Page 74 of Anatomy of a Killer
‘But you already know this, Ann,’ Nathalie replies. ‘I had to get Lenia to safety.’
I approach her slowly, focusing on the knife. One slight movement, not much more than a twitch, and it would be in her hand. ‘Can I sit down next to you?’ I carefully squat down and try to discreetly nudge the knife away with my foot.
‘Open up!’ followed by a thud against the door that’s so hard the frame shakes. I wince, whereas Nathalie looks alarmingly calm.
‘Have you taken something?’ The Sleeping Beauty pills.
‘Nathalie!’ That’s Fester, now forcing his whole weight against the door.
‘He’s not going to go away,’ I say. ‘He wants to know where Lenia is.’
‘She’s hidden herself away. She hates it when people argue.’
I instinctively tilt my head so I can take a glimpse beneath the bed. But I don’t see anything.
Nathalie closes her eyes and smiles. ‘Don’t worry, my little princess. Ann has come back to help us. Everything’s going to be all right.’ I swallow with difficulty and understand. Nathalie too has a world behind her closed eyes. Only her world isn’t content with a space in her imagination. Did she perhaps use Sarah’s abduction to enact her version of how Lenia’s story should have turned out? She must have been disappointed by the finale, though, the moment when Sarah returned unscathed and her mother failed to react as Nathalie had envisioned. How she herself would have reacted had Lenia actually managed to escape.
‘Do you remember what happened to your daughter, Nathalie?’
She opens her eyes and her smile widens. Then she nods at the knife by the tip of my boot.
‘Today could be the day you bring the real ribbon murderer to justice. Do you realise that, Ann?’
‘No, no, Nathalie,’ I say, pointing to the door. ‘The man out there is your ex-husband, not the. . .’ I stop. She’s just smiling, smiling on and on.
‘It’s our story, Ann. Our truth.’
‘But. . .’ I shake my head in confusion. ‘You said yourself that you think my father’s—’
At that moment the hinges crack and the door gives way. Fester rushes at Nathalie and yanks her up by the arm. ‘Where’s my daughter?’
‘Ann!’ Nathalie whimpers. Grabbing the knife, I get up too.
‘Where is she?’ Fester is livid. His concern for his ex-wife seems to have been obliterated. Instead he’s now flinging her around like a playful dog might an old rag doll. ‘Tell me where she is!’
‘You left us,’ Nathalie howls at him. ‘You have no right to see your daughter anymore.’ This seems to hit Fester as unerringly as a bullet in the stomach. Letting go of her, he teeters backwards.
‘Nathalie, please, you’ve got to—’
‘He made his decision, Ann. Since last year he’s been in love with a secretary. He packed his things and just upped sticks.’
‘My new relationship has got nothing to do with any of this. I still looked after Lenia,’ Fester says. Pain flickers in his face. ‘I picked her up for the weekend every fortnight.’
‘Every fortnight, yes. Then you bought her toys, took her to the zoo or went for an ice cream. You call that looking after?’ She moves over to him, swaying. Again I wonder if she’s taken anything– sleeping pills, Benzowhatevers, the stuff she gave Sarah– and perhaps too much of it. ‘Having a child is so sacred, a gift. You showed you weren’t worthy of it.’
Fester’s jaw twitches; he seems to be chewing words, undecided whether to utter or swallow them.
‘Two birds with one stone, Ann,’ Nathalie says. ‘He never deserved to be a father.’ She now looks at me– not my face, but the knife in my hand. ‘Not even before the kidnapping, when he was still with us. Two years ago, for example. In 2015, Steffen. Do you remember what happened?’
Fester opens and closes his mouth.
Nathalie laughs idly. ‘Lenia fell and knocked out her front teeth. And who looked after her? Who comforted her, fed her? It wasn’t you, it was me! You just went to work as usual and left everything to me. Or earlier, in 2012, only a few weeks after she was born. The bad fever fits. Who sat at her bedside day and night? Who cooled her little body and held her hand? Me, Steffen, only ever me!’
I purse my lips, thinking of my father who was so different from Steffen Fester. Like Nathalie, he sat by my bed, held my hand and fed me. And he was always there for me. In 2015, after my car accident. In 2012, during my existential crisis, which ended up with me changing subjects. He even took leave from the university to travel across France with me, so I could clear my head. . .
‘I was always there when Lenia needed me. There was nothing more important in my life. I was her good fairy. The one who fought against the dragon, against sickness, fear and all the bad things.’
‘Don’t do this, Nathalie,’ Fester begs. ‘Don’t paint me like that, it’s unfair. You know I did my best over all the years to make both of you happy.’
