(c) Copyright Henrik Larsen 2001



Comments are very welcome. You can reach me either through assd or by e-mail at henlar@hotmail.com.


This story contains elements of explicit sexual nature. 

If, for some reason, you feel offended by erotic stories, then I don't know why you have opened this one. Maybe to be offended, so you can complain about how awful it is that somebody writes stuff like this. If that's the case, my advice is to seek professional help. You need it. If you are not allowed to read stories like this, I will not be held responsible, if you choose to continue. But don't worry; it's all fantasy.

A great thanks to Old Rotorhead and Cagey. I'm very grateful for their patient work, correcting and editing my stories, and their constant encouragement.

Reposting or any other use of this story is strictly prohibited without the express, written permission of the author.



The Neighbour's daughter. Chapter 15.

It took me until Tuesday to convince Sophie that she should call her parents again. She was very moody and I had to go easy on her. One minute, she was overly happy that we were together, and that she could do as she pleased, the next she was crying because her mother wouldn't listen to her or because she didn't have any money and had to rely totally on others for everything, even her clothes. 

I saw Sophie's parents on the stairs Tuesday morning. They looked worried, really worried. I decided that I'd have to make Sophie call them in the evening. I was gentle about it, but insistent. I didn't tell her that I've seen her parents, but I told her that they were bound to be worried sick and that they probably were ready to listen to her. Sophie was still reluctant to do it, but finally she accepted. I think it was more for my sake than for her parents. 

The phone-conversation with her mother was short, but they didn't get into an argument. Sophie just told her that she was doing fine, and her mother was apparently so relieved just hearing from her that she didn't try to make her tell where she was or anything thing else that could upset Sophie. Sophie promised her to call again the next day and that was it. 

The phone call lifted Sophie's spirits considerably. Wednesday's call was much the same, and when Sophie's mother asked where she was staying, Sophie calmly told her that she was staying with a friend and that it would be best if they didn't know who it was. 

Thursday, Sophie's mother listened when Sophie told her that she wanted to be able to go out and visit her friends, if she was going to move back. Her mother just said that they would have to work out something and that she would talk with Sophie's father. When Sophie hung up, she was relieved and very happy.  

It was something else that gave Sophie a headache: a party Friday night. It was a school party and only for the pupils, which meant that I couldn't participate. Sophie had never been to a school party before and she badly wanted to go, but she wanted me to go along and that was impossible. I told her to go and have a good time with Nina and her classmates. 

Sophie couldn't make up her mind, no matter how many times I told her to go. It was very difficult for me to understand why she would rather be with me than go to the party she had dreamed of like Cinderella in her room. I began to suspect that she was afraid to go, because she didn't know how to behave and didn't know how to dance. She wouldn't admit it when I asked her, but a little later she asked me about dancing. I told her to watch what others did and try to do the same. I wasn't much of a dancer and certainly not able to teach her.

Friday afternoon when Nina came around to pick her up, she still hadn't made up her mind. Nina ignored Sophie's indecisiveness and dragged her into the bedroom. When they came out, Sophie was dressed to kill. Nina had brought her makeup purse and she helped Sophie put on a dazzling makeup. Before Sophie had time to change her mind, Nina towed her along. 

The party ended at midnight and I'd promised to pick her up outside the school. She was ecstatic when she came out.

"It was wonderful. Nina showed me how to dance and it was so much fun. I've danced all evening. My legs are so tired, but it was so wonderful," Sophie chirped.

"You see? I told you it would be great," I said. 

Nina came over to say good night. She had to get home and get some sleep, because she was going to work Saturday morning. A couple of senior boys approached us and offered to follow Sophie home. She put her arm around me.

"No, it's cool. My boyfriend will walk me home."

She was almost bursting with pride when she said it and I think it made it even better that the boys looked disappointed. I can understand why they were disappointed; Sophie looked fantastic. Her cheeks were glowing in the cool midnight air and her eyes were shining brighter than the stars. 

Sophie talked and talked. She only stopped talking while we walked up the stairs to my flat and when she brushed her teeth. She continued talking in the bed, until she all of a sudden went quiet. I'd been lying on my back with Sophie's head resting on my arm. When I looked at her, she was asleep.   

- - - 

On Sunday, Sophie told her mother about the party. Sophie's mother didn't say very much and I don't think she was pleased, but Sophie didn't notice. She was still very excited about the party. Monday's phone call was short, but Tuesday they finally began to talk about moving back home. Her parents were willing to let her go out, but she would have to be home by nine on weekdays and if she was going to be out later in the weekend, her parents would come and pick her up. Sophie said that she wanted to think it over.

Sophie thought that nine was too early and she didn't want her parents to pick her up, if she was out in the weekend. I suggested a compromise: nine thirty on weekdays and if she was home before ten on weekends, she could go home alone. 

Her parents accepted it and on Thursday, Sophie moved back while they were at work. She stayed home Thursday evening and I was dying to hear what had happened. Sophie waited in my flat when I came home Friday afternoon.

"It was awful to sit and wait for them. I was about to lose my nerve, just before they came home. Mum was almost too much. She hugged me and cried like I'd been gone for ages," Sophie said.

"Well?" I asked, impatiently. 

"They wanted to know where I'd gotten the money to buy new clothes," she explained. "I was so nervous. Anyhow, I told them that I'd borrowed the clothes from Nina and that I wanted to go out and buy some new clothes today. Mum said that she wanted to go with me and I told her she couldn't. Mum insisted until I said that I'd leave again, if they didn't let me decide what I was going to wear. That was what we had agreed on. Then mum gave in."

Sophie reached inside her pocket and took out the money her parents had given her. 

"Here. I hope that will be enough," she said and handed me the money.

"No. You'll need more clothes. Just think of it as all the birthday and Christmas presents I've never given you."

"Please. I want you to have the money," Sophie insisted.

"Look, Sophie. I have a job and earn money now. It's not like when I studied. You can pay me back when you have finished school and earn money, too. That's final. Put it back," I said.

"I don't . . . "

"Sophie, please. Keep it and let's go out and buy some clothes for you. I'll just need to get a cup of coffee," I interrupted her. 

She reluctantly accepted and put the money back in her pocket. 

"So, what else happened?" I asked. 

"It was awkward. I didn't know what to say or do and all Mum could say was that it was good I was back. Dad didn't say much at all. We just sat there all evening, looked at the telly and said as little as possible. I went to bed at nine," she said.  

"Don't worry. It will get better," I assured her.

"They didn't ask me about anything, the party, what I'd been doing, nothing!"

"Would you have answered, if they had asked you what you had been doing?" I asked.

"Yes! I mean, as long as they didn't ask where I was and . . . OK, maybe I wouldn't. But I wanted to tell mum about the party." Sophie said.

"I'm sure she'll listen if you tell her, but she doesn't know what you want to tell and what you don't want to tell. And I don't think you should tell her about me. Not yet."

"I just want to tell . . . someone. I've got a boyfriend and new clothes - - Nina knows and some of my classmates, but . . . " Sophie trailed off. 

"Oh, my sweet little Sophie," I burst our, and hugged her tightly. "I love you so much."

- - - 

Things gradually got back to normal. Sophie visited me almost every evening. I was still convinced that her parents would flip the lid if they knew, so Sophie went downstairs and out the door, waited and then quietly went up again to visit me. This time, I didn't put my hopes up too high. Even though it seemed like everything was ok and we could go on like this, I knew it could end tomorrow. I was right, only this time, it wasn't Sophie that caused the commotion; it was Mrs Larsen. 

A week later, on Thursday, I'd visited Mrs Larsen and she wasn't well. It looked like she finally was going to die like she wanted to. I couldn't help feeling sad and I guess I was hoping she would get better. The head nurse stopped me on the way out. 

"Mrs Larsen is very weak. She refuses to eat and I was hoping that maybe you could convince her to eat something. If not, we will have to feed her by tube," she said.

"Why? Mrs Larsen wants to die. She's not coming home and she doesn't want to end up in a home. Why do you have to keep her alive?" I heard myself asking.

The nurse looked at me with a stone face. 

"We can't just let people die. This is a hospital," she replied.

"Well, perhaps Mrs Larsen doesn't belong in a hospital. Look, I know you can't let people die. I just told you what Mrs Larsen has told me over and over again, since before she came here. If she has decided not to eat, nobody in this world can make her chance her mind." 

The nurse suddenly relaxes a little.

"Sorry. I know this isn't easy. I was just hoping that you could help. We have tried to feed her by tube, but she blankly refused. We won't be able to insert the tube until she loses consciousness and by them it might be too late," she said.

"It may sound cruel, but I hope it will be too late. She really wants to die."

- - -

The call came on Saturday afternoon.

"Mr Eric Green?"

"That's me."

"It's from the hospital. Mrs Larsen has just passed away. I'm sorry, but it happened very quickly and we didn't have time to call you."

I recognised the voice as belonging to the nurse I spoke with on Thursday. She sounded so cold and businesslike, and it made me both angry and sad.

"I think that was what she wanted," I replied.

"Will you be arranging the funeral?"

Her question caught me by surprise. I'd never thought about who was going to do that. 

"Eh, I guess so . . . Didn't she leave any names on her next of kind?" I asked, very well knowing that she, to my knowledge, had no family left.

"No, only your name and a phone number to a man I don't know. We haven't been able to reach him," the nurse calmly replied.

"A man you don't know? Never mind. I'll come around in an hour or so. Will you be there?"

"I'll be here until five."

I hung up and it suddenly occurred to me that I felt more relieved than sad. Then I thought about the funeral and that worried me a little. I had no idea how to go about arranging a funeral. 

I went to the hospital right away. Once I was there, the head nurse was friendlier and much more compassionate. I mainly needed to know what the procedure was, but I was also interested in who the other man was.  

"I's a Mr Zimmermann," the head nurse informed me. "We haven't been able to get in touch with him yet, but I'll try later and again tomorrow."

"Has he been here?" I asked.

"Not during my shifts. I've never seen anyone but you visit Mrs Larsen. Now, you don't have to do anything until Monday. She has to stay in the morgue for 24 hours. If you want to take care of the arrangements, I'll suggest that you contact a Funeral service. They can handle it for you. If not, we'll put an advert in the papers and announce her death. If nobody claims the body, the council will pay for the burial."

"I think I'll take care of it. As far as I know, she had no living relatives, unless Mr Zimmermann is a relative. Her son died young and her husband has been dead for many years, too. She's never talked about any relatives. She did play bridge, but two of the bridge-players are dead and the last one was in a home. He isn't able to recognise anybody, not even his own children. He might be dead by now. I haven't heard anything about him for some time. Mrs Larsen feared to end up like that," I said.

"What is your relations to the deceased?" the nurse asked.

"Eh, I'm her neighbour," I replied.

"In my experience, it is very unlikely that Mrs Larsen has any relatives. If she had, she would have talked about them. Old people like her often show us a ten-year-old holiday postcard and say: 'See, my grandson has written to me from Spain'. It's so sad. Mr Zimmermann is probably an old acquaintance. He might be the last bridge player."

"Maybe. I can't recall his surname. She usually referred to him by his first name, Samuel," I said. "Thanks for your help. I'll get back to you on Monday."

I had to get out of there. It was so depressing being there and to listen to the stories about old, abandoned people; Old people dying alone in a hospital, nobody to take care of anything. To live a whole lifetime and end up with a senile old friend and a neighbour you've only known for a few years. God, it was depressing. 

It felt good to get out in the fresh cool autumn air. I wanted to forget about Mrs Larsen and the funeral arrangements until Monday. I walked home to get time gather my thoughts and put the hospital behind me. When I got home, I picked up Mrs Larsen's key and went into her flat. I tried to picture her in her favourite chair and refresh the memories of her from before she went to the hospital. That was the way I wanted to remember her: a nice, bright and witty old lady.

I went out into the kitchen. I'd bought a good supply of red wine, just before she went into hospital and I took two bottles with me back to my flat. I knew she wouldn't mind. Actually, I think she would have wanted me to. 

Sophie came around after dinner. I had considered taking her out, but I suddenly didn't feel up to it. Fortunately, I hadn't promised her anything, so we stayed in and talked about Mrs Larsen and Sophie's parents. Sophie didn't really know Mrs Larsen. Her parents apparently thought that Mrs Larsen was a nosy old lady and had told Sophie to stay away from her. Sophie knew better and had asked me if she could come along to the hospital when Mrs Larsen was first admitted. I'd asked Mrs Larsen and she didn't want Sophie to see her in the hospital. 

"This is not a place where you should spent your time and it is most certainly not a place to invite a sixteen year old girl. Tell her that she can visit me when I get home. That will be better," had been Mrs Larsen's reply. 

I'd already told Sophie that Mrs Larsen wouldn't return to her flat, so I told her the truth and tried to explain why. I think she understood. Explaining it to Sophie helped me understand. 

I didn't want to spend all evening talking about Mrs Larsen, and instead we talked about Sophie's parents and how they were getting along. It was better now. Sophie could feel some tension, when she said she was going out, but they didn't say anything. Sophie had to tell them where she was going, but it wasn't really a problem. Nina had explained everything to her mother, and she had been very upset about the way Sophie was treated by her parents. Nina's mother had agreed to cover for Sophie when she was with me. Sophie would say that she was with Nina and if Sophie's parents were to call Nina, her mum would say that they were out or that Sophie was on her way home. Then she would and call me. 

Sunday afternoon, I got another call.

"Eric Green?" a male voice asked.

"Yes." 

"I'm Mr. Zimmermann. I believe you are Elvira's neighbour?"

"Elvira? I'm not sure I know anybody by that name . . . Oh, you mean Mrs Larsen." I said, remembering who Mr Zimmermann was.

"Oh, sorry. How stupid of me. I am, or rather was Mrs Larsen's lawyer. I just wanted to tell you that you don't have to worry about the funeral. Mrs Larsen left instructions with me and unless you insists, I'll take care of the arrangements." Mr Zimmermann said.

"Eh, no. I mean, yes, fine. I don't really know anything about funerals," I answered.

"Good. Now, do you think you could drop by my office? I would like to talk to you and I must admit that I'm a little curious to see you, now that I've heard so much about you." 

Mr Zimmermann had a very pleasant voice and he sounded so friendly. 

"Where's your office?" I asked.

"Oh, it's about two minutes from your office. Elvira told me where you work." 

He told me the address and I agree to come the next day after work. It wasn't until after I'd put down the phone that I realised that I'd never known Mrs Larsen's first name. I didn't know how old she really was, either and I'd never heard about Mr Zimmermann before, but Mr Zimmermann apparently knew all about me. And why did he want to talk to me? I'd have to wait to find out.  


  

To be continued. 
  


You can find more stories written by me at:
http://www.asstr.org/~henlar/ 
ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/henlar

      
