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“Go see,” I tell him, and he has some trouble unfastening his seat belt because his hands are shaking so hard.
But he finally manages to unbuckle it and steps out of the car, leaving the door open.
“Are you all right?” I hear him ask and then several strange things happen very fast.
The woman leaps to her feet with a long silver knife in her fist. She lunges at Dino, who stumbles back as she slashes at his chest with the knife. He puts up his hands, but not fast enough. His stumbling steps turn into a fall and I can clearly see blood flowing from his neck as well as his chest, both of which he’s now clutching at.
I try to get out of the car to help him but get no further than unbuckling my seat belt before the woman jumps behind the wheel, slams the door shut and steps on the gas. The force of acceleration glues me to the back of my seat. She drives fast up the road and we almost slide out of the turn as she makes a left onto the main avenue, where she accelerates even more.
Everything is still a blur, including her.
“Is your seat belt on?” she asks in a breathless, high-pitched voice. A stench of rotting fruit is quickly overpowering even the smell of tobacco in Dino’s car and it’s rising from her. “You should put your seat belt back on… you don’t want to hurt the baby.”
Funny she should say that, since she’s driving like a maniac and running every red light we hit. But that’s just a very distant nonsensical thought floating in my mind.
I take her advice though, because she’s right. And as I click the belt into place, I finally get a good look at her.
It’s the woman from the bridge, the one that was worried I was thinking of jumping in. What the hell is going on? Where did she come from?
She has a look of childlike excitement on her face and is smiling widely. The bloody knife is resting in her lap, and I could grab it, but we’re going so fast that any wrong move could send us crashing into the houses and trees lining the road. I’m not exactly limber or agile either, stuffed as I am into this small car. And the way I’m sitting on my long parka makes it tug on my shoulders and restricts the reach of my arms.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
“Home,” she answers excitedly. “I’m taking you and the baby home.”
We’re almost at the on-ramp to the expressway and I’m expecting her to make another turn either left or right onto it, so I clutch the door handle as hard as I can. But she just continues straight, still going much too fast.
The roads are virtually empty, but we passed enough cars to give me hope that someone will have called the police due to her reckless driving.
She slows down as we reach the first of the houses along this road, then turns onto a bumpy side road and continues along it until we get to a yard in front of a two-story house that seems to be on the verge of collapse. The grey facade is falling off in chucks and the roof is caved in along the right side.
A falling roof. That’s how all this started in the first place. But that’s just another nonsensical far away thought.
“This isn’t home,” I say.
“Oh, yes it is,” she says and smiles widely at me. “My home and soon to be the baby’s. Let’s go inside now.”
She points the knife at my throat, Dino’s blood dripping off it onto her coat. “Nice and easy now. Get out and don’t try to run.”
If only I could run. But as it is, she’s already waiting for me on the other side of the car, pointing her knife at me by the time I manage to get out of the car.
There are no houses anywhere near here, only the woods on one side and a barren field on the other. Yelling for help won’t do much to help me.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say. “Take me back to Ljubljana. That’s the only way to keep the baby safe.”
“Oh, but that’s just not true. Babies don’t need much, they just need love,” she says, still smiling. “This will be the baby’s home. She will be so happy here. When is she due? Soon, I hope. I’m not very patient and I want to hold her.”
I get a sudden flash of panic over what I fear she’s intending to do with that knife—cut the baby out of me if I don’t give birth fast enough. And it doesn’t help that my daughter has gone completely still inside me.
“She needs to be born in a hospital,” I plead. “What is your name? I’m Eva.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” she says. “Now stop talking and come inside. It’s so cold and windy out here.”
She makes me walk in front of her and as we enter the house, I know the source of the rotten fruit smell, this house is soaked with it.
“Up the stairs… the first door to the left,” she says. “That’s where the baby’s room is.”
The stairs creak so badly I’m afraid they won’t be able to take my weight, but they do.
