Carl skimmed over the page. “She doesn’t seem to have been well in 2000. Poor girl.” Then he pointed at 2002. “I can see that there are two different phrases in some of the years, and three in 2014. Why is that? Have you also figured that out, Gordon?”
“Yes and no. I don’t know exactly why they change, but it’s possible to count the days and work out exactly when the phrases change, so we can assume that something significant must have happened in her life on those days.”
Carl scrutinized the page further. Five of the years had two different phrases, while only one had three.
“We do know why the change occurred in 2014, right, Carl?” said Assad. “She chose to use a new phrase just after the hypnosis, isn’t that right, Gordon?”
He nodded, looking slightly surprised. “Yes, exactly. And it’s actually the only year that has a few empty days in the middle. She starts off writing: ‘IT ISN’T HAPPENING IT ISN’T HAPPENING.’ Then we have three empty days, which she just marks with separating lines, and then for the rest of the year the phrase: ‘AWAY AWAY AWAY.’”
“All very peculiar,” observed Assad. “What happens when a new year begins? Does she just come up with new phrases every time?”
Gordon’s expression changed. It was very difficult to see how this really affected him. On the one hand, he was serious like a relief worker coming to the last-minute rescue of someone in peril, and on the other hand, like an elated boy who had just scored his first girlfriend.
“That’s a brilliant question, Assad. She actually starts all twenty-seven years except four with a new sentence on January 1st.”
Assad and Carl stared at the years, especially 1998 and 1999. DIE! It made them feel uneasy. Could it really be their Rose who in such an agitated frame of mind had written “DIE DIE DIE DIE” again and again every day for a year and a half?
“It’s almost sick,” said Carl. “How can a young woman sit night after night and write this terrible stuff? And then suddenly turn on a dime and constantly cry for help? What was going on in her head?”
“Really scary,” Assad said quietly.
“Have you also worked out on which date the phrases change in 1999, Gordon?” asked Carl.
“It was May 18th,” answered Gordon immediately. He looked proud and had every reason to be.
“Jesus Christ, no,” sighed Carl.
Gordon looked confused. “Did anything special happen on that day?” he asked.
Carl nodded, pointing to a thin yellow folder hidden between two binders with white indexes in the back.
REGULATIONS was written on them. That was one way to make sure that no one in Department Q would come anywhere near the yellow folder.
Gordon reached out for the yellow folder and handed it to Carl.
“Here’s your explanation,” he said, pulling out a page from a newspaper from the folder and laying it out on the desk.
He pointed at the date on the top of the page—May 19th, 1999—and ran his finger down the page, stopping at one of the minor news stories.
47-YEAR-OLD MAN KILLED IN STEEL PLANT ACCIDENT, it read.
Carl let his finger slide down the text to the victim’s name.
“As you can see, the man was called Arne Knudsen,” he said. “And that was Rose’s dad.”
They stood speechless for a moment, digesting what they had just read, their eyes moving from the article to Gordon’s sheet.
“I think we can agree that Rose’s notebooks are a collected statement of her state of mind throughout more than twenty-six years,” said Carl, pinning Gordon’s sheet to the notice board.
“You probably don’t want it hanging there when Rose comes back,” said Gordon.
Assad nodded. “Of course not, she’d never forgive us—or her sisters.”
Carl agreed, but it would have to stay for now.
“We know from her sisters, Vicky and Lise-Marie, that Rose’s dad was always after her and that Rose sought escape in these notebooks when she was alone in her room at night,” he said. “Apparently, it was a form of therapy for her, but something indicates that it didn’t help her in the long run.”
“Did he hit her?” Gordon clenched his fists, but it didn’t look very menacing.
“No, not according to her sisters. And neither did he abuse her sexually,” said Assad.
“Then the bastard was all mouth?” Gordon’s face had turned scarlet. It actually suited him.
“Yes, again according to her sisters,” answered Carl. “He terrorized her without mercy. We just don’t know how, so we need to find out. We can conclude that there wasn’t a single day in more than twenty-six years when this systematic harassment didn’t affect her, leaving her with deep mental scars.”
“I just can’t believe that this is the Rose we know,” said Assad. “Can you?”
Carl sighed. It was hard.
They stood in front of Gordon’s sheet, studying it closely. Just like the others, Carl examined each line carefully before moving on to the next.
At least twenty minutes passed before anyone said anything. They had all taken mental notes based on their reading. Carl had felt a stab to his heart at least ten times thinking about Rose’s self-initiated and lonely therapy. Years of silently screaming for help.
He sighed. It really was surprisingly hard to think about this woman whom they thought they knew so well but who for all these years had had to live with overshadowing and profound emotions that she was able to deal with only through writing all these harsh phrases.
Oh, Rose, thought Carl. Despite the way she had been feeling inside, she had still had the energy to help and support him when he was down. And on top of that, she had found the strength every day to engage wholeheartedly with the tough cases they worked on in Department Q. So long as she had had this safe system to come home to, she had been able to cope with all the negativity she had inside.
Intelligent, clever Rose. Everyone’s annoying, wonderful, tortured Rose. And now she had been admitted again. Ultimately, her system hadn’t been enough for her.
“Listen,” said Carl.
The other two looked up.
“There is no doubt that her relationship to her dad determined her choice of words. But can’t we also agree that when a phrase changes in the middle of a year, it must be related to a very specific event, and for many years at the beginning they only change for the worse?”
They both nodded.
“And we can deduce that there have also been positive developments later on. A nightmare in 2000 slowly becomes easier over the following years, ending with the phrase, ‘I AM GOOD.’ So if we want to understand what happened to Rose, which of course we do, our task is to uncover the events that triggered either bad or good phrases. The development is most prominent when her dad died in ’99: from something completely irreconcilable to almost the opposite.”
“What do you think? Is she talking to herself or her dad when she writes?” asked Gordon.
“Yeah, that’s what we need to ask for help in working out from those who knew her best back then.”
“Then we’ll have to talk to her sisters again. Perhaps they know what happened in the years when the phrases suddenly changed.”
Carl nodded.