6. Closed Forever Bracelet

Sandor was with me downstairs. Ilse and Jutta were with Sylvia now. Keeping watch over her by night. Sandor looked tired. His shoulders, always squared and steady, now sagged like wilted leaves. The furrow between his brows, so accustomed to holding a mask of calm, deepens, but not with focus—only weariness. Dark circles bruised beneath his eyes. His jaw, perpetually clenched to maintain composure, finally slackens, and his mouth quivers—not a smile, not a frown, but the trembling uncertainty of someone who has forgotten how to express what he feels.

Tears pooled, not in a dramatic rush, but slow and heavy, tracing lines down his cheeks as though each drop carried the weight of a buried worry. His legs weakened, and he leaned against the nearest surface, then slid down with his back against the wall until he was sitting, knees drawn up, head bowed. Tired of pretending. I sat beside him and pulled his head to my chest, like I did when he has six years old and their family cat had died on them.

“I am so scared...” he whispered. “It’s all my fault. If I had said to Dad that I would have kept Mom as well, this might never have happened. If I had not been so busy with myself and had kept my promise to give her a nice birthday gift, something thoughtful...”

“If you would stop this unpleasant guilt trip of yours, I can explain to you that some things happen that are nobody’s fault. It’s not your fault; it’s not Peter’s or Natasha’s fault; it’s not your dad’s fault for dying, and it’s not your mother’s fault for grieving for him. So if you want to skip the self-pity and do something constructive, perhaps you can help me make coffee so we can devise a battle plan of how we can distract your mother’s attention into something else.”

A few moments later, a slightly better-looking Sandor was sitting on my couch next to me, behind a warm cup of coffee. “Unless I can go to my doctor to ask for an injection that will pour Dominatrix-blood into my veins, we have to think of something else that will completely occupy your mom’s mind. And forget about another man, because it’s way too soon for that.”

“What are you thinking of?” He asked.

“I don’t trust her to be alone any longer. She needs to be under my surveillance day and night. I never want to be in a situation where I might be too late. I won’t risk Sylvia doing something foolish while I’m absent. That’s just not going to happen.”

“That basically means you don’t want to let her out of your sight,” Sandor said.

“Yes, until I can trust her to do not stupid things, I want to know where she is and what she is doing.”

“To do that, you basically have to be physically tied to her, so you will always be close to her and she can do nothing to take her own life again.” Sandor said slowly.

“Out with it.” I said. “You obviously are thinking of something.”

“You won’t like it. It’s rather kinky.”

“Kink is my middle name. Spill it out.”

Sandor couldn’t keep a straight face and grinned. “In Belgium, there is an artisan who makes all kinds of metal kink items. Perhaps he can make a bracelet with a chain between the two of you. You could hook that chain to your own bracelet so she will be forced to be wherever you are, or you can hook her to something solid where you can keep an eye on her.”

“It will never work. She will take the chain off when I’m not paying attention, or in my sleep,” I objected.

“Unless”, Sandor’s eyes got big and full of life again, “unless you are the only person who can take it off. Something only you can take off, but will always be tied to her. That might work!”

Sandor was already busy getting his phone from his jacket. He took his time to text. Guys text way slower than women. The response came 15 seconds later.

He looked up from the screen with a big smile on his face. “I have the number of the bloke in Belgium, the one that made the chastity belt for Girl.” He pushed the numbers into a new contact.

He kissed my forehead. “I will call him tomorrow. Thank you, Auntie Zuz. Thank you for saving my mother’s life.”

“It’s a Ricardo Masterpiece.”

We were in Belgium. In La Louvière to be precise. It’s a Sunday, and La Louvière is as quiet as a library hosting a mime convention. We called ‘Master Ricardo’ and asked him if we could see him as soon as possible. On Friday and Saturday nights, we had taken turns watching over Sylvia. The medication seemed to have worn off a bit, and her eyes looked a little clearer. Sandor and Ilse, Jutta, Sylvia and I were crowding the little shop.