‘Jesus Christ Almighty…’
Elena hurried to the bed, in front of which the girl was cowering on the floor, pressing her hand on her blood-soaked forearm. This had been bandaged before the emergency drill; now it lay on the floor like an unwound loo roll.
‘What happened, sweetie? What happened?’ the doctor cried, squatting beside the girl.
Elena was still partially in shock, but Martin had already identified the cause of the injury.
The blood was on the sheets, in Anouk’s face, on her arms, fingers and nightshirt. Martin even found some spots on the polished stainless steel cupboard on the wall beneath the television, which suggested that the blood must have spurted from an artery in a high trajectory.
‘Her artery’s been gashed,’ he said, then asked Elena where the disinfectant and fresh bandages were.
Judging by the colour in Anouk’s face it wasn’t as bad as it looked at first glance. Martin knew from experience that even small amounts of lost blood could create a godawful mess.
‘Her artery?’ Elena said in disbelief, pointing to the bathroom door. She told him a code, whose significance he only realised when he discovered the safe-like cabinet beneath the basin. The supplies were locked away for security.
Besides syringes, infusion needles, tubes, scissors and other items handy for committing suicide, Martin found the disinfectant spray and bandages he was looking for.
He brought them to Elena and watched her lift the child’s chin. Anouk kept her eyes closed. A small white dot stuck to the fluff on her upper lip. Some cotton wool or a bit of tissue.
Martin busily removed the bedclothes and shook them out. Then he lifted the mattress, took off the hygienic cover, but he didn’t find anything here either. No razor blade, no knife, no pencil.
‘You were the last one in here with her,’ Elena said reproachfully, after taking Anouk over to the leather sofa where she examined the girl’s arm. The blood started flowing again when the girl stopped pressing her hand on it, like raindrops spattering from a fir branch, and so Elena immediately applied a tourniquet.
‘Are you suggesting I egged her on when I was alone with her?’ Martin asked in anger.
‘No, of course not, but…’ The corners of Elena’s eyes were twitching nervously. ‘Who was it, sweetheart?’ She stroked Anouk’s cheek. ‘Who hurt you?’
No answer.
‘I know who did it,’ Martin whispered.
‘What? Who?’ Elena looked up at him.
‘She did it herself.’
‘I’m sorry? No! That’s impossible. Why on earth would she do anything like that?’
There are many possible reasons: she wants to relieve pressure, let the pain out from her body, feel that she’s alive…
‘At any rate she wasn’t trying to kill herself with these injuries,’ he said. Otherwise she wouldn’t have tried to secure her arm. Or pressed the worry button.
Everything suggested to him that although she’d deliberately cut herself, the depth of the wound wasn’t intentional.
‘How can it have happened?’ Elena asked distraught. ‘There aren’t any sharp objects here she could have got hold of. I swear I gave the cabin a thorough search after the incident with the pencils.’
The pencils. Exactly!
Martin waited until Elena had finished tying the tourniquet, then asked, ‘How many pieces of paper did you give her that day?’
She looked at him in horror.
‘I don’t know. I didn’t count.’
Mistake.
Big mistake.
Elena saw the contrition in Martin’s face and slapped her hand over her mouth.
‘You mean…’ She turned to Anouk. ‘Darling, please tell me. Did you cut yourself with a piece of paper?’
Anouk didn’t answer, but Martin was certain. When dealing with mentally disturbed patients you couldn’t be careful enough. During his time as a student he’d come across a sixteen-year-old who’d run the edge of a piece of paper across both eyes.
‘Did you keep one piece back?’ he said, trying to get through to Anouk. With success. She opened her eyelids. Although Martin wasn’t sure she recognised him, there could be no doubt about the fury radiating from her. She nodded and her eyes flashed angrily. Martin and Elena looked at each other meaningfully. ‘You ate the paper afterwards, didn’t you?’
That’s why there was a speck of white on her upper lip.
Pulp!
Anouk pressed her lips together mutely. She looked livid, probably because he’d got to the bottom of her secret so easily.
Martin fetched a wet towel from the bathroom to clean Anouk’s face, something she only reluctantly permitted.
In the cupboard below the television were fresh bedclothes, which Martin put on while Elena sorted out a nightshirt for Anouk. Together they took the girl, who looked weak but not in a critical condition, back to her bed.
Martin caught sight of the drawing computer on her bedside table. The screen was dark but a yellow LED light was lit, signalling that it was in standby mode. As Anouk sunk back into bed, he picked up the device and activated the display.
‘Wow!’ he exclaimed. The drawing Anouk must have done during the emergency drill was unbelievably detailed and accurate. A masterpiece which left no doubt that she was a highly talented child, at least in art.
Because he didn’t want to take the computer away from the girl, Martin fished his mobile from his pocket and photographed the screen. Then he left Anouk, who’d closed her eyes again and waited outside the cabin for Elena.
*
‘Anouk drew that?’ the doctor asked after she’d dressed the girl in a clean nightshirt and left the cabin too. ‘All by herself?’ She stared in disbelief at the picture on Martin’s mobile, showing a hole yawning murkily in the ground – a well perhaps – at the bottom of which you could see water shimmering darkly. The drawing also showed a rope that extended down the shaft to the water.
‘Is there anywhere here on the ship that looks roughly like this? A hole, a cavity or a bulkhead through which you can see the ocean?’ he asked Elena.
The doctor knitted her brow and bent her head sideways to look at the picture from a different angle. ‘Hmm,’ she said indecisively. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that. And, in general, cruise ships rarely have holes in their hulls when out at sea.’
Out at sea, Martin repeated in his head, and that gave him an idea.
Of course. When they’re out at sea. But what about when they’re not?
‘Which deck is the anchor room on?’ he asked excitedly.
‘Anchor? You mean…’
A hole, beneath it water, a rope, which could also be a chain.
‘Which deck?’ he urged her. ‘Please!’
Elena thought about it. ‘There are several,’ she said eventually. ‘As far as I know there’s one on deck 3. And another higher up, on deck 11, I think.’
11 + 3
The blood was pumping noticeably faster in Martin’s veins. He glanced again at the image of the toy computer and said, ‘Maybe it’s just my imagination running wild. But it can’t do any harm if we take a look around the anchor room.’