by Willow Rose
With the best wishes for you in your future, Countess Alexis of Merchenburg.
I sat back in the chair while letting this new information settle in my head. It made sense, I guess, at least it explained Allan Witt's anger towards the Princess and her family. But it still left many unanswered questions.
A sound coming from the computer startled me. A message appeared in the side. I clicked on it and suddenly something appeared on the screen.
Any new pictures? I'm dying here. Let me in on what you're doing, a man named Cogliantry wrote. Cogliantry? I had heard that name somewhere before. Wasn't he a famous artist? Probably just a pseudonym I thought. He was talking about pictures. Maybe it was some sort of chat room for art lovers? Something about the chat made me continue reading. I went back to old messages, scrolled way back and skimmed what they had talked about. Then I froze completely feeling the blood leave my head. I started shivering as I scrolled through the messages. They were all so gross and despicable. They talked about women's private parts, about having vile sex with them, about forcing them, hearing them scream for mercy. All these messages that didn't go any further back than just a few days were all about killing people. Killing and torturing people. I gasped, my fingers trembling and shaking on the mouse while the realization found its way to my brain even if I tried to block it simply because it was too horrifying to even think it.
Allan wasn't alone. There were more like him out there. Many more, it seemed. And they were sharing their achievements on this chat room, sharing pictures and experiences, dreams and fantasies.
Afraid of what I would find next I scrolled back in Allan's messages and found one a few days old. Then I dropped the mouse on the floor. One of them had gone so far as to order a kill from Allan. A man who called himself Thomas De Quincey was specifically asking him to kill someone for him. It was the picture that made my heart stop. Underneath it said: Her name is Rebekka Franck.
CHAPTER 58
ALLAN GLANCED THROUGH the crowd of people to make sure The Master wasn't among them. He probably wasn't far by now, he thought, maybe he was already here. Allan had never seen the Master in person, he didn't even know his real name. Part of him was looking forward to seeing him face to face. He was some kind of idol for Allan, well for all of them. And now he was coming here to claim Allan's kill. But it wasn't going to be with Allan's consent. Not willingly. Those were his kills and he had been looking forward to finishing them.
Allan glanced at the stairs leading to the rooms upstairs. He had to try and get away now. Besides people were beginning to get hungry now. It was time for the appetizer. Allan planned to run upstairs, kill the woman and cut her to pieces. Then bring the meat to the kitchen and prepare it. No one had to notice anything and he would get rid of the woman. That was part one. Part two was in the basement. The Armagnac-soaked girl and then the foie gras. Allan shook his head heavily to try and keep the voices down. They were screaming inside of him. They wanted a kill, they said. They needed the blood, they craved it. Allan knew he had to obey the voices or they would never leave him alone. They would keep yelling till he could take no more.
He had heard them the first time right after Amalie was born. They told him to go to her, that she was going to take his place, they had even warned him that he would be sent away. So he went to her room and stood next to her crib, staring at the small, ugly, wrinkled creature. The voices told him to kill her, to just put a pillow over her head and then leave her. But he refused. He restrained himself so much he hadn't noticed that he had hurt himself, that he had hurt his hand and was bleeding. That night the voices tortured him for not doing as told. They screamed all night and from that day on he promised himself to always listen to what they said, to always do as he was told. It was the only way he could experience peace within. It was the only way to shut them up. At least for a little while, at least until they came up with something new for him to do.
Everyone at the party seemed to be busy and enjoying themselves, so Allan thought it was time and walked to the kitchen. He grabbed a knife and walked towards the stairs.
"Hey Allan where are you going?" a half-drunk woman yelled behind him.
Allan closed his eyes, then took in a deep breath before he turned and smiled. "Just checking on the appetizer," he said.
"Oh, sounds good. I'm starving," the woman said.
"Well hopefully you won't be once this party is over," he said and turned towards the stairs while the woman went back to the living room. Allan had his foot on the first step when a voice came up from behind him.
"Going somewhere?"
Allan froze. There was something in the way the man spoke, something in his voice that let Allan know that it could only be him.
With excitement and thrill he turned and looked at the man standing in front of him. He was tall and very muscular, just like Allan had imagined him. And good-looking, of course. Excessively handsome.
"Fred Einaudi, I presume?" the man said. He was flanked by two big men with bald heads.
Allan smiled. "You assume right, Thomas De Quincey."
"One of your partying guests was nice and let us in. I believe you have something that is mine?"
The two men stared at each other like dogs before a fight. It was all in the eyes who was the strongest. It didn't take long for Allan to realize he was defeated. This man had a glare that was even more coldblooded than Allan's. So Allan caved first. "Right," he said. "I was just going to get everything ready for you."
"We said alive, remember?" he said. Allan stared at the two bodyguards standing behind Thomas De Quincey. They glared at him, looking like they could swallow him in one bite.
"Sure," Allan said. "Make yourselves comfortable. Go get a drink and I'll be right back."
Barely had he finished his sentence and added an insecure laugh when Thomas De Quincey stepped forward and with one swift move grabbed the kitchen knife from Allan's hand and plunged it in his side. Allan bent over with a gasp and held on to the man's shoulder. The pain spread fast throughout his body as Thomas De Quincey pulled out the knife and wiped it off on Allan's clothes.
"Don't worry. I didn't hit anything vital," Thomas De Quincey whispered. "You'll probably survive. But now you know I mean business."
Allan moaned and gasped for air. His hand holding the wound turned red with blood.
"Now go and get me my package," he said and put the knife back in Allan's hand and pressed it against his chest.
Allan nodded, then turned and still while holding one hand to cover the wound he ran towards the stairs.
CHAPTER 59
I HEARD SOMEONE in the hallway outside of the door and froze. Then there was moaning and a fumbling by the lock before the handle turned downwards. The door opened and I stared as Allan Witt tumbled in, his hand and shirt covered in blood.
In his hand he held a kitchen knife. Then he stared at the computer and saw all the files I had opened. He walked closer and glanced at the screen and looked at the article I had written called When Greenland was supposed to be made Danish - the forgotten children.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"She was one of them, wasn't she?" I asked. "Your mother? She was one of those children from Greenland."
Allan shook his head. "I don't have time for this now ..."
"I wrote these articles, I know the story. In Nineteen Eighty-Two the Danish government sent thirty-three children ages six to ten from our colony Greenland to Denmark. They separated them from their families to bring them to Denmark to make them more Danish. The plan was to teach them the Danish language, Danish culture, Danish manners and have them bring it back home to Greenland where they could teach their families and grow up to be more "Danish." It was supposed to only be for a year but something went wrong and only a few ever returned. And when they did, they couldn't speak with their families anymore since they only spoke Danish and had forgotten their native language. Those who never returned were adopted by Danish families or simply taken in as hir
ed help by rich people. Your mother was one of them, right? That's why you have those features, you look like you're Greenlander, but you're blond and have blue eyes. There is a reason for that. Your father is the Prince?"
Allan sighed deeply. He was in obvious pain from the wound. "Yes," he said. "But there is more to the story. The Prince didn't take her in to be kind to her or to help her out. He took her in because he and some associates from the Danish Movement wanted to do an experiment. He knew no one would ever miss my mother. Her family was all drunkards; half of them had shot each other. There was no one asking where my mother was. My mother was only thirteen when they came up with the experiment. I have all the files to prove it. That's how I learned. They're in the corner over there," he said and pointed at a stack of folders. "I broke into my father's office a few years back after I received the letter from the Countess. I knew my way around the castle, since I was a kid there. I found the folders in his safe. I knew the combination so it wasn't difficult. He always used the same combination to everything. That's where he hid them, the files that proved to me what kind of sick bastard he really is."
"He raped her, didn't he? I mean she had to have been young?"
Allan Witt growled then whimpered in pain. "It wasn't just a normal rape. He did it because he had a purpose. They wanted to take all the young girls from Greenland who had come here in 'Eighty-six and breed children with them. They wanted to make a new race, one that was more like Danes, who thought and acted more like Danes and thereby they thought they might solve all of Greenland's problems. They wanted to make Greenlanders with blond hair and blue eyes and send them back to change the population in time. That was their general plan."
"So they started with your mother?"
"Yes according to the records they tied my mother up in my father's castle and then he raped her all night while the others watched and took notes. They have it all written down in detail. I think they just liked the thrill of watching her suffer," Allan said and smiled. "Some people enjoy watching others in pain. They get a kick out of it."
"So what happened? Where is your real mother?"
"She killed herself right after my birth. Or maybe they killed her, I don't know. They told me she committed suicide by jumping out the window, but for all I know that might be a lie as well. I don't think I even care anymore."
"Why didn't they send you back like it was planned?"
"Something went wrong and they abandoned the project in Nineteen ninety-two. The prince was stuck with me, but luckily the countess whom he had just met, loved me and she was told she was barren."
"But then she had Amalie a few years later and there was no longer room for you at the castle."
"Well what do you know," Allan said. "That's my story. We all have a sad little story to tell, don't we?"
CHAPTER 60
ALLAN CLOSED HIS eyes and exhaled. The woman was annoying him terribly now. So were the three men waiting for him downstairs, waiting for him to deliver the package. To be honest he didn't know what to do next. He hadn't really thought it through. Should he simply deliver the woman as requested? But he had promised him the Princess as well. Never said it would be alive though, but now he wanted her alive. That was what he had said and he was used to being obeyed.
Allan inhaled sharply through his teeth in pain. The blood kept seeping out of his wound and his hand couldn't hold it back. He banged the backside of the hand holding the knife against his forehead to think more clearly. On top of it all the voices were screaming unbearably, demanding a kill. Maybe he could deliver the woman, then go to the basement and kill the girls? But that would leave him so unsatisfied. He didn't want the Master to win, he didn't want to obey him. Maybe he could kill the woman, then go downstairs and kill the three men? It was what he wanted the most, but it was such a dangerous path to take. The Master had killed more people than Allan ever had, he was known to be brutal, cruel even. Allan had admired him and read his stories on the chat with great joy, indulging in every moment and aspect of them. But it couldn't go on, could it? At some point the student had to become better than the Master. It was time for someone new to take the lead. It was time for Allan to shine and be admired.
The woman in front of him was staring at him as he lifted the knife and approached her. He had tried to kill her so many times now, he was beginning to wonder if he would ever succeed. He started wondering if it was even worth it, if she was worth the trouble now that he had all the other kills to make. But this woman had to be special since the Master himself wanted her. It was a strange coincidence that they had both wanted her. Allan had wondered a lot about that once he had seen the message from the Master with the woman's name and picture. Why was she so special? Allan knew why he wanted her, but why did the Master? Well the reason didn't matter. The very fact that Thomas de Quincey wanted her dead was reason enough to kill her on his own. Just to piss him off. To let him know who was in charge.
Allan stared at her as she walked slowly backwards. He kicked the chair aside. She was yelling, telling him to stop, to get out of here, but he didn't care. He wanted her dead now. He wanted to taste her skin, to smell her blood. This was it. It was now.
He let go of the wound and reached out his hand to grab her. She hit it, pushed it away, but it returned and now it was grabbing her neck holding it tight and pushing her up against the wall behind her. She was screaming and gasping for air. Just the way Allan liked it. He lifted her till her feet no longer touched the floor. Her throat was so tiny, so fragile between his fingers. He would only use the knife if he had to. He preferred to strangle her, to feel the life ebb out of her just by the touch of his own fingers. He was strong; he always had strong hands and a strong grip, one that made people react when he shook their hand. Now he felt almost supernatural. Like a god or better yet, a vampire. Yes, that was it, he felt immortal, like he had the strength of the immortals.
But a kick too close to his wound planted by the woman reminded him that he was in fact very mortal and very much in pain. He groaned and bent forward in agony. Then the woman kicked him again, and again, always in the same spot. It hurt like hell. Allan whimpered. Then he felt the delightful feeling of anger rising, anger that gave him almost inhuman strength and capacity.
He growled at her and tightened his grip around her throat. Then he heard spurting sounds, the wonderful music of someone choking and he closed his eyes to better listen and enjoy the last breath, that exquisite sound of someone breathing for the very last time.
CHAPTER 61
I WAS TRYING to fight him off. I was kicking and screaming but his grip on my throat became tighter and tighter the more I fought. It was like he gained strength from my fighting. I managed to kick him several times and hit him right in his wound, but somehow he still managed to keep up trying to kill me. Now he was seriously hurting my throat and I gasped for air. The feeling of suffocation was overwhelming and horrible. I started to see black spots and I had a tickling sensation in my arms and legs. I knew it was due to lack of oxygen in my body. I was scared and thinking only about Julie and getting back to her. No way she was going to grow up without a mother.
"Aaaargh," I sputtered and planted another kick directly in the wound. This time Allan Witt didn't sustain the blow. It hurt too bad for that. With a strange sound he bent over in anguish and fell to his knees. As he did he let go of my throat and I fell to the ground. I was coughing and sputtering, trying to get to my feet, crawling to get away from him and catching my breath when he grabbed my ankle and pulled me towards him. I put my nails in the carpet and tried to stop him from pulling me. I screamed and kicked my feet. He pulled me closer and closer while holding the knife in the air, ready to sink it into my flesh the first chance he got. In the distance I suddenly heard yelling. The music had stopped and the talking vanished. Suddenly someone screamed. There were sounds in the hallway, steps, someone running, doors opening. Then more voices and someone calling my name.
"Rebekka?"
"Yes!" I yell
ed and felt Allan Witt pull strongly. He grabbed my head and silenced me by putting his bloody hand over my mouth. I tried to scream, but it only became muffled sounds. I watched as Allan lifted the knife again ready to place it in my back.
The door to the room opened with a huge crash and someone entered. There was turmoil, I saw mostly feet and legs from where I was. Yelling, screaming, more turmoil and then Allan’s grip on my feet loosened. Quickly I turned and stood up only to look into the face of someone I knew very well.
"Peter!" I screamed and threw myself in his arms. On the floor lay Allan Witt with his eyes staring empty into the air, his throat slit with the knife. "You got my email!"
I looked at his face and hugged him tightly never wanting to let him go again. "Yes," he said. "Yes I received your email and rushed to get here. Boy, have I been nervous. What the hell has been going on here?"
I sighed and held him closer, then I let go. I cried and cried, tried to talk but made no sense. Peter held me in his arms as he helped me down the stairs.
"Shh, shh," he said. "You can tell me it all later." I stopped and looked at him. "And the girls? They were in the basement."