by Willow Rose
"It's the best for him, Anna. I'm doing him a favor don't you see?"
52
AUGUST 2012
HOURS HAD PASSED. There was blood all over the floor. Henrik even had it on his face and all over his clothes from beating Karl. Now, he wasn't moving anymore and Henrik took a break. Panting, he blew on his hand, which was sore from the beating. He looked at Karl who still wasn't moving and realized he wasn't breathing either.
Henrik shrugged, then went into the kitchen and found a big knife. He started cutting Karl open and took out his organs, one after another, making it look like organ thieves once again, in case they found his body. Then he found some black garbage bags and put all the organs inside of it. He tried to cut off the right arm, but it was way too hard and the knife wasn’t sharp enough. How Karl had been able to chop his victims into pieces, Henrik didn't understand.
But it wasn't his thing, he discovered. It was way too difficult. Instead he put the remains of Karl on the rug and rolled him inside of it. He really didn't care what happened to Karl's body, but he didn't want to leave it in the basement, since Henrik was planning on crashing there for a couple more nights.
So, Henrik pulled the rug into a small closet where he placed it leaning against the wall and placed the black bag of organs next to it, then closed the door and locked it.
There. Out of sight out of mind.
Henrik took a shower and put on some of Karl's clothes. Luckily, they were almost the same size. He looked at himself in the mirror and thought he could easily be mistaken for Karl. Henrik went back into the living room and looked at the old laptop on the coffee table. Then he picked it up. Karl was still logged into the chat room and someone had written to him.
Karl are you there? The one called Andreyer had asked half an hour ago.
Henrik smiled to himself, then wrote. Yes. I'm still here.
A few minutes passed before there was another reply. Did you make your kill?
Henrik chuckled as he wrote: I did.
How do you feel? Was it good?
It was amazing. Much better than expected.
Henrik found a new beer and sat down on the couch with the TV still on in the corner of the basement. Some British series was showing. He looked at the screen and waited for an answer.
Suddenly, a small line on the screen said Bill Durgin joined the chat. Henrik almost choked on his beer and sat up straight. Bill Durgin. This was the one he was looking for. He was the one who had taken the organs, Karl had said. Was he the one who had taken Henrik's as well? Karl had said he was the only one doing this, but that would mean Henrik had killed those girls in vain?
Well not in vain. They were stupid bitches who no one was going to miss anyway. But, he was willing to admit that maybe they hadn't been a part of some greater feminist conspiracy after all. That much he would give them. But they deserved to die. Just like Karl deserved to be killed. Henrik was still doing the world a favor. He was still a hero, of sorts. Not one who would ever be honored for his accomplishments. No, as a matter of fact, he was a little like the incredible Hulk. Misunderstood, but still a hero. And so what if he accidentally killed a few innocent people along the way? The end justified the means after all, didn't it? Well, something like that. Henrik didn't feel guilty or bad for killing the girls. He was way beyond feelings like that. Killing them had made him feel better and killing Karl had been the best sensation he ever had. That justified anything, in his mind.
What's up, Bill? He wrote. Chosen a new victim yet?
Seconds passed by while Henrik finished his beer. Finally the curser blinked and Bill wrote:
Looking at him as we speak. He's eating Soft Tofu soup.
53
AUGUST 2012
I WAS FURIOUS WITH Peter and ran upstairs, pretending to have to go to the bathroom. I was walking back and forth in the bedroom not knowing what to do. He knew about the pregnancy, and now he had told Julie about it as well? Julie was so exited and apparently so was Peter. But I wasn't. I had no idea what to do.
I sat on the bed and felt my stomach. Yes there was already a small bump there, one that only I could see, but it was there. It was really happening. But what if the child wasn't Peter's? Did I pretend it was? Did I just decide it was probably his and then say nothing to Sune? After all, he had told me he wanted out of my life completely. That he never wanted to see me again. I felt my stomach and realized I really wanted this baby. I was already looking forward to seeing it, to holding it in my arms. Who cared who the father was? And, I knew Peter would be a great father, just like he was to Julie. But could I live without knowing for sure?
I shook my head with a sigh. Of course I couldn't. Sune wanted a second child more than anything. I couldn't deprive him of it. He had to know. I would have to ask him to take a paternity test at some point. That was the right thing to do.
But how was Peter going to react to that? Would he resent the child because he wasn't the father?
My head was spinning with thoughts and worries when my cell phone suddenly rang. I looked at the display and realized it was my sister.
"Hello?" I said.
"Rebekka. I …"
She sounded upset. My heart stopped.
"What's the matter? Is it something with dad?"
"He … I came to check in on him and found him. He was lying on the floor in the kitchen. He had fallen and hurt his head. Rebekka, you have to come home. I'm afraid it's serious. We're at the hospital now. They say he had another stroke."
"Oh my god. I'm coming right away," I said and hung up.
I shoved my things into my suitcase and stormed downstairs. "What's going on?" Peter asked.
"Julie, go upstairs and start packing your things. We have to go back to Karrebaeksminde," I said.
Peter approached me. "Hey, what's going on?"
"We're leaving. It's my dad. He's in the hospital. He fell and hurt his head. We have to get back."
Peter clenched his jaw. "Now?" He asked. I could tell he was restraining his anger. "Does it have to be right now? I mean we were just finding each other as a family here. We were having a moment."
"Are you insane?" I asked. "My dad hurt himself. I have to be there. He had a stroke."
"I hear you loud and clear there, Rebekka. But I'm asking does it really have to be like RIGHT now?"
Peter was looking at me in a strange way and yelling certain words, making him sound like a crazy person.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean there is always some sort of emergency with you, isn't there? Couldn't we, for once, just NOT run to it? Couldn't we, for once, let someone else handle it?"
"No. Peter it’s my dad we're talking about here …"
"Yes, and yesterday it was your ex-boyfriend we were talking about here," Peter said imitating my voice. "When is it going to stop, huh?"
"It’s my dad," Peter. "This is more important than anything else, than anyone else, even you, Peter."
Peter's head tilted from side to side while he stared at me with manic eyes. "More important than anyone, even you Peter," he repeated, mocking me.
"What's going on here, Peter? What is this?"
Peter looked at me grinning, then lifted his hand and slapped me across the face so hard I fell to the floor. He was still smiling when I looked up at him holding a hand to my hurting cheek.
"THIS is what is going on here, Rebekka. I'll tell you what is going on here. You're not going anywhere. You're staying here with me. That's what's going on. I'm taking back control."
"Taking back control, what the hell are you talking about Peter?"
"What the hell are you talking about Peter," he copied me.
My heart was racing and my face hurt badly. I felt so confused. Julie came down the stairs. "Mommy? What's going on? Daddy?"
Peter turned on his heels and smiled at Julie. "Oh nothing sweetie. Your mom and I are just discussing a little matter. Nothing to worry about. Just go back to your room and unpack. We're all staying here."
>
"Julie," I yelled. "We need to get out of here."
Peter turned quickly and looked at me. "And just how do you suppose you'll be able to do that, huh? There is a raging storm outside and there is no way you'll make it to the other side in that tiny boat of ours … if you make it that far."
I stood up. Peter grabbed my arm and held me tight. "Peter. You're hurting me."
"Well that's kind of the point, Rebekka."
"Mom?" Julie sounded scared.
"Go to your room Julie," Peter said. "I'll be up to tuck you right in."
"But … it's not nighttime yet?"
"Just GO!"
Julie stormed back up the stairs with a whimper, while Peter tightened his grip on my arm. Then he started pulling me towards the stairs as well.
"What are you doing Peter?"
"I have something to show you, dear Rebekka. Something I've been wanting to show to you for a very long time."
54
AUGUST 2012
ANNA WAS LOOKING AT herself in the mirror of the hotel bathroom. In the room next door, she could hear Michael chatting with the woman he had just picked up in the bar downstairs after his dinner in the restaurant. Now they were going at it and she recognized his moans and dirty talk from back when she had been with him. Sex with Michael had always been rough and she didn't miss it one bit. She looked at the iPad, then wrote something in the chat room.
Love the thrill of waiting.
I know, Andreyer wrote back. It's the anticipation, the expectation of what is about to happen that is so exiting. But not as exiting as the actual kill. Enjoy it Bill.
I will.
Anna looked up from the iPad and at her own reflection. She was wearing green surgical attire, the same uniform the doctors at the hospital used when operating on a patient. She had stolen that and a mask, along with the equipment she had in her briefcase from the hospital where she worked as a nurse. She opened the briefcase and looked at the various scalpels, the syringe filled with the sedative drug. This time she had chosen a drug that would leave the patient sedated, but still conscious. She wanted him to see everything, but not be able to move. As a nurse anesthetist, she knew everything there was to know about sedative drugs and which ones to use. It was also very easy to get a hold of them.
Almost too easy.
Anna listened to the voices behind the wall, waiting for them to be done with the sexual act. It was always the same. They would have sex and then the woman would leave. They never spent the night. It was perfect.
Cheating bastards.
Listening to Michael's voice through the wall only made her anger rise. Oh how she loathed this man. More than anything in this world, she hated everything about him. But that only made her revenge that much sweeter, didn't it?
Anna closed the briefcase as she heard the door to the room next door close. She looked at herself one last time.
Showtime.
She walked out into the hallway, then found the dry erase marker and pushed it into the bottom of the lock with a little smile, thinking of Valdemar. Destiny's cruel irony had laughed at her once, now she was the one laughing back. It was kind of ironic that it was Valdemar's invention that now helped her avenge his death.
She walked inside and found Michael sleeping in the bed. He was snoring slightly and she watched him for a few seconds, before she found the injection needle and emptied it into his arm. The poke to his skin woke him up. Michael gasped and stared at her. At first scared and confused, then relaxed.
"Anna?" he asked.
She nodded, then pulled the mask down so he could see her better. She wanted him to see her, to face her and realize what he had done and what she was now going to do to him.
"What are you doing here?" He asked when he realized where he was. "Why are you here?" He tried to sit up in the bed, but his arms refused to cooperate. "What is this?" He said and saw the syringe in Anna's hand. "What have you done to me?"
"I have sedated you Michael. Now you can't move."
"But … but …" If he was trying to get up again, Anna could no longer see it. She imagined he was and the frustration going through his mind right now. And she enjoyed it.
"What do you want from me? Why have you done this to me?"
Anna tilted her head and smiled. "I'm taking your heart, Michael. It's okay. You never used it anyway."
55
AUGUST 2012
PETER DRAGGED ME UP the stairs. I followed unwillingly, but for the sake of my daughter, I thought I'd better obey. Besides, Peter was right. There was no way we would be able to get out of here in this storm. And there was no way anyone would come here. Not even Mrs. Holm. We were stuck. Isolated. And worst of all, my dad was in the hospital and I had no idea how he was doing, whether he was going to survive or not.
"Peter, why are you doing this to us?" I asked.
He slapped me once again across the face with a grin. "Because I can."
Then he dragged me up another set of stairs. "Where are you taking me? I don't want to get up there."
"Go."
I did as he said and climbed up the small set of stairs that seemed to get narrower and narrower the higher we got. "What's up here, Peter?"
"My studio," he said and pushed me through an old wooden door.
"What about Julie? She might be scared."
"Julie is fine. She's staying in her room. Now go," he said and pushed me inside a huge room under the roof. It was light and very open. If it wasn't for what met me there, I would have thought it was a nice place to be. I got up and looked around, feeling like I was in some sort of torture chamber. The walls were plastered with pictures of people in pain. Dead bodies swimming in tanks with some strange liquid, body parts everywhere and organs in jars.
"What's all this?" I asked.
"Isn't it glorious? It's my exhibition," Peter said.
"What do you mean, exhibition? What is all this?"
"They are all masterpieces. Contributions from killers all over the country. They send me either their first kill or parts of it or some other sort of contribution. I, in return, help them kill and not get caught. I'm sort of a consultant. Soon all of this is going to be an exhibition. Won't be open to the public naturally, only for the inaugurated. And the ticket prices are, naturally, going to be sky high. I think killers from all over the world would want to come here and see this, don't you? It might even give them new ideas. Be inspirational."
I stared at Peter completely freaked out. What kind of a monster was he?
"Look at this one," he said and pointed. "He's new. I haven't prepared him properly yet."
I looked at the sign underneath the body in an open body bag. "Martin Damsgaard," I read out loud. I looked at Peter. "That's the guy who had his liver removed and died from it. You stole his body? Why Peter?"
"It was given to me by the one who killed him. I helped him to be a killer and he contributed with his first kill. He will bring in another contribution later this week. You see, all the organs he stole from people weren't being sold on the black market. No, he lost his son last year and has the remains of the body in his freezer at home. He's replacing the boy's internal organs one by one and placing new, fresh ones in. The body was in the ground for almost a year when he dug him out and took him home. So, naturally, a lot had decomposed by then. Now he is building him again and, soon, he will deliver him to me. It's going to look great here, don't you think?"
"I … I have no idea what to think, Peter."
"Oh, you have got to see this one as well. You're going to love this." Peter grabbed my arm and dragged me through what he referred to as his exhibition. I felt nauseated and fought the urge to throw up. Peter stopped in front of a body that had been stabbed to death with what looked like five knives going through his chest. I thought I had seen this somewhere before, but couldn't recall where.
"This is the Michael Oestergaard exhibition," Peter said. "You remember him, don't you?"
"The what?"
"Michael
Oestergaard. You know the guy who killed using the glove from the Freddy Krueger movies? Remember him? Most unfortunate that you had to have him put away. This was his first kill using the glove. Just to try it out and get past that first kill with it. The guy meant nothing to him. It was random. Just to know how the glove worked, you know. I helped him with all of his kills. I came up with the idea of using the glove from back then. Neat right?"
"You know Michael Oestergaard?"
"We went to the same boarding school. You know, Herlufsholm?"
"Oh my god. You've been … I can't believe it … you've been … have you been behind this, behind him and others? Pulling the strings like they were puppets?"
"Well, that is giving me way too much credit, dearie, but yes, they come to me for advice and I give it to them. I am, after all, a true expert in killing."
"I had no idea you were that insane. Peter, this is so sick."
"Oh thank you. You're flattering me. This one over here, I believe you know that one as well."
"The Christian Lonstedt contribution," I said.
"His first too."
"Let me guess the next belongs to Bjarne Larsen from Arnakke?"
"I'm afraid that one worked on his own. Him and that kid of his. Genius with the polonium, though. Couldn't have come up with it better myself. I only wish I had some of his here. But can't have them all, can we?"
"I guess not," I said and looked in direction of the door. Peter had shut it, but I didn't know if it was locked. I had to find a way out and get Julie out with me. Until then, I had to just please Peter and pretend I wasn't frightened to death.
"But I do have one from Allan Witt. Several as a matter of fact, but I only kept the one. He had a tendency to eat his victims and send the remains to me. I did, however, really badly want the princess, but he never gave me that. So I killed him. He was worthless in the end anyway. Went completely insane," Peter said and chuckled.