by Willow Rose
"Oh dear Lord," the clerk said, then closed the door again. He stood for a while trying to catch his breath, trying to calm himself down and not hyperventilate. He felt dizzy, it was like the entire hallway was spinning around him. He couldn't believe what he had just seen. Whatever had taken place in there couldn't be human. No human was capable of such cruelty. Were they? None he knew of. He had heard of evil in the world, but never ever thought he would encounter anything remotely like this.
The clerk stormed downstairs, crying, sulking, screaming, then stopped in the kitchen to look for the pastor's phone. He found it on the table and picked it up, trying to figure out what to say. He had never had to call for help before.
"Oh God you have to help me here, please help me."
As he opened the phone, the clerk suddenly heard a sound. He gasped and looked up. It was like a knocking, and now there were voices too? Was someone in the house? The clerk gasped. Could it be the killer? Was the killer still in the house maybe waiting for his next victim?
"Who's there?" he yelled.
He heard a bump, more voices, banging, someone yelling. What was that? The clerk stepped forward. He glanced at the kitchen knives on the table and grabbed one in his hand. He held it out in front of him as he walked closer.
"Identify yourself, please," he said.
Another sound. Someone hammering on something, like a door, muffled yelling. What was that? What could it be? Had he walked into some sort of trap? Was an entire flock of killers in here waiting for him to come close enough, and then jump him? If so where were they? Who were they? The clerk gulped and backed up slightly. There it was again. There was that sound once again. It didn't sound like a killer or anyone who wanted to harm him, it sounded more like ... more like ... like people? People yelling? People trying to attract his attention.
The clerk looked down and noticed a hatch underneath him. One of those built into houses during the war to keep people safe during attacks. Most houses on the island had them. Small shelters or bunkers under their houses either inside or in their yard.
"Hello?" he said and lifted up the hatch.
Hundreds of eyes greeted him, crying faces, torn faces, men, women, children. The clerk gasped and opened the hatch entirely to help them out.
Then he started to cry.
32
2012
Victor felt better a few days later and went back to school. The blisters weren't all gone but the infection was and so was the fever. So I sent him off to school on the following Friday hoping I could get some work done before the weekend.
As I drove back from dropping him off, I spotted Jack in his yard. I parked my car in front of my house, then walked across the street. I waved as I came closer. He smiled shy and approached me on the other side of the Beech hedge.
"Hi there," I said.
"Hhhhi ..."
I could tell he was fighting to speak and wondered for a second if I should just leave. That was when I spotted the most beautiful painting leaned against the wall of his house. "Wow," I exclaimed. "That's a wonderful painting. Who did that?"
I looked at his hands and clothes and felt stupid. All was smeared in painting. He smiled.
"You did that?"
He shrugged and nodded.
"Can I ...?" I asked and signaled if it was okay I entered his yard.
"Ssssure," he said.
I approached the painting. It was huge. Tall and wide. The colors were breathtaking. It felt like it was drawing me in, even if I didn't care much for the motive. A giant spider sitting in its web. There was still something alluring about it, I couldn't stop looking at it.
"This is very impressive. Did you really paint this?"
He nodded again while wiping his hands.
"Do you have more like this?"
"Inside," he said, sounding more confident.
I walked in. It took my breath away. Hundreds of stunning paintings just like the one outside, one more beautiful than the other met me. I laughed. "You're kidding me! I love these. They are gorgeous."
Jack smiled shy. "Ttth ...hank you," he said.
I couldn't help myself. I ran around in his house like a small child finding Christmas presents that I wasn't supposed to see just yet. It was splendid.
"Wow, Jack. You're just full of surprises aren't you?"
Jack had a smirk on his face. "I try to be. Cccan I give you sssomething to dddrink?"
"What are you having?"
"Elderflower cordial," he said.
"Hm," I said.
"What?"
"You didn't stutter. Just before when you said elderflower cordial. You didn't stutter at all."
Jack blushed. "Iiii ... I only stutter when I am nnnervous. Or when there are many people."
I chuckled. I liked the idea that I made him nervous. It was flattering. I smiled, a little shy. Jack went to the kitchen and brought me back a glass of elderflower cordial. "It's hhhome made," he said as he handed it to me.
"You are full of surprises, Jack," I said and tasted it. "This is good. You make it yourself. Or are you just trying to impress me?"
"A little of both I guess," he said. "Ssso how do you like it here on our street so far?"
I shrugged and stared at a painting. "Not too bad. No it's actually quite refreshing to get away from the city. How long have you lived here?"
Jack sighed and drank. "My entire life," he said as he put the glass down.
"The woman in the wheelchair, is that your wife?" I asked. "I hope you don't mind me asking."
"No, iiit's okay. She's my sister."
"What happened to her?"
Jack looked at me, then looked away. He became very serious all of a sudden. "Long story."
I found a chair and sat down. "I have time," I said. I knew I was being pushy and risked driving him away, but if I didn't ask I would never get the answers I needed.
"You sure you want to hear it?" he asked and sat in another chair next to me.
I nodded and drank.
"Wwwell you better know the story ssso you'll know to stay away from the right people," he said. "Ttthe thing is my sister and I grew up here on the South side of the town. My parents were a part of this church ..."
"Home Mission?"
Jack looked at me. "How'd you knnnow?"
"Took a wild guess."
"My parents both died in a car crash. It hhhhappened in the mainland. They had been visiting some friends."
I almost choked in my drink. "I'm so sorry. That's horrible, Jack. How old were you?"
"Iiii ... was twelve and my sister nnnineteen."
"Poor you."
"My sister was old enough to take care of me, so she did. Sssshe became my legal guardian and we stayed in the house and tried to live a normal life, you know continue our lives. But the church people wouldn't leave us alone. They wanted to control us, you see. My sister didn't want them to. They kept interfering with our lives and trying to make decisions about me, how I was supposed to dress and what school I should go to and so on. But my sister was strong. She wouldn't let them. Finally she got so upset with them, she broke out of the church. She left and told them we were out."
"What did they do?"
"At first nothing. What could they do? But after a while they began coming to our house, telling us we were sinning against God and all that nonsense. It drove my sister crazy. In the end she was so sick of them, she contacted the police and got a restraining order on them. One of them had grabbed her arm and made a mark and that was enough for the judge to give her it. Finally we were left alone. Then one day I was home alone, my sister was at a friend's house, but she never came home. The next day the police came to my door and told me she had been in an accident. A hit and run, they said. She had been walking by the side of the road when a car hit her. Has been paralyzed ever since. Can't even eat on her own. By that time I had turned eighteen and could take care of her. So I have done that ever since."
I looked at Jack. I saw such a vulnerability i
n his eyes. I exhaled thinking of what to say to a story like that. "Wow." It was all I could come up with. "So you think the church people might have been behind it?"
Jack threw his glass against the wall and it was scattered all over the floor underneath. I jumped, frightened.
"I know it was them. Don't you think I know that? You don't leave Home Mission. You just can't leave."
I wanted to speak but held myself back. Jack was in a very emotional state right now. Too upset to think about what he said. I didn't want him to say something he would later regret.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
He looked at me with angry eyes and nostrils flaring. He didn't answer, but I continued anyway.
"Irene Justesen. Did you know her?"
"Sure did."
"She broke out of the church too, didn't she? Many years ago."
He nodded. "It was right after her daughter disappeared."
"But they never hurt her for leaving?"
Jack seemed to be calming down now. He shook his head. "No, they didn't. Well my guess is they owed her."
"Owed her? Why? For what?"
"I don't know any of this for sure, since I was a child when all this went down, but after what I have heard I think they were behind the disappearance of her daughter. I think that's why she left the church. But I also think she had something to do with it. I think they all had, but Irene couldn't stand it afterwards. Couldn't look at them anymore. Between you and me I think they paid her a lot of money to get rid of the daughter."
"Why would they want to get rid of her daughter?"
Jack scoffed. "Because she was pregnant. She was sixteen and pregnant. That's not good out here."
"What do you think they did to her?"
He shrugged. "Maybe took her somewhere to remove the baby. Maybe they killed her. Who knows? All I know is she never returned."
I finished my glass while a million thoughts ran through my mind. "Who was the father?"
Jack exhaled deeply while running a hand through his hair. He wasn't wearing his beanie today and I quite enjoyed watching his thick brown hair. He looked great without the beanie on.
"I don't know. But my guess is it was one of the boys from the church back then."
33
2012
Saturday morning the story of the pastor was all over the papers and Internet. The media had been present for The Queen of Fitness' funeral. The journalists had been in the church waiting for the funeral to begin, wondering why nothing happened, when suddenly the island's police car drove up and parked in front of the rectory.
Immediately they all ran outside and all of them had the same interview with the clerk telling them that the pastor had been killed, that he had just found him inside and that it wasn't a pretty sight.
An ambulance later on arrived along with the island's doctor, Dr. Williamsen who declared the man dead before he was taken away in a body bag. The papers all had pictures of him being carried out to the ambulance on a stretcher and then statements from the police on scene followed. It wasn't Officer Dan this time, probably off duty; I thought and read the statements from Officer Clausen, another officer working down at the station.
"We do not believe this is related to the death of Irene Justesen, the Queen of Fitness," he said. "Nothing so far indicates that it is."
After that the journalist mostly focused on the many illegal immigrants who were found at the pastor's property and many of the other stories in the paper were about how poorly they had been treated and how the system was inhumane to immigrants. Not one of them speculated about the many killings on one small island.
I exhaled and leaned back in my chair in the kitchen where I was reading the articles on my laptop. I was in a state of shock. I had spoken to the man just recently, when he told me to stop asking questions. It felt creepy. This was actually a man I had known, that I had spoken to. It was suddenly really close. The killer was right out there, on the same island as I, killing people in cold blood. I might even have seen him or bumped into him somewhere. Maybe at the store? Maybe in my street?
Victor finished his breakfast and was playing in the living room. I told him to stay out of the yard a little longer, until his blisters were completely gone. It had gotten too cold outside. Hopefully the cold would kill off those bugs that had bitten him. I wanted him to be able to go out there and play during the winter, dressed in his winter suit. It seemed to be so good for him. The fresh air, the nature, the exercise. It was all good. And he needed it. He always got so cranky when he had to play inside for too long.
I grabbed my coffee cup and walked into the living room. I found him standing by the window with his nose pressed flat towards the glass, looking outside at his favorite spot in the entire world.
I walked up to him and looked out as well while sipping my coffee.
"I know you miss it, buddy. But the trees and the yard will be there next week too. Then you can go out and play as long as you're careful not to trip again."
Victor didn't react. He stared outside at his beloved yard. I felt bad for him having to be stuck inside for the entire weekend. But it felt like the best thing to do even if it meant having a cranky son inside the house.
"You think we're getting snow soon?" I asked knowing how much my son loved the snow.
Victor didn't look at me. He kept staring at the trees outside. "A storm is coming," he suddenly said.
"A storm?"
"A blizzard."
"A blizzard in October? Where did you hear that?"
"The trees told me."
"Ah the trees, huh? Well I bet they know before the weatherman on TV, right?" I said with a smile." I didn't want to tell him that they had said on TV this morning that the next few days were going to be calm and beautiful. Cold as hell, but calm. No winds at all. It didn't matter. In Victor's imaginary world there could be a storm, there could be many storms that I never knew about.
"Well we better stay inside, don't we?" I said and walked back into the kitchen. Maya was still sleeping upstairs and I didn't expect to see her at this side of lunch, so I put the rest of the breakfast away and the scrambled eggs in the refrigerator for her to take out later, if she wanted. Then I sat by my computer again. I gained access to the police file of the pastor. It was what the clerk had told the press about it not being a pretty sight, that lingered in my mind.
A second later my suspicion was confirmed. The pastor had been killed the exact same way as Mrs. Heinrichsen and Irene Justesen. Cut open while still alive and then the killer had removed his organs, the heart, the lungs and the liver. But why? I simply didn't understand. I could understand why anyone would hold a grudge against some of the church people, especially after the story Jack had told me ... I froze with the cup in my hand. Jack! What if it was him? My heart started beating faster. I stared at the computer screen with all those pictures, then out the window, across the street where Jack's house was. He had a motive. A reason to want those church people gone. And a good one indeed. Could he have done this? Was he capable of something that cruel? I lifted my cup and drank some more coffee. He had reacted quite aggressively when I asked about the church and his story. He seemed like the type with a dark side to him. You never knew with people, did you? But still... I could hardly imagine him cutting anyone open and removing their organs while they were still alive. It was so cruel, so barbaric. Could he do such a thing? I shrugged and put the cup down. Maybe. But why would he want to kill Irene Justesen? She had left the church just like he did. But maybe ... maybe she was in on hitting Jack's sister before she left the church? Maybe she was one of them, maybe she had been doing horrible things and then she left the church because it was too much?
It irritated me that there was so much I didn't know, like when did Irene Justesen leave the church? What year? When did her daughter disappear? I didn't even know how old Jack was. I would guess he was in his late forties, but could he be older? Could he be in his fifties? Could he even be the one who made Iren
e's daughter pregnant?
I shook my head and sighed. Too much guessing, too few facts. I was making up stories now. I scrolled through the police file and the pictures thinking they looked very much like the previous ones. I wondered how long the police were going to stick with their story that it wasn't a serial killer, that the deaths weren't related. It wouldn't be long before the press started wondering as well. I stopped at the last photo. The mandatory number the killer had left written in his victim's blood on the wall. This time it was the number two. I found my notes and looked at the numbers. Why was he doing this? Was he telling us something with these numbers? I looked at them again. Four, Three, Two ... was he counting down? Like a countdown before a rocket launch? Four, three, two, one ... blast off. But why start at four? Didn't those things usually start at five? I drank the last of my cup and almost choked when it suddenly hit me. I had seen something similar. On the wall in Victor's room.
I stormed up the stairs and ran into his room. I remembered when we moved in there had been something on the wall. It was like it had been washed off, but some had remained. Like a print, not very visible, but when you walked close to it, you could see. I had thought it was paint. That someone had painted it for fun, like graffiti or something and had placed my son's poster over it just until I found the time and energy to paint the entire room. I hadn't given it any thought since.
Now I walked close to the wall and carefully pulled the poster down. I held my breath as I watched the wall in front of me. Right there, on the light brown color, someone had once painted the number five.
34
1985
She was losing weight and could hardly fit any of the clothes anymore. Astrid had been saving on the food for the last month since they were almost out and it was almost time for the woman to bring them new supplies. But Sebastian was seven now and growing faster than expected. He had been eating a lot of food lately and in order to not run out too soon, Astrid decided she could cut back and let him have what he needed. But after weeks of hardly eating she had grown weaker and was tired all the time. She didn't have the energy to play cards with Sebastian or read all the books they used to. She slept most of the day now and tried to explain to Sebastian that this was just a phase. As soon as the new supplies arrived she would be energized again and able to do the things they used to.