Page 73 of Demonic Cage
Everything is so calm. Quiet. Slowed down. I think of my brother, feeling his spirit resting in a place just like this. He was good; he deserves it. No wonder I ended up in Hell. I don’t deserve this peace.
I remember what my mother said to me when Bengt got worse. Because of me.How could you take him out? How could you go to him?
“Guilt will consume your soul.” Pandora’s voice is soft. I know she sees into me, sees my past. I also know that this is some kind of magic.
“He was sick,” I begin, sitting down on a bench as the memory pierces me like a knife. I don’t know why I want to share, I just do. “He was sick, and I convinced him to go out into the garden. I thought he would get better.”
I want to scream, but I can’t. I’ve never told this to anyone. I deserve everything.
“He had been sick for years. The cancer kept recurring, and I just…” I pause as my voice breaks. “…had enough. They said I was too young to understand.”
A tear rolls down my cheek at the memory.
“Lotte, I’m so tired.”
“You’ll get better!”
“But when I took him out, I knew exactly how sick he was. I just thought he would get better. I didn’t… I didn’t take it seriously. Because… because hepromised,”I sob. “He promised he would help me fix something in the garden. I don’t even know what anymore.”
I need to hug myself.
“Lotte, I’m tired.”
“Come on, you’ll get better!”
“He collapsed. No one heard us. He was unconscious in my arms,” I say, my voice trembling. “He died… in front of my eyes… He… he wasn’t officially dead but… I felt it when he collapsed.I felt himleavethen.” I swallow but continue. “It lasted for minutes but felt like hours, until someone came to help. Like a whole lifetime. Finally, they took him to the hospital, but I stayed out there so long I caught a cold. They fought for his life for three days, and in the end, he recovered.” I wrap my arms around myself. Now comes the climax of the story. The essence – the reason I hate myself. The lesson I’ll never learn from.
“I was already taking medication then. The demons appeared when Bengt got sick, when I was five years old. And then, when he collapsed, for the first time in my life, at twelve years old… I overdosed. With drugs… medication. It hurt so much, I… I couldn’t think. And then… I went in to see him.” I’m trembling with tears. “At twelve, sick, I caught a bus, and… I just wanted to apologize to him. He was so weak… shattered.”
“Lotte, I’m tired.”
“I don’t care. Come on, you’ll get better!”
The memory rushes in and overwhelms me, as if dozens of horses were galloping over me. I couldn’t tell where the blanket ended and Bengt’s pale face began. Merged with death, and yet my brother fought to the extreme.
“They said he caught an infection at the hospital. Someone brought it to him. I… I was the one. I brought death to him.Ikilled my brother.”
The last sentence has never left my lips, but it was in my every thought, in the pulsation of my mother’s gaze, in my father’s unspoken words, and in the rupture of my relationship with my sister. It’s all my fault. My brother’s death, my family’s collapse. I did this, and I will carry the burden for the rest of my life. According to Darya, I can bring redemption to the demons, but for me, no one can. I will never, ever forgive myself.
And even if I could, Bengt can never come back to me.
“They say you’ve made a mistake.” Pandora’s voice is calm. “They say I’ve made a mistake, too. The difference is you were a child. I was not.”
I just blink. This sentence reminds me why I’m here, and when I ask the question, it’s not just for myself.
I want to know.
“And do you truly see it this way? A mistake?” I whisper.
“Do you find joy in life? Have you ever?” Pandora asks, her tone turning sadder. I want to give an honest answer, but they are two separate questions.
“Not now,” I begin, “but there used to be a lot.”
She nods.
“Then I wasn’t mistaken.”
Her delicate hands play a soft melody on the thick strings.
