Itsy Bitsy Spider (Emma Frost #1) Read Online Free PDF

room.
     

10
2012
    Victor was
still playing in the yard when I returned to the
house. Maya was nowhere to be seen. I walked out the French doors and looked at
my son playing in the piles of leaves on the ground, talking to the trees like
he used to do to the plants back in our apartment in Copenhagen.
    They like it when you talk to
them, Mommy. They need company too .
    It was okay, his doctor had said.
    "It's probably just easier for him to talk
to things that won't answer. People with light autism like Victor find it hard
to be social and be with people. At least this way he's not lonely."
    "But he tells me they talk back," I
had said.
    "It's still okay. No harm in that. He just
has a vivid imagination and that's not a bad thing. Let him. Just remember to
not let him lose complete touch with reality. He'll be just fine. You'll
see."
    Other doctors hadn't been as positive. His
school had claimed he was getting worse and soon after demanded I did something
and had given me pamphlets and numbers of physicians who knew a lot about his
condition. They told me he needed all kinds of medicine and basically scared
the crap out of me. After that I tried all kinds of group therapy and
acupuncture and whatnot, but nothing had helped him. The fact was that he was
living in a world of his own from time to time and there were days I was afraid
of losing him to it completely, but somehow he always returned to me.
    As I watched him in the yard I couldn't see
anything wrong with him playing on his own, even if he was talking to the trees
like they were alive. How could there be anything wrong with that when he was
this happy? I was beginning to think I should have stuck with our family
doctor's advice and just not overdramatize the whole thing. The so-called
specialists didn't even have a name for what was supposed to be wrong with him.
It wasn't Asperger's Disorder, it wasn't autism, it was something milder, but
still interfering with his social skills.
    Personally I believed he was just sad that his
father had left him. That's all it was if you asked me, but then again, I
wasn't a doctor.
    The wind had picked up but it wasn't cold yet
even if it was September. It was what they called Indian summer. Victor seemed
to still be in his seventh heaven so I decided to let him play for a little
more and did some more unpacking. Maya had taken her stuff I was happy to see,
so I had only mine and Victor's left. I spent a couple of hours unpacking my
kitchen stuff, then an hour or so in the living room removing some of my
grandmother's stuff and putting up my own pictures and so on. I called for a
pizza and we ate and went to bed.
    The next day I continued where I had stopped the
day before. After breakfast I picked up a box, went upstairs to my bedroom and
opened it. I removed some of my grandmother's old books from the shelves and
put my own up instead, then I arranged the old desk, found my laptop and placed
it in the middle.
    The idea still lingered in my head. Everybody
loved a good murder-mystery, didn't they? Maybe I could write one based on Mrs.
Heinrichsen's story. My fingers were eager to start typing and I turned on the
laptop and sat down on a beautiful old hand carved wooden chair. Even if it
wasn't quite my style I quite enjoyed the furniture my grandmother had left me.
It was beautiful, very old-fashioned and a lot of it probably antique, but it
was stunning. An old long case clock that looked like it was several centuries
old chimed in the corner. It was quite a sound.
    My computer made a sound and I opened the
Internet. I didn't have my own connection yet, but none of the neighbor's was
locked or even had a passcode, so I used one of theirs till I had my own
installed. It felt good to be connected to the world again and I started
searching the newspapers on the web for the murder on Fanoe Island. A few
popped up, but most of them just small notes stating someone was found dead in
a house in Fanoe Island and that the police thought it