Sleeping Brides Read online

  I doubted that would happen, not after Daan and I left Amsterdam, but for the moment I was relieved. “That’s good to hear.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way,” the doctor returned, less confident than I was. “Until next time,” she said, and she left me to change back into my clothes.

  I ripped the gown off, but I did not dress. Naked in the room, I put a hand on my stomach, like I’d done a thousand times before. “I’ll try to eat,” I promised my child. “Even if I have to force it down. I won’t let you starve.”

  ***

  Our motorhome was parked next to an abandoned building on the canals. I would have preferred to park near somewhere green, not the dust and rubble of a ruined industry, but the building housed squatters with connections Daan found profitable. Wishing he was with me now, I rushed past the homeless and the misshapen to the motorhome, slamming the door as soon as I stepped inside. There was no lock, no safety, but I felt better.

  The city was in heat, ever since the coronation of Queen Beatrix. While she celebrated the start of her reign, there had been protests, then riots, as feral socialists shouted for an end to the housing crisis and the monarchy. I had been too stoned to care. Now that my mind was out of the haze, I still didn’t care, not about the politics of it all, but I did feel some empathy for the Queen. The country was her child. She was its mother. Hearing your child revolt against you must have been the hardest thing a mother could hear. Most mothers. Mine hadn’t cared when I’d left, not with her flask filled.

  The creak of the door startled me, made worse when Sem stepped in. I tensed and reached for a knife on the counter, but I stopped when Daan followed in behind him.

  “Hey, baby,” Daan said, wrapping his arms around me. “You look delicious. Your melons are growing. They’re big enough to bite into.”

  He kissed my neck, but I pushed him away when I looked over his shoulder at Sem, who was enjoying the show. “Later,” I said. “Did you get what you need?”

  “Not yet.” He moved to the cupboard to pull out a bag of weed. Daan only smoked weed when the rest of his supply was completely out. To him, this was sober. He was as sober as he was going to get.

  “That’s a shame,” I said, sitting on the counter next to where he rolled a joint. “I was hoping we could leave today. For good. I think it’s time we find somewhere decent to stay. You know, settle down, far from the city.”

  He ran his hand down my thigh. “Baby, you know we can’t afford that.”

  “If we can afford snow, we can afford to settle down,” I insisted.

  “Dream on. It’s because of snow that we can’t afford shit.” Daan sounded like he was joking, but it was completely true.

  “I know,” I said, unable to hide my disappointment.

  “Is that why you stopped using?” he asked, abandoning his joint to tune into me. To Daan, I was better than any drug. “Because you want to settle down?”

  “You’re getting warmer.” I would have told him about our child, but I refused to share such good news with Sem listening in. Sem tainted everything.

  Daan thought about it. “We’ll stay here for a while. I have a few gigs I can do. Then we can afford to take off, somewhere special, just for you.”

  “And settle?” I posed.

  “Yeah. Maybe. If the place is special enough for my queen.”

  It was a step forward. I didn’t like the idea of staying in Amsterdam, I longed for open roads and natural waters, but I would walk through hell if it meant getting to heaven. A few days in Amsterdam was worth a lifetime outside of it. Once we found the right place, then I would tell Daan about my pregnancy.

  “As soon as you’ve finished your jobs, we’re gone,” I upheld. “The smell of the city makes me gag.”

  Like an illness teeming nearby, Sem snickered.

  “What?” Daan demanded.

  “Nothing, man,” he said.

  “That’s what I thought. What’s the word on the gig tomorrow?”

  “We’re set. It’s all in place.”

  Daan was smart. Most of the jobs he took were easy money, like couriering a package from one crude thug to another, sometimes in exchange for money, sometimes for drugs. But if Sem was involved, it meant the job was a lot more illegal, like stealing. It had never bothered me before, but if Daan was caught, he’d end up in prison. I didn’t want to raise our child on my own.

  “No,” I said sternly, setting my hand against Daan’s arm. “I don’t want you locked up, baby. Nothing risky.”

  “Be still, I won’t get caught,” he promised. “I never do.”

  “Never is a dangerous word,” I insisted. “Please, don’t.”

  “How else are we going to afford to leave here?” he asked, using my hopes against me.

  Sem stepped forward, overly confident. That was a bad sign. “I know a way,” he said, locking his eyes on me. “Her. She can make money.”

  What he was suggesting was obvious to me and, unlucky for Sem, to Daan too. “Are you saying my girl can sell herself?” Daan asked, calm. Too calm. The calm before the rage. I didn’t care. Sem deserved what he got.

  “Look at her,” Sem continued, digging his own grave. “She’s gorgeous. She’s far better looking than those Surinamese girls. She can make in a day what we’d make in a week.”

  “So we just stick her in a window and tell the world she’s a whore?”

  Sem mistook Daan’s disdain as enthusiasm. “Yeah, man. I’ll be her first customer.”

  Daan went completely silent. I closed my eyes, keenly awaiting disaster. The moment Sem was certain Daan was in agreement, Daan stomped over to the table and flipped it over. “Unless you have a death wish, get the fuck out of my home!”

  “Be cool, man,” Sem protested, throwing his arms in the air to shield himself. “It was only a suggestion.”

  “My girl is no whore. She never will be,” Daan fumed. “You’re dead to me. Get the fuck out.”

  He lunged forward, but Sem managed to get out the door before Daan reached him, like a rodent scrambling from a fire. Daan slammed the door behind him, breathing heavy. “Did he ever try to touch you?” he asked.

  “No,” I said honestly. “But I was scared he might.”

  Overwhelmed, I began to cry. Daan came to the counter and took me into his arms. He didn’t try to stop my tears. He never did. He held me tight enough that I could hear his heartbeat. It was as it should be—just me, him, and the third, secret heartbeat between us.

  Chapter Nine

  Bird Songs

  The powder trickled down from the baggy, deceptively flawless. Curled up on the corner of the sofa next to Daan, I wondered if each grain was individual, like real snow. Each high was individual. When I snorted snow, I was usually euphoric, a dragonfly soaring through the clouds, invincible; but sometimes there was pain and an urge to grab a knife and carve out all that was bad until the blade grinded against bone.

  Daan poured a mound onto the table, preparing for his job with a line. Sem was gone, but it didn’t stop Daan from doing what he needed to score his supply. He fed from the coke, inhaling more than usual, his nerves getting the better of him.

  “Your turn,” he said, preparing more for me.

  “No, not now.”

  “It’s no fun on my own, baby.”

  I curled tighter into myself. “I know, but I don’t feel well.”

  It wasn’t a lie. I felt sick, but it wasn’t because of my pregnancy. I didn’t want Daan to leave. I had a really bad feeling about this job. Sem was a creep, but he always watched out for Daan. Tonight, Daan would be out with heavies he barely knew.

  “It shouldn’t be like this,” I said. “You shouldn’t have to hit up an electric store just so we can get by.”

  “It’ll be closed. No one will get hurt. Just a few busted windows.”

  I wasn’t convinced. “And a few busted ribs if your new friends turn on you.”

  “What do you suggest then?” Daan asked, leaning back into his seat, m
ellow, the powder kicking in.

  “I’ll get a job. A proper job. I’ll be a secretary or something. Let’s just drive, right now. We’ll drive until we reach the border, as far from Amsterdam as we can get, and we’ll find a nice place to call home.”

  “This is home,” he reminded me, insulted. “You’re here. I’m here. That’s home.”

  “Okay, we’re home, but we have no land.”

  “Your body is my land,” he said with pride. “And the whole fucking Earth is yours. We’re free, baby. We don’t perch. We soar.”

  “What if I’m tired of soaring?” I asked. “What if I want to stand with my feet in the water?”

  This made him smile. “I liked the lake. And I liked you in the lake, your hair blowing in the wind. You were happy at the lake. We should go back, after we’re done here.”

  “I liked the lake too,” I said, refusing to give up. “But we need to go somewhere I can find work.”

  Daan wasn’t listening, the white wonder infesting his mind. “When you became my girl, I promised I’d look after you. I’m a man. A man provides for his woman. You don’t need to work, baby. I’ll take care of you. You’re my woman.”

  “And what if I get pregnant?” I asked, testing him. “What will we do then?”

  “What we always do,” he said, unprovoked. “Soar.”

  He was gone, riding the wonder. There was no point discussing anything worthy. He finished the line he had prepared for me and stood.

  “It’s still day,” I stated as he reached for the black ski mask he planned to wear during the robbery. “It’s not time. Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere you need to be,” he mumbled.

  Like a cat, I beat him to the door. “Stay,” I said seductively, wrapping my hands around his neck so that our foreheads touched. “Ease me.”

  “Ease you,” he murmured, matching my low tone, obeying the wonder coursing through him. “Nothing about the way we make love is easing,” he claimed as he played with the hem of my mini shorts.

  “Remind me,” I teased, wrapping myself further into him, tangling myself to him like bait on a hook.

  “Gladly.” He cupped my ass. “When I get back.”

  “No,” I objected, unbuttoning his shirt. “Now. I’m the oldest. I’m in charge. I say you stay.”

  “You may have been born a few weeks before me, but I’m older by far,” he asserted then took my hands, kissed them, and moved them away so he could straighten his shirt.

  I couldn’t argue. Daan was reckless, but he had a demeanor far above his years, a consequence of never having an actual childhood, of being forced to survive on his own.

  I tried a new tactic, playing on his patience. “Have you always loved me?” I asked.

  “You know I have,” he said kindly. “From the moment I saw you, I was yours. You’re my spark, Storme. You keep me alive.”

  “Then listen to me,” I pleaded. “I have a bad feeling about this. You need to stay. Don’t do this job. Let’s leave, now.”

  I had played his patience too hard. Fed up, Daan grabbed my arm and moved me out of the way. “What has gotten into you?” he hollered, but before I could answer, he took his mask and marched out the door into a dark, sunny day.

  ***

  I am Storme Cloet. I can handle a storm. It’s my namesake, I thought, sitting alone in the motorhome, waiting for Daan to return from his job. Rain slammed down against the frail metal around me like little spikes of thunder. It shouldn’t have scared me, but it did, so I grabbed my headphones and threw a Lynyrd Skynyrd cassette into my player, hoping it would drown out the rain, only to realize it wasn’t the storm I was afraid of—it was what was happening out in it.

  Daan had been gone too long. That was the thing about robberies: you went in, and then you hurried out. You didn’t leave time for the neighbors to report you or the fuzz to find you. It was almost morning. Daan should have walked in hours ago with a stereo in his arms or a wad of cash and drugs. Or nothing, if the robbery went bust. But he should have walked in.

  I turned the cassette player up louder, and I sang, becoming the storm itself. It didn’t help me worry less, but it did exhaust me so that I fell asleep. My child needed more sleep than I did. When I woke, it was night again. The storm had passed, but the rain remained, a lullaby to the shadows, except that lullabies were meant to comfort. Nothing could comfort me. Daan was not back. He had never left me alone this long before.

  Something was wrong.

  We were twine. As twine, it was agony to sit and wait for him, so I left the motorhome and joined the rain outside, my footsteps upon the cobbled streets in sync with the splashes from above. The streets were well lit at night, eclipsing the city into silhouettes. Not far, I could hear the buzz of the Red Light District. I veered away from it, sticking to the industrialized buildings like a spider sticks to its web, avoiding the predators who sang their bird songs out to me.

  I headed nowhere, because nowhere was where I was most likely to find Daan. Amsterdam was a big city, but the areas Daan haunted were small. I was certain I would find him. My fear was in what condition I would find him in.

  When the streetlights failed to guide me to Daan, I chose allies less provocative, where light was secondhand and the buildings empty of even the homeless. In such an ally, I chanced upon a familiar face, but it wasn’t Daan.

  “Storme,” Sem greeted. He didn’t look surprised to see me, but by his bloodshot eyes and sweat-soaked shirt, he was high. He probably thought we were back at the lake, before Amsterdam and before Daan had banned him from my presence.

  I had never been alone with Sem before. It terrified me. The motorhome was my domain, but the streets were his, so I turned and walked away, hoping he would float in his high, far away from me.

  He followed me, his steps like chainsaws. He kept beat with my pace; he didn’t run, so neither did I. If I ran, he would have something to chase. I perked my ears, suddenly eager for the bird songs around me, anyone to safeguard me from Sem. I almost made it back to the motorhome, until Sem projected his own song, a song I couldn’t resist.

  “Storme!” he called out. “I know where Daan is. I can tell you.”

  I gave Sem what he wanted. I turned around and acknowledged him, standing my ground, even as he moved forward. “What are you going to make me do for it?”

  He grinned and looked me over. It made me sick. He wasn’t just leering at me—he was leering at the child growing inside of me. He was a poison; his temptation to have me was hemlock.

  But that was all it was—temptation. After he was finished looking, his grin disappeared, replaced by a seriousness I’d never seen in him before.

  “Follow me,” he instructed. “I’ll take you to him.”

  If Sem had to take me to him, Daan was not able to come to me. I had been terrified running into Sem alone in an ally, but it was nothing compared to the knowledge that something bad had happened to Daan, something that pulled us apart.

  If Sem had anything to do with it, I would rip him apart, piece by piece. But not yet. First, I had to know what happened to Daan.

  We did not return to the allies. Sem led me towards the masses, to streets full of students, tourists, and drunkards stumbling from one club to the next, where the noise was as loud as the light. Pushing our way through the streets, we stopped outside a small brick building, a trap amongst the foliage.

  “He’s in there,” Sem revealed, nodding towards the building—a police station. “Your boy is locked up.”

  ***

  “You’re all I have.”

  As he spoke, I reached over the table and took Daan’s hand. We were alone, but the man was watching behind the glass of the interrogation room. It was a setup. The police had given us the privacy of the interrogation room in hopes Daan would slip and say something to me about the others involved in the robbery, those who had gotten away. But he knew better, and so did I, so we used our time in the dim, naked room to our advantage.

 
Neither of us looked well. We were both scared and heartbroken, and we couldn’t pretend otherwise. Not in front of each other. Maybe out there, but not in here, in our last moments alone together before Daan was formally charged and transferred to the jail.

  He wore street clothes, but it was not the outfit he’d left the motorhome in. I wondered about it, but I didn’t ask. Daan had been asked enough questions by the police. It was a time for telling, not asking.

  Daan squeezed my hand. “I mean it, baby. You’re all I have. Five years ain’t so long. Wait for me. Tell me you’ll wait for me.”

  “Of course,” I vowed. “I’m only yours. I’ll only ever be yours.”

  “That’s my woman,” Daan praised. “You and me, we’re the forever kind. When I’m released, we’ll drive. We’ll get as far away from the city as you want. Hell, we’ll leave the country if you want.”

  “I’ll wait for you, baby, but I can’t stay in the city for the next five years. I have to go, find a place to settle, somewhere safe and peaceful where I can work.”

  He took it well. “Safe is good. I want my woman safe, but say you’ll come back and visit. I can’t get through my sentence if I can’t see you.”

  “Neither of us will go through this alone.” I stood from my chair and moved both our hands over my stomach, unveiling my secret. “Our child deserves a father.”

  Daan dropped his hands from mine, tight with emotion, fixed on my stomach. “You’re keeping it?”

  “Yeah. I’m keeping it.”

  All of the fear and heartache in the room instantly vanished, replaced by pride. “Good. That’s my blood in you. You keep it safe. You come visit as soon as you deliver. I want to see my blood.”

  Breaking the rules we’d agreed to before being brought to the room, Daan leaned forward and kissed my stomach, and then he kissed me, a long, hard kiss that was full of memories and promises. “Now go,” he commanded. “Get your rest.”