by Rose, Willow
"Oh my God," I mumbled. "Oh my good God."
I picked up my phone and called Morten and a few minutes later he was standing in my kitchen.
"I'm so sorry," he said, and hugged me. "I was so sure it was over."
"Me too," I said, feeling the knot in my stomach grow. "What do we do?"
Morten pulled up a chair and sat next to me. He read the e-mail, then looked at the picture.
"It doesn't look like he has any demands like last time," I said.
"What are those attachments?" Morten asked.
"I don't know. I didn't see them until now," I said, and clicked on the first. "It looks like statistics."
"What kind of statistics?"
"Overdose. Like this one. It's a statistic from last year about mentally ill people who have died from an overdose of their medication."
"Okay, so like last time, he wants us to focus on something. He wants our attention," Morten said pensively.
"So we'll have to assume that the woman in the picture is another mentally ill person, right?" I asked.
"I think so," Morten said. "And he's made her take all of her medicine in order to bring focus on how often mentally ill patients die from overdoses."
I nodded and looked at the picture. It was hard to look at the woman, so I tried to focus on the details in her surroundings, instead. But it was difficult, since all we could see was the floor and the bottles. Behind her was something blue – it looked like a big heavy curtain, but that could be anywhere.
"Okay, so he's made his point…what do we do now?" I asked.
"I don't know," Morten said. "I mean, a drug overdose is fast. I'll call the station and get everybody working on finding her, but I'm not even sure they'll be able to in this short time.
I looked up at him. "We alert the media," I said. "That's what he wants. He wants everyone to talk about this problem, so we go out and tell it."
"How is that supposed to help find the girl?"
"I don't know, but it is. I'll call the TV station right away. And the radio. We haven't tried them yet. We ask the people to help us. See those pill bottles? We can't see the labels, but something is wrong in this picture. No one has this many pill bottles at the same time. They’re all prescription medicine. This is a person who has access to pills somehow…either the killer or the victim."
"Maybe a pharmacist?"
"Worth a try. We have to show the picture to the world. There’s no time to waste."
"We can't show this picture on TV," Morten said. "People will choke on their coffee."
"We have to. Someone might recognize the girl," I said. "We have no choice."
34
February 2014
ANDERS SAMUELSEN FELT SO alive! He was walking around in his old house restlessly, wondering what to do next. He simply couldn't understand how he had been able to live his life behind these walls for this many years afraid of what was on the outside. There was a new voice in his head, a new and fresh voice finally telling him the truth.
You were like a living dead person in this prison. How much time you've wasted! It's time to take it all back.
And Anders was ready for it. He wanted to do everything. He wanted to see the world. He wanted to jump off every building and bridge. He wanted to live his life to the max, never letting fear hold him back again. There was no reason to. Life was fun and death even better. This was it. This was his life. He had come back for a reason. But he couldn't help but wonder what that reason was. If there was a higher purpose, then it would surely be revealed to him sooner or later, wouldn't it?
All the adrenalin rush and newfound joy about life had made it difficult for him to fall asleep at night or even to relax when he was at home. He turned on the TV, hoping it would help him calm down a little, and that was when he saw her.
The beautiful angel who had saved his life. Emma Frost. He turned up the volume and heard her angelic voice tell about how she had received an e-mail just a little while ago telling about this woman who was in danger.
"We need to save her and we need the public to help us," Emma Frost stated.
She needs me. Emma needs my help! Was that why you sent me back here, God? Was it to help her?
"We have no idea who she is or where she is and we don't have much time. The killer has given her an overdose of pills and alcohol and it will kill her within a few hours if we don't find her and get her to the hospital. We're asking for anyone who can recognize anything in this picture to please contact us. Do you know this girl?" she asked, and held up a picture so revolting it made Anders' stomach turn. A face smeared with blood, bruised beyond recognition.
"Any information about this girl or anything else in the picture can be called in to the police station," Emma Frost said. "It will be highly appreciated."
"And you have a theory as to why the killer is doing what he does?" The journalist asked.
Emma nodded. "Yes. Along with the police, we've figured out that the killer apparently wants us to focus on certain problems concerning the treatment of the mentally ill. In this case, it’s the increase in the cases of mentally ill people who die from an overdose every year."
"So we're talking about a killer with a noble cause here?" The journalist said. "He is fighting for the weak, the people who can't speak for themselves?"
"Yeah, well…I'm not sure I'd put it that way, exactly," Emma Frost said. "I mean he has brutally murdered two people, buried one alive and now given this young woman an overdose which might end up killing her. He's no Robin Hood if you ask me. He's more like a terrorist holding all of us captive."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
A phone number to the local police station appeared up on the screen just as Anders turned off the TV. He got up and started walking in circles in his living room. The voice was in his mind again.
A killer with a noble cause, huh? Is there such a thing? After all, he did help you didn't he? He made your life better, didn't he? He made you face your fears? He helped you conquer them! He's the true hero here. He's the one who saved you. Not her.
Anders pulled his hair and looked at himself in the mirror in the bathroom. "But Emma doesn't like what he does," he told his own reflection. "Emma saved me."
He picked up a bottle of pills from the sink and looked at it. He used to take them to keep his anxiety down. Now, he hadn't taken any for days and he felt better than ever, didn't he? He was so alive. His thoughts were so clear.
You know what you have to do, don't you? You already know what's expected of you. There are people out there that need your help. You have to join the cause.
35
April 2007
"HE'S ALRIGHT. HE'S RESTING."
The doctor's words relieved Alexandra when she arrived at the hospital where they had taken Samuel in an ambulance after finding him in his room at the school. It had taken them almost three hours to get there and Alexandra had imagined the worst scenarios while Poul was driving. On the ferry, she had panicked and again while crossing the bridge to go to Zeeland. Poul had managed to calm her down, but she had been surprised to realize how he seemed to take it all in stride.
She couldn't escape the thought that her husband had somehow stopped loving their son.
No, it’s ridiculous. He’s his father. He’s just has a hard time knowing how to deal with him. That’s all.
"When can we see him?" Alexandra asked. She felt her heavy stomach and hoped little Olivia hadn't sensed her stress and anxiety the last several hours. They said the baby could feel all the emotions the mother experienced. Alexandra wasn't quite sure she believed that. She hoped it wasn't true.
"Right away. He really wants to see you," the doctor said.
"And he's going to be alright?" Alexandra asked.
"Yes. He didn't take the entire bottle of painkillers, so it wasn't too bad. We pumped his stomach and he'll be fine. We got him in just in time. Tests will show if the pills did any damage to his kidneys, but I don't believe they did.
Your boy will be just fine."
"Ah, that's good to hear," Alexandra sighed with a smile. She looked at Poul who still seemed troubled.
"Let's go see him," she said.
Poul nodded. "Yes. Let's go."
Samuel looked up when they entered. His eyes were red. He was crying. Alexandra couldn't hold it back any longer either. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Samuel," she said.
He looked at her with tear-filled eyes. "I'm so sorry, Mom."
She walked closer and stroked his hair. She had no idea what to say next. That she forgave him for stabbing her? That it was going to be alright?
"Shh. Don't talk. You need to rest now, Sammy. You need all your strength to get better."
He grabbed her arm. "Mom. I need you. I need your help. I'm so sorry. I really am. I'm so sorry. I know I'm bad. I know I'm wrong, Mommy. I can change. I know I can. I need help. I hear all these voices in my head. They tell me what to do. They told me to stab you, Mommy. They told me to take those pills. I really hate the school, Mommy. They tease me. They beat me up. I'm scared of them, Mom. Please let me come back home with you and Dad. I know I can get better. I know I can. Please give me a second chance. I love you Mom, you know I do."
Alexandra cried harder now. She leaned over and hugged her son. She looked into his eyes and stroked his cheek. Yes, that was her Sammy. There he was. She could recognize him in his gentle eyes. She had always known he was in there somewhere. Oh how she loved those eyes.
"Please, Mom," he pleaded. "Please forgive me."
Alexandra tilted her head and stroked his cheek again. She had missed him so much…her sweet Sammy. How could she turn him down? How could she let him down now that he was finally reaching out to her?
Well, she couldn't.
"Of course I forgive you, Samuel. I love you so much."
Samuel smiled behind the tears. "Does that mean I can come back home?"
Alexandra answered without consulting Poul. It just flew right out of her mouth. "Of course, sweetie. Of course you can come back home."
36
February 2014
"SOMEONE RECOGNIZED THE WOMAN!"
Morten yelled at me with the phone still in his hand.
"Really?"
"Yes. A woman called the police station. A pharmacist. She didn't recognize the face, but when she saw the bottles, she was convinced it was her. She had just given her the pills a few hours before. She is almost a hundred percent sure it’s her."
"That's great news," I exclaimed. "Wonderful. So you have a name and everything?"
"Not yet. The pharmacist had to go back to the pharmacy and log into her computer in order to find the name and address from the prescription. But it shouldn't take long."
The phone rang again and Morten took it. He wrote on a piece of paper while I took out the slightly-burnt lasagna that I had forgotten in the oven. I blew on it, then removed the burnt parts.
"Still edible," I said.
"Her name is Dagmar Madsen," Morten said. "She lives in central Nordby."
"Well, that's only like a minute from here. What are we waiting for?" I asked and grabbed my jacket from the closet in the hall.
I yelled to my dad that we were leaving for a couple of hours and that food was on the counter before we rushed out to the police car. Morten followed me and started the car. We drove through the streets of Nordby with wailing sirens and parked in front of a hairdresser’s shop. Then, we jumped out of the car and pressed all the buttons on the intercom until someone buzzed us inside. We jumped up the stairs and reached Dagmar's door. Morten knocked, explaining to me that he had to knock and declare who he was before we could break in. When no one answered, he kicked in the door and soon we were both standing in Dagmar's small apartment. We checked the bedroom, the living room and the kitchen, but found no trace of Dagmar.
"Well, it was almost too easy," I said, and sat in one of her kitchen chairs.
"I know what you mean," Morten said. "This guy isn't exactly known for making things easy on us."
"So, what do we do now?"
"I have to admit, I don't know. We'll have a search team go through the apartment and hope they come up with something, but it might take a while."
"And we don't even have a little while," I said with a sigh.
I threw a glance around the apartment, with the hope that I'd find something. After all, the killer had given me a clue the last time, so there had to be something here to help me out, didn't there?
I was relieved to realize that I was right.
On the counter, I spotted a picture that caught my attention. "What's that?" I asked and got up.
"What's what?"
I grabbed the picture and looked at it.
"What is it?" Morten asked.
I showed it to him.
"What's that? A cat?"
"It looks like it."
"So what does that mean?"
"Look around. Dagmar doesn't have a cat. There is no tray in the bathroom. No bowl of food in the kitchen. Not a single cat hair in the entire apartment."
"Okay, Sherlock. Where are you going with this?"
"The picture isn't Dagmar's. Someone placed the photograph here for us to find."
37
February 2014
"A CAT?"
Morten looked confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know," I said, still staring at the picture in my hand.
"Cat, cat, cat. Maybe the killer likes cats? Maybe this is his?"
"Hm, not likely," I said. "He would never leave a hint that leads us to him. He's not the one we need to find. It's her. He doesn't want to get caught."
"True. He's way too clever to leave any clues about himself. But what else do we have?"
"It's a clue that is supposed to guide us to where Dagmar is being hidden, so it might have something to do with a place of some sort. A pet shop maybe?"
Morten cleared his throat. "It's a possibility."
"We don't have the time to take chances. One wrong move and Dagmar is gone. We'll be too late."
"Tell me about it. So what else could it be?" Morten asked.
I shook my head. My brain felt so exhausted. "I don't know. I mean what the heck is this? A yellow cat? What could that hint mean?"
"A yellow cat? Did you say yellow cat?"
"Yeah. You saw the picture. It's yellow, or maybe light orange, I don't know what they call it. I'm more of a dog person."
"The Yellow Cat is a place outside of town," Morten said. "A small inn that opened a couple of years ago. I know the owner."
I opened my eyes wide. "Let's go check it out."
Morten followed me back down to the car. We drove out of town on the slippery roads while Morten called the station and told them where we were going.
"The forensics team from Copenhagen is on their way to Dagmar's apartment and will have it searched for fingerprints and so on. I'm so happy we still had them on the island so we don't have to wait."
Morten drove out into the countryside where the streetlights stopped and there was a long distance between farms.
"Why would our killer bring Dagmar all the way out here?" I asked, while snowflakes started dancing in front of the headlights.
Just perfect. It's snowing again.
"Who knows?" Morten said. "To play with us? Make us work for it? I don't know and I don't think I really care as long as we find her…alive."
"But most of what he does seems to have a meaning of some sort. Like when he placed the head of a mentally ill person on the body of a social worker. I mean, becoming mentally ill could happen to anybody…even a social worker. Maybe by giving her the head of the mentally ill person, she would be able to better understand them. It's still a theory, but I think I'm on to something. It all has a meaning."
"Not all of it. What about the cemetery?" Morten asked.
"I've been thinking a lot about that. I believe he wanted to show us something by burying Anders Samuelsen."
/>
"Like what?"
"Don't laugh. But I believe he wanted somehow to describe to us what it feels like to be like Anders Samuelsen. He was trapped in his house because of his fear and anxiety. He was unable to live his life properly. Like he was buried alive, like a living dead person."
Morten scoffed. "You're overanalyzing him, I think. He chose the cemetery because it's creepy and scary…that's why. He's nothing but a simple killer."
"I wouldn't call him simple," I said. "What he does demands a certain amount of intelligence."
"You sound like you're fascinated," Morten asked, skeptically.
"I'm not. I'm not going to give him that pleasure. But, I'm just saying that we're up against someone really clever and I think it's going to be really difficult to catch him."
Morten drove over a hill and stopped the car in front of an old building with a sign outside.
The Yellow Cat.
"It looks closed," I said, when we got out of the car.
"That's what worries me. It's not that late. I tried to call from the car, but no one answered the phone. It got me thinking that something was really wrong, but I didn't want to worry you further as well."
I saw Morten grab his gun and pull it out. "Maybe you'd better stay outside, Emma," he said, and walked towards the front entrance.
38
February 2014
I WATCHED AS MORTEN tried to open the door to the main entrance of the inn.
He turned and looked at me. "It's locked."
"That's odd," I said.
"I have to go in," Morten said, and kicked the door open. "You stay here."
I walked back to the car with a growing knot of concern in my stomach. I didn't like this at all and wondered if I should call for back-up.
It'll take them at least twenty minutes to get here.
My heart was beating hard as I heard Morten yell something from inside the inn. I walked closer to better hear him.