by Willow Rose
In his defense Allan was a great actor. He knew to nod at the right time and knew how to sound truly interested in what Sebastian told him.
Allan opened the next bottle and poured the wine in the glasses in the kitchen. Then he pulled out a small sleeping pill from his pants, crushed it between his fingers and threw the remains into Sebastian's wine. He rotated it with his finger, then brought both glasses with him into the living room where Sebastian was waiting in the white couch. He looked great, but not as handsome as Allan, he thought as he spotted his own reflection passing a full-length mirror on the wall.
When he sat down and gave Sebastian the glass, Sebastian put his hand on Allan's thigh.
"I missed you while I was gone," he whispered.
"Well I was right here, waiting for you to come home," Allan answered with a smile.
Sebastian's hand caressed Allan's leg, then became a little too comfortable. Allan didn't particularly enjoy having sex with Sebastian. He didn't hate it either. It just left him kind of numb. Usually he would enter him from behind imagining that Sebastian was the lifeless body of someone he had just killed. That would do it for him. He wasn't into intimacy, he didn't care for anyone's eyes or face, but the body, the flaccid body of someone whom he had deprived of the very gift of life, now that was something that would turn him on. He didn't care if it was a boy or a girl. It didn't matter. As long as they didn't have a pulse.
But Sebastian did very much have a pulse and his blabbing was annoying Allan particularly this evening. He kept looking at his watch, while Sebastian spoke about some guy, a designer he had met in Milan who helped him get back-stage at his fashion-show. Sebastian only told Allan this story to make him jealous. Allan knew that so he played along.
"You didn't do anything bad while backstage, did you?" he asked, pretending to care.
Sebastian was clearly satisfied to hear the jealous tone in his boyfriend's voice. He chuckled, then slapped Allan gently.
"Ah, you naughty boy. Is that all you can think of? No, you silly. He showed me his passion. Not that kind of passion. His fashion-passion, of course, heh heh."
Allan laughed pretentiously. "Boy, am I glad to hear that," he said.
While Sebastian continued his story, Allan drank from his wine staring at Sebastian's glass. Then he looked at his watch. It was getting late. Allan hoped the pills would kick in soon.
"Let's toast to you coming back," he said and raised his glass.
Sebastian followed. "And to naughty boys," he said laughing.
"And to naughty boys," Allan repeated.
Allan's eyes followed Sebastian as he put the glass to his lips and drank. When he was about to stop, Allan pushed it towards his mouth again.
"Oh, my," Sebastian said. "You're trying to get me drunk. Well, I'm not going to refuse you that pleasure. Just promise me one thing; when you use my body sexually later tonight and exploit me ..." Sebastian leaned over and whispered. "Please ... don't be gentle." Then he burst into laughter that echoed in the high-ceiled living room.
Allan clinked his glass against Sebastian's.
"I promise I won't," he said and watched as Sebastian finished his.
As Sebastian dozed off in a matter of seconds Allan smiled widely. Then he slapped his boyfriend a couple of times across the cheek and when he got no reaction, he carried him upstairs and planted him in his bed. He pulled off all of his clothes to make him think they had had sex if he woke up while Allan was still gone.
"Now if you'll excuse me," he said and bowed in front of Sebastian's lifeless body, looking exactly the way Allan preferred him.
"I have somewhere to be."
Chapter 10
I couldn't quite forget about Camilla while writing my story in the press-room. The poster with the picture of Amalie was lying next to me on the table, her eyes staring at me like they wanted something from me. I turned the paper upside down, then focused on the screen in front of me. I had only written one paragraph of the interview. I looked at the big watch on the wall in front of me. There was only fifteen minutes till the concert started. Sune was standing next to me with a cup of coffee in his hand. He had packed his gear and was ready to leave. I, on the other hand wasn't even half done with my article.
"Maybe you can write the rest after the concert," Sune said.
I shook my head. "I promised Jens-Ole he would have it for tomorrow's paper. I have a deadline at midnight."
Sune finished his coffee and put the cup on the table. "Well I'm not missing out on The Boss." He lifted his bag and swung it over his shoulder. "I'm going to be in front and get the best pictures."
"Just go," I said. "I'll find you there. Get some great shots."
"Okay," he said and kissed my forehead. "I'll be easy to find."
"I know," I said chuckling. "Just look for the guy who sings and yells the loudest."
"You got it."
I heard Sune leave and returned to my laptop. It was like the article laughed at me to my face. Why couldn't I just get it done? It was a great interview, Patti Scialfa was an interesting person with interesting things to say. It should be the easiest thing in the world to finish up in a hurry. I got up and grabbed another cup of coffee from the pot, then sat down next to the computer. We were only two people in the big room. The other journalist closed his laptop and put it in his bag. He nodded and smiled at me as he hurried out the door. Now I was alone, not something you experience often at a festival with more than eighty thousand people attending. It felt kind of nice. I wasn't a fanatic Bruce Springsteen fan like Sune, so I didn't mind missing out on some of the concert. He probably saved the best songs for last, like they always did anyway. And I had my press badge which meant I could get in front at any time I wanted to. I sipped my coffee while staring at the paper I had turned and placed with Amalie's face down. I grabbed it and turned it upwards again. Amalie stared at me. I sighed and put the paper on the table.
"Where are you little girl?" I mumbled while wondering where I had seen her before. I knew her face from somewhere, I just couldn't quite place it.
I shook my head and returned to my screen. I sipped my coffee again and continued writing my article. In the distance I could hear the music from the concert begin. It was the biggest concert at this year's festival and it was one everybody wanted to go to. Well everybody over the age of twenty-five at least. I looked at Amalie again. Camilla had said that they were going to the Suicide Silence concert tonight. It took place on one of the smaller stages. Maybe Amalie would show up? I truly hoped so, mostly for Camilla's sake. She was so worried about her friend. Meanwhile Amalie was probably just with some guy in a tent forgetting all about letting her friend know where she was either because she was too drunk or because she just didn't think about anyone else but herself right now. At age fourteen you could easily get lost in some guy that you thought was going to be the love of your life.
I decided to remove Amalie's distracting face and put the poster in my pocket. Then I returned once again to my article and wrote another paragraph. Suddenly a phone started to ring. I looked at my own. The display remained black. It wasn't mine. The ringtone was different. I shrugged. Probably just some journalist or photographer who had forgotten his phone when he went to the concert. I stared at the screen again and wrote a few more words. The ringing continued. It played a melody. The tunes of One Direction's You don't know you're beautiful. A thought caused me to look up from the screen. What grown-up in their right mind would have such a ringtone? I got up from my chair and walked towards the corner where I had put Camilla's iPhone in my charger. There was light in the display. It said 'Amalie.'
I gasped and picked it up happily, thinking now I could tell her where Camilla was and they could be reunited.
"This is Camilla's phone," I said. "Is this Amalie?"
There was a silence on the other end. Nothing but a whooshing sound. It sounded like someone breathing heavily.
"My name is Rebekka," I continued thinking that Amalie might be dr
unk and therefore slow to answer. "Camilla is not here right now, she went to see Suicide Silence, you can find her there. She has actually been looking for you, she'll be very happy to see you."
A deep male voice startled me when it answered. "I bet she will. She'll be thrilled," the voice said, rolling the tongue on the l's.
Then he hung up. I looked at the display with the text call ended. My heart was beating fast in my chest. Who was that on the other end? Frantically I touched the display and tried to call back. No answer. The phone went directly on Amalie's voice mail. He had shut it off. I put the phone in my pocket. I could still hear the voice in my head. Something was really wrong here, I thought to myself. This man, who was he? And why did he call from Amalie's phone? Suddenly it struck me like a punch in the stomach.
It had sounded like he was in a car. He was coming here. He was coming for Camilla.
Chapter 11
The package arrived just before midnight. The man who called himself Thomas De Quincey opened the big gate himself and let the black hearse into his property. As the car passed he carefully closed the gates and carefully scanned the area to see if there had been any cars on the road to see the black hearse arrive. But the road was empty. Nothing but fields stretching as far as the eye could see. It wasn't completely dark, since it never got dark at this time of year and he spotted light in the horizon almost like bluish waves across the sky. It was beautiful, he thought to himself. But nothing compared to what was in that package he was about to unwrap. Truly a masterpiece to complete his collection.
Thomas De Quincey ran across the gravel to catch up with the hearse, butterflies in his stomach, and butterflies of expectation very like the ones he had experienced as a child and again as an adult just before his next kill. There was nothing like the joy of expectation, just like Kierkegaard had put it. Even if he wasn't the first to say it, like many Danes believed, he was a wise man, Thomas De Quincey thought to himself.
A man Thomas De Quincey knew as Alex Andreyer stepped out of the black hearse with the drapes shut in the back. The two men greeted each other silently. Alex Andreyer opened the trunk. In the back of the car lay a big rectangular box covered with a heavy black blanket.
Thomas De Quincey couldn't help clapping his hands in joy. He was so excited he could almost burst.
"Where do you want it?" Alex Andreyer asked.
"Let's put it in the cellar with the others," Thomas De Quincey said.
"As you wish."
Alex Andreyer pulled the box out and the two men grabbed it on each side and carried it towards the main building. Carefully they lifted it down the stairs and into the big room where a sea of boxes just like it stood covered with white sheets. Most of them were rectangular like the one they now placed on the stone floor in the center of the dark room, but some were tall and cylindrical-shaped. Thomas De Quincey saw the curious look in the eyes of his helper and grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Soon my dear friend," he whispered. "Soon it will be complete and ready for you to see. But not yet. It has to be perfect."
"Naturally," Alex Andreyer answered. "Patience is after all the finest virtue of them all."
Thomas De Quincey smiled widely while turning his helper around and escorting him up the stairs. "I do believe you're right," he said with a smirk.
As they reached the top of the stairs, Thomas De Quincey sensed that the good Mr. Andreyer had a hard time pulling away, letting go of his huge curiosity. It thrilled Thomas De Quincey and it worried him at the same time. Because no one, and that meant no one was to see it all until it was ready, until his work was done.
"Now, you hurry up and get me the rest of the packages that I asked for, alright?" Thomas De Quincey said and pushed Alex Andreyer towards the hearse.
"They are not that easy to provide," he said.
Thomas De Quincey patted him on the shoulder. "That's why I have asked you to do it, right? Cause you are the man for the job, aren't you? Or should I have to ask someone else?"
Alex Andreyer shook his head fast. "No. No. Oh please don't. I can do this. I'm the best. Please Master allow me to do this."
Thomas De Quincey smiled again and patted the man on the cheek. "Good. That's what I wanted to hear. Now get out of here before someone sees you."
Alex Andreyer nodded then hurried back into the car. He started the engine then drove towards the gate. Thomas De Quincey waited a couple of heartbeats, then started running and caught up with him before he reached the big iron gate. Thomas De Quincey laughed loudly as he stuck his head into the car and saw the surprised face of Alex Andreyer who hadn't expected him to be that fast. Thomas De Quincey had always enjoyed a little run. Keep the old ticker working, keeping the body in shape.
"Let me get the gate for you," he said and pulled it open.
Chapter 12
So she didn't have her phone, Allan thought to himself as he took the exit towards Roskilde. Well it didn't matter much. The woman answering had been stupid enough to tell him exactly what he wanted to know. The whereabouts of Camilla Langstrup. It was going to be easier than ever to just waltz right in there and find her. Best of all, she didn't suspect a thing. If she had, she wouldn't be at the festival at all. That was why Allan had called in the first place. He was certain Camilla would answer her missing girlfriend’s phone. Allan wanted to make sure Camilla was still at the festival and hadn't gone home instead after her friend’s disappearance. It would have made it increasingly dangerous for Allan to fulfill his mission, but not impossible. Now it was almost too easy.
He parked the car outside the festival grounds and showed the guard his admission bracelet. The guard nodded him through and now he was once again surrounded by sweaty, drunk and very loud people walking with their muddy boots, beers in their hands, smoking cigarettes, singing, cheering, having the time of their lives.
"The Boss" was playing on the big stage and Allan knew that most people were there. He chuckled as he walked away from the crowd in front of Orange stage, where Bruce Springsteen opened the show with No Surrender and the crowd were dancing, smiling and looking at each other with an ah this is so cool look in their eyes, while everybody joined in and sang along.
He left the area and entered another where more music emerged from a big tent. The area outside was almost empty. A man selling chicken tartlets was bored to death outside. Allan approached him. He smelled the warm tartlets and the scent brought him back many years. The maid had served tartlets to him on the day they had told him, on the day his world changed forever. He had been sitting alone in the dining room enjoying the delightful taste of the warm and crispy tartlets. He had just cracked one open and the chicken sauce had begun running out on the plate, when they had entered.
"We have wonderful news," they said.
Allan remembered staring at the plate where all the delicious sauce now ran out on the plate and wetted everything, soaking it. Now was the best time to eat it. In a few seconds it would all get too moist and the sauce would have ruined everything. He picked up the fork and began eating before it was too late. The woman he had loved like a mother grabbed his hand and forced him to put the fork down.
"This is important, Allan," the man said. "More important than your food."
And then the words came, those words that at the moment seemed so innocent, so indifferent to the young boy, but later he would look back on as the worst words of his life.
"We're having a baby."
Allan was eight when it happened.
Allan took in a deep breath while staring at the man with the tartlets back at the festival. The man stared back at him. "So you want one or what?" he asked irritably.
Allan clenched his fist hard, then lifted his hand in the air and knocked the man down while yelling "No!" The blow was so hard he knocked him out. He was bleeding from his nose.
Allan snorted irritably. This wasn't part of the plan. He scanned the area to see if anyone had seen him, then grabbed the man by the arms and pulled him behind the tent.
The music coming from inside was so loud no one heard Allan grunt or the sound of him beating the unconscious tartlet-selling man senseless. Once he was done, he came out from behind the tent, straightened his expensive pants and slicked his hair back with his hand.
He walked to the stand, grabbed an empty tartlet. With his pulse still pumping wildly, he put it on a plate and filled it with the white chicken-sauce with carrots and peas. Allan took in a deep breath to calm himself down, then found a plastic fork. He closed his eyes enjoying the creaking sound of the crispy pastry as the fork penetrated it. He ate with great joy thinking yet again of the day when he had been told about the baby. It was the first time since then he had been able to stand the taste or even the smell of tartlets. If it was the anticipation of what he was about to do or just the time he had put between him and what happened back then, he didn't know, but the taste was intoxicating.
Chapter 13
Camilla was usually a very confident girl. She had good reason to be. She had grown up in a very wealthy family living in Klampenborg, one of the most prominent and expensive addresses in the country. She had gone to some of the best schools in the country and always hung out with people of her own class. She had lived a very protected life and never met anyone who wanted to harm her in any way. Everybody wanted to please her, since they knew that the way to her father's heart went through his daughter. She always considered her parents to be smothering and too overprotective when they told her to not go out on her own at night, when they told her to be careful of whom she talked to. She didn't consider the world a dangerous place.