Power and Lies

Twenty

"Attack the evil that is within yourself, rather than attacking the evil that is in others."
-Confucius

She dreamt of blood. It dripped from her fingertips and coated her toes. The taste of it infiltrated her mouth, metallic and unyielding. There were rivers of it around her. She was simply a boat floating through it, unable to remove the vision. Nothing would wash her clean of this blood. It was like molasses, thick and pungent upon her. Her mouth opened in screams that would not come out. Her vocal chords were paralyzed and her tongue swollen. Wake up, she begged herself. Wake up.

"Freya," came the call through the horror and she searched frantically. Her eyes fell upon Tommy, his battered and beaten state warped in her mind. "Freya." She tried to close her eyes, tear them away from the nightmare they were witnessing, but a bruised and torn hand grabbed her by the chin forcing her attention. She wanted to vomit.

"Tommy, what happened to you?" She knew what happened, of course, but the question still spilled out of her. His chuckle was low and menacing. When she stared into his eyes there was no kindness left. Only bitter hatred.

"Why, Freya, you happened to me."

She awoke in a sweat and scrambled to untangle herself from the foreign blankets wrapped around her body. The cool night air hit her and she began to pant, trying to break open this attack of fear upon herself. The safe house interior was not updated, instead it had falling wallpaper and furniture that aggressively squeaked, but she had been so exhausted when they reached the front steps she did not care if the ceiling itself fell upon her as long as she could sleep. The bed had been a blessing, but it could have just as easily been the floor. She had slept the entire day.

Polly was sitting at the table smoking when she appeared from the bedroom. She looked like hell. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes bloodshot. Freya wondered if the nightmares plagued her too.

"I have children you know," Polly said suddenly and Freya nodded. Tommy had mentioned it late one night, but the tone in which he used told her it was not a topic she was free to ever discuss. "A boy and a girl. My daughter came to me, told me goodbye. I think she is dead." Freya swallowed trying to choke back a tear for the emotional tone Polly had. Vulnerability was not something Freya ever saw much of in the woman, but now she could see every cut on the poor woman's soul.

Tears poured out of Polly's eyes and Freya wished more than ever that Tommy was here to console her. Freya felt very ill equipped.

"And seeing Tommy like that-" Polly wiped at her face quickly, trying to hide away her tears. "Well, it just made it hurt so much more." Freya reached a hand across the table, extending it out to Polly who, after a moment's hesitation, took it within her own.

"I don't know what to say." She freely admitted and Polly stared out at the dilapidated home.

"Nothing to say, unless you can tell me who is alive and who is dead. I heard you screaming in your sleep." The change of subject was welcome, but Freya did not wish to discuss her dreams so she merely shrugged. "When they took my babies, I screamed too. Never stops you know. Not in this family. This family is all violence and blood and broken promises."

"God help us all then." Freya said lightly and Polly laughed. It was a slightly manic laugh, but Freya would chalk it up to a win. "We cannot help who we have become, Polly. We can only help what we do after that."

The drive home was long and agonizing. Freya did not look to the scenery for distraction as she had on their way to London, which felt like years before, not only two days. No words were passed between the pain of women after the discussion this morning, and Freya was thankful for that. She was not prepared for the emotions of someone who was usually very unemotional. It set her on edge.