16 grandfather’s house

"Mother, when are we leaving?", I say, my excitement slightly showing.

"Tomorrow morning. At dawn.", she says, pacing the floor, nervously nibbling her fingernails.

I have never seen her like this before. She looks nervous, her brows furrowed. I could almost see her cogs turn in her head, overthinking things.

Looks like I know where I got that from.

I begin getting fired up, excited by the prospect of doing something with such high stakes. I mean, it's the biggest illegal thing I've done. Despite my worries, my grandfather would love me. He would never press charges on me even if he does figure things out.

Or that's how I wish things would unfold.

I have never met my grandparents ever. I don't even know how they look. No photographs, no nothing. Now that I think about I probably had a pretty depressing childhood.

And it's not technically illegal, you know? After all, it is my property.

I begin overthinking, not having any idea about how laws work, or what would happen to me if things happen to go south.

"Lena, go pack your bag. I don't have time for this.", Mother says on the verge of tears. She looks so stressed that I feel bad for her, knowing that this is out of character for her.

I wonder what led things to turn sour between her and her parents. I wonder if there's something she's hiding from me or something she regrets.

That's when I realize something.

I don't even know my parents. I know nothing about their pasts, their likes, their dislikes. Is this an average family or am I overthinking things a little too much?

I head upstairs, my anxiety hitting. I am leaving tomorrow.

Tomorrow!

I begin getting some of my clothes out, piling my clothes next to my case. I sort through them one by one, panicking at the thought of meeting my grandparents.

What am I going to do? Should I just wing it? Will my grandparents like me? Did I mention that I have NEVER met any of my grandparents ever? Will they be strict? Will they be stricter than my parents? Will I be able to get away with this? What will I do if I do manage to get caught? What if-

Father walks into my room, not even considering knocking. I sigh inwardly.

Parents.

"Lena I need you to listen to my words carefully. I know that you haven't met your grandparents before, but please be well-behaved. They tolerate no teenage-y behavior. No tantrums, no angry fits, no sneaking out, and absolutely no back answering.", he says sternly. "Mother is already stressed as is and I don't want you to add onto that.", he says, raising his eyebrows, as if he was trying to make a point.

"Yes Father.", I say, fed up by how he is trying to paint me as this bratty child. For sure, I am a little bratty, but blaming me for Mother's stress is so unfair.

"Also, may I ask Father, why are we going to his house?", I ask, curious about why I am suddenly allowed to meet my grandfather. They spent decades trying to convince me that they are evil people who did not deserve a grandchild but now, out of nowhere, want me to meet them.

"Oh, that wicked old man. Turns out he has a pretty severe hernia and has to go into surgery. He just called her to ensure that she'd be there with him, despite the surgery being a minor one.", he spits, obviously angry at my grandfather's attitude. "What kind of a father is he? Does he even know that his child's birthday is tomorrow?", he mutters angrily and storms out of the room, wanting some alone time.

I sigh deeply.

Why can't they just make up their minds? If they didn't want to go they could just say so.

Not complaining, though. I need to get to the locker and this situation is just perfect for my plans. Only if I could make sense of things. I sigh yet again.

I let out a wide yawn and fall on the pile of clothes, tired from all the thinking.

Tomorrow. I'll take care of it tomorrow.

*****************************

18th September 1970

Friday

"Lena get down here, we're off to the station.", Mother yells.

I groan, twisting in bed, the sheets getting entangled. "In a minute, Mother!", I yell, even if I am not even fully awake. Ignoring Mother, especially given her seemingly unending bad mood is an oh-so terrible idea.

I roll out of bed, pain shooting up my leg as it hits my suitcase.

Shit. I didn't pack.

I hurriedly stuffed my things into the suitcase, grabbing whatever I can lay my hands onto. Shoes, clothes, underwear, all stuffed into a tiny case, full enough that it might burst any second.

"Lena!", Father yells impatiently.

"Yes, I'll be right there.", I yell back, stuffing my body into one of my old jeans. I hurry to the washroom, not bothering to take a bath, knowing that I already am late.

I wash my face, scrubbing out the sleep from my eyes. I brush my teeth, multitasking, stuffing my feet into one of those wretched long boots. I hop on one leg while spitting out the foam. I glance up at my reflection, only to see a deranged woman with white foam running down her teeth, hair unkempt.

Shit, I'm so late. Father is going to be so mad.

I brush through my hair, yelping as the pain shoots through my scalp whenever the brush hits one of those worse knots. As I get ready, Mother heads up the stairs, strings of curses flowing out her mouth.

Mind you, this is the same woman that shouts at me for saying "Oh my god."

I snort at the irony. Mother heads up the stairs, her angry footsteps echoing throughout the house. She reaches the door and I hear the doorknob rattle before twisting and opening to a scarlet-faced Mother.

"Lena, do you have any idea about how late we are? Hurry up or we will miss the train.", she screeches, her finding an outlet for her everlasting annoyance.

"Yes Mother.", I say dully, and head downstairs, lugging my case while I'm at it.

This is going to be one hell of a journey.

Mother keeps yelling, her spit splattering across my face. However, I pay no mind to her words, thinking only about the looming robbery.

I really should stop calling it a robbery. It makes me feel like a real criminal.

Which I am not.

All I am doing is getting what rightfully belongs to me by maybe breaking into a safe that's not mine, but we don't have to get into the specifics.

Mother grabs my hand, an iron grip almost cutting off my blood flow. She begins dragging me across town, walking to the station like madmen. The case, bulky and huge, kept hitting me across the knee, as Mother hoarsely cries out that she doesn't want to spend her birthday like this.

Couldn't she just tell this her father?

We approach the station, the sound of incoming trains blaring through the morning air. The misty air is cold yet somehow uncomfortable on my skin, making me feel clammy. Father rushes to buy us a ticket, while Mother and I crouch near the ticket booth, shivering in our clothes.

After a long ten minutes, one in which my urge to use the lavatory heightens, Father returns with three tickets, a wide grin on his face.

"That man was so kind. He told me that my mustache was just the right kind of bushy.", he says, handing over our tickets, beaming widely.

Mother shoots him a death glare, upon which the grin on his face immediately vanishes. He solemnly walks up to the platform, ignoring Mother as she keeps nervously chattering about the weather.

Nervousness truly brings out a different side in people.

The tension between Father and Mother increases, while I follow them into the carriages, blissfully ignoring their harsh words. The only way that I can remain sane through all of this is by ignoring their bull crap, which I seemed to be getting better and better at lately.

The train starts up, building up speed as the countryside blurs past us. I sit in a carriage, glancing out at the passing scenery. I tune out my parents' raised voices, the only thing on my mind being the upcoming adventure.

Adventure? I mean, at least it's better than "robbery".

I let out a loud snort, laughing at my thoughts. Mother shoots me a death glare, and I begin panicking, knowing that she's going to use this as an excuse to go off on me.

"Lena, what's so funny?" she asks coldly.

I shake my head, knowing that if I let out any word, she's going to nit-pick it.

"Then why the HELL are you laughing?" she yells, not caring that we are on a train. Her voice ricochets off the metal carriages, creating a loud echo.

I shake my head innocently, putting on my best obedient-child face. I know that she's stressed. Father's outburst just implicated the situation. Now I have no choice but to face the wrath of her anger.

Oh lord, how long is this journey going to be?

I excuse myself, and head to the washroom, praying that she cools down at least marginally by the time I am back. I spend around half an hour in the washroom despite the horrible stench emanating from the surface.

I'd rather smell shit than face Mother right now.

She is like an active minefield, one which might blast any second. It's just too much to take especially constantly. Her personality is honestly so warped that it's impossible to live with her.

Like I love her, she's my mom after all. However, I do appreciate Father for living with her for so long, tolerating her random fits of anger.

I head back to our carriage, unable to handle the terrible stink from the washroom. I sigh, knowing that we will reach our destination in a few minutes.

Mother and Father sit at the opposite ends of the carriage, the tension in the carriage palpable. I shudder at the cold glares Mother keeps shooting us, as if we're her arch enemies. I sigh, and sit down, knowing that the washroom won't be a place of solace anymore.

I almost jump out of my seat when I realize that we're there. We are finally there! Mother and Father glumly walk behind me, while my mood turns sunny, the cold air of the countryside refreshing. My hair whips around in the wind, the sun casting a warm glow across the vast fields that consist of the countryside.

Father summons a taxi out of nowhere, his angry tone almost scaring the poor taxi driver away. He loads the cases into the car and I help him, while Mother and Father bicker like two-year-old kids who want the last slice of pizza.

Can't they just get along for once? It's so annoying.

We travel in silence, the car shuddering as it goes over ditches. Just as I felt myself get carsick, the driver announces that we are there, the relief in his voice evident.

Why was he so scared?

Father is sure scary when angry but not to this extent. I take the cases out of the trunk, lugging them across the dusty road. Mother and Father follow in pursuit, glum expressions on their faces. Oblivious to their sad faces, I hum in happiness, the countryside being the prettiest thing I've seen.

We walk down a woody path, the vast fields vanishing out of nowhere. I begin wondering if we're lost, and as I turn around to ask Mother where we are, our eyes fall upon a wreck of a house.

Not even exaggerating, it looked like an absolute mess.

Vines grew all over the house, the hedge overgrown and untrimmed. The wooden house looked almost rotten wondering how the house is still structurally up. The fragile door looked like it would crumble upon touch, moss growing all over the house. A humid and slightly bad stench erupted from one of the hedges, smelling as if some animal had died there. Before I could ask Mother if we were lost, she confidently walks up to the door and knocks three times, sharply.

I was surprised that the door didn't crumble.

Before I could gather my thoughts, a young woman comes to the door, her ginger hair falling to her shoulders.

"Hi there, you must be Maria. Come on in.", the woman says with a smile.

It was so odd when people called Mother by her name. After all, I grew up calling her nothing but 'Mother'. Father, well I've seen a few of his friends refer to him by his first name, so it didn't feel as odd. However, Mother? Well, she's the type who would throw a fit if I called her "mom".

The woman calls us inside, asking us to make ourselves comfortable. I stand there awkwardly, feeling like I am occupying way too much space with my suitcase. I wonder who this woman is. Is she his child? Does Mother have a sister? Or is she perhaps-?

No, it's not possible. She's way too young for that.

"Who are you, if you don't mind me asking?" Mother says, asking the very same thing that was on my mind.

At least now I know that she's not Mother's sister.

"I am nobody.", she says simply.

We all blink in confusion and before we could question her further, she vanishes behind the kitchen under the pretense of making us tea. Tea that we never asked.

I understand that she's trying to be hospitable, but what makes her think that we'd accept beverages from a total stranger.

She returns with four cups in her hands, a smile plastered on her face. Her smile never seemed to reach her eyes, a sort of sadness behind those honey-colored eyes. She serves us our tea, smiling all the while.

"May I know how you're related to Mr. Jonas?" Mother asks this time sternly.

"I am his uh.." she hesitates, "He's my boyfriend.", she says, her face flushing a bright pink.

All of us look at each other in alarm, worried about how a twenty-some-year-old woman seems to be dating a man thrice as old as her. Mother however doesn't look too surprised, her face calm, as if she expected this from her father.

I mean, I am all for romance and open-mindedness, but this just irks me so much. Why would she, full of youth and happiness, date a man who is on his death bed? It's not like he has money to offer him. He's broke. The house is evidence enough for that.

Is this what she meant by her father being a 'terrible man'?

I sip the tea to be polite, awkwardness filling the room. We sit in uncomfortable silence before Mother asks, "How is he?", her voice cold and devoid of emotion.

"Your father? Well, he's recovering.", she says simply, the woman stoic.

Shouldn't she be sadder? Shouldn't she have at least a hint of sorrow in her voice?

"I'm sorry, but..", I begin, laughing, "shouldn't you be a bit sadder? I might be crossing a line here but wouldn't anyone be sad that their boyfriend is sick?", I say straightforwardly.

I don't know what possessed me to do that.

Father's eyes widen, while the woman squirms uncomfortably. She looks like a rabbit caught in headlights, a guilty expression on her face.

"I erm... I am sad.", she says, her eyes never meeting mine.

I smirk inwardly, knowing that I caught her red-handed. Whatever may be her reason, I am no one to judges. However, I do believe that she should be truthful with her intentions, to both herself and Mother.

Mother never flinched when she heard my words, much contrary to what I expected her reaction to being like. She had a proud expression on her face, her eyebrows lifting with surprise, her mouth turned upwards with the beginnings of a smile.

A feeling somewhat similar to happiness warms my heart.

Despite hating Mother so much, I craved her approval. She rarely appreciates me, or anyone. However, when she did give her approval, it felt like I had won the lottery.

"Where's your boyfriend? Mother asks mockingly.

The woman, now clearly uncomfortable squirms in her seat, her eyes darting between mine and Mother's sharp eyes. She opens her mouth, clears her throat, and finally speaks, only to say, "He's in his room."

Well, we didn't know that.

"And where exactly is his room?" Mother asks her annoyance heard. The woman gets up silently, and we follow her, leading us to the first floor of the house. The stairs creak under my feet, every single spot in the wood fragile. It felt like it would give away under my feet if I stood in one spot for too long.

My eyes dart quickly around the surroundings, assessing where anyone could hide a locker. I mean, this house is old. I doubt it could house anything without giving away. Besides it belongs to a sick old man. How hard could it be?

I find old couches and tables, the house giving off antique shop vibes. The mismatched dining set, the cracked plates, all of them indicated a man who didn't care about how he was perceived. Or that's what I think, not sure about how accurate my guesses are. Besides, I haven't even met this man yet. It's hard to judge a person without even having met him, or even heard stories of him.

I feel calm, as opposed to Mother, whose hand kept trembling. Father follows behind quietly, not a single sign of suppressed anger or anything. His face is calm, indicating that he doesn't care for this old man.

Strange. Given the fact that my Father bad-mouths his father-in-law every chance he gets, it's funny how he doesn't seem to care now that he's meeting him face to face.

We walk up the stairs, along a spiral of steps, almost seeming never-ending. I feel dizzy as we climb on, higher and higher into the damp first floor. Beautiful paintings line the walls, old yet mystical. I feel drawn to this one painting of an old man lighting a candle, surrounded by papers and sacks. I approach it, entranced by the painting. I pause walking, my fingers running over the cool metal, the intricate designs of the frame massaging my fingertips.

"Nice choice.", the woman says, stopping.

I glance at her, confused by her words. "That's the Parable of the Rich Fool.", she says, gesturing towards the painting that I am stroking. "It's an original.", she says, smiling proudly.

Father nods in appreciation as if he knows this painting. The woman in turn looks at Father, and asks, "Sir, do you know this painting?" her eyebrows furrowing suspiciously.

Father doesn't say anything and continues climbing up the stairs, pretending as if he didn't hear her. Mother looks at him, puzzled by his reaction. Mother opens her mouth in suspicion, wanting to say something, before the woman says, "Okay then, up we go.", she says.

Mother shakes her head in confusion and follows the lady up the stairs. We finally reach the landing, a long hallway filled with rooms. Most of the rooms were filled with garbage, unused furniture draped over with a white cloth, one of the rooms containing a piano even. I note to check the room out before leaving. I follow the woman down the corridor, the dimly lit hallway eerie.

This feels like the beginning of a horror movie.

I walk and walk, our footsteps falling into rhythm. As we approach the end of the corridor, the woman sharply turns towards us and says, "He's really sick. Please do not get emotional.", her voice cold and empty.

This just keeps getting stranger and stranger.

We nod and she motions us to walk into the room. I follow Mother, who heads in first, eager to see her father. Upon entering we see an old queen-sized bed on which a frail old man lays. His eyes dart towards us, sharp and quick, yet somehow cruel. A shiver runs down my spine as the man, my grandfather, regards us with a cold glare.

"Maria.", he says simply.

"Yes.", Mother says, her voice trembling with emotion, whether anger or sadness it was indistinguishable.

"How have you been, my child?" he asks, a small smile on his face.

"Well enough to come here.", she says simply, refusing to meet his eyes.

In that moment, I pity Mother. She traveled so far to see her father and yet he couldn't manage to wish her a happy birthday. I glance at Mother only to see her eyes cloud up with emotion. I couldn't imagine not seeing my father for years, decades on end, only to find out that he has a girlfriend younger than me.

I mean, I would throw a fit.

Whatever, any of this should not be my concern. I am here only for the locker and to figure that out I'd need to excuse myself. And how exactly am I going to pull that off? "Hi there grandfather that I've never seen before, I'd like to tour your house. Oh and? Please do tell me your locker passcode. Thank you."

Yeah no, that would never work out.

"This is my daughter, Lena.", Mother says, gesturing to me. "Lena, this is your grandfather.", she says.

"What a beautiful girl.", he says, his smile never reaching his eyes.

I shudder, getting the feeling that something is wrong. "Thank you, er.." I trail. "Jonas. Call me Jonas.", he says, a cold smile appearing on his face.

Well this is odd.

Mother shoots a look at him, glaring at his words. Is that man doing what I think he's doing? Ew. "Lena you may go freshen up. She'll direct you to your room.", she says, nodding her head towards the woman. "Take your father with you too, Lena. I want to have a word with my father.", she says.

The woman leads us out if the room and we begin the journey down the corridor. "My name is Eloise, but you can call me Ella.", she says, smiling at me. Wasn't she the rude one a few minutes back?

This woman is strange.

This whole place gives me the heeby-jeebies.

I smile at her and introduce myself. She begins chattering on about how she loves this house and how wonderful of a man my grandfather is.

Yeah no, I think not.

I nod along politely as she leads us to our room. My room is across my parents' and the woman ensures that our rooms are as clean as possible and that if we needed anything we could always call for her.

As soon as she's out of sight, I urge Father to go get some rest, explaining that even I am tired. As Father walks into his room, I quickly dispose of my case in the opposite room and begin exploring the house. Given it's numerous rooms, nooks and crannies of all sorts, and a house that feels like it would crumble any second, it's almost impossible to find the location of the locker.

I begin checking the rooms one by one, knowing that I'll be doing this for a while. One musty room after the other, dusty cloths get lifted off of their pristine furniture. I keep checking for it, the dust causing me to go into a coughing fit more than once. Half an hour passes, one hour passes, I still remain unable to make any progress. Before I give up completely, I check one last room, the room beside grandfather's room.

I mean, if I were to hide something of great value for me, I'd hide it in a place where I have easy access. For most people, that's something that's physically close to them.

I tip-toe into the room, hearing raised voices from grandfather's room. The urge to overhear the conversation grows as the volume of Mother's voice rises, but I decide that the locker is more important than their family drama. I could always overhear next time. I twist the knob and walk in, ensuring that I don't step on any of the creaky planks. The room looked uninteresting, not a thing in it. An old moldy couch with a polka-dot table consisted of it's contents.

I sigh in frustration, now left with not many rooms to check. If it's not here then the only place it could be in is grandfather's room. There's absolutely no way in hell is that going to happen. This is already scary enough.

I kick the door in frustration, ignoring the sounds of two voices yelling. What am I going to do now? I get one opportunity and I can't manage to make proper use of it. I was hoping to find the papers here, especially when there's no way that I can get to Father's locker. This is disappointing.

I pace the room, trying to regain my composure. I could feel my face turning redder by the minute, my anger getting the better of me.

Is this all I can do? Am I going to go down this easily?

Tears roll down my cheeks involuntarily, my anger turning into sadness. All it took was a hundred or so rooms with an assortment of garbage and here I am crying out of frustration. Can this day possibly get any worse?

I get out the room, closing the door as quietly as possible. I've come this far, why not here their conversation while I'm at it?

Yeah, yeah, it's not good manners, but right now, I could not give less of a shit about it.

I hear Mother cry, "Was that Spanish woman not enough for you? Must you ruin more girls' life like this? Father, of you were so desperate I could find you a wife. One appropriate-".

Her father cuts off her words and says, "Maria, I am old. I am probably going to die soon. Let me have my fun while I'm at it.", his voice trembling with pretense sadness. I could almost hear the mocking tone of his voice, obviously lying to Mother, just to sate her anger.

"Father why don't you listen to me for once? Mother died because of your abuse. And yes, I WILL call ot abuse because you left bruises on her body which wouldn't vanish for weeks on end. Do you know how much pain she was in? Do you know how much she begged me to end it all? Do you have any fucking idea how much emotional distress you caused her?", Mother says, screaming with all her might.

I feel myself tear up, feeling sympathetic for my dead grandmother. I pray that no woman has to endure such torture, such pain.

"Maria, mija, listen. I loved your mother, I really did. But sometimes she crossed her line, you know. And as a good husband, I should discipline her. That's my right as a son of God. It's not my problem if your mother was a weak woman who couldn't keep her hands to herself.", he says with contempt.

My simmering anger begins boiling steadily, face turning scarlet with the heights of my fury. I could only imagine how Mother felt right now. How dare that man try to justify abuse? Blood relative or not, I hope he rots in the fiery pits of hell.

"Oh you wretched old man. I can't talk any more sense into you.", Mother sighs, frustrated from all the bullshit her father keeps spouting. "Hand me my property back and I'll leave you alone, Father.", Mother says with a finality in her voice.

"That property isn't yours.", he spits angrily.

"I married that man. It is mine!" Mother yells, her voice causing the door handle to rattle with her powerful scream.

Bingo.

The papers are here for sure. Now I just have to figure out where it is hidden. I promise, I am not leaving this place without the papers. I'll burn the house to the ground if I'll have to. After all, such scum don't deserve a place to live, much less a queen-sized regal bed.

"Yes, Maria, but you're a woman. What could you possibly do with it?" He mocks Mother.

I begin getting furious, fiercely fighting the urge to storm in between their conversation and slap the man across his face.

Tha audacity.

My chest heaves with exertion, trying my best to contain my anger. Mother, however, could not take it any longer.

"Listen HERE old man! This is my property, you understand. I just gave it to you for safekeeping. Now, if you just told me where you hid it, I will let you live. Or else, I'll ensure that you die a slow painful death, right here on this bed.", Mother says coldly, her voice filled with hatred.

Damn, I never knew Mother had it in her to give out death threats this casually. She really must hate him.

I sigh loudly, and before I could process what is going on, the door opens. I stumble backward, while Mother looks at me with a confused expression on her face.

"Lena? What the fuck are you doing here?" Mother asks angrily.

I feel light-headed, my stomach churning with anxiety. The world tilts sideways, my eyes blinking rapidly to stay conscious.

"Lena, can you here me?" Mother says, now obviously concerned.

That's the last thing I hear before my vision blurs out.