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**//__The Suitcase __//** By. Aubrey Rodden My name is Chrysanthemum Hodges. My dad called me Chrissie. I’m thirty years old. This is the story of how I lost my parents and what the Frei Fever has taken away from me. These are my thoughts and memories, written down as how I wrote my thoughts in my journal. And yes, I wrote my exact thoughts down as if it were a story already in my mind: **May 2, 1953** //He shares everything with me! Why is there a secret between us now? This one secret could lead to more secrets. What if we start to drift apart? That can’t happen! He’s the only parent I have left!// I thought despairingly. I’m usually a cheery, happy girl who loves life, even though I only have a dad. I’m carefree. Dad and I get along so well; he’s like my best friend. I don’t remember much about my mother because her life was taken by something called Frei Fever. She’s gone now, leaving me with my dad. Dad’s never kept secrets from me before, so why is he starting to now? There is a large visible secret in our life, and it feels like it is driving a rift between us. He came home yesterday with a heavy looking, black suitcase. I asked him what was in it. He answered “Nothing” but I knew better. I had heard something shifting in there and I wanted to know what it was. When I tried to open it so I could have a look at what was inside the suitcase, he slapped my hand and took it into his “locked room”. He’s never slapped my hands before, and when I say that there are no secrets between us, I mean **//__no__//** secrets. I know the combination to every safe, and I know how to open every locked door in the house because dad wanted me to know that he has nothing to hide from me. But now, he has taken his secret suitcase in his room, to keep me away from it. It scares me that he’s keeping secrets now. But that’s not all that’s changed. Dad’s also becoming more and more distant. He used to spend time with me at every spare moment he had, but now, he just site in the living room, as if he’s going to read, but he just stares off into space and when I try to speak to him, he jumps, as if I’ve startled him out of a deep thought process. He also has a shorter temper. He snaps at me all the time now. That’s also new with him. He loved me, even when I made stupid mistakes that cost him either a lot of time, or money, and he never snapped at me or got mad. But even that has changed. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that this wasn’t even my dad anymore, and that he’d been replaced with some sort of cruel, alternate version of my dad. There’s something familiar about this behavior, but I can’t quite place where it’s from. All I know is that my loving, carefree father is changing, and I don’t know why. I guess that my internal fear is that I’ll lose my only parent to some unknown thing that he kept secret from me, and that I’ll be all alone. I’m only thirteen; I can’t take care of myself. And I refuse to go to the “orphanage”. The kids there are insane. Their always talking about strange people giving a blue liquid shot to patients, or about how they’ll end up working in the underground tunnels if they misbehave. Like I said, they’re insane. All I can say is, I hope that this secret, whatever it is, will leave me and my dad alone, so we can move on with our lives.

So tonight I tried to sneak into dad’s room while he was away. I took my ring of keys, and I went to his door. But when I tried to unlock his door, the key wouldn’t turn. I thought that I might have just used the wrong key, so I tried them all. None of them worked. Then it occurred to me that he changed his lock so that I couldn’t get into his room. It’s almost like he knew I would try to sneak into his room to look inside of the suitcase. It’s just like I feared. This one secret is driving a rift between us and it’s leading to more secrets. He’s keeping his room locked up so that his secret will stay secret. It breaks my heart. But I promised myself that I would figure out what is in that suitcase, and I don’t plan on breaking that promise. I will figure it out if it’s the last thing I do. As I am entering this into my journal, I am figuring out how to get ahold of the key to his room. I should be able to get the key without a problem, but getting it back to him without him noticing that I took it in the first place will be the tricky part.
 * May 5, 1953 **

So earlier today, I managed to get the key away from dad. When he left to go check on his shop (he hasn’t been going to work lately and he wanted to check that no one had broken in), I snuck into his room and found the suitcase. When I opened it, I couldn’t figure out why papers needed to be so secret. I started to look through them. What I found terrified me. There were all sorts of medical statements with large words that I did not understand. For as long as I’ve known my dad, he’s never gone to the hospital. HE always told me that people who went to the hospital were weak and that they didn’t know how to take care of themselves without the help of a “professional”. He would spit at the thought of having to go to the doctor. But according to all of the medical results, I’d say he’s been going to the doctor for a while. And each visit is one lie. This was a suitcase of lies and secrets. I wanted to burn it. But I didn’t. I managed to return the key to him without him getting suspicious of me, which is good, because if he figured out that I stole it to sneak into his room, I’d be in so much trouble. And yet another one of his new traits; to punish me for no reason. While looking through his papers, I see one thing that said “Frei Fever”. My heart stops. And shatters. It explains everything; the short temper, the distantness, the sudden punish-me-for-everything streak. I suddenly remembered. My mother acted like this before she died. I couldn’t pair the attitude change with what happened with my mother because she died when I was four years old. That was nine years ago. I was too young to remember a lot about her. But now it all fits. I guess he kept it a secret because he didn’t want to worry me. Well too bad. I know now and yeah, I’m definitely worried. My only problem is that I don’t know whether I should talk to him about it, or if I should keep my mouth shut. If I keep my mouth shut, I’ll be keeping a secret, but he’d never know that I knew. If I tell him, he might punish me for sneaking around, but he also might apologize for his strange behavior. I don’t know, I just don’t know.
 * May 7, 1953 **

I decided to tell him. He was mad at first, but then he apologized for keeping secrets. And now, everything seems to be going back to normal. Almost. Now that his secret about him having Frei Fever is out, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that he’ll die soon. I’ll be all alone. We had a talk about where I would live with after he… goes. But the only person we could figure out is my Aunt Mariah, mom’s sister. She lives in New Jersey. That’s a long way from Charleston, South Carolina. But I know this time of me leaving is coming soon. Dad’s health is deteriorating quickly. His eyes are already yellow, and he can’t leave his bed anymore. I don’t have much time to write anymore because I’m taking care of him. He thinks that by the 12th, he’ll be dead. Aunt Mariah is already coming to get me.
 * May 9, 1953 **

<span style="font-family: 'Arial Unicode MS','sans-serif'; font-size: 16px;">He’s with mom now. Before I leave with my Aunt, I’m going to bury him. I don’t have a lot of tools, but I managed to make and almost comical tombstone. It has his name on it, but that’s it. He wanted me to bury him by his workshop. HE loved that place almost as much as he loved me I think. He will always be my father and my best friend. May his resting place stay peaceful, and don’t let his spirit in heaven worry about me. I will join him eventually. Good bye for now dad. I’ll miss you.
 * <span style="font-family: 'Arial Unicode MS','sans-serif'; font-size: 16px;">May 11, 1953 **

<span style="font-family: 'Arial Unicode MS','sans-serif'; font-size: 16px;">So yeah, my family was destroyed by Frei Fever. This is my recollection of what happened. And I’m sure that one day this memory may be helpful to those in the future. I’m on my death bed with Frei Fever myself. My father is waiting for me on the other side of those pearly gates. It is only 1970. No one cares about this deadly disease because it has come to a standstill. It is still a memory. But I hope that someone will be interested in my story on day in the future. Maybe my memories can help someone develop a cure for it. That way, no one else would have to suffer in the way that I suffered. No one else should have to lose their families because of this disease. My hope is that one day, the world can be Frei Fever free.