by Rose, Willow
25
April 2014
THE NUMEROLOGIST WAS HOPPING on one leg in the street while counting.
"Three, five, seven…"
She could only step on every second tile; her foot could only touch the uneven numbers or she was afraid the entire mission would be jeopardized. The planets had been acting strangely this morning and she knew it was going to cause her trouble.
On her way to the girl's apartment, she caressed her rat in her pocket and spoke positive words to herself.
"You're independent. You're fun to be with. You're a three, you're a three. You're charismatic and popular. You have a rich inner life. You have balance."
On her way up the stairs, she passed a man and a woman on their way down. The numerologist smiled and told them to have a great day, then continued up to the door and knocked.
It hadn't taken her long to find the girl's address, but it wasn't until now that she had decided she needed to do something about her. She had seen what happened and she couldn't have her telling the police.
The door was opened and the girl's face appeared. "Yes?"
"Hello, dearie," the numerologist said. "Do you have any idea what your number for the day is?"
"Excuse me?" she said, looking confused.
The numerologist giggled. "Your number for the day. If you don't know it, I can give it to you. It can help you with your spirit and your energy today."
"No, I'm not interested. I'm not into anything like that, the girl said. She tried to close the door, but the numerologist put her hand on the door and blocked it. "Not so fast, dearie. I'm here to help you."
"I don't need any help. I'm…I was actually in the middle of something important. I don't have time for this. So, if you could please remove your hand from my door…"
"I can tell you that your number of the day is three! Well, aren't you lucky? That means you may feel as if an important change is taking place within, but are not yet clear about its true nature. You are going through a transforming growth spurt, and may not have much patience with yourself. Don't try to analyze what's going on, just roll with it," the numerologist said with a grin.
The girl looked perplexed. Like she thought the numerologist had lost her mind. "Are you trying to sell something? What do you want? I really don't have time for this…"
The numerologist gave the door a forceful push, causing the door to open so fast the girl couldn't react and it slammed right into her face. The girl fell backwards into the apartment, where she landed on the floor. The numerologist walked inside and slammed the door behind her.
"What the hell are you doing?" the girl hissed and tried to get up. The numerologist could hear the anxiety in the tone of her voice.
"I told you, dearie. I'm helping you."
The girl tried to crabwalk backwards on her arms. "Who are you? What is that? Is your pocket…moving?"
"Oh that. Well, yes. That's my friend Misty. I like to have her with me on days when Saturn is in retrograde. Well, that isn't exactly today, but I brought her anyway. Silly me, huh?" The numerologist laughed. "I guess I just like to have her with me when I feel lonely. She keeps me company."
"You're crazy," the girl said, still trying to get away. "I want you to leave my apartment immediately."
The numerologist tilted her head. "Ah, so sorry. No can do."
The girl moaned. Fear had struck her spirit and her eyes flamed in anxiety. "What do you want from me?"
"I don't want anything from you, my dear. I want you."
The girl shook her head fast. "No. No. Don't hurt me."
The numerologist pulled out a syringe from her pocket and stuck it into the girl's leg so fast the girl didn't manage to react.
"Oops," the numerologist said. "Guess it’s too late."
26
April 2012
SIGNE DIDN'T LEAVE THE bed for two days. Mads gave her time to rest and made sure she had enough water and food. He fed her soup with a spoon because her lips and jaw were so badly bruised that she couldn't eat properly. Her arm was hurting badly too and Mads kept asking if she wanted him to take her to the hospital to check if it was broken. But Signe refused to go. She told him she just needed some rest.
"You were my hero," she said on the second day, when he helped her drink through a straw. "You saved me. I knew you would."
Mads sounded choked when he spoke. He hadn't said a word to her in two days and she knew he had been wondering what to do. In her short awake hours, she had worried that he would leave her, but he hadn't. Not yet, at least.
"Why did you do it?" he asked. "Why did you drag us out there and get yourself hurt like that? We could both have been killed. Why do you do these destructive things?"
She turned her eyes away. "I…I…didn't you like it? Didn't you have fun? You killed those people, Mads. Shot them dead one after another like this…paw…paw…paw," she said and pretended to be pointing at someone with a gun. "Didn't it feel great to save your wife like that?"
Mads made a frown. "No. No it didn't."
She didn't understand. How could he not have enjoyed that? She thought it was fun…exciting…electrifying. They were like freaking Bonnie and Clyde together.
"I thought you enjoyed it," she said. "Like killing that bartender. I wanted us to experience the same thrill as we had back then. I wanted us to feel alive. Don't you feel alive, Mads?"
He hid his face in his hands. When he looked at her again, he had been crying. Signe didn't enjoy seeing him like this. All red-eyed and weak. "Ah, come on, don't be a baby," she said, just like her dad had always told her when she had been red-eyed and sobbing after he was done with her. "You know you like it. You just don't want to admit it."
"No, I don't, Signe. I really didn't enjoy killing those people."
"Ah, come on. Don't be like that."
"Be like what? I'm only being sane here."
"Yes, yes, you're a true saint, aren't you? Can you honestly tell me you didn't feel any thrill, any small feeling of satisfaction for giving those bastards what they asked for?"
Mads went quiet. He scratched his beard. His silence was a good sign. That meant he had felt it. The question was whether he would admit it.
Just like you liked it when your dad touched you. Just like you knew deep down inside you enjoyed it, even when it hurt, you liked it. And he knew it. He knew you were nothing but a little whore. He was the only one who saw it.
"But we killed people, Signe. I shot them. They were all dead. How am I supposed to live with that? I killed that bartender in the restroom too. I'm not a murderer. I don't want to end my life in a Turkish prison."
"They were criminals, Mads. Part of the Turkish underworld. The police are going to thank us if they ever find out. No one is going to miss them. No one cares what happened to them."
"I do. I care. I'm the one who has to live with the fact that I’ve killed them. I'm the one who has to live with myself. Don't you understand that?"
She stared at him indifferently.
"I guess you don't," he said. "But this is the end of this, you hear me? If you ever pull a stunt like this again I will leave you. I will divorce you. I cannot do this again. I cannot play your little games anymore."
Mads sighed and stood up. He walked to the balcony and lit up a cigarette. Signe hadn't seen him smoke since before they were married. She liked it. Made him look like the bad boy she knew he was deep inside. The bad boy she was going to force out, whether he wanted to or not. The bad boy she wanted to be her husband and take over for that wimp that his mother had made him into. Yes, Signe was going to shape her husband into a man she could desire. No matter the cost. And they were never ever going to live in a small suburban house in Denmark, no matter how much he begged her. No matter how much his mother threatened them. Signe was in charge now and Mads was going to learn to like it.
27
April 2014
WE MET WITH REBEKKA and Sune back at the newspaper's office in the middle of town. Rebekka and Sune
had both been back for a while when Morten and I entered.
"Hey guys," Sune said. He was eating something. Rebekka was too. I looked at the clock; it was past noon. No wonder I was hungry.
"We bought Smoerrebroed," Rebekka said. "The best from a place down at the harbor. There’s enough for everybody. Just dig in."
I went to the small kitchen and grabbed two plates. I handed one to Morten, who found some sodas for us to drink. I grabbed a piece called a "shooting star." A piece of breaded fish on rye bread with shrimps, remoulade, dill and lemon on top. It was among my favorites.
We told them about our discovery while we ate. About how we had first spoken to Sascha, then Bettina and then gone back to Sascha to get the truth.
"So that means your daughter wasn't at fault," Rebekka said. "That's at least something."
"It is," I said with my mouth full. It was true that it soothed me a little to know that, but I felt anxious at the thought of the strange woman who had pushed Mads Schou out in front of the car. Where was she now? What had she done afterwards? If Sascha was afraid of her harming her, then could she have done something to Maya?
"It also means we're dealing with a murder case here," Morten said. "As soon as Sascha tells her story to the police, they’ll go into the case with a brand new perspective, which can turn out to our advantage."
We all ate in silence for a few seconds. Then Rebekka spoke.
"So I bet you're afraid that this woman hurt Maya as well, huh?"
I closed my eyes. I really didn't want to think about it, but yes, she was spot on. That was exactly what I was afraid of. Could she have killed her and driven off with her body and dumped it somewhere? After all, Maya probably saw too much, or at least that could be what the woman thought. Maya hadn't mentioned anything about a woman on the phone, so my guess was that she hadn't seen her until she got out of the car. But the woman probably thought she had.
I felt Rebekka's hand on top of mine. She squeezed it gently. "I'm sure she’s alright," she said.
I nodded and looked at her. I was beginning to like this Rebekka a lot. She seemed to truly care about this, about my story and not just because she wanted to sell newspapers.
"I have to believe she is. I can't lose hope, I simply can't," I said and drank from my orange soda.
"I understand," Rebekka said. "More than you know. Now let's tell them what we got out of our interviews."
Rebekka looked at Sune like she wanted him to begin. "Well, we went to see two people who were also at the party or reception or whatever you want to call it. The first one…"
"Stephen Pars," Rebekka interrupted him.
"Stephen Pars, yes," Sune continued. "A man a lot older than the two young girls you saw today. What was he?" Sune looked at Rebekka for the answer. "Thirty?"
"Twenty-nine," she corrected him. I loved the way the two of them were constantly supplementing each other. They knew each other well, I sensed. They just had a child together and also had one each from other relationships. It was great to see how well this kind of relationship could turn out. It gave me hope for me and Morten. It was always difficult when there were children involved.
"Yes, twenty-nine. Single, just gotten out of a long term relationship. Stephen saw the invite on Facebook and was curious. He thought that even if the party was dull and in the middle of the day, then there was still a possibility that he would be able to pick up a girl. So he decided to attend."
"The rest of his story resembles what yours told you," Rebekka took over while the two of them exchanged a secretive and caring look. I felt a sting of jealousy. Morten never looked at me the way Sune looked at Rebekka.
"You know, with the lights going out and people screaming and then all of them running outside."
"But there was one thing that he saw that I don't believe has been mentioned yet," Sune said.
"And what is that?" I asked.
"He said it was Mads who kicked the door open. He told us he didn't know Mads Schou before the party, but he had been standing next to him in the bar when the lights went out. They had talked about it for a second, you know, exchanged a couple of words wondering if the game had finally started. But then something happened to Mads, he said. He went quiet all of a sudden and then there was someone who whispered in the darkness. What was it that was said, Rebekka?"
"Someone whispered: Easy as One, two, three. Then Stephen heard Mads gasp and whimper and soon the voice started whispering numbers, telling him that his number of the day was four and that it meant that it was…," Rebekka looked into her notes and read out loud:
"…a demanding day that will require plenty of focus, but ultimately, it furthers your overall progress. Be careful not to make promises you can't keep."
"That sounds strange," I said. "Can I see?"
Rebekka showed me what she had written on her pad. It was impossible to read her handwriting, so I accepted her word for it.
"He was very specific and remembered every word of it," Sune said. "I don't think anyone would lie about something like this."
"Well, you'd be surprised what people will lie about," Morten said. "I’ve seen stranger things than this."
"And what happened to Mads next?" I asked.
"Well, Stephen was certain someone was whispering this into Mads' ear and soon went quiet…maybe to await his response. Stephen believes that the same someone who had whispered also tried to hurt him. Mads was afraid of her, that was certain. He could hear him breathing heavily. Then he told her to leave him alone. She answered, ‘no can do, sorry.’"
"It was a her?" I asked, thinking about what Sascha DuBois had told me earlier in the day. "Is he certain of that?"
"Positive," Rebekka said.
"You said she tried to hurt him?" Morten asked. "How?"
"Stephen didn't know exactly, but it sounded like they were fighting in the darkness, and then Mads screamed like he was in pain. Somehow, he must have been able to get away from this person and run to the door and kick it open, because Stephen saw him as soon as the door opened and light entered…before everybody stormed out. It was Mads who kicked it open, but he had been hurt," Rebekka explained.
"How did he know that?" I asked.
Rebekka cleared her throat. "He was limping, Stephen told us. He was limping and holding a hand to his right thigh. Stephen was one of the few who stayed back when everyone else sprang for the door in panic. He wanted to see who had been fighting Mads, but there were too many people to see properly if someone was following him. But when the light from the outside hit the counter in the bar, Stephen saw a few drops of blood had dripped onto the floor underneath the stool where Mads had been sitting. He figured someone might have stabbed Mads in the leg before he ran."
"Let's check it out," I said and grabbed my jacket. I looked at Morten. "Are you coming?"
"Sure," he said and got up.
"Where are you going?" asked Rebekka.
"To the hospital."
28
April 2014
THEY HAD BEEN TAKING more tests all morning, but still hadn't found a match. Mads was happy to realize it was harder to find a match for his organs than anticipated, due to his rare blood type. All morning, he had been moving the tip of his pinky frantically hoping that someone would see it, but still he had no such luck. He was starting to wonder if they were even looking for signs that his brain was working anymore or not. Maybe it was simply that once the doctor had declared a patient brain-dead, then everyone stopped looking for him not to be, they simply gave up all hope.
Now he listened in as two nurses were checking his monitors as usual and changing his IV fluid bags. They were chatting about their husbands and the talking made Mads feel at ease. He had become terrified of being left alone. The loneliness of being trapped inside of his own body was eating him up. He never knew when they were going to come for him and split him open. He was terrified of ending up in the ground, buried nine feet under dirt all alone.
But even more, he was terrified t
hat the woman would come back. She had been there, whispering in his ear just like she had done on the day of the accident, when she had suddenly been whispering in his ear in the darkness of the theater lobby. Mads had never been so scared in his life. And now she was here; she knew he was in this bed, but worst of all…she knew he could hear her. She had seen the pinky move, she had to have seen it and then concluded that he could hear her. She knew and yet she didn't tell.
It was beyond cruel.
The nurses laughed and Mads heard their footsteps disappear. Soon followed the well-known sound of the door to his room being closed. He was alone once again in the darkness with nothing but his thoughts for company.
Mads tried to fill his mind with thoughts of happiness to avoid the panic. Most of the times he would go back to the day he met Signe, the happiest day of his life.
He knew her already when he spotted her sitting at the end of a dock at Karrebaeksminde Marina with her feet dangling over the edge and a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Mads had just gotten back from a trip with a friend on his mother's yacht and had just set foot on the dock when he spotted her sitting there. He had heard stories about her. She was the girl whose father had been imprisoned for touching little girls improperly in his classroom and everybody knew he had done bad things to his daughter as well. He knew she had been thrown out of every school she ever attended and now she had to work full-time at the hospital kiosk selling newspapers and get-well-cards. She was scum, the lowest of the lowest in the small society. She was trouble and the one everyone was told by their parents to stay away from.
And that was exactly what attracted him to her. She was different. Nothing like the girls his mother wanted him to be with. She was interesting and exciting. At that second, standing on the dock looking at her sitting there drinking her beer and smoking a cigarette, he felt so drawn to her.