was seated on a half acre of land which gave breathing room between neighbors, but they weren’t so far one felt completely alone. The landscape surrounding the house was vibrant, lush, and perfectly kept without any seeming flaw; someone very dedicated to the outside appearance of their home obviously lived within.

She stepped out of the car and took a deep breath before turning to the back seat to pull out the two canvas grocery bags. She found herself dreading coming home more often than not over the past few months, but she also knew this was just a phase like it had been all of the other times this had happened. It made it a little easier, but not much. After locking the car she made her way up the six steps onto the porch where she put one bag down, opened the screen door, and then unlocked the red front door behind it. She was instantly greeted by the sound of Matlock playing on the television at a slightly too loud of volume, but that was usual.

“Mamma, jeg er hjemme!.” She announced as she paused in the mud room to slide out of her shoes and then continued through the hall which opened into the combined dining-living area. Her stunning blue eyes moved over toward the couch and chairs and she frowned just a little seeing them absent while the television was blasting, but even that was normal enough. She put the bags down on the counters, went to the couch to turn down the television, then returned to the bags to put the groceries away. Once she was done with that, she headed toward her room to change out of her work clothes and into something more comfortable. She passed her mother’s open door and saw her lying in bed on her side.

“Mamma, våkn opp. Jeg er hjemme!” She called again as she passed by her mother’s door while pulling her hair out of its bun style. Still no response. She went into her room to change and just hoped she wasn’t going to be greeted with insistences of being left alone when she did finally wake her mother.

Now dressed in a plain light blue shirt and blue and white striped lounge pants, Solveig left her room and entered her mother’s room. She moved onto the queen sized bed while speaking gently.

“Mamma, ikke sov gjennom middagen. Jeg lager favoritten din som jeg lovet.” The words were delivered by a loving, tired daughter who still wore a smile. When they received no response, the smile faded. “Mamma?”

She reached out and touched her mother’s arm only to find it cold. Those blue eyes widened and she immediately pulled the woman over onto her back only to be met with sallow skin, bluish lips, and a vacant set of now dry blue eyes. The color drained from Solveig’s beautiful face and her lips parted in shock; she stared down at her mother as time seemed to just stop completely around her. “M-ma…?”

Panic, fear, and guilt all suddenly flooded back into her body and warmed her like fire. She shook her mother violently and when she received no response still, she moved to straddle her middle. She took her phone out of her pocket and fumbled with it a little, but was able to trigger the emergency dial. She put it on speakerphone on the bed next to her and placed her hands on her mother’s chest just as a man spoke through the phone.

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

–

The sub-basements of the Red Rock Academy had been built with some sizable grants from the Department of Mutant Affairs in the early 2000s. It held a gym complex, a sauna, emergency beds, classrooms, and even a theater. The room that Winston had been most impressed with, however, had been one which had come to be known as The Confessional. Based on designs developed by Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr, the room is designed to amplify psychic powers and allow capable users to project their power over long distances. The Confessional was smaller than the original, and was built in a small orb of a room made with metal plates. A walkway separated the entrance from a console in the center of the room.

The doors closed behind him, and the old man walked deliberately toward the seat. He had never intended to use it for anything seriously productive when he’d first had it built, but rather used an excess of funds to satisfy his curiosities. He was no mind reader in the traditional sense, but he did have power to sort the guilt-ridden from those who felt they were innocent; there were very few of the second category. He placed the strange metallic helmet on his head and moved his hands along the controls of the console. Instantly, he felt the lighting of his mind with thoughts and feelings which didn’t belong to him. He’d learned to keep them at arms length over the years, so there was no shock or discomfort.

First, he extended his mind over Sedona, looking for deep feelings of regret and unease. He found them exactly where he suspected in most cases, and didn’t probe any further with people he had become familiar with. There was something voyeuristic and invasive about the process, he knew, especially because he very rarely did anything useful with what he found. But Winston Sinclair was a man who always meant to do good, and sometimes his knowledge would give him an opportunity to make a difference for someone.

Reaching further, he extended his mind broadly over the western half of the United States, preparing himself for a birds-eye view of the many souls who lived there. At this height, he couldn’t expect to detect anything but the most drastic and terrible cases. Oftentimes, it was a murder of passion or something even worse. He stayed away from finer details, as he didn’t want them in his mind, but his tolerance had grown over the years along with his skill.

One soul stood out to him, and he lifted his eyes to the image of red being projected by the metal wall over the state of Nebraska. Curious, he zoomed in. Guilt, shame, and fear. This person..a woman…had done something bad. He leaned in, knowing he would have to enter her mind's eye to get more details. He would have to see what she saw in the moment of her shame; he would have to smell what she smelt, taste what she tasted, and feel what she felt.

–

”Do you know CPR or have any first aid training?”

“Y-yes, I’m doing chest compressions but she still isn’t breathing.” Solveig whimpered, doing her absolute best to make sure she was speaking clearly and not letting her natural accent befuddle the exchange with the operator. She licked her dry lips with little success in helping their condition. Her heart was pounding in her chest as adrenaline pumped through her body at an alarming rate.

”Good, stay with me. Stay calm. Have you noticed any recent changes in your mother’s health or behavior? Was she recently diagnosed with anything?”

She frowned, hearing the questions and trying to sort through them. She was perfectly fluent in English, but she had never been this panicked before and was finding a natural inclination to respond in Norwegian which wouldn’t be helpful. “”Klin- ah… D-depression. She was going through a depressive episode.”

Her hands continued to move rhythmically on her mother’s chest, but as each moment passed and nothing happened, her stress grew exponentially. “Please hurry! Please help me.”

”The paramedics are on their way. Stay calm and keep doing what you are doing, Solveig.”

—

Winston couldn’t merely watch the scene, for the intensity of the feelings were such that he was forced to experience it as well. Every aspect of the experience was engaging and, soon, he found it hard to remember who or where he truly was. Was he watching the results of a murder? No..that didn’t seem right. And who was this girl? He decided to be proactive, and see if he could affect the situation and get some further insight into the situation. If not, he could at least help her. Easily, he introduced a feeling of calm into her mind, not by quelling her feelings, but by increasing the sense of hope that her mother might survive. It was a more risky choice than making her brave, but he knew it could be beneficial if her chest compressions had any chance of reviving the woman.

—

The sudden feeling of calm didn’t even register as unusual to her; she felt a surge of hope and even began to nod her head in time with the movement of her hands. It would be okay, she could keep doing this until the paramedics got there - it wouldn’t be long. “Okay.”

”Where is your mother located in the house, and do you have any animals the paramedics should be aware of?”

“We have a cat. When they come in they walk straight through the mudroom and foyer into the hallway that branches off to the right, turn left at the door there and it’s the room in the middle of the hall.”

”Alright, Solveig. You’re doing great, just stay here with me. The paramedics are just a few minutes away.”

Instead of responding to the operator, she focused on what she was doing and looked down on her mother’s vacant face. “Mamma, please… don’t leave me.”

—

That face. There was something familiar about that face. Of course, it had no doubt been years, if not decades, but Winston was sure he had seen the older woman before. More significantly than that, however, was the fact that the hope the girl was feeling because of him was clearly in vain. He was no medical doctor, but he could tell that her mother was clearly dead already. Focusing on his subject, he could feel how responsible she felt for the situation, though he didn’t know why. He relaxed his pull on her sense of hope and allowed it to draw down to natural levels again. There was nothing he could do besides stay with her and try to help her make the transition.

—

In her core, Winston would know the woman he was inhabiting knew that her mother was gone, but her guilt was fueling her futile attempts to bring her back and refusing to let her accept the facts. The operator continued to speak to her and she answered the prompts in English with more ease than she had. Eventually the door opened and a man called out for her.

“In here! The paramedics are here.”

”Alright good. I am going to hang up the phone now, just do what they ask of you. You did so well. Goodbye.”

She could see the call cut off on her phone screen and hear the heavy footfalls of the men coming down the hall. They entered the room in all of their gear and she looked up at them. Instantly, her face fell on seeing their reactions. They were frowning and the two men now in the room exchanged sidelong glances with each other, but eventually moved to the bed.

“Hi, Solveig, right? We’ll take over now.” The older of the pair said and gave her a smile that was meant to be comforting. “You just move out of the way.”

With hesitation, she did so, and grabbed her phone as she shifted off of the bed and moved to stand at the far wall while the paramedics came to attend her mother. A moment later, a very large and bordering on ridiculously fluffy cat came trotting into the room meowing angrily at the intruders into its space. It hopped up onto the bed only to be grabbed up by Solveig and pulled back into her arms. It wiggled around in protest, but didn’t fight against her hold and eventually settled despite being held rather awkwardly.

The panic was still certainly present as was the guilt, but now it was all just an overwhelming sense of tension and dread that settled through every inch of her. The medics were talking quietly to each other, but her brain wasn’t really processing anything specific. She was focused on holding her cat and waiting.

After a few minutes of the pair doing their work, they exchanged a few more words and then the older man stood and walked over to Solveig.

“Honey, I’m so sorry… there’s nothing we can do. She’s gone.”

“Wh-what?” She asked and her arms went slack, immediately dropping the cat which of course landed on its feet and meowed in protest.

—

Despite the fact Winston wasn’t surprised by the news that her mother was dead, he still felt every bit of the grief. In his life, he had felt the grief and pain of millions of souls, and though hers was nothing new, he still teared up at the feeling.

“Solveig” he said, thinking out loud. That name was definitely familiar. He dared to pry into her mind for some other sins which might tell him where they had seen each other. Perhaps he would be able to find some trace of himself or some clue who her mother had been.

The moment in the bedroom faded, the frantic words of denial and pleading pouring from Solveig’s mouth did as well. Instead he slid into a memory pulled closer to the surface by what was going on.

Solveig was standing by the small dining table in the kitchen. Seated at it was a woman with her head in her hands. Her blonde hair was down, but the stark white color growing at her roots showed it was obviously dyed and hadn’t been tended to in a while. She was feeling frustrated and guilty about being frustrated as she looked at her mother.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. You two would just be better off without me.” The woman at the table practically sobbed.

“Mamma, no.” Solveig spoke, surprisingly successful at keeping the frustration out of her voice. “You’re feeling bad again, did you take your medication?”

“I don’t need that shit. I’m not sick.” Her mother practically growled.

“Mamma, you know you start feeling these things when you don’t take your medicine. We’ve talked about th-“

“You know what actually?” Came a third female’s voice. This one was aggressive and angry and certainly completely out of patience. “Maybe you’re right, Mor. Maybe we would be better off without you.”

Solveig’s gaze snapped to the other side of the table where a young blonde woman was standing with her arms crossed. “Shut up, Eisa, you aren’t helping.”

“She’s fucking beyond help, Solveig. Come on now, even you know it.” Eisa looked back to their mother and moved closer, placing her hands on the table. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen years old and everything about her body language communicated that arrogance. She spoke directly to their mother then.

“I think you should just kill yourself and be done with it. Stop being such a drain on everyone. Gods, you’ve been like this ever since we left home and came to this shithole!”

Winston felt a surge of anger so powerful, he wasn’t sure if it were coming from him or from Solveig. He also felt the violent impulse and the intense desire to act which he sensed in the young woman, and that startled him enough to almost cause him to disengage from the memory. Despite this momentary challenge, he managed to stay engaged.

There was a bit of a blur then, but the memory picked up quickly with Solveig on top of her sister who was now on the floor. She was hitting Eisa anywhere that was undefended; the girl already had a bloody nose. There was a lot of yelling and screaming but there weren’t any specific words that could be made out, then Solveig was suddenly pulled back with an inhumanly strong jerk.

“Solveig!” Her mother cried and spun her around with one hand while the other delivered a slap to her face. Winston could feel the intense pain in her jaw as it cracked. “How dare you attack your sister?! Are you crazy?!”

She was shoved back against the table and nearly fell over it as the older woman disengaged to move over to Eisa. “Oh baby, it’s okay. You’re okay come here let me look at y-“

“Fuck off!” Eisa roared and threw her arms out and up to push their mother away. She pulled herself off the ground and wiped blood from her nose and mouth. “I’m out of here. You can both be miserable together.”

With that, Eisa stormed out of the kitchen down the hallway. Their mother stood immediately after, looking after Eisa and then back to Solveig. It was then Winston could see that he indeed knew this woman, though a younger version with beautiful golden blonde hair and eyes like the sea; she had been holding the hands of her twin girls.

“Now look what you’ve done.” She scoffed at Solveig and then immediately turned to pursue Eisa down the hall. “Eisa, wait!”

“But Mamma…” Solveig called after her mother, the shame and guilt she was feeling clear. The pain in her jaw was lessening, and several loud meows drew her attention down. She watched a much smaller version of her silver cat winding around her legs and looking up at her.

–

“Astrid, Solveig, and Eisa.” Winston said allowed. He remembered them now. It had been over twenty years ago, but he still remembered the beautiful, frightened family without a father that had encountered in that sanitized Norwegian half-way laboratory. They’d experimented on mutants like rats back then, and he had so often helped, thinking he was reducing their suffering or making things better for them in the face of an oppressive system. Now it was his own guilt he was feeling.

So they had escaped that wretched program as had been agreed upon and made their way to the United States. Now Astrid was dead and Eisa was gone God-knows where, but Solveig was all alone; a young woman with no one in the world but her abnormally large cat.

Winston took off the helmet and placed it back on the stand slowly, his aged face lined with sadness and worry. He who lived more lives than one, more deaths than one must die; he learned this lesson after over six decades with his powers. Still, the sadness never went away. The guilt and the shame were his now, almost as much as they belong to Solveig. He had to find her. He had to go to her and help her unburden herself. Only then could they both be free.

He pulled out his iphone and sent a quick text to his grandson rather than searching for the young man somewhere on the property.

“Jon Henry, get us a flight to Gibbon, NE in the next few days.” he typed, and then, after sending it, flipped the contraption off. Until they could leave, all he could do for Solveig now was to remember her in his prayers. He headed down the bridge toward the exit.

——

Solveig sat on the floor of her mother’s room, her face buried in her hands and her body shaking violently as she sobbed. Lying next to her was her absolutely massive cat serving as guardian over her in some strange way. She sat there for a very long time she was sure and eventually she stopped sobbing, and then a little while after that she pulled herself up off the floor and walked to her bedroom. She moved to the bed and opened the nightstand where she pulled out a red flip phone. She selected one of the two numbers in it and brought it up to her ear.

“Hello… y-yes I’m calling to… to report an accident….”

END

 

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