NINE, TEN ...

NEVER SLEEP AGAIN

Rebekka Franck series #5

By Willow Rose
 Copyright Willow Rose 2013
Published by Jan Sigetty Boeje
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any

printed or electronic form without permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons,

living or dead is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to
this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

Cover design by Jan Sigetty Boeje

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Special thanks to my editor Janell Parque

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 PROLOGUE

AUGUST 2012

AS USUAL, HE COULDN'T SLEEP. It had become quite a big problem for him
lately. Henrik Fenger had never been a heavy sleeper, but the last month or so
he had hardly been able to sleep at all. He never fell asleep until early in the
morning and then, only for a few hours. It was about to drive him crazy. He
was tossing and turning in the hotel bed with the girl sleeping next to him.
She had fallen asleep after the sex. Henrik thought it would make it easier for
him to sleep if he had sex with her first. That was the whole point, but, as it
turned out, she was the only one who had fallen asleep after three hours of
him riding her in all kinds of positions. He had been rough with her; he knew
that, which was why he decided to let her sleep a little, to recover first, before
he sent her away.
Now he was having a new thought. Maybe it was her? Maybe he couldn't
sleep because of her? Could it be guilt? Did her presence mess him up,
because he felt bad for Janni at home alone with the kid as usual when Henrik
was out on his business trips?
Henrik shook his head. Nah. That couldn't be why. He had done this a
million times; hell he always brought back a hooker from the hotel lobby
when he was out on business trips.
But, nevertheless, the girl had to go.
He poked her with his elbow hard in the side and she woke up with a
gasp. "What's going on?" she moaned.
"You need to go," Henrik said.
"But it's three in the morning?"
"Grab your stuff. I’ve put money on the dresser for you." He said with a
sigh.
 "Money? What are you talking about?" The girl lifted her head and
looked at him. "You think I'm some kind of hooker?"
"I don't know what you are and I don't care. Take the money or leave it,
as long as you're out of here."
She looked at him, confused. "But how? How … how can you think
something like that after the night we had? After all the things you said? I
thought …" she got out of bed and stared at him. "I thought you were a nice
guy. I thought we were having a nice time together."
"So what? You're expecting to get my phone number, is that it? You want
to get together and hang out and eat seaweed, drink smoothies and discuss
gluten free diets? Is that it?" he said with a shrill voice, pretending he was a
girl.
The girl picked up her blouse from the floor. "You ripped this, by the
way," she said. "It was pretty expensive."
Henrik looked away. "Buy yourself a new one with the money you
earned tonight. You deserve it."
The girl grunted and put on her blouse, then her shoes. Henrik watched
her as she bent down to get her other red, high-heeled shoe. She had long legs
and a great ass. He would do her again right there on the floor; take her from
behind, if it he didn’t need to get some sleep soon. Important meeting
tomorrow. Important investors who he couldn't blow off.
"You're a real asshole. Has anyone ever told you that?" she said, and put
on her jacket.
Henrik smiled. "Oh yeah. Lots of people. Especially women."
The girl scoffed, opened the door, and left while mumbling something in
anger.
"Bye bye now. Take care," he yelled after her with a grin.
Women. They all reacted the same way. How was he supposed to know
she wasn't a hooker? She looked just like one. Wasn’t that enough for him to
assume she was one? And she certainly fucked like one, that was for sure. Oh
boy, the things she had done for him. It was almost worth him seeing her a
second time.
Well almost.
 Henrik yawned and put his head back on the pillow. He really hoped he
never ran into this girl again. Well, he was only in town this one night.
Tomorrow he was off to Hamburg. A new town meant new women. There
was always one who fell for his charm.
The last sucker isn't born yet.
Henrik closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but after half an hour he
realized it wasn't going to happen on its own. Henrik grunted and looked at
the clock. He only had three more hours before he had to get up. This was
really annoying. He got out of bed and walked to his suitcase on the floor. He
searched through it, but didn't find what he was looking for. Henrik
remembered he had put his toilet bag in the bathroom. He walked in there and
spotted the bottle of sleeping pills that he was looking for. But they weren't in
the bag next to the sink, as he assumed they would be. No, they were in the
hand of a person wearing a doctor's mask, juggling the bottle, making the
pills rattle inside of it.
"Looking for these?" the person said. "Can't sleep can we?"
"Who ... Who are you and what are you doing in here? You can't be in
here!" Henrik said angrily. Who the hell was this person? A dream? Had he
finally fallen asleep? He hadn't heard anyone enter his room.
"Who are you?" he repeated when he spotted a syringe in the person's
other hand. Faster than he could react, the needle was pierced through the
skin on Henrik's shoulder and the liquid inside of it was injected into his arm,
while the person behind the mask said:
"I'm your next nightmare."
 1

AUGUST 2012

"ARE WE THERE YET?"

The question came from Julie in the backseat of Peter's car. I turned to
look at her. "Just half an hour more," I said.
"I can't wait," she replied with a wide smile. It warmed my heart to see
the joy in her eyes. She had been so happy lately, ever since her dad and I
decided to give our relationship another try.
"Me either," I said and turned to look out the window again at the
beautiful hills and forests. The corn in the fields had just been harvested and
autumn was right around the corner. We had taken Julie out of school for a
week to all go away to Peter's family estate outside of Aarhus. Peter and I had
a lot of healing to do in our relationship and we figured the entire family
would benefit from a trip away together, just spending time with each other.
We needed it and Julie, in particular, needed it. Her relationship with her
father suffered from the fact that she was a little afraid of him, still. Peter had
lost it back when he got back from Iraq and, along with taking too many pills,
he had gone crazy and once locked us both inside the basement of our old
house. After years in treatment, he was now doing better; the medicine was
gone, and along with it, the anger. We had been doing very well for a month
and a half now and it was time to mend the broken pieces, we both agreed.
I had never been to the estate by Lake Brabrand before and was looking
forward to finally seeing it. It had been in Peter's family for several
generations, but he and his brother fought too much to be able to share it
properly and Peter had backed out many years ago. But now, the brother had
moved to Spain and left it to Peter to take care of. Peter had been coming
there a lot to get away from everything and he had told me the place made
him feel better, the quietness, the nature, it had helped him clear his mind and
make the changes he needed to get better. It had been like therapy to him.
And, as far as I could see, it had done wonders. Peter was just like the Peter I
had fallen in love with when I first met him during my stay in Iraq, working
as a reporter many years ago. He was sweet and caring towards the both of us
and I sensed a sadness in him, as well, for having treated us badly when he
wasn't well. He felt like he had to make up for it somehow and that made him
sweeter than ever.
"I can't wait to play in the yard," Julie said. "You should see it, Mom. It's
huge. Like really huge, like an entire forest surrounding the castle."
Julie insisted on calling the place a castle. It was so sweet; she was so
easy to impress. "I bet it's great for hide and seek," I said.
"It is, Mom. It's perfect. You'll never find me."
I laughed and looked at my daughter. Her blue eyes were sparkling. I felt
a tender pinch in my heart from love. I really enjoyed being a family again. It
felt somehow so right.
Peter smiled. "We're almost there now."
He took the exit and got off the highway. We drove for a long time
through forests. I thought about my dad. We had left him back at the house,
but he hadn't been well. I felt bad for leaving him like this, but he had told me
he was fine. I had called my sister to check in on him now and then. She lived
fifteen minutes away so it wasn't too big a request, even if she thought it was.
"I have a life too," she said when I called to ask if she could do this for
me. "I have kids who needs to be picked up and dropped off, I have
gymnastics, swimming and soccer practice, plus I work full time," she had
argued.
"It's just for one week," I said. "We really need to have some time alone
as a family if we want this to work. As it is now, Peter is living in a hotel and
stopping by every day to be with us. We need some time to see if we’re able
to move in together. We need to work on our relationship to become a family
again. Just do it for me, okay?"
My sister sighed profoundly. "Alright. I'll do it for you. And for dad. Not
for Peter. You know I hate that guy for what he did to you."
"I know. But please promise me that you'll work on forgiving him. If I
can, then I think you can too."
My sister exhaled. "Well, maybe I will. Eventually."
"We're here!" Julie shrieked from the backseat and pulled me out of my
reverie. I lifted my eyes and looked out the front window. Then I dropped my
jaw, literally. It was stunning. Placed in the middle of the lake on a small
island was a huge white mansion surrounded by trees.
"Wow," I exclaimed. "It really is a castle."
"I told you, Mom. I told you it was."
"How do we get out there?" I asked. It seemed to be placed in the middle
of the water.
"I have a small boat," Peter said.
As he parked the car by the shore, I spotted the small boat in the water. I
had to say I was pretty intrigued. I was looking forward to being in a
secluded area with my family with no distractions to keep us away from each
other. And I certainly got what I wished for.
 2

JANUARY 1995

WHEN VALDEMAR WAS BORN, his mother knew right away that something was
wrong. The nurses and doctors wouldn't give him to her and kept turning
their backs on her, talking amongst themselves, shaking their heads.
"What's wrong?" Anna asked with a shivering voice. "Why can't I see
him? Why won't you give him to me?"
Finally, a doctor turned and gazed at her. His face looked grave and she
embraced herself for what he was going to say. Anna could hear the boy cry,
so he was alive, that wasn't it, he wasn't born dead. What else could it be that
was so terrible that they wouldn't tell her? That they would keep the child
away from her? The same child she had been waiting for for so long, wanting
so desperately to finally hold in her arms, and then couldn't. Why? Anna
simply didn't understand. As the doctor looked at her with his serious eyes,
she felt her heart rate go up.
Just say it, for crying out loud.
"There is something that you need to know," the doctor started.
"What's wrong? Is he sick?" Anna asked.
The doctor avoided her eyes. His mouth turned down. "You could say
that, but it's not … well it's a little different."
"What is it? Just say it." Anna said, her voice creaking in desperation.
"Well it seems that your boy has ... an abnormality."
"What kind of abnormality?"
"Well, it seems that he … he is missing both of his arms."
Anna fell backwards in the hospital bed. She felt confused. Dumbfounded
even. "He's what? What do you mean he is missing his arms?"
 "I mean that he was born without arms. We really don't understand why
the sonograms failed to reveal these complications."
Anna stared at the doctor with disbelief. She tried really hard, but still
couldn't understand what he was saying. How could the baby have no arms?
"I … I … I don't …"
How will he eat? How will he get by? Will the arms grow out eventually?
She had so many questions at that particular moment, but couldn't get the
words across her lips. How are we going to do this? What will Michael say?
"The father is in the waiting room still, I assume?" the doctor asked.
Anna nodded. A nurse turned to look at her. "Are you ready to see him?"
she asked. In her eyes, Anna saw nothing but pity for Anna's situation. Anna
didn't care much for that. It made her feel pitiful. And you're not supposed to
feel pitiful when you've just given birth to a child, are you? It was supposed
to be a time of joy for her and her husband, a time of blessed happiness,
wasn't it?
Anna looked at the nurse skeptically. Did she really want to see him? Did
she really want this crippled child who could never do anything on his own?
She thought about saying no. For just a short second, she wondered if she
could get out of here, get out of this nightmare somehow, maybe if she just
jumped out of the bed and started running now? What would happen if she
simply left?
"Here he is," the nurse said and handed her a small bundle before Anna
could make her decision.
The bundle was so light, so small she was afraid to break what was in it.
Anna felt tears press from behind her eyes and tried hard to force them back,
just as the baby opened his eyes and looked at her. In that instant Anna knew
her life was really changed forever and would never be the same again. Tears
rolled across her cheeks as she stroked the boy on the head. Never in her life
had she ever seen anything like this boy; never in her life had she felt
anything like what she felt at that instant. Looking into those very blue eyes
of his changed everything.
Arms or no arms, Anna was in love.
 3

AUGUST 2012

WHEN HENRIK FENGER OPENED his eyes he didn't remember where he was. He
blinked a couple of times to focus better. The light in the bathroom felt very
bright.
The bathroom? What am I doing in the bathroom? Last night? What
happened last night? There was someone in here. There was someone in the
bathroom?
Henrik felt suddenly anxious and turned his head to look around him. He
realized he was sitting in the bathtub. What was he doing in the bathtub? Had
he been sleeping in there? Why? Henrik felt suddenly so thirsty, like he
hadn't had anything to drink for days. His tongue was dry and felt sticky
inside his mouth. He was groggy, his thoughts clouded, and he could hardly
focus. Suddenly, he realized he was very cold and looked down only to
discover that his body was covered in ice, all the way up to his chest.
Where the hell did all this ice come from? A bucket next to the bathtub
gave him a clue. The ice had to come from the machine in the hallway
outside. But why? Why would anyone sink him into ice? Henrik now
remembered the needle the person had held in their hand and injected into his
arm. It was still sore and there was a small mark from where it had gone
through the skin. What had been in that needle? Henrik felt so groggy and
had to fight to stay awake. He felt confused. It was so hard to figure out what
was going on. Just moving his arm to pull it above the ice took a lot of work.
It was just like the time when he had his appendix removed and he had to be
put under anesthesia. The waking up was so hard. All he wanted was to go
back to sleep. Getting back to reality felt like being punched in the face.
Henrik groaned and tried to move his body underneath the ice, but it was
difficult. You need to get up from this cold ice or you'll freeze to death. Move
your body. Come on, Henrik. Just do it.
Henrik blinked his eyes and looked up when he spotted something on the
white wall in front of him. He blinked again to be able to focus better and
soon he realized it was a note. It was taped to the wall. It wasn't hard for him
to read it. In big letters it simply said:
DON'T MOVE. CALL 112.
Henrik blinked again trying hard to figure out what this was all about.
Was it a dream? Some weird psychedelic nightmare? It had to be. It simply
had to be. Had the person drugged him and that was why he was dreaming
this strange dream?
Henrik shook his head. It was hurting badly now.
No, this is no dream. This is real. This is very real.
Henrik turned his head and spotted a small table that had been placed
next to the bathtub with his cellphone on top of it. Something felt weird, he
thought to himself. Something was different when he tried to move, to turn
his torso. The ice numbed it, but it still hurt. Henrik was struck by a strange
feeling and reached back his hand to try and touch his back. He pressed his
hand slowly and carefully through the ice.
Something is really wrong here.
Henrik didn't dare to touch it anymore. He pulled his hand back with a
gasp. Carefully he reached for the phone and dialed the emergency number,
112.
"What's your emergency?" the lady asked.
Henrik felt his heart beat faster and had to focus in order to not lose
consciousness. "I … I think something bad happened to me. Please send an
ambulance."
"What happened to you sir?"
Henrik moaned. The pain in his back was getting worse by the second
now. The anesthesia was wearing off and the ice didn't do much to help him
anymore. The realization of what had happened to him was slowly sinking in
and it hurt more than anything.
"Sir? Are you still there? What's your emergency? Sir? Can you speak?
Are you still there?"
"Yes," he said with drops of sweat springing from his forehead, sweat
from excruciating pain. "Yes. I'm here."
"I'm sending an ambulance right away. What's happened?" the woman
asked again.
Henrik moaned heavily while seeing black spots in front of his eyes.
"I … I think … someone removed something from inside of me."
 4

AUGUST 2012

"DO YOU LIKE IT?"

Peter looked at me as he opened the gate to the driveway. In front of us
rose the enormous white house. It was beautiful.
"Love it," I answered. We walked towards the house with our bags. "Why
is there a driveway if you can only get here by boat?" I asked.
"The lake is not very deep on this side towards the land. Sometimes in the
summer when the water level is low, you can drive here. You need an SUV,
since it gets really muddy. I've done it a couple of times."
"Yeah, we did it together, me and daddy when we were here last time,"
Julie said and ran ahead of us towards the main entrance of the house.
"Oh you did, now did you?" I said, a little dissatisfied that I hadn't heard
about this before.
Peter led us to the courtyard. A broad set of stairs led to the front
entrance, a massive old wooden door. It was stunning. Everything about this
place was stunning. Magnificent, even. I had never been in a place like this
before.
Peter found the keys and opened the door for us. "Ladies first," he said
with a smirk.
Julie stormed inside and I followed her. If it was splendid from the
outside it was nothing compared to what it was on the inside. It was simply
breathtaking. The high ceilings that seemed endless, the marble floors, the
paintings on the walls as big as Julie, the stairwell leading upstairs, the many
hallways leading to unknown places. It was incredible.
I looked at Peter. "You'd better show the way," I said. "I don't want to get
lost in this massive house."
Peter chuckled, then walked towards the stairs. We followed him. "Julie
and I stayed in two rooms up here the last time. They were great, weren't they
sweetheart?"
Julie nodded eagerly.
"How many rooms are there?" I asked.
"Fifty-two without the servants’ quarters in the back."
"You're kidding me, right?"
Peter laughed. "Of course I am. It's only forty-eight if you don't count the
servants’ quarters in the back."
"Very funny."
Peter laughed. "It's true. I'm not lying."
"That's a lot of rooms. How old is it?" I asked.
"It's very old. It was built by a bishop many years ago, in 1302. During
the reformation, in 1536, it was taken over by the king who used it as a
prison. It has been told that a famous Scottish Earl was put in this prison and
went insane. He killed himself in here. They say that at night you can still
hear the horse driven carriage that carried his body away, but I've never heard
it. Later it became a mental institution for a short period from 1840 to1857.
My great-grandfather bought it in 1901 when it had been empty for a couple
of years. He completely restored it back to its old splendor when it used to be
a Renaissance castle in the beginning." Peter walked down the hallway and
stopped in front of a door. "This is Julie's room," he said. "This is where she
slept the last time we were here."
"Yay," Julie said and opened the door to her room. I peeked in. It looked
like a nice big bed in there. The furniture was very old and dark. Julie threw
her bag and then herself on the bouncy bed. I smiled. She seemed to feel so at
home here.
"Now you and I will be in the room right next to hers," Peter said.
I followed him down the hallway. "You and I, huh? You really think
we're ready for that?"
Peter opened the door and showed me the most astonishing room. It was
huge, almost the size of my dad's entire first floor. It had a big bathroom
attached to it with a spa and, in the center, was literally the biggest bed I had
ever seen. It was all very old-fashioned but astoundingly beautiful.
"Don't you think we are now?" he asked. "Don't you think we're ready to
take this to the next level?"
I took off my shoes and planted my feet in the thick carpet. Then I
smiled. "I think we are." I walked closer, then leaned over and kissed him. "I
really think we are."
 5

JANUARY 1995

VALDEMAR LOOKED UP AT Anna with his big blue eyes. Anna couldn't help
crying, not because of the fact that he had no arms, no. She had already
completely forgotten all about that and all she wanted was to take her baby
home. No, she was crying because, at that moment, holding him in her arms
at the hospital, she was happier than she had ever been in her life. Finally she
felt complete, finally she felt like her life had a meaning, a purpose.
She couldn't stop smiling and stroking him gently across his face, putting
her finger on his small nose.
The doctor kept talking about what their options were, how they would
get help from the county to make their home handicap-friendly and help to
take care of the baby in any way needed and that they could provide a
therapist to help the family cope with this tragedy and burden that had come
upon them.
Anna had stopped listening a long time ago. How could anyone ever
think that little boy could be a burden to her? How could he be anything but a
blessing to them?
"I'll go get the father now," the doctor said and left.
Anna hardly noticed he was gone. She kept looking at her baby boy,
Valdemar, who stared back at her with his wondrous eyes. Much to her
surprise, he had stopped crying as soon as he was handed to her. And ever
since she had held him in her arms, he had been smiling, which was really
special and surprising, since Anna had read in her books preparing to become
a mother, than newborns didn't smile until weeks after they were born.
That was when Anna first realized that Valdemar was a very special
child.
 "Anna!" Michael stormed into the room. He was pale and looked
confused. "How are you?"
She lifted her head and looked at him. His eyes were overwhelmed with
fear and worry. "The doctor told me," he said.
Anna smiled. She lifted the baby higher so he could better see him.
Michael smiled insecurely. "Can I see?" he said.
Anna nodded. Michael grabbed the blanket and unwrapped the boy's
shoulders. He gasped. Then his facial expression changed drastically and he
stepped backwards while shaking his head. "No," he said.
"Michael," Anna said. "It will be okay. We'll figure it out together. Like
we always do, remember?"
But Michael didn't remember. He kept shaking his head, staring at the
boy's missing arms with a strange expression to his face, which Anna didn't
care for. She hurriedly re-covered the boy's shoulders with the blanket and
pulled him close to her body again. Michael stared at her like he was appalled
by her and the very fact that she was able to care for such a misshapen
creature, like it made him feel disgusted by her.
"Michael?" she said with a shiver to her voice. "It's going to be okay.
He's still our boy. He's still the Valdemar we have been waiting for."
Michael shook his head. "No. No. That is not my son."
"Michael?" Anna was crying now. "How can you say such a thing? He's
still your son and will always be."
"No," Michael simply said, then turned around and walked away.
Anna cried. Her entire body was shivering in anger and desperation.
"Michael!" she cried out after him, and finally he turned to face her again. In
his eyes she saw something she would never forget for the rest of her life.
She saw blame. He was blaming her for what had happened. He was
blaming her for giving birth to a boy without arms. She gasped and leaned
back against the pillow. Never had she seen such resentment in her beloved's
eyes. Never had she seen such anger and disappointment. It hurt in every
bone of her body.
"Michael?" she said.
But he never answered.
 6

AUGUST 2012

"IT SEEMS THAT YOU'VE had your kidney removed."

The doctor standing next to Henrik Fenger's bed looked like a pig, Henrik
thought. He was big and fat and had almost pink skin. And then there was the
nose. It somehow reminded Henrik of a pig with the big nostrils. He was
repulsed by this person and even more by what he was now telling him.
"My kidney?" he asked. "How the hell …? Henrik felt dizzy and had to
close his eyes for a second.
"It was very professionally done, so whoever did it must have tried
something like this before."
"Wha …? What? How? I want to know how this could have happened. I
demand to know!" Henrik had to hold back his rage. Now that he had become
clearer in his head, he felt nothing but anger for what had happened and he
wanted those behind it to pay.
"Well you were probably heavily sedated first. That's why you didn't feel
anything. But I really feel you should discuss all this with the police when
they get here."
"But what about my kidney?"
"You'll be fine with only one. Lots of people live perfect lives with just
one kidney."
"But where the hell is it now? Why would anyone want to take my
kidney?" Henrik was snorting in furor now.
The doctor shrugged. "I really feel you should talk to the police about the
details. I don't know much about it."
"Then get the fucking police here right now!" Henrik yelled.
 The doctor left and came back with a nurse who gave Henrik something
to calm him down, the doctor said.
Henrik protested. "I don't want to be calm. I'm angry. I want to see these
people hung and tortured for what they've done …"
"You really shouldn't get this agitated Mr. Fenger," the nurse said. "Your
body can't cope with it."
"Don't tell me what to do and what not to do. I am angry and I am entitled
to be very, very angry!" Henrik rose from the bed and stormed towards the
nurse with his hands towards her, grabbing her around the throat, screaming
and yelling. Suddenly he felt dizzy once again and, shortly after, everything
went black. The last thing he heard was the nurse scream.
When Henrik opened his eyes again, he was strapped to the bed and
could hardly move his hands. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fenger but we had to strap you
down," the piggy doctor told him. "You attacked one of our nurses and we
can't have that happening again."
Henrik tried to pull his arms and legs loose, but couldn't. He groaned and
yelled in anger. "How dare you? I'm the victim here!"
"The police are here and ready to talk to you, when you're calm enough."
Henrik moaned and fought with the straps.
"I guess I can always tell them to come back later," the doctor continued.
"No. No. Please don't. I'll stay calm," Henrik pleaded, then drew in a deep
breath. "I'm calm now. I'm calm."
"Good. That's better. Your body can't sustain those bursts of anger, Mr.
Fenger. You have to try and stay calm."
Henrik nodded. "I will. I promise."
"Good. I'll let them know then," the doctor said and left him.
As the minutes passed, Henrik fought to stay calm, but it was really hard.
This whole situation left him with such an excruciating anger, one that he
usually only showed towards his wife and kid at home behind closed doors.
He never lost it at work or in front of strangers. But this … this … was just
too much for him to be able to restrain himself.
"Mr. Fenger?"
Two officers entered his room. They looked like idiots. Just like all other
police officers Henrik had ever encountered. Was the entire police force all
morons? Henrik took a couple of deep breaths to stay calm. "Yes," he said,
trying really hard to smile.
The officer looked down at his notepad. He looked like it annoyed him to
be there. As if Henrik's case was beneath him. It made Henrik even more
furious.
"We have been updated on your most unfortunate situation by Doctor
Hansen …"
"There is nothing unfortunate about my situation," Henrik said through
gritted teeth.
"Excuse me?"
"What?"
"You said something?"
"Well, you used the word unfortunate and I didn't like that."
"You didn't like my choice of words?"
"No. My situation isn't unfortunate," Henrik said, trying really hard to
restrain himself from exploding.
"Then, what is it?" the officer asked.
"It's a CRIME," Henrik yelled. "It's a fucking crime that someone has to
pay big-time for."
The officer nodded. "That's what I meant. We agree, then. This
unfortunate crime has to be investigated, of course, and Officer Frandsen and
myself, Officer Jansson, will be the ones to do just that."
Henrik stared at the two buffoons in front of him. Christ, here I am in
fucking pain, the worst trouble in my life and these are the guys I have to
depend on? Freaking Starsky and Hutch?
"So what is your take on this?" He asked.
The two buffoons looked at each other. "Our take? I'm not sure I
understand," officer Jansson said.
"What do you make of this? Of what happened to me? Who did this and
why?" Henrik said, trying hard not to yell again.
Officer Jansson nodded. "Oh yes. Well we're probably talking about
organ theft here."
 You think?
"Okay. I kind of figured that out myself," Henrik said with a sigh. "Since
someone stole one of my organs, that is. But what I meant is, do you have
any idea who might have done this to me and, more importantly, do you have
any idea how to find them and make them pay?"
Officer Frandsen cleared his throat. Henrik looked at him expectantly,
hoping for just a small glimpse of hope.
"To be frank, we don't," he said. "As far as we know this is a first in this
country. Organ theft is mostly seen in Eastern European and Asian
countries."
"So you have no idea who took my kidney?" Henrik said, flabbergasted.
Both officers shook their heads. "I'm afraid we don't, no," one of them
said. Henrik didn't care who.
"Were you alone in the room?" Officer Janssen asked.
Henrik hesitated. He could hardly tell them about the girl, now could he?
The girl? Could it? Could it be her? It had to be. It had to be her. She had to
have something to do with this. But he couldn't tell Starsky and Hutch here,
could he? ‘Cause then his wife would find out. Then she would leave him and
take Thomas with her like she had sworn she would if he ever cheated on her
again. No, he couldn't risk that.
"So … what do we do next?" he asked.
The officers looked at each other again, then at Henrik. "Well first, we
take your statement and then we have to get back to the station and see what
we can do," Officer Frandsen said. "We will start an investigation and get in
contact with our Eastern European contacts to help us. We suggest that you
stay here at the hospital till they're ready to let you out and then you go on to
live your life like you used to. We'll be in touch."
After they left, Henrik stared for a long time at the door. It was in those
crucial minutes following that he slowly realized that it was time to take
matters into his own hands.
 7

AUGUST 2012

THOMAS DE QUINCEY WAS looking through pictures on his computer. Pictures

of a woman lying on the ground somewhere, her dead eyes staring at the
photographer, her mouth stuck in a scream, her hand cut off and stuffed into
her mouth making it look like she was throwing up her own hand. He studied
it closely. The pool of blood gave the picture great color, but the girl didn't do
anything for him. He wasn't appalled, he wasn't disgusted or delighted.
Thomas De Quincey leaned back in his chair and tilted his head slightly
to look at it differently, but it still didn't do anything. The creator, the artist of
this piece claimed it was worth a lot of money. Two hundred and fifty
thousand, he wrote in his e-mail. With the deal, Thomas would get the girl
and the hand in the mouth and that was quite unique. Thomas had never seen
anything like this before. But he couldn't help wondering if the girl had
already been dead when the artist put the hand in? ‘Cause that would change
everything. If she was still alive, then it had the cruelty and gruesomeness
that he was looking for, but if she was simply killed, and then the artist had
cut off the hand and stuck it in her mouth for effect, then it was worth nothing
to Thomas. And he simply didn't get the vibe from it he was looking for. It
didn't cause the hairs to stand up on his back. It didn't have the brutality to it
to make him shiver in delight. It simply wasn't there.
Thomas closed the picture and checked the chat. He had recently received
a new follower, a new member who he had tutored and he was very excited
to hear news from him and what he was about to do. He called himself Bill
Durgin after the famous photographer whose macabre pictures were well-
known to those, like Thomas De Quincey, who enjoyed the macabre
immensely and lived for it.
 Thomas chuckled when he saw that his new apprentice was online. He
had that same feeling of excitement he used to have back when he had let
Fred Einaudi, alias Allan Witt become a part of his small, yet very exclusive,
club. Thomas broke a pencil thinking about how things had ended with Allan.
Thomas had been very careful taking in a new member this time, in order to
not make the same mistake twice. Allan had simply been too crazy and
finally lost it completely. It was too dangerous to have someone that unstable
as a part of the group. But, with the kind of people he attracted, it was
probably hard to avoid.
This one, he was pretty sure, wouldn't let him down. He had passed all of
Thomas' test and questionnaires. His fantasies were quite different from those
Thomas usually encountered, since he wasn't as interested in actually killing,
as he was in just simply inflicting immense pain on a special group of people.
This was a new approach and very very intriguing. Thomas was extremely
excited to see where this Bill Durgin was going to take it.
How did it go? Thomas wrote.
Perfect, Bill Durgin answered. It went exactly as I had hoped.
Bill Durgin went quiet, then posted some pictures. Thomas looked at
them, feeling thrilled. He clapped his hands like he was applauding him, then
wrote: Good. I'm so happy to hear that. Don't forget to give me my payment.
I won't. Next time. I promise.
When will you strike next?
Tomorrow night.
How exciting. Good luck.
Thanks.
Then he was gone. Thomas saw that two of his other apprentices were on
as well. He wondered if he should write to them, but decided to just watch as
they talked to one another instead. It was his chat forum, he had created it and
he could listen in on his member's conversations any time without them
knowing it. They were discussing a kill that one of them had done two nights
ago. One of them was posting pictures while the other was jerking off
watching them. The display on Thomas' phone lit up. He had received a text.
Thomas looked at it:
Your delivery is here, it simply said.
 8

AUGUST 2012

I SLEPT WONDERFULLY THAT night in the big bed. Peter woke me up with
kisses and touches.
"Not now," I groaned, hoping desperately to get to sleep just for a little
longer. I felt his hand on my thigh and his kisses on my throat. It felt good.
"Just a quick one," he whispered and put his hand inside my panties.
"Mmm," I moaned and let him crawl on top of me.
"Mmm you smell good," he moaned. "You taste even better."
I chuckled, but stopped as he came inside of me. I held his head between
my hands and stared into his blue eyes. I felt so happy to be back with him. I
hadn't realized how much I had missed him, how deeply I still loved him.
Making love to him again reminded me of how much I liked us, how much
we belonged together even if it meant having to fight through bad times.
I took a shower before breakfast and Peter went down to the kitchen to
start cooking for us. Julie was already awake, he told me before he left the
bedroom. She was running around in the yard, playing hide and seek with her
imaginary friend.
"She has an imaginary friend?" I asked. Why hadn't I heard about that?
"I think he arrived the last time she was up here. I guess he lives here or
something. Maybe he's just an animal, who knows?"
"I hope she won't get lost out there," I said.
"It's an island, Rebekka," Peter said with a grin. "We'll find her if she is
lost. Don't you worry."
I heard her squeal in laughter from the yard and peeked out through the
bathroom window. Then I laughed. Julie was running in circles, laughing out
loud. I wiped myself with the towel thinking this stay was going to do all of
us good.
I grabbed my toilet bag and started unpacking my stuff in the bathroom,
putting things on the shelves in the cabinet above the sink. I pulled out a pack
of tampons and looked at them. I was terrible at keeping track of when I was
supposed to have my period. When I had been trying to get pregnant with
Sune I had tried to be systematic about it. I had written in my calendar when I
had my period but always ended up forgetting a month and then it was all
messed up. Sune had been really annoyed with that.
I put the box on the shelf in the bathroom, then walked back into the
room. I got dressed while looking at myself in the mirror. Had I gained
weight?
No you're just acting crazy again. You always think you've gained weight.
Learn to live with it. Make peace with your thighs.
I put on my jeans and a shirt and went downstairs. It took awhile for me
to find the kitchen and Peter. He smiled when I entered.
"Right on time," he said.
"In time for what?" I asked, when the smell of food hit my nostrils and I
realized I was starving.
"Breakfast is on the table."
He wasn't kidding. On the table was everything I loved. Scrambled eggs,
croissants, buns and soft boiled eggs.
"You didn't make all this?" I asked. In all the many years of us being
married he had never cooked for me before. Not even boiled an egg.
Peter smiled. "Nah," he said. "I have help. Mrs. Holm. She was here early
this morning and made it all. She cooked for the entire day, so we only have
to warm it up. She'll be back tomorrow morning."
"Of course you have help," I said with a grin and sank my teeth into a
croissant. It was heavenly. "Does she come every day?"
"Not on weekends. Her husband loves to fish, so he keeps his boat on the
dock on the shore that she uses to get here every day."
"Does she clean the entire place as well?" I asked, feeling suddenly sorry
for this poor lady, with all the many rooms and bathrooms.
 Peter chuckled. "No. She puts on new bed sheets and stuff in the rooms
we use, but she doesn't clean. I have a cleaning company that I hire to do
that."
"Of course you do." I grabbed another croissant happily, forgetting all
about how fat I thought I looked in the mirror less than half an hour ago. I
chewed while looking at Peter. He was so handsome. He drank his coffee,
holding the cup between his big hands. I loved his big hands. I loved that he
was so much man and nothing like … I sighed and looked out the window
where I spotted Julie in the yard. I hadn't spoken to Sune in weeks now and I
felt really bad about how it had ended. I thought that if I gave him some time
to heal, then maybe he would one day be able to forgive me. I didn't expect
us to be friends again since he was so angry with me, but part of me still
hoped we could … someday. Julie had been asking a lot for Tobias and it was
getting harder and harder for me to find reasons why we couldn't see each
other, why I couldn't just call Sune and ask him to come over with Tobias
like I used to.
The back door to the kitchen opened and Julie stormed in. Her cheeks
were red from the cold wind and fresh air, her eyes sparkling with joy.
"Are you coming out to play?" she asked us.
I looked at Peter and shrugged. "Why not?" I asked. "It's not like I have
something else to do today. How about you?"
Peter stretched himself with a long yawn. "I was actually planning on
getting some painting done."
"Painting?" I asked. "Don't you have people to do that for you?"
Peter grinned. Julie made a disappointed sound.
"No not painting the walls, but real painting on canvas. I have created a
studio for myself in the attic."
I almost dropped my fork. Peter painting? The idea was so strange to me.
Peter the military man who had spend his entire life in war? First as a soldier,
then by running his own private military security company that was, in fact, a
mercenary company, making money off of war.
"Why did you start painting all of a sudden?" I asked.
"It all began some months ago," he said. "It is all a part of my therapy. I
paint my emotions, so to speak. It's really soothing for me. Makes me calm
and relaxed, I discovered. You know I've never been good at expressing
myself and how I feel. This helps me deal with some of the stuff I carry
around with me."
I stared at him thinking I hardly recognized the Peter I had once been
married to. Was it really possible for someone to change this much?
"Surprised?" he asked.
"To put it mildly, yes."
Peter laughed again. "What can I say? It makes me happy. Painting
makes me a better person."
"Good for you. I really mean that. I'd love to see them. I'd love to see
your paintings."
Peter exhaled. "And you will. When I'm ready to show you. Right now
I'm keeping them to myself, but someday …"
"No pressure, Peter. It's okay. Just when you're ready for it. I know that
kind of thing is sensitive. It's hard to put yourself and your work out there for
people to see and criticize. Don't worry. I won't pressure you into showing
me."
"Will you come out and play then, Mom?" Julie asked. "Please?"
I looked at her. "I'll come out and play in a few moments. I just want to
catch up on the news first. I might be on vacation, but I still need to keep up
with what’s going on."
 9

JANUARY 1997

IT WAS VALDEMAR'S SECOND birthday. Anna was preparing the cake in the
kitchen, putting whipped cream on top and setting the candles in the middle
of it, while Valdemar was sitting on the floor looking up at her with affection
in his eyes.
She smiled and looked down at him. "It's almost done, Valdemar. It's
gonna be perfect, absolutely perfect."
Valdemar grinned, then bent forward and picked up a toy car between his
teeth and started playing with it, using his mouth to push it around. Anna felt
such great love for him at that instant. He had been finding his own ways to
do things ever since he had started moving around on his feet. Crawling had
been too much of a challenge without the arms to support him, so he had
skipped that step and started walking at the age of seven months. One
morning, while Anna and he had been sitting on the floor, he had suddenly
bitten onto the bars of the playpen and pulled himself up with help from his
mouth. Anna had gasped, thinking at first that something was wrong with
him, since that was what Michael kept telling her.
"The boy is wrong. He is a mistake. He should never have been born. He
will never be able to do anything. He'll need help just to eat for the rest of his
life. What kind of a life is that for a child? And who will help him when he's
a grown up? No one. He'll have to live in a home."
But at that instant, on the floor with seven month old Valdemar pulling
himself up to an upright position using his mouth instead of hands, Anna
realized that maybe, just maybe Michael was wrong about the boy. Suddenly,
he was standing up next to the playpen with a huge smile and that was when
he took his first step towards Anna with a big grin. At that moment, Anna
cried and held out her arms and let him walk right into her embrace where
she held him tightly for a long time, tickling his tummy, telling him how
absolutely wonderful he was, how beautiful he was and how he would be
able to do anything in life … anything and no one should ever tell him
differently.
And she had kept telling him that every day of his life ever since. She
knew, in her heart, that this boy wasn't normal, and she thanked God every
day for it. No, he wasn't normal, he was special. And he was going to do
special things in this world. Things no one else would ever do or dare.
"Mommy?" he said and stood up.
"Yes sweetie?"
"Will daddy come home for my birthday?" Anna looked at her boy, then
kneeled in front of him. She stroked his light hair between her fingers and
looked into his eyes. What she saw in there didn't belong to a two-year old.
No, Valdemar had clever eyes, eyes that had seen much, eyes that understood
more than what a two-year old normally would. The way he talked told Anna
that he was smarter than other kids, even if many people thought he was
retarded because of the way he looked and moved. His language was much
more developed than any other two-year old’s. The doctor had told her and
she heard it every day, how fast it developed and how long the sentences
were that he was able to say. He was always using bigger and bigger words,
sometimes so big Anna had to look them up to know what he meant.
"No, sweetie," she said looking into those eyes that seemed like they
belonged to someone who was carrying the troubles of the world.
Just like last year, Michael wasn't going to be there to celebrate
Valdemar's birthday. It was too difficult for him since he viewed this day as
the darkest day in his life, not as the happiest like Anna. Like last year, he
would probably go directly to the local bar in Brabrand after work and drink
till he passed out and someone put him in a cab home. But even if Valdemar
would understand all that if she explained it to him, she didn't want to. She
saw every day how the gap between the boy and his father grew wider, how
Valdemar looked at his father with longing eyes in the morning at the
breakfast table, desperate for him to just look at him or even speak a few
words to him.
 But he never did. Michael ignored the fact that Valdemar even existed.
And he had done so ever since they had come home from the hospital. He
never picked him up. He never changed a diaper or even spoke to the boy. He
simply pretended like he didn't exist and Valdemar didn't have to be as bright
as he was to feel it, to sense his dad's resentment towards him. It was so
obvious it hurt in every bone of Anna's body and some days she wished
Michael would wait to come home from work till Valdemar was in his bed
sleeping, to spare the boy from the pain of looking at his father without him
looking back, of talking to him, asking him things and the father never
answering. It was heartbreaking and she was tired of making excuses for him,
yet she still did. Luckily for her and Valdemar, Michael's job as a salesman
for a big toy company demanded that he travelled a lot and was often gone
for weeks at a time.
"Daddy had a trip," she said, like she had said so many times before.
And, like so many times before, she saw the small light of hope in her son's
eyes slowly die out.
 10

AUGUST 2012

JULIE RAN BACK OUTSIDE and Peter went upstairs to paint while I pulled out
my iPad. The national TV Station TV2's web-page was filled with yellow
blocks stating Breaking News. I opened the link to watch it online. The
anchor looked serious as she spoke.
"And now we will go live to the hospital in Aarhus where my colleague is
with Henrik Fenger," she said.
Then they clipped to a live interview with some guy in a hospital bed.
"Yes," the journalist on the spot said, "… and Henrik Fenger, I can
understand you're very angry about what happened to you?"
"Of course I am," the man in the bed snorted. "Who wouldn't be?"
"Could you explain to us exactly what happened?" The journalist asked.
On the screen the text said Organ thieves stole man's kidney.
"Well I … I was trying to fall asleep and, when I couldn't, I walked into
the bathroom at the hotel where I was staying …"
"The Hotel Kragen in Brabrand," the journalist interrupted him.
"Hotel Kragen in Brabrand?" I mumbled. "I think we passed that place on
our way here."
The man looked angry for being interrupted and shot the journalist a look
that could kill. "Yes, the Hotel Kragen where I was staying for the night
because I had an important meeting in the town the next morning."
"When did you realize your kidney was gone?" The journalist once again
interrupted him.
"Well if you'd let me tell my story …" the man stopped himself. It was
obvious he fought to calm himself down. "I noticed someone was in my room
as I went into the bathroom and I think I saw someone holding a syringe in
their hand, an injection needle. That's all I remember …"
"Were you alone?"
"What?"
"Were you sleeping alone in the hotel room?"
The man in the bed went quiet. He stared at the journalist with frozen
eyes. "Of course," he said finally, after a long, slightly embarrassing, pause.
"Of course I was alone. My wife and family were at home in Roskilde. I was
away on a business trip."
"So when did you realize your kidney was missing?" The journalist
asked.
"The next morning I woke up in the bathtub, covered in ice cubes. On the
wall was a note telling me not to move and to call 112 right away. So I did. In
the hospital, they told me someone had removed one of my kidneys."
"What did the police say?"
"They have no clue what they're doing, if you ask me. They say they have
never seen this in Denmark before, but what do you expect me to do with that
information? I want those who did this to suffer big-time. I want them put
away for the rest of their lives. So if anyone knows anything, have them
contact me."
The journalist turned and looked into the camera. "And there you have it,
Lisa. An angry and frustrated man looking to the public for help. Back to you
Lisa."
"Thank you Robert," the anchor took over in the studio. "And Henrik
Fenger has put up a reward of 25.000 kroner for anyone who brings him
information that can lead to the arrest of the organ thieves."
I was about to shut off the online broadcast, when suddenly the anchor
started a new story that caught my interest.
"This just in," she said. "Grave thieves have once again struck in a
church. This time it is in Odense Cathedral where they have stolen the
remains of Knud den Hellige, former king of Denmark from the year 1080 till
1086. The king was murdered by rebels in Odense in a church where he was
kneeling before the altar on July 10th 1086. Last month, the remains of the
former king, Erik Kippling, were stolen from Viborg Cathedral. Police are
looking to the public for help in this case. More to follow on that story later
as it develops during the day."
Then the anchor moved on to another story about the female prime
minister who was now in trouble for constantly showing up in public with her
expensive Louis Vuitton bag which didn't signal her sympathy for the
working class, as she was supposed to, as the leader of the Socialist party.
I turned off the online broadcast and put the iPad down. Julie was in the
doorway looking at me. "Coming Mom?"
 11

AUGUST 2012

MARTIN DAMSGAARD LOVED BEING on the road. He loved everything about it.
He loved meeting new people, he loved staying in new places, new hotels and
eating at new restaurants. But most of all, he loved that he could do whatever
he pleased without his wife knowing about it.
"So do you come here often?" he said to the girl next to him in the bar.
She turned her head and smiled. She had a nice smile, he thought to himself.
And her hair was gorgeous. How old was she? Twenty-five? Yeah that was
about it. Was she a hooker? He never could tell. Discretely he leaned back in
the bar stool and glanced at her from behind.
Nice piece of ass.
She was wearing a very short, tight dress that showed how well-shaped
her body was. Martin liked that a lot. He ordered another whiskey and looked
at her. "You want another one?" he asked her.
She nodded. "Chardonnay," she said.
"And a Chardonnay for the lovely young lady."
The bartender brought them their drinks and they sipped them in silence.
Martin had picked many women up in bars all over the country, even in
Thailand when he went there on business every now and then as well. But
this one was better than most he had met. He shook his head and stole a
glimpse down her cleavage. Oh how he loved young breasts. Voluptuous and
plump. That was the way he preferred them. Martin was a breast man. Lots of
his colleagues liked the ass more, but Martin didn't. He liked to take their
breasts in his mouth and suck on the nipples, he liked to just feel them
between his hands and squeeze them. Oh, he was getting a boner just thinking
about it.
 His wife Marie had ugly breasts. They were nice back when they first
met, but now after they had the three kids, they were flat and hanging and …
well they simply didn't get him excited anymore the way they just dangled
there. Martin had told Marie that he would happily pay for her to have them
done, but she had refused. Slowly, over the years, the sex had gone from bad
to worse to nothing at all. They simply stopped desiring each other. Or at
least Martin stopped desiring Marie. He couldn't speak for her or even
remotely know what went on in her mind anymore. It seemed that all she did
was to yell at him the moment he set foot in the house. So eventually, he did
that less and less. He kept coming up with excuses for staying away from the
house. Working late, going on a trip, a business meeting downtown that went
into a dinner meeting. Stuff like that. And once he finally stepped inside the
house, he hurried to the bathroom where he sat for an hour or so reading on
his phone or playing Candy Crush, just to avoid Marie and the screaming
kids. It had gotten so bad that there were days when he drove into the
driveway and stood outside the window of the house looking into the living
room, then turned around and decided to go for a drive for a couple of hours,
just to avoid them.
The business trips were what kept him going. As a salesman, he travelled
all over the world meeting with potential clients and it suited him fine to be
almost constantly on the road these days.
"So, you never answered my question," he said.
"What was that?" The woman asked.
"I asked you if you came here often."
The girl smiled again. "I thought it was just a pick-up line."
Martin chuckled. "I guess it was. I'll try something else instead." He
leaned over and spoke with a low voice. "So what do I call you when I want
to scream out your name during my orgasm?"
The girl chuckled. It was a good sign. Not all girls liked that line. Martin
laughed too, then leaned over the bar and drank from his whiskey, imagining
going down on the girl next to him.
"You can call me Barbara," she said, licking her teeth.
"Well Barbara," he said tasting her name. "I'm Martin. I have a feeling
this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
 12

AUGUST 2012

BY DINNERTIME, I WAS starving after playing outside all day with Julie. The
weather had been great, so we had played hide and seek in the small forest,
then dipped our feet in the lake and looked at all the many fish in the water.
After grabbing lunch, we took out a blanket and some books for Julie to read
and we laid in the sun talking and reading, me on my iPad, Julie in her books
for school. Then Julie suggested we try to walk around the island with our
feet in the water. Afterwards, we played soccer on the big lawn until the ball
landed in the water and I had to go out and get it in the mushy water.
Now I was looking inside the refrigerator to find the dinner that Peter had
told me Mrs. Holm had prepared for us to heat up. I found a roast and
potatoes and a brown sauce in a container. I arranged it all on three plates,
then put it in the microwave.
Peter came down just in time for dinner with paint on his cheek and
fingers.
"Did you have a great time?" I asked curiously and handed him his plate.
He smiled widely. "The best. There is nothing like it. I tell you this is
what I want to do with the rest of my life." I guess you can say I have
discovered my inner artist. Who would have thought that I had one, huh?"
"I know," I said and served Julie her plate. She dug in immediately and
very greedily. Fresh air and playing sure made us both hungry.
I poured some wine for me and Peter and sat down. "I guess we all had a
great day, huh?" I said.
Julie nodded with her mouth full. "Mom and I had a lot of fun," she said.
"I'm glad to hear that," Peter said. "I'm so glad to have you both here. I
have really missed this. I've missed us."
 He looked at me while he spoke. Somehow it made me feel guilty. I was
so happy that he was doing better and that we were able to be a family again.
It was all I wanted, but at that second, I couldn't help thinking about Sune. I
don't know what it was, but somehow I was just reminded of how much I had
hurt him. And here I was all happy and with my family again, while he was
sitting back there at his apartment in Karrebaeksminde all alone. And it
wasn't just guilt, it was something else too. It was a longing. A desire to see
him again.
I realized I missed him.
"So, what's up for tomorrow?" Peter asked cheerfully. "Anyone want to
go into town?"
"I'd love to," Julie shrieked. "Can we get ice cream at that place again,
Dad? Can we? Please?"
Peter laughed. "Of course. That's tradition."
"Just you wait, Mom till you taste this ice cream. It’s soooo good. You
won't believe it."
"I guess I'll have to then," I said smiling. "You don't have to force me to
eat ice cream."
"We have to buy some food too and toilet paper and such," Peter said.
"I thought the good Mrs. Holm took care of all those kinds of things?" I
asked sipping my wine. It was a very expensive bottle that Peter had found in
the wine cellar below the house. Every sip was like an explosion in my
mouth.
"Well she takes care of the more basic stuff. But for the most part, I'm the
only one here, so that's easy, but now that there's three of us, I believe it's a
little too much to demand of the good old Mrs. Holm."
"Sounds fair. I'd love to see the town," I said and ate a piece of the roast.
The good old Mrs. Holm turned out to be quite the cook.
"It's really nice down there, Mommy," Julie said.
Peter chuckled. "It's not much of a town, really. But it has what we need.
I need gas for the boat as well."
"There's a hotel down there as well isn't there?" I asked.
"Yes. Hotel Kragen, why?" Peter asked.
 "Well there was a story this morning about a guy …" I paused and looked
at Julie, not sure that I wanted her to hear what had happened. "Well
something bad happened to him and he was on TV talking about it. I thought
about checking the place out."
Peter tilted his head. "And maybe write about it to your newspaper, is that
it?" He put his glass down hard on the table. "Christ, Rebekka. Can't you just
be on vacation for once?"
"I just wanted to check it out, Peter. That's all."
"Don't you think I know you? It doesn't matter where we go, you’re
always working."
"Well I'm sorry if I love my job. At least I'm playing with my daughter
when we're on vacation and not hiding in some attic all day."
"Please stop fighting?" Julie said and held both hands to her ears.
Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair. "That was low, Rebekka and
you know it."
"Okay, I didn't mean that, but I can't see the big deal about this. All I
want is to check the place out, that's all. And so what if I happened to find
something interesting to write about? This story is interesting. It's the first
case of organ theft in our country. It's important."
"Organ theft?" Julie said. "What's organ theft?"
Peter gesticulated, resignedly. "Now look what you've done. Do you
really want your daughter to know about these kinds of things? Do you want
her to have bad dreams about organ thieves at night?"
"Of course not," I said.
"It's just because you want your newspaper to have to write the story so
you can call your little boyfriend and have him come up here and take
pictures for you, isn't it? You want to be with him instead of being here with
us? Then go ahead."
Peter got up from the table and left the kitchen slamming the door. I felt
so infuriated. Why did I have to ask about that place? Why couldn't I just
keep my big mouth shut? Why did he have to be such a prick about it?
"Mom, what is dad talking about? Are Sune and Tobias coming up here?"
"No sweetie. They're not coming. Daddy was just talking nonsense. He
didn't mean any of it. Don't worry. Eat your dinner."
"Are you and daddy going to be separated again?"
I smiled and stroked her hair. My beautiful daughter. The last couple of
years had been confusing for her. It was time to give her some stability. If I
wanted to be with Peter, then I would have to be more sensitive to his
jealousy and make sure I didn't hurt him. "No sweetie. No we're not. We're
together now and that's not going to change. You, dad and I love each other
very much. But all couples have a fight now and then. That's just the way it
is. It'll pass. We'll be friends again soon. Just wait and see."
"So, you'll tell him you're sorry?" She asked.
I looked into her blue eyes and sighed. "I guess I have to, don't I?"
"That's what our teacher tells us to do when we're fighting. The one who
says sorry first is the winner."
I laughed out loud. "I guess she's right. At least she's the bigger person,
right? The smart one."
"It's smart to say you're sorry," Julie said and finished her food.
I drank my wine thinking about what Peter had said. Why had it
infuriated me so much what he had said about Sune? Could it be because he
was right?
I shook my head and put the glass down. No it was absurd.
 13

AUGUST 2012

THE SEX WAS AMAZING. Martin had never been with anyone this exciting. Not
only was she gorgeous, especially without clothes, but her body was so
flexible they could do it in positions Martin had only dared to dream about. It
was like she was a gift from above, sent to make up for all the bad sex Martin
had to live with from his wife.
Or maybe she was sent from the devil. Either way, Martin had the night
of his life with this girl and after she left him with a see you next time you're
in town big boy, Martin fell into a heavy sleep immediately.
He even dreamt about the sex and the girl and in the dream she told him
she wanted to stay here with him, that she never wanted to leave him again.
"I think I love you," he whispered out in the darkness, then opened his
eyes and realized it was just a dream. Martin closed his eyes again hoping to
be able to go back to that warm place of utter happiness, of complete joy that
he had been in. He never wanted to leave it again. When he was with her, he
didn't think about Marie or the screaming kids. There were no hanging
breasts, there was no screaming wife yelling at him for never taking part in
anything, for him never being there when he was needed. No there was
nothing but him and … her. Him plunging into her voluptuous breasts,
licking her thighs and the silky skin on her stomach that was so flat and not
bumpy like Marie's.
Just him and her. Just him and Barbara.
Martin looked at the door to the hallway of the hotel and realized she
hadn't closed it properly when she left. Secretly, he hoped she would walk in
through it again now and they would start all over again, but the door didn't
move. He closed his eyes for a second imagining her coming back, telling
him she forgot something.
"What did you forget?" he would ask.
"To fuck your brains out again," she would answer. Then they would do
it all night long. Over and over again. With her, there would be no cases of
not being able to get it up, or closing his eyes and watching a porn-movie on
the inside of the eyelids during sex. No with Barbara he didn't have to think
about other women or porn, with her it was real. She was so real and his
desire for her was very real.
Martin opened his eyes and got out of the bed with the intention of
closing the door properly. It was time to get some sleep before he had to
move on to another city tomorrow. There had been a lot of driving in his car
lately, but he didn't mind. At least he didn't have to go home.
When he shut the door, he thought he heard a sound behind him and
turned. He smiled as he walked towards the bathroom where the sound came
from. Could it be? Could it really be? Had she come back after all? Had she
realized that she enjoyed being with Martin more than with any other man?
Did she want more sex or was she going to ask him to take her away from
here? Take her with him on his trip around Denmark and stay in hotels, and
eat in fancy restaurants. Would he do it? Would he take her?
In a heartbeat.
"Barbara?"
She didn't answer. Martin walked closer to the bathroom, then put his
hand on the door and pushed it open. He walked in with a wide smile,
thinking he was going to find her in there dressed in sexy underwear, maybe
even some of those black stockings that he loved so much. He chuckled at the
thought of ripping them off with his teeth.
"I'm coming Barbara."
But what he found in the bathroom wasn't Barbara, much to his surprise.
A masked face stared back at him.
"Who are you?" he said with a shivering voice. "What are you doing in
my bathroom? Get out of here. I'm trying to sleep."
Before he was able to react, the masked person lifted the arm holding a
syringe, planted it in Martin's shoulder and emptied its contents.
"What the hell …?" he exclaimed and looked at where the needle had
gone through the skin. Seconds later, he could no longer move his arms or
legs and the last thing he saw before everything went black, was the pink
bathroom tiles coming closer and closer.
 14

AUGUST 2012

ARIANNA KOSAKOVSKI PULLED HER cart down the hallway, then pulled out the
key that the owner of the hotel had given her. Since there was no sign on the
door telling her not to go in, she opened the door and walked in.
As usual, it was with a slight fear of walking in on someone in the room.
To think of the things she had seen over the years. The most embarrassing
was always when someone was having sex and forgot to put the do not
disturb sign out on the handle. It happened more than once a month to her
and she really hated that. Why people always forgot, she didn't understand. It
was so embarrassing for both her and them. Arianna always knocked before
entering when she knew the guest hadn't checked out yet and so she did again
when walking into room 237 at the Hotel Bellevue in the small town of
Hasle.
"Hello? Cleaning?" she said in her bad Danish that still had a heavy
Russian accent to it, even after eight years in the country.
There was no answer so Arianna proceeded. She grabbed the clean bed
sheets from the cart and walked inside. She picked up the guest's pants from
the floor and threw them on a chair before starting to change the bed sheets.
People were so messy when they were in hotel rooms. Always leaving their
clothes on the floor and even their dirty underwear. Arianna always wore
plastic gloves when cleaning the rooms anyway, so she just picked them up,
but not without wrinkling her nose in disgust.
Arianna changed the bed sheets and linens first, then brought in the
vacuum cleaner and cleaned the floors. When done, she wrapped the cord up
and replaced the vacuum cleaner. Outside in the hallway, she greeted her
friend Sissel who took care of the rooms on the other side. Sissel smiled and
told a dirty joke that made Arianna laugh.
"You're very sick in head, Sissel," she said before she went back inside
room 237 carrying towels and new soap for the bathroom. As the door closed
behind her, she stopped and looked at the pants that she had put over the back
of the chair. She put down the towels and picked up the pants again. She went
through the pockets and pulled out a crumpled up one hundred kroner bill.
Arianna smiled. It was her lucky day. Often the guests were too drunk to
remember what kind of cash they had in their pockets. Especially
businessmen travelling alone, picking up women in the bar downstairs who
were often hookers. They were way too deep into what was going on to
happen to remember putting a crumpled up one hundred kroner bill in their
pocket when they left the bar with the girl. They were all thinking with their
dicks at that point and would never know it went missing. Arianna
straightened the bill out, then put it in her bra. It was Sissel who had taught
Arianna how to earn a little extra cash while cleaning the rooms without
anyone knowing about it. It was the third time today she had been able to
stick a one hundred kroner bill in her bra.
"Just enough for Marius’ new shoes," she mumbled happily.
Marius had needed new shoes for a long time now and his father was too
cheap to help out.
"I gave you everything, Arianna. All you dreamt of. I married you so you
could come to Denmark, I even gave you a child. What else do you want
from me?" he often asked.
He was a hopeless alcoholic and Arianna hadn't been able to live with his
abuse when he was drunk. Not when it was the boy who had to take the
beating. That was too much for her to handle. So, a couple of months ago, she
had moved out and asked for separation. The government now said they
wanted to throw her out and, for a while now, she had been living with the
fear that they would actually do it. Especially since they told her Marius
could stay here with his dad. That left Arianna with an impossible choice to
make. If Marius stayed, he would get a great education for free and grow up
to be a real Dane giving him the best possibilities to amount to something.
But she would never see him and he would be with a father who drank and
beat him up every now and then. If she took him with her back to Russia, he
would grow up in extreme poverty like Arianna had and he wouldn't get
much of an education.
Arianna sighed deeply as she picked up the towels and walked towards
the bathroom. She tried hard not to think about it since it filled her with deep
sadness. She had to cling to that last straw of hope that the government would
change its mind and choose not to deport her after all. She had appealed the
decision and was now awaiting the final answer.
Arianna felt a chill run down her back as she opened the door to the
bathroom. Not because she was cold, but from the terror that met her in there
that, for the first time in a long time, made her forget all about the possibility
of deportation. Sitting in the bathtub, almost covered in ice-cubes was the
body of a man whom she guessed was the rightful owner of the one hundred
kroner bill she was now carrying in her bra.
 15

AUGUST 2012

I FOLLOWED JULIE'S ADVICE and told Peter that I was sorry. It helped, and the
next day, after breakfast, we all went to the mainland together in his boat.
Julie was talking non-stop about the ice cream and what flavor she was going
to get.
I tried hard not to think about the man with the missing kidney. I had
even stayed away from my iPad this morning and not read the news. It was,
after all, a vacation and no one expected that I would keep myself updated
constantly. The problem was just that I loved keeping myself updated. I loved
being a part of the stream of news, constantly flowing. It was my life, it was
my job and it was a big part of who I was.
Once back on the mainland, we drove to town in Peter's Land Rover. I
was looking forward to seeing the small town. The castle on the island was
nice and all, but it felt really isolated, like it was very far away from
everything.
"I say we grab that ice cream first, before we fill up the car with
groceries," Peter said.
"Yay!" Julie shrieked from the backseat.
"Fine with me," I said. I could always eat ice cream, even if it was still
morning.
Peter drove the car through a small street with old houses on each side,
then past a small movie theater, a couple of stores selling clothes and the
grocery store that we were going back to later. He parked the car right in
front of the ice cream store. I turned my head to look at Julie, when I spotted
Hotel Kragen out the back window. I froze for a second, thinking about the
story, then pushed it out of my mind again.
 "Come on. Let's go," I said.
Julie jumped out and stormed inside the shop. I grabbed Peter's hand as
we followed her inside. The smell was intoxicating. I loved small ice cream
shops like this and ordered three scoops in a cone for both Julie and I. Peter
only wanted one. Julie and I had whipped cream and chocolate sauce on ours
as well. We sat outside at the store's tables and ate greedily, Julie and I
getting it smeared all over our faces. Peter looked at me like I was crazy. As
usual, he never had anything on his face. Always the perfectionist.
"Rebekka," he said. "You've got it all over. Can't you wipe it off or
something?"
"Sorry," I said, found a napkin, and wiped it off.
"There is more. Over here," he said and pointed.
I wiped some more and finally got it all off. I ate the rest of the ice cream
working really hard on not getting anything on my face and, if I did, I wiped
it off right away.
While Julie finished hers, I caught myself staring at the Hotel across the
road. I saw photographers outside taking pictures of the facade and
journalists with notepads next to them. Even a camera crew from the twenty-
four hour news channel TV2News was there. The journalist was interviewing
someone outside the building. Peter saw me staring at them and I looked
away.
We drove to the grocery store and walked inside. Two women were
talking behind the counter. They stopped talking and nodded when we
entered, then continued. We took a cart and started filling it. Peter found
some wine and steaks, I tried to be good and found a pack of granola.
"You know you're never gonna eat that, Mommy," Julie said. "You
always buy granola and then never eat it."
I chuckled. "You're right. Maybe some fresh fruit … Bananas?"
"I like bananas," Julie said and went to get some.
I couldn't help but eavesdrop on the two women's conversation. It was
about what had happened at the Hotel.
"Terrible to wake up like that," one of them said. "Could you imagine?
Someone taking your kidney?"
 "I heard he had a girlfriend with him," the other said. "A hooker, Arne
who works in the bar at the hotel told me she was."
The first woman scoffed. "Well he put it upon himself then didn't he? He
had it coming. I heard he had a wife and child."
"Maybe she did it," the second one laughed. "Maybe it was the wife?"
The first one laughed as well. "You bet you that's what I'd do if Hans ever
pulled a trick like that on me."
"I bet you would."
Peter approached me with the full cart. "Wow that was fast," I said.
We walked to the counter. The women stopped talking. The one on the
right stepped forward and took care of our groceries. She looked at Julie and
smiled.
"What a beautiful daughter you have. Are you visiting town?" She asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"You don't live down at the hotel now do you?" She asked, terrified.
I shook my head. "No. No. We live on Dragonsholm. You know, down
on the island in the lake."
The woman froze and stared at me. "You're down on the island?"
I nodded. "Yes."
The woman then shook her head and started packing our groceries with
fast movements.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
Peter shook his head. "Nothing but superstition," he said. "The locals
have always been afraid of the place."
I looked at the woman again. "But why?"
"Nothing good ever came out of that place," the woman said.
"Gerda," the other woman said. "You're scaring the people." She nodded
in the direction of Julie as she spoke. Gerda tilted her head and looked at
Julie like she felt sorry for her. "Such a beautiful daughter. Such a pretty
face."
"Okay," Peter said and took our bags. "I think it's about time we leave
now."
 In the car on our way back, I couldn't stop thinking about what the
women had said. Peter saw it on my face. "Nothing but superstition," he said.
"I know. But … well, you know me. I really wanted to know the story. It
sounded like they knew a good story."
Peter rolled his eyes. "You're impossible. It's nothing but rumors and old
wives’ tales. An old castle like this one will always have its share of ghost
stories, like the one with the carriage that you hear at night that is supposed to
be the carriage taking the Earl's body away."
"I think I heard it," Julie said. "One night I heard it."
Peter looked in the rearview mirror. "Nonsense," he said. "It's just your
mind playing tricks on you, making you think you hear it because I told you
the story. See that's how stories like this work. You believe them and then
you think you hear or see it and then you're scared. It's all in your mind like
all other superstitions."
"Do you know them?" I asked. "Do you know the stories?"
Peter exhaled. "I know some of them, parts of them, yes. But do you
really want to scare your daughter further? I could also go online and find
some scary ghost stories to give her nightmares. Is it really worth it?"
I shrugged and looked out the window. "No. You're probably right. I was
just curious."
"Oh come on Daddy, tell us just one of them, please? I promise I won't
get nightmares," Julie said.
"Well, all I know is that they say some doctor once went amok back
when it was a mental institution. Apparently he killed some patients or
something. Okay, not just some, but a lot of patients, according to the story."
"How?" Julie asked. "How did he kill them?"
"He performed operations as experiments. One of them being him
removing their organs one at a time, thinking sickness in the organs caused
them to be deranged. In the end, the patients naturally died. That's all.
Nothing but a crazy doctor. Now I think we should find something nice to
talk about. How about that ice cream, huh? It was truly something."
 16

JULY 1999

VALDEMAR WAS GROWING SO fast now, Anna could hardly keep up. Every day
he seemed to have new victories and to conquer the impossible. Only four
years old and he was talking like a ten year old, the doctor had told her. His
mind seemed to be a masterpiece of its own. He had taught himself to do
many things that Anna never thought he would be able to do. And, often, the
solution was among the simplest. He got by doing a lot of things with his toes
and feet. One day when Anna was in the living room, Valdemar called her
from the kitchen and asked her to come and see something. As she entered,
she was stunned to realize that her little boy had managed to tie one of his
father's ties around the refrigerator handle and fasten it with a knot using his
toes. Then, he put the end of it on his shoulder and, using his mouth, started
pulling till the door opened.
"There," he said. "Now I can get my own food."
Anna laughed and picked him up. Then she danced while holding him
tight. Valdemar laughed and laughed. After that day, he didn't stop amazing
his mother with his accomplishments. He used his chin to hold his plate
between the chin and the shoulder and carry it to the table when it was
dinnertime. He pressed buttons on the microwave with his nose and he played
videogames by simply using his toes.
Anna was thrilled to see how many things he was capable of and, as the
days went by, her hopes rose that he would one day be able to take care of
himself.
But what broke her heart was seeing him making all this progress and
then looking at his dad for acknowledgement and never receiving it. Every
day, Anna told Michael about what Valdemar did now and how clever he
was, but every day he would answer the same: "The kid is a loser. He will
never be able to do anything."
And every time he said that, he broke Anna's heart a little. Especially
when Michael would look at Valdemar with resentment at the dinner table
when he ate either by simply sticking his face into the plate or when Anna fed
him with the spoon.
"See?" he said. "He still can't even eat on his own."
Every day, Anna saw how the hurt grew in Valdemar's eyes and she
cursed her husband for not seeing the progress, for not hoping and dreaming
of a future for their son like she did. Then one day, when Valdemar was four,
he was occupied in the garage for a long time and Anna was worried.
Valdemar loved hanging out in there, using his dad's tools when he wasn't at
home, with nothing but his feet. Anna was wondering what he was up to
when he suddenly stormed into the kitchen holding something between his
chin and shoulder. He placed it on the table, but still Anna couldn't see what
it was. It looked like a small iron pipe that he had welded onto a small round
slice of metal that could turn. Anna couldn't really see what it was, but
Valdemar soon showed her. He smiled like this was the proudest moment of
his life. Anna didn't understand.
"How did you make this?"
"I welded it."
"You used your dad's welder? Are you insane? You could get hurt!"
Anna was furious. Just the thought of him alone with that dangerous
instrument made her heart race. Didn't he understand that he wasn't like other
kids? Didn't he know he was handicapped? It was like he refused to accept
the fact that everything was harder for him than for other kids.
"I put on dad's helmet. Don't worry, Mommy. Let me show you what this
is for. Just wait and see. You'll love it. Grab a spoon," he said.
Anna handed him a spoon.
"And a bowl of cereal."
"But it's almost time for dinner," she argued. "I don't want you filling up
on all kinds of food before we eat. Daddy will be home any minute now."
"Mommy. Just help me, will you please?"
Anna sighed and poured some cornflakes into a bowl and poured milk on
top of them. Then, she placed it in front of Valdemar.
Valdemar picked up the spoon using his mouth, put it in the bowl, and
dug up a spoonful of cereal. Still using his mouth, he placed it on top of the
iron pipe that had a small submersion through the center where the handle of
the spoon fitted perfectly. Then using his nose, Valdemar pushed the spoon
around till he could reach the food on the end of it and ate it.
Valdemar looked up with a big smile. Anna burst into tears just as the
door opened and Michael stepped in.
"What's going on here?" he asked. "Why are you crying?"
"Oh Michael. You've got to see this," Anna said and ran to him. "Our boy
has taught himself how to eat with a spoon. Come and see."
Anna noticed Valdemar's body was shaking as he picked up the spoon
with his mouth again. He managed to get cereal on it, then placed it in the
submersion again and turned it with his nose. Then he opened his mouth to
eat the food from the end of the spoon, when his nose accidentally tipped the
spoon off the iron pipe and it fell down on the table spreading cereal and milk
on the newspaper lying next to his bowl.
Valdemar looked up at his dad who growled and picked up the paper and
started to walk away.
"It worked just fine before," Anna said. "It really did Michael. He was
eating on his own. I tell you it's a miracle."
Michael turned around and looked at Anna. "A miracle? You call that a
miracle? I call it a failure. A pathetic failure. So what if he can learn how to
eat on his own? Most kids can do that when they're less than a year. How is
he ever going to ride a bike?"
 17

AUGUST 2012

AT THE HOSPITAL, THE piggy-doctor told Henrik that he was fine and ready to
be discharged.
"We would like for you to come back for a check-up to make sure your
remaining kidney is working properly in about two weeks. Until then you
must rest, give your body time to heal. And for God's sake, try not to get
yourself too agitated."
Henrik growled and gathered his belongings. He looked at the display on
the cellphone while waiting for the taxi in the hospital lobby. No one had
tried to call him. Henrik's stomach hurt and he found the pills the doctor had
given him for the pain. He swallowed one without water and stared once
again at the phone.
Why hadn't she called? Why hadn't Janni answered her phone when he
had tried to call her? She was, after all, his wife. She had to know that he was
in the hospital for Pete's sake. The police said they had informed her. Where
was she?
The taxi drove up in front of the entrance and Henrik got up from the
chair and walked towards it, taking slow steps to ease the pain. He was
sweating heavily. The taxi driver held the door for him and took his suitcase.
Henrik growled when he noticed how the taxi-driver handled his suitcase,
banging it around, not caring that he was making scratches and bumps in it.
Henrik shook his head and took in a deep breath.
Probably Pakistani with that turban on his head. Probably a terrorist in
training. Just like the rest of them. Nothing but trouble.
Henrik shook his head while the man smiled at him, showing a row of
pearly white teeth in his brown face.
 Why does the Danish population refuse to see that all those people only
come here to destroy our nation from the inside? First they will be elected for
parliament, then they will build their ugly, noisy mosques and make us stop
having Christmas because it is offensive to them and soon no one will eat
pork anymore and the brown-skinned will be in charge. That is what is going
to happen and it has already started, hasn't it? They are already complaining
about the Christmas trees and the pork served in schools. And the Danes are
stupid enough to listen and then they change it in order to not offend the
growing Muslim community. Meanwhile, they have their meetings where they
declare death to the Danish population behind our backs. It should be illegal
to be this freaking stupid!
"So where are we going?" the brown-skinned man with the turban asked.
The taxi didn't smell as bad as Henrik had expected it to.
Henrik looked at his phone and felt the anger rise inside of him again. He
wanted to crush the phone between his fingers.
Home? Are you going home? Back to Roskilde and a woman who doesn't
care about you?
"Where to?" the taxi-driver asked again.
His calmness irritated Henrik. Probably Buddhist or something stupid.
Henrik felt like screaming. He restrained himself and made a decision.
"Take me back to Brabrand. To Hotel Kragen. I have some unfinished
business there."
"As you wish," the taxi driver said and started the car.
Henrik found his wife in the contact information on his phone and looked
at it. Should he text her? Let her know he was out of the hospital? Nah, she
didn't even care that he was in there in the first place, did she? No she would
have visited or at least called. Henrik looked at the photo on his phone
showing his wife and son. Didn't he mean anything to them?
As the taxi drove out of Aarhus and into the countryside, Henrik opened
Facebook. There were a ton of messages for him on his wall from colleagues
and acquaintances wishing him well and telling him they saw him on TV and
how awful it was what had happened to him. Most of them told him to let
them know if there was anything they could do for him.
"Bah," Henrik said out loud. It was so easy to show sympathy on
Facebook without meaning anything by it.
Henrik found his wife's Facebook page and scrolled on her wall, reading
all the messages and updates. On the day he had been admitted to the
hospital, she had changed her status from married to single. Her status today
was a quote from one of her favorite TV shows, Sex and the City. “Men cheat
for the same reason that dogs lick their balls … because they can.”
Henrik felt infuriated and threw the phone on the seat next to him with a
groan. The taxi driver looked at him in the rearview mirror.
"Everything all right?" He said with his stupid foreign accent that made
Henrik even angrier.
"Yes, everything is all right," he said imitating him rolling on the r like he
had done.
So she had guessed that he was with a woman that night. Big deal.
The taxi came to a stop and Henrik paid the man and got out. With much
discomfort, he walked inside the lobby. Luckily, there were no journalists
there. Henrik had feared they would still be there, but they had probably
moved on. The man behind the counter gasped when he recognized Henrik's
face.
"Let me get the owner on the phone," he said.
"No. No. I'm not here to talk to the owner. I need to talk to someone in
the bar. Could you help me find who the bartender was that night?"
"S … ssure," the clerk stuttered. "That would be Arne. Let me find him
for you. One moment, please."
Henrik nodded and held on to the counter. At the hospital, they had told
him he would experience pain for the next couple of days, but it was perfectly
normal. There was nothing about this pain that seemed normal to Henrik. He
sighed and looked around. Eyes were watching him, scrutinizing him, and
when he turned to look at them, they looked away. So I'm the freak now, huh?
I'm the freaking talk of this small town?
"Here is the gentleman who wishes to speak to you."
Henrik heard the voice behind him and turned around. A man, whom he
recognized as the bartender who had waited on them that night, looked back
at him. He reached out his hand. "I'm so sorry, sir. For what happened that
night."
 "Good," Henrik said. He closed his eyes as a wave of pain rolled in over
him.
"Are you alright sir? Should we call for help?"
"No. No. No help please. I'm fine. The doctor at the hospital said it was
perfectly normal to have some pain. Besides, I don't care. I just want to find
whoever did this to me."
"At least sit down, sir," the clerk said and helped Henrik to a chair.
"Don't fuss around me," Henrik growled and removed the clerk's hand
from his arm. The way he held him made him feel like an old man or a
cripple. And no one treated him like a cripple. Henrik was a man at his best
age. He was many things. He was handsome, he was charming and had a way
with the ladies, but he wasn't pathetic. He didn't need people's help. "I hate
fussing."
The clerk stepped back. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to …"
"Well, you did." Henrik sat in the chair. It felt good to rest a little. He
looked up at the bartender. "I want to know who she was," he said. "I want to
know everything you know about the girl."
"Very well sir. But I do believe I told everything to the police."
Henrik looked into the bartender's eyes. So that's how Janni knew. The
police had told her? Asked her if she knew? Had they no respect for people's
privacy?
Henrik's hands were shaking in anger. The clerk and bartender saw it on
his face. There was no way this girl was going to get away with ruining his
life like this. Once he found her, she was getting what she had coming to her.
And it wasn't going to be pretty.
Henrik looked at the bartender. "What have you got? I need to know
everything. If you give me what I need, I'll consider not pressing charges
against the hotel."
 18

AUGUST 2012

THE NEXT MORNING AFTER breakfast, my phone rang while I was doing a
puzzle on the floor with Julie. The display told me it was my editor Jens-Ole.
I got up and walked out of the room before I picked it up.
"Rebekka," I said.
"I know you're on vacation, I know you need time with your family to get
your marriage fixed and all that. Believe me, I know that and I have tried
everything to find another solution, but the thing is … we need you," Jens-
Ole said. "Desperately."
I would be lying if I said there wasn't a part of me that was happy to hear
I was needed. I loved my work and I loved that I was so good at it.
"You're still in Brabrand, right?"
"Yes."
"You've heard about the guy who had his kidney stolen, right?" Jens-Ole
asked.
"Sure did."
"Did you hear about the second guy?"
My heart dropped. There had been a second one? "No. I have been trying
to stay out of it … it doesn't matter. What happened?"
"Same story. Guy at a hotel is attacked at night, cleaning lady finds him
next morning, dead in the bathtub, missing his liver. It's gone, someone had
removed it while he was sedated, according to the police."
"But he was killed? The first guy survived, right?"
"Yeah they only took his kidney. You have two of those, but only one
liver. In both cases, they had their bodies covered in ice cubes. Police say
they are certain they're looking for the same guy. Someone who knows a lot
about surgery. They say the cuts are very professionally made with a scalpel
and all the right equipment and all."
"Creepy. So the person they're looking for might be a doctor?" I asked.
There was something about this story that gave me the chills. The thought of
people being sedated and having their organs stolen without their knowledge
freaked me out.
"Maybe. Someone with expertise in the area at least."
"So what do you want from me?" I asked.
"The second case was close to where you're at too. It was in Hasle. That's
only about ten minutes by car from where you're staying, I think. Hotel
Bellevue."
"So what is it you want me to do?" I asked, thinking I had no idea how to
tell Peter about this without him getting angry. He never understood having a
career, providing for your family. He came from a very rich background and
always had the money he needed for anything. He never had to actually work
for a living. Not that I ever envied him his childhood and upbringing that, for
the most part, took place at a boarding school away from his parents. But
still. He never wanted to make a career for himself since there was no reason
to do so. I had to do my best, always, or I was out. A journalist was never
better than her last story. It was as simple as that.
"I want you to go to Hasle and make a report from there. Talk to the
people working there, preferably the cleaning lady who found the body. Talk
to people around, in the streets or whatever and find out if they're scared. Try
to figure out what the police are doing about this. Could it be a gang of some
sort? Eastern Europeans stealing our organs at night and selling them on the
black Russian market? What? What are we talking about here? Could they do
this anywhere? In people's private homes? We have had many cases of home
invasions where Eastern Europeans break into houses in the middle of the
night and beat people up with baseball bats, killing people for only a couple
of hundred kroner. Are they going to take their organs next? Is it a new trend
in organized crime that we should be afraid of? What are they doing about it?
I don't want to wake up one morning having something missing from inside
of me."
 "Okay, okay. I get the picture." I said.
"That's my girl. We need this. We're the only newspaper not writing
anything about this story. It's embarrassing. The bosses are mad at me. They
want you on this story. You're our best man, or woman. If you do it, I'll even
throw in an extra week of vacation. Take any week off this fall. Be with your
family then. I promise I won't disturb you this time. I'll throw away your
number. Just give me my story."
"Got it," I said.
"Great. By the way I have informed Sune and he's on his way. He'll meet
you in Hasle."
 19

AUGUST 2012

THOMAS DE QUINCEY WAS typing on his laptop with a grin. Bill Durgin had
struck again and the story was all over the media now. And even better, this
time Bill had actually killed his victim, just like Thomas had wanted him to.
Removing an organ and letting the victim survive was fun, yes, but very
risky. Bill had wanted to just remove a part of the liver, since the liver then
would regenerate itself as it did in people donating parts of their liver to a
family member who needed a new liver. But Thomas had put his foot down.
He wanted Bill to move on, to make his first kill. And he had succeeded.
I removed it all as you told me to. He died slowly, Bill wrote.
Excellent. You did well, Thomas wrote. How did it feel?
Better than expected. I think I actually enjoyed it a little. He deserved
what he got, the bastard.
Wonderful. Now you have taken it to the next step. The first kill is always
the hardest, but also the sweetest. From now on, you'll have no trouble killing
again, Thomas wrote. What about your contribution? Have you given it more
thought?
I have and he's yours, Bill wrote without hesitating. It pleased Thomas
immensely. There was nothing better than obedient followers.
Oh how pleased I am to hear that. There is nothing like the first kill that
should be savored and remembered. I'll make sure to immortalize what you
have done. Your masterpiece is safe with me.
What do I need to do? Bill wrote.
Nothing. I'll send my guy to pick him up. Don't worry. I'll take care of
everything. Just you worry about your next move. You need to strike while the
iron is hot. The entire country is looking at you and focusing on your art
right now. This is your moment … your fifteen minutes of fame. Enjoy it.
I will.
Thomas logged off, then closed the lid of the computer and clapped his
hands with joy. He looked at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall.
"You're a genius, Thomas."
He smiled at his own reflection. This last couple of months had been so
exciting, he could barely keep it inside. He wanted to scream and yell and
laugh. He could hardly believe his life’s work was almost done. His
masterpiece was almost ready for the world to see. It was a dream that came
true. The work of a genius. That's what they would all say, wasn't it? He was
going to write himself into the history books. Future generations would hear
about him in school and his name would be whispered in the darkness of the
night when children told their scary stories. He would be a myth, a legend.
And people would fear his name like they feared Jack the Ripper or Ted
Bundy. Oh, but he would be so much bigger than them.
"But it's not time to celebrate yet," he told his own reflection. "Your work
is not done." Thomas shook his head.
No, he was still missing the most vital part of all. The last and most
important part. The part he desired the most for personal reasons. The final
revenge over the woman who broke his heart. No not just broke it, tore it
apart, ripped it from his chest and stepped on it afterwards.
His last and final piece was the body of Rebekka Franck.
Thomas smiled widely again. This time he was going to succeed. This
time there was nothing in the way. Using Allan Witt had been a bad idea, and
Thomas was actually happy that it hadn't succeeded. It was unfulfilling to
have someone else do it for you, when it's your revenge, when it's you who
want to do it.
Thomas gritted his teeth thinking about her. He clenched his fist and hit it
into the wall behind the mirror. Then he laughed manically. He turned and
grabbed the camera on the counter. He had it all planned out. With the
camera, he was going to document his actions. He was going to take a picture
every minute until she drew her last and final breath. Documenting the pain
he inflicted upon her, documenting the distress a person experienced right
before she died. It had never been done before. It was perfect. The work of a
true artist, they would say.
An artist willing to go all the way for his art.
 20

AUGUST 2012

I SAT WITH THE phone in my hand for a little while after hanging up, not
knowing how to handle this. Then I decided to just do it. I walked back in
with Julie.
"Work?" she asked.
I smiled. "You know me a little too well, don't you?"
She shrugged. "It's okay, Mommy. I know you love your job."
I stared at my daughter. My beautiful and suddenly so very grown-up
daughter. I kneeled next to her and hugged her. "My boss is giving me
another week off instead of the days I'm spending on this, and I thought that
maybe I'll take it when you have your fall break in October. Maybe we could
go somewhere far away where they can't get a hold of me and make me work.
Maybe we'll go to Spain or France? What do you say?"
Julie looked up at me. "That sounds really nice, Mommy. I'd like that.
Maybe Tobias could come as well?"
I froze. "Tobias?"
"Yes. I really miss him. Don't you miss Sune?"
Children and their bluntness. Just bursting it all out without thinking. Just
saying what everybody else is thinking or won't admit they're thinking. I
nodded. "Yes, sweetie. I miss him."
"Good," she said.
"I thought you liked that mommy was back with daddy?" I asked.
"I do. I love it Mommy. But I liked Sune too. And I looove Tobias. You
know that. We're going to get married. We already planned that."
"Wow that was early."
 "Yeah, but first I have to finish college. Tobias wants to be an astronaut,
so he needs to get a space education first and that takes a long time, I think.
He won't be home much since he'll be flying out in space a lot, but I can take
care of the kids. We might fight a little over him always being away, but we'll
make it work. I'll have my clinic at my house so I can be home a lot."
"Your clinic? What kind of clinic is that?" I asked trying hard not to
laugh.
"My dog hospital, of course. I'll be a vet. But only for dogs. I don't like
cats. Maybe I'll treat a tiger if they bring him to me. But only baby tigers
since they're not scary. They are really cute."
I chuckled. "Boy you have you entire life all figured out, don't you?"
"Yes, Mommy." Julie looked deep into my eyes. "You should figure your
life out too."
I looked at her, astonished and slightly surprised as well. From children
and drunk people you hear the truth, was a Danish saying. Was that what this
was? Her speaking the truth I refused to admit to myself?
The door opened and Peter entered. "What do you guys say we have
some lunch?" he asked. I looked at him. He froze when our eyes met.
"Mommy's going to work," Julie said.
Peter sighed. "Really?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry. They just called. They need me to do the story about the
kidney-guy. There has been another case in Hasle not far from here. Also in a
hotel. They want me to cover the story. I'm sorry. They gave me another
week off this fall instead. I thought maybe we could …"
Peter lifted his hand and stopped me. "And I guess that photographer
boyfriend of yours is going too, am I right?"
"Peter. Don't start … This is my job. This is what it is like to be a
journalist. You have to be available when they need you, when a story
breaks. That's just the way it is. If they can't count on me, they'll let me go.
I'll never get the career I want."
"Then don't," Peter said.
"I can't just forget all about my career. I have bills to pay, I have a
daughter to provide for."
 "Not if you're with me. I can provide for the both of you, you know that
as well as I do."
"You know that is not what I want."
"What? To be a family?"
"Come on. That's not fair."
"Why not? If you gave up that so-called career of yours, you could stay
home and be a mother and a wife and I would support all of us. We could
travel all over the world if that was what you wanted. I'd give you
everything."
I exhaled and shook my head. "Yes Peter I do believe you'd give me the
world. I know you'd give me anything money could buy. But money doesn't
buy happiness. And working makes me happy. Like it or not, I'm going."
I grabbed my bag and put my iPad in it along with my notepad and
phone. Then I took my jacket from the closet in the hall. I kissed Julie and
held her tight.
"It's okay, Mommy. It really is." Then she whispered in my ear. "Can't
wait for Spain."
Peter followed me to the door. I turned and looked at him. I stroked his
cheek gently. He hadn't shaved since we got there. Stubble looked great on
him. His hair was getting gray on the sides.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'll be back tonight."
Peter sighed and held on to my wrist, then kissed it. He leaned over and
kissed my lips. The warmth from his kiss made me almost regret I was going.
"See you later," he said.
 21

SEPTEMBER 2001

SHE BOUGHT HIM A bike. He had been asking for one ever since he was four
and his dad asked the question:
How will he ever ride a bike?
It had tormented Valdemar ever since and his mother knew that, but up
until this day she had refused to buy him a bike just because he wanted to
impress his dad. The fact was, it was impossible for the boy to ride a bike and
it was way too dangerous. He would only get hurt and his dad would be less
impressed than ever.
It was a bad idea.
At least that was what she thought until the day she finally gave in to the
boy's pressure. Every afternoon when they walked home from school,
Valdemar would stop in front of the bicycle store and glare at the many bikes.
There was one, especially, that held his attention. It was blue, sparkling blue
with a wide seat and, most importantly of all, it looked exactly like the other
kids' bikes. It wasn't made for handicapped boys. It wasn't different.
So one afternoon, Anna finally gave in to those big, pleading eyes. She
bought the bike while the storeowner looked at her strangely.
"He won't be able to ride it, you know," he said.
Anna looked at the boy who refused to listen to sayings like these. The
same boy who had taught himself to use a spoon, who had rebuilt their house
by adding things everywhere so he wouldn't need anyone's help with
anything, the boy whose life up until now had been a study in engineering.
Then she smiled. "Oh, he will," she said. "He'll find a way."
"Suit yourself," the storeowner said.
 Never had Anna seen her boy as proud as when they brought it home and
she placed it in the garage where Valdemar wanted it. Now he was working
on something in there that he didn't want her to see until it was done, he told
her and she was waiting in the living room, biting her nails, wondering what
he had come up with. Worrying that his dad would be angry or let him down
once again.
Michael stayed away from the house more and more. Often a week would
pass by where they didn't see him. He was on the road, working, meeting
clients he told her if she asked. But the trips were getting more and more
often now and Anna started wondering what he was doing all this time.
Staying in hotels? Eating alone in restaurants? It was no secret he didn't enjoy
being at home anymore. He hadn't enjoyed it ever since Valdemar was born.
Anna sighed and hid her face in her hands. She missed him so much. For
six years now she had been on her own with this. She had been alone,
abandoned, having to make all the decisions herself, and raising Valdemar on
her own trying hard to protect him from getting hurt by his father's
resentment towards him. It was heartbreaking and wore on her strength. The
constant worrying about her boy had made her old. Her body was skinny, her
breasts hanging. Her hair had turned white overnight, right before Valdemar's
first birthday. It was the constant worrying, the doctor said. It happened from
time to time.
"At least you won't have to worry about the greys popping up one after
another like most people," he had told her to cheer her up.
"But I look like an old woman. At the age of thirty?"
"I think you're beautiful," the doctor had told her and Anna had blushed.
It had been a long time since anyone had told her she was beautiful.
While waiting in the living room for whatever wonder her boy had now
come up with, she grabbed her long white hair and looked at it. It wasn't too
bad. At least she had learned to live with it, just as she had learned to live
with the fact that her husband was never going to accept their son and his
handicap. He saw it as a failure, like she had failed him as a wife for giving
him a son with no arms.
"If only he could see what I see," she mumbled, as she heard the door to
the garage open and Valdemar call for her to come.
 22

AUGUST 2012

I TOOK PETER'S BOAT and sailed to the shore where I borrowed Peter's Land
Rover to go to Hasle. I didn't enjoy the fact that I left Peter and Julie alone on
the island. There was an old fishing boat in the yard they could use to get to
the main land if they really needed it, but still, I felt like I was cutting off
their only connection to the world outside the island.
"They'll be fine," I mumbled and checked my hair in the rearview-mirror.
I parked the Land Rover across the street from the Hotel Bellevue. The street
was packed with cars and photographers; camera crews were crowding
outside the building. I drew in a deep breath and looked at my phone. I had
received a text from Sune.
MEET YOU AT THE FRONT ENTRANCE
I looked at it again with my heart pounding in my chest. Was I ready for
this? Was I ready to face him again? I put the phone in my bag and decided I
was.
I walked up towards the crowd of working journalists and photographers.
A journalist from TV2 News was in the middle of a live broadcast, speaking
into the camera.
"… while they said after the first incident in Brabrand, they were certain
this was nothing but a one-time incident, the police are now wondering if
there is actually an organized gang behind these attacks. They are asking the
public for help, since the killer left no fingerprints or any trace behind. Back
to you Lisa."
I snuck past her and into the crowd. I elbowed my way, ducked under
cameras to not be seen until I spotted him. As usual, he stuck out in the
crowd like no one else. Tall and skinny and the only one here with a
Mohawk.
My heart dropped. We had spent so much time together over the last
several years. So many great articles, so much fun with our kids, so much
love between us. Could I just throw that away? And for what? Pursuing some
happiness and family life that I didn't even know if I wanted after all?
Julie was right. I needed to figure out my life soon.
I exhaled and walked closer. Sune was already taking pictures. I put my
hand on his shoulder. He turned around and our eyes met. For one moment,
we both forgot everything. It felt like a punch in my stomach. It completely
knocked the air out of me. At that instant, looking into his eyes, seeing him
so close to me again, I felt heartbroken. Heartbroken with longing for feeling
his arms around me again. Heartbroken for wanting so badly to kiss those lips
again. And, worst of all, I sensed he felt it too. He stared at me like he was
searching for words, looking for something smart to say, to break this
moment between us. I watched his lips part, but no sound came out. All the
people around us became nothing but a distant buzz.
Speak for crying out loud. Say something.
It was Sune who said the first word. "Hi."
I smiled. "Hi."
He bit his lip, then lowered his eyes. And just like that, the moment was
gone. "Let's get to work," he said. "What do you need?"
"I … uh … I was thinking some pix of the main building. The front
entrance, maybe even all the journalists in front of it to document how big of
a story it is."
"Already got all that."
"Great."
I cleared my throat. I felt like crying. Being this close to him again
reminded me of everything we had together. Of all that I had given up to save
my marriage. I felt sick to my stomach with longing for him. I pushed it
away. I swallowed my tears and my emotions along with them.
"What's next?" he asked.
"Let's get out of this crowd. We're not getting anything here that all the
others won't have."
 "I hear you."
We elbowed our way out and walked around the building. "I want to talk
to the employees," I said.
Sune followed me. How I loathed this strange air between us. Why
couldn't we just go back to how things were? Why did everything have to
change all of a sudden? I hated it.
We walked around a corner and bingo. Three people who looked like
hotel employees were smoking behind the dumpsters. I turned and winked at
Sune.
"There is our story."
 23

AUGUST 2012

THE BARTENDER HAD SEEN the girl often at the bar, he told Henrik. She came
there to pick up guys and he thought she was a prostitute, but she could just
be a girl looking for men. It was hard to tell. Whatever name she had given to
Henrik the night they had spent together, he couldn't remember it, no matter
how hard he tried. But the bartender knew it.
Annabelle Svendsen.
After getting her name it didn't take Henrik long to look her up. There
were only two people by that name in all of Denmark. And one of them lived
in Elsinore, in the other end of the country. But one lived in Silkeborg, half
an hour’s drive from Brabrand.
Henrik called the police from the car he had rented on his way there and
spoke to officer Jansson, asking him how the investigation was going. The
officer told him they were very busy, but they would let him know as soon as
they knew anything. Henrik considered asking about the girl, about why they
hadn't arrested Annabelle, but that would be the same as admitting that he
had lied when he said he slept alone that night.
"So, there are no suspects yet?" he asked. "No arrests made?"
"No. None so far. We'll let you know, Mr. Fenger."
"Fucking morons," Henrik groaned as he hung up. Why hadn't they
arrested the girl? Well, it was all the same. He was actually glad they hadn't.
Or else he wouldn't get his revenge, now would he? In his head, the story was
as clear as they get. He had offended the girl, she was angry with him
because he didn't want to be her boyfriend, because he didn't want to take her
out to fancy vegetarian restaurants and chitchat about beetroot and zumba-
classes.
 But why she had chosen to take his kidney? Henrik had no answer to that
question. Maybe it was just her way of getting back at him, the freaking cunt.
Maybe it was bigger than that. Maybe she was even making money off of his
kidney, earning a living on selling his organ. Henrik didn't care what the
motive or purpose was. All he knew was that he wanted to see her in pain for
what she had done. Unlike the police, he wasn't going to let her get away with
it.
Henrik slammed his fist into the wheel of the car several times in anger,
then drove off towards Silkeborg.
Annabelle Svendsen lived in an apartment close to the center of town.
Henrik found a parking space a block or so away and walked the rest of the
way so he wouldn’t be seen. As he stood in front of the front door to the
apartment building, he wondered how to get inside. He considered just
pushing all the buttons to all the apartments until someone thought he was the
paperboy and buzzed him inside, when suddenly someone, a young girl,
walked out of the door. He smiled at her and grabbed the door before it shut.
"Thanks," he said.
The young girl smiled, then disappeared down the street. Henrik walked
up the stairs, checking every nametag on the doors on the way up. On the
third floor, he found her name.
A.Svendsen
Henrik chuckled. It was almost too easy. It was like the universe wanted
him to find her. He lifted his hand and put his finger on the doorbell. Then he
waited. Henrik fixed his hair and put on his most devilish smile.
The door opened. The girl looked at him with astonishment.
"You?"
"Me."
"But … What are you doing here?"
"We need to talk."
"Sure." Annabelle stepped aside. "Come on in."
Henrik smiled widely, then walked past her into her apartment. Annabelle
closed the door behind him.
"I'll make us some coffee," she said.
 24

AUGUST 2012

"LISTEN TO THIS SENTENCE. The first thing I saw was his arm. When I walked
inside the bathroom, his arm was sticking out from above the bathtub. "
I looked at Sune who was as thrilled as I was. We were sitting in the back
seat of Peter's Land Rover, each with our laptops on our laps. I was writing
my article and Sune was uploading pictures.
"Look at this," he said and turned the screen. "Look at the dread in her
eyes. You can just feel how freaked out she is."
"That is a beautiful picture," I said. "Perfect for the story."
We had landed a scoop. Nothing less. The three men smoking behind the
dumpsters had helped us find the cleaning lady who had first discovered the
body and she was willing to talk to us in her apartment, not far from the
hotel. We were the only ones to find her and get the interview. She had even
given me a new story that I wanted to write next week when I got back to
work. She was about to be thrown out of the country just because she had left
her abusive husband. I promised to run her story and maybe try and wake up
the politicians.
Now I was writing all she had told me about finding the body in my
article. When I was done with that, I wrote another article about the police
and how they had no clue in this case. I had spoken to them earlier on the
phone and gotten the latest details for my articles.
"How about this one?" Sune asked and showed me another picture of the
girl that he had taken while she was talking to me.
"I love the way she is covering her mouth with her hand," I said.
"It's perfect too," he said.
 I looked at him and smiled. This felt good. I had forgotten how much I
enjoyed working with Sune. He was the only one who always understood
where I wanted to go with a story, what kind of emotions I wanted to evoke
in people reading it. And his pictures always matched what I was going for.
Jens-Ole freaked out when he heard we had the girl. "I knew you two
would deliver," he yelled. "I knew it. I just knew it."
I chuckled and put him on speakerphone so Sune could listen in as well.
"The articles are almost done. There is one about what the police are doing as
well. Just a small one, since they're screwed on this one. They have no idea
where to turn, how to deal with this."
"That's what I thought," Jens-Ole said. "Everybody's doing the police-
angle and the possible Eastern European angle, so we're not going to do much
of that. I like the personal touch to our stories. I'd like more of that."
"Well now you have this one. It's really good. She was very honest and
brutally detailed. You better read it to make sure it's not too much."
"I don't see how it could be," Jens-Ole said.
"Do it anyway, alright?" I said. "I don't want any complaints afterwards."
"I will. Don't worry. Oh … by the way?"
I closed my eyes. I knew that sentence. He had more for us. "Yes? You
want something else too, don't you?"
"Well just one more thing."
"It seems there is always just one more thing," I said, but I didn't feel
angry about it. I was happy to be on a story again. I was thrilled to be out on
the road and mostly I was enjoying spending time with Sune again. Working
on a story gave me the right to be with him without feeling guilty about it.
Not too guilty at least.
"Sara, the sweetheart, has been working hard on this all day and she
finally succeeded this afternoon. You can't say no to this."
"Let's see about that," I said, wondering about Peter and how he was
going to take it. "What've you got?"
"Sara found the kidney-guy. She spoke to him earlier on the phone and he
agreed to do a solo interview. You know, details about what happened and
what it felt like to wake up missing a part of you and all that. So far, he has
only done that one short TV interview on the first day in the hospital. Since
then, he has refused to talk to any media."
"Until now, huh?"
"It's a scoop. He hasn't done any longer interviews. This is yours."
I looked at Sune who was nodding eagerly.
"Don't think we'll pass on that one," I said.
"Great. Wonderful. It's in Silkeborg. You might have to spend the night
there. He has agreed to do it late tonight. He's staying there, but only tonight,
he said. He'll go back to Roskilde tomorrow."
"Ah, he's from Roskilde on Zeeland. Makes it an even better story for
Zeeland Times."
"It sure does. Meet him at the lobby of Hotel Mercury at nine tonight."
"We'll be there."
 25

AUGUST 2012

"SO … HOW ARE YOU?" Annabelle asked, looking truly concerned.

What an actress.
Henrik could play a game too. He smiled and tilted his head. "Never
better," he said.
"But …But I thought you … I mean I saw you on TV. They said you …"
Annabelle looked down like she didn't want to say it out loud.
Nicely played. Making me believe you're all innocent and scared by my
story. Very nice. Done a lot of acting before, have we?
"Ah that. Well, at least I have two kidneys right?" Henrik laughed
manically and grabbed a Danish butter-cookie that Annabelle had put on the
table in front of him.
"It must have been really scary walking up like that?" She asked
sounding concerned.
I'm not buying it, bitch. Too forced. Too much.
"Oh yes it was. It certainly was a frightening experience. What was it the
police called it? Oh yes. Unfortunate. An unfortunate experience it was."
Henrik took another cookie and chewed it with his mouth open just to annoy
her.
"But you're alright now? I mean they let you out of the hospital?"
"Except for the fact that I am missing a KIDNEY, yes, I'm completely
fine," he said, yelling the word kidney, causing Annabelle to jump. Then he
laughed. Henrik picked up the coffee cup and slurped loudly as he drank. She
wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"I thought about visiting you at the hospital … but …"
 "Then why didn't you, BITCH?" He said.
"Excuse me?" She said looking perplexed.
"Why didn't you?" He repeated.
"Well they said on TV that you were married. I didn't want to …"
"Didn't want to what? Didn't want to HARM me? Didn't want to make
me SUFFER?"
"I didn't want to destroy your personal life. I mean, I guessed you didn't
want your wife to know about me," she said, moving around in her chair like
it was uncomfortable to sit in. Henrik discovered he liked to see her squirm in
the chair. He liked the way she kept touching her cellphone and holding it
close to her in case she needed to call for help. It amused him the way she
avoided his eyes. The hand touching her chest and the redness of the skin on
her throat. She was nervous. He made her nervous.
"So what can I do for you?" She asked.
"What can I do for you?" He said, imitating her voice, making it sound all
shrill and annoying.
She looked at him. She was biting her lip. Then she looked at the phone
again and pushed a button like she wanted to make sure it was on. "Listen,"
she said nervously. Her voice was slightly shivering. "I have to be
somewhere …"
"No you don't," Henrik said.
"Excuse me?"
"You don't have somewhere to be. You're just saying that to get rid of
me. Why Annabelle? Why do you want to get rid of me?"
Annabelle blushed. She shook her head and moved her hands fast. "I … I
…"
"You don't know what to say?" He interrupted her. "Let me help you. I
make you feel uncomfortable, don't I?"
She bit her lips and looked at him, then nodded. "Yes. Okay yes. This
meeting. You coming here and yelling at me makes me feel slightly
uncomfortable."
"Why do you think that is?" Henrik said before slurping more coffee.
"What do you mean?"
 "Why do you think me being here makes you feel so uncomfortable?" He
asked again, slightly annoyed.
"I don't know … I guess it might be the yelling, maybe it's just the way
you look at me. Like I owe you something. Like you want to …"
"Like I want to what, Annabelle?"
"Like you want to … hurt me or something," Annabelle sighed and shook
her head. "This conversation is getting a little strange."
"You know what I think is strange?" Henrik asked and didn't wait for her
to answer. "I think it's a little strange that I have amazing sex with a woman
one night in a hotel and then the next morning … I wake up and oops,
something is missing. Oh my, oh my. Something pretty VITAL is gone from
inside of me. Now how on earth did that happen?"
Annabelle covered her mouth. "Oh my God," she exclaimed. "You think
… you think I had something to do with it, don't you?"
"BINGO!" Henrik yelled and slammed his clenched fist into the coffee
table causing all the cups to rattle.
Annabelle let out a shriek and got up from her chair. "Get out," she said.
"Get out of my apartment right now."
Henrik made the sound of a game show buzzer on TV. "WRONG
answer."
"What do you want from me?" She asked with a shivering voice.
Henrik scratched his chin and looked up. "Mmm, let me see. What do I
really want from you?"
"I already talked to the police. I told them everything I know. I told them
how I met you at the bar. I told them all your bad pick-up lines. I told them
about our sex in the hotel room and I told them that I left, that you were
awake the last time I saw you and being a real prick."
Henrik laughed manically and slurped more coffee. "Well then, it’s all
good, isn't it?" He said. "It's absolutely PEACHY." Then his face turned
angry. "Except for the fact that I don't buy it."
"It's the truth. I swear. I had nothing to do with what happened to you.
Look at me I'm just a little girl. How would I be able to hold you down? I
wouldn't even know where to look for the kidney. I faint just seeing blood."
 "Ah, come on. Do you really think I'd fall for that? You could have had
help, couldn't you? You could have some guy waiting in the hallway once
you exited the room and he could have entered the room. It's as simple as
that. How much did he pay you, huh?"
"I … I have no idea what you're talking about. There was no guy. There
was only me when I left that night. I might not have closed the door properly,
so maybe the guy could have come in that way or something, I don't know. I
was pretty pissed at the time. Don't think I worried much about closing the
door properly."
Henrik closed his eyes. He was getting sick of this conversation. "How
much did he pay you?" He asked again.
"I … no one paid me anything."
"HOW MUCH?"
"Nothing. Why aren't you listening to what I say? I didn't do anything. I
came to the bar to meet a nice guy. Guess that makes me a horrible judge of
people, huh?"
"I don't believe you," Henrik said.
"Then what do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? ‘Cause I am truly
very sorry for what happened to you, but it had nothing to do with me."
"Still don't believe you."
"I'm telling the truth. What do you want from me?"
"I want to know where my kidney is."
"Excuse me?" She asked. "You want what, exactly?"
Henrik got up and stormed towards the girl. He grabbed her around the
throat and pushed her backwards against the wall. She was spurting and
gasping for air. Henrik kept squeezing while staring into her eyes until no
more sound came out of her throat and her body became limp in his hands.
Then he let her slide to the ground.
Panting, he bent down and whispered in her ear: "I want to know who has
my kidney."
 26

SEPTEMBER 2001

ANNA WAS STARING AT the bike, then back at Valdemar. She couldn't believe
what she saw. "You made this?" She asked.
The boy nodded. Anna touched the new handlebars that Valdemar had
somehow managed to put on the new bike. They were extremely long and
bent in a u-shape.
"I made it myself. Using dad's welder."
"You know how I hate it when you use that thing," she said, without
being really angry. This was truly spectacular. You couldn't even tell that the
handlebars didn't originally belong to the bike.
"But how … how does it work?" She asked anxiously. It was hard to
picture how Valdemar was supposed to use this.
"Take it outside and I'll show you," he said.
"I can put it on the grass so you won't hurt yourself when you fall," Anna
said feeling very nervous about the whole thing.
She dragged the bike out of the garage and onto the grass where she put it
up against the big birch tree in the front yard. Then she turned and looked at
Valdemar with her heart in her throat.
All this for what? To impress his dad? To show him he is good enough?
That he is worthy of his love?
Anna felt the tears press from behind her eyes, but held them back. This
was a happy moment for Valdemar. He didn't need to see her cry. Valdemar
turned and smiled at his mother. She smiled back and gave him a thumbs-up.
By putting his head on the handlebars and using his mouth and toes, he
climbed onto the bike. Anna jumped forward when he was about to slip
down, but stopped herself.
He can do this. You know he can. If he wants it bad enough. You know he
can. He has proven it before.
Valdemar managed somehow, someway to get to the seat and sit on it,
then he bent forward enough for his shoulders to reach the extremely long
handlebars. Anna gasped as he put his feet on the pedals, set off and, very
shakily, rode across the lawn.
Oh my God, he's going to kill himself on that thing.
But to her amazement, he didn't. He didn't even fall. Using his head and
shoulders to steer, he bicycled down the street, turned around and came back.
Anna stood with both her hands covering her mouth. She had stopped
breathing and everything inside of her was frozen.
Valdemar rode the thing all the way back on the grass, before he tipped
over and landed with the bike op top of him. Anna stormed to him, thinking
she could hear him cry, but as she came close, she realized he was, in fact,
laughing. The wondrousness of a child's laughter made everything inside of
her come alive again and, while helping him get back up, she started laughing
too. Laughing with relief and hope thinking that maybe, just maybe it was
going to be all right after all. He was going to be alright. Valdemar was not
pitiful, he was one of the strongest children this earth was ever going to see.
"Did you see me, Mom? Did you see it?"
"I did, sweetheart. I saw you. I saw everything. It was amazing. You're
amazing, Valdemar. You truly are."
Then they laughed again. Finally Anna took the boy inside and brought
out ice cream, Valdemar's favorite, and they ate it talking all afternoon about
how amazing it felt for him to be able to move around using a bike. How
much freedom it gave him.
"It was almost like flying, Mommy."
The next day, he was practicing his biking while Anna watched with
anxious eyes and lots of gasps when, all of a sudden, a car drove down the
street and into the driveway. Anna's heart dropped.
It was Michael.
He got out of the car and looked at Valdemar as he rode the bike into the
driveway and jumped off with a huge smile.
 "Did you see it Daddy? Did you see me?" He asked hopefully.
Anna's heart was pounding awaiting the answer. Not a sound left
Michael's lips, so Valdemar tried again.
"I'm riding my new bike, Daddy. Just like an ordinary kid I'm riding a
bike, a real bike, aren't you proud?"
Come one Michael. Just say something nice for once. Just look at the boy
and talk to him. Just this once, you bastard.
But Michael didn't say anything to Valdemar. Instead he turned his head
and faced Anna with the words:
"I'm leaving you."
 27

AUGUST 2012

WE CHECKED IN TO Hotel Mercury in Silkeborg around five thirty in the

afternoon. We agreed to meet for dinner in the restaurant at six thirty after
taking a rest. I sat on the bed with my cellphone in my hand finding the
courage to call Peter and let him know what was going on. I had wanted to
wait till I was alone, since I didn't want Sune to know if Peter got upset. It
was Julie who picked up the phone. My heart was beating. Hearing her voice
made me miss her like crazy.
"Hi sweetie. How is everything?"
"Great," she said.
"What are you doing?"
"Playing Mindskill on the iPad."
I smiled. That was all she did lately. Playing Mindskill or watching
videos on YouTube of other people playing it. I didn't get it. To me it was
just a world of big blocks and it seemed really boring, but all the kids loved
it. "Of course you are. What is your father doing?"
"Taking a shower. He’s been painting all day. He said he was going to
make pancakes for dinner."
"Oh, did he now?"
"Yeah. He also said you couldn't do anything about it since you weren't
here."
I laughed. "Well he is right. I guess it will do for tonight. Your dad makes
wonderful pancakes. That's the one thing he can actually make."
"I know. So when are you coming back? Dad said, since you weren't here
yet, you probably wouldn’t make it for dinner."
 "He's right. I have to stay the night. Will you be alright alone?" I asked.
"I'm not alone. Dad's here, remember?" She said.
"Of course. Just making sure you don't miss me too much."
"You have high thoughts about yourself, Mommy. Of course I miss you,
but I'll see you tomorrow right?"
"Yes, baby. I'm doing a late interview here tonight, then I'll sleep and go
right back to Brabrand tomorrow morning."
"Is Sune with you?" She asked.
I paused. "Yes. Yes he is. We're working together."
"What about Tobias?"
"He's at home with a nanny," I answered. "Sune will go home to be with
him tomorrow morning."
"Oh okay." Her voice sounded disappointed. I wondered if she had
thought I would bring Sune and Tobias with me back to the island. "Here is
daddy."
"Hi there." Peter sounded happy.
"Hi. Listen. They want me to stay the night. I have an interview late
tonight. I'll be back tomorrow instead."
Peter went quiet. A million thoughts ran through my mind while trying to
figure out what he was thinking and feeling. "Okay," he said. "I had a feeling
that it was going to be late since we hadn't heard from you and you hadn't
come back yet. But I hadn't expected you to stay away all night. I guess I'll
have to live with it, then."
"It's just that they have landed an interview with the kidney-guy and he is
only going to be around for tonight. Tomorrow he is going back to Roskilde."
"Well you do what you gotta do. We'll be here waiting for you." Peter
sighed and paused. "Say, is Sune staying at the hotel with you?"
I closed my eyes. "Yes." I exhaled and rubbed my forehead. "He is
staying in another room."
"Well I sure hope he is," Peter said. "Why wouldn't he be?"
"No. That's not what I meant …"
"No, I know what you meant. You think I'm jealous, don't you?" Peter
sounded offended, all of a sudden.
 "Well … I guess."
"Do I have any reason to be jealous?" He asked.
I froze. I wanted so badly to tell him he didn't, but I knew it would be a
lie. Seeing Sune again had awoken a lot of emotions in me that I didn't want
him to know about. Feelings that I hardly wanted to admit to myself that I
had.
"No. No. Of course not. I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you then."
 28

AUGUST 2012

"SO HOW ARE JULIE and your dad?"

Sune looked at me after we had ordered and the waiter had left. I felt like
I was already cheating on Peter just by sitting in the hotel restaurant with
Sune.
I smiled. "They're both fine. Well that's not completely true. Julie is great.
My dad's health is still not too good. He's had a lot of infections and problems
with his bladder lately. I keep hoping it'll get better, and some days he's doing
really great, but then a new infection comes along that he has trouble beating
and we're back to where we started. He had a bladder infection just last week
that …" I paused and looked up at Sune. "I'm sharing a little too much here.
You don't want to hear those details."
Sune raised his hand to stop me. "No, I do. I love your dad, you know
that. I don't mind hearing details."
"Okay. Well it's not something we should talk about at the dinner table,
but he is fighting, and hopefully winning, but it is getting harder for him to do
simple things, like walking on his own, getting out of the house and so on. I
have my sister looking out for him while we're gone, but I don't know if … I
mean, she has small kids and a fulltime job and all …"
"I can check in on him when I get back to Karrebaeksminde if you'd
like."
I look at him and our eyes locked. "Would you do that? It would be a
great help for me. I am so concerned constantly."
Sune smiled. The waiter brought our food. "Of course, Rebekka. I'd do
anything for you."
I sipped my wine, feeling my heart racing. I had no idea what to say to
that, so I started eating instead. The duck was terrible. I took one bite, then
looked at Sune who had picked the same as me. I chewed and chewed, but it
was so hard to chew I wondered if I would ever be able to swallow it. Sune
looked like he had the same troubles. Then I laughed. Sune chuckled and
finally swallowed. I did the same, before we both flushed it down with the
red wine.
"How can anyone ruin duck?" I whispered and leaned over the table.
Sune laughed. "I don't know. You'd have to be pretty good, I guess."
I chuckled and pushed the meat aside, then tried the potatoes. They
weren't as bad as the meat, but they weren't good either.
"Wow. I never thought I would ever taste anything worse than the food I
had in juvenile prison," Sune said.
I burst into laughter. I looked at his hand missing the two fingers that he
had lost in prison when he was doing time for hacking as a teenager. I had
heard all his stories from the inside and knew all about how tough it had been
on him. In a very few years, I had gotten to know him better than I knew my
own husband, who never told me anything from his past. I had to always drag
it out of him. Sune wasn't like that. Sune could talk about his emotions, about
stuff he had gone through. Peter couldn't. Peter had grown up in an
environment where you weren't allowed to discuss your feelings. Where it
was considered as a weakness. That much he had told me, but that was about
it. I never met his parents since they lived in Singapore now, where his father
had his business. I had met his brother on one occasion, but only briefly when
he was in Aarhus many years ago. I felt like Peter didn't want me to know his
family and, in the beginning of my marriage, it annoyed me and made me
feel like he was embarrassed by me, but after some time, I realized that it had
nothing to do with me. It wasn't me he was embarrassed by; it was his family.
Sune had become silent. He was looking at me with serious eyes. I sensed
he was going to say something. My heart was beating fast and I felt my
cheeks blush. I thought like crazy about something to say to break the silence.
"So how is Tobias?" I asked.
"Good. He misses Julie, though."
I nodded and drank. "I know. Julie misses him too. She was just asking
for him on the phone when I was in my room. She thought he was with you
here."
"That's sweet."
Sune exhaled. "Rebekka … I …" He grabbed my hand.
I shook my head and pulled my hand away. "Don't Sune. Don't do this."
Sune pulled back and bit his lip. "Okay. I get it. I'm gonna leave it there.
This is the way you want it. I get it."
A new silence broke out between us. A waiter approached us. He looked
at me. "Mrs. Franck?"
"Yes?"
"Mr. Fenger is waiting for you in the bar."
I looked at my watch. "He’s early," I said.
 29

AUGUST 2012

SHE WAS PRETTIER THAN he thought she would be. Henrik Fenger didn't
exactly know what he had expected, but not this. He watched her from afar,
in the mirror behind the bartender, as she walked out from the restaurant and
towards him in the bar. Her searching eyes scanning the area to find him gave
her away. Behind her followed a younger guy, very tall and who looked more
like a punker than a photographer.
"Mr. Fenger?"
Henrik grinned and turned on his bar stool. "Rebekka Franck I assume?"
He reached out his hand and she took it. Nice firm handshake. He liked that
in a woman. Probably a feisty little one.
"This is my photographer Sune Johansen," she said introducing the punk-
guy behind her.
"Hi," he said and reached out his hand.
"Hello," Henrik said and shook his hand slightly, reluctantly wondering
what kind of germs and following diseases this guy was going to give him.
Henrik stared at the photographer's ring in the eyebrow. He wrinkled his
nose. He never understood why people wanted rings all over the place that
could get infected.
"Let's go sit in the corner over there," Rebekka Franck said and pointed at
some couches.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" Henrik asked. He couldn't stop staring
at the woman. She was beautiful, not in a traditional way, but there was just
something about her, something alluring that made him want to screw her.
"No, we just ate," Rebekka said.
 "Ah come on," Henrik said. "You look like someone who would enjoy a
Chardonnay."
"As a matter of fact, I'm more of a red wine person," she said.
"Then let me buy you a glass of red wine," Henrik insisted. Before she
could protest, he ordered one for her.
"I'll just have a beer," the photographer said.
He was already annoying Henrik and he was starting to wonder how he
was going to get rid of him. Henrik moaned slightly in pain as he got up from
his bar stool and walked towards the black leather couches in the corner.
"Do you need a hand?" Rebekka Franck asked.
"No." Henrik said a little too harshly. "I mean, I'm fine. Just the damn
pain that won't go away."
"From the surgery?" Sune the photographer asked.
No from fucking all night. Yes of course it's from having my kidney
removed you idiot!
"It must have been quite painful?" Rebekka Franck asked.
Henrik loathed the tone of pity in her voice. Yes, he was the victim, but
no he didn't want to be treated like a cripple. He wanted her to see how
handsome he was, how attractive he was. Henrik always had a way with the
ladies.
"It wasn't so bad," he said, trying hard to smile.
"Oh my God," Rebekka Franck suddenly said and pointed at his white
shirt.
"What?"
"I think you're bleeding," she said. "Is that blood on your shirt? There on
the right side?"
Henrik looked down. Her had taken a shower after killing Annabelle and
put on new clothes so he hardly thought it could be hers, but suddenly he
feared it was. "It's nothing," he said, and smiled.
"Don't you think we should take you to the hospital?" Sune the
photographer asked.
He shook his head while imagining himself smashing the boy's face in
with a clenched fist. "No it's nothing. I can hardly feel anything. The doctor
said this might happen."
They sat down on the couches and Henrik found a handkerchief in his
pocket that he wiped his forehead with. He was sweating heavily now.
"You don't look too well," Rebekka Franck said. "Maybe we should do
this another day?"
"No," Henrik said, annoyed with all the fussing. Yes, the doctor had told
him to rest and stay calm, but how could he? How could he remain at peace
with so many IDIOTS in this world?
Henrik wiped his forehead again, then forced a smile and looked at
Rebekka Franck. "Shall we begin?"
 30

AUGUST 2012

BILL DURGIN WAS SITTING in the bar with an iPad on the counter. The
bartender had served up a beer while Bill was looking for the next lucky
victim. Meanwhile, Bill was in the chat room, talking to one of the other
artists.
I'm sitting in the bar at the hotel now.
Oh, the thrill of the chase, someone named Karl Persson answered. Bill
had been chatting with him before. He was quite the lunatic, but very good at
inspiring and giving good advice.
Spotted your next victim yet? He asked.
I have my eyes on several right now. Bill was looking up into the mirror
behind the bartender, where observing the guests in the hotel without being
seen was a lot easier. A guy at the end of the bar looked promising.
Ah I love this part, Karl wrote. Scanning the room, knowing you hold the
power of life and death in your hand, knowing you get to choose who will live
to see tomorrow and who won't.
Bill had to admit, it was enjoyable. Who could have ever guessed, but
Thomas De Quincey had been right. After the first kill, the thought of the
next one was much easier; it was almost thrilling. It provided the ultimate
satisfaction to hurt these people. These people who deserved nothing better,
who had it coming to them.
Cheating bastards.
A woman sat in the corner with a tall punk fellow and another man who
had his back to Bill. They were talking; the punk fellow was taking pictures
of the guy who had his back turned. Bill studied the woman and the punker.
They didn't look like a couple. He was way younger than her. But they had
dinner at the restaurant earlier in the night and seemed very comfortable,
stealing looks and looking at each other like they weren't supposed to be
together, like they were afraid to be caught. Bill could smell an affair from far
away and those two had one. The tension in the air between them was
electrifying. There was no doubt. They smelled of deceit.
I have my eye on two right now. I might do them both this time.
You go for it. A double kill is very rare. Did one back in '89. I can still
remember the thrill. I live to relive it.
Bill chuckled and drank the beer. A man entered the bar and sat two
stools down from Bill. He smiled and nodded. Bill smiled back.
"How's the beer?" The man asked.
"To die for," Bill answered.
The man laughed awkwardly. Bill turned to look at the couple again. The
punker was laughing, looking at the woman who apparently had said
something funny. A chill ran down Bill’s spine. It was disgusting. The way
they looked at each other was repulsive.
What about your husband at home, little lady? The young boy didn't look
like he was married with children, but the woman probably was. She looked
like it. It was in her eyes, her entire body was smeared in it. The way she
looked at the boy when she talked and then looked down quickly afterwards
made her look guilty. Tormented by it.
So have you chosen? Karl asked.
I think I have.
When will you strike?
At midnight when they're all asleep. They'll never know what hit them.
It'll be a night of terror. A punishment to fit the crime.
You're evil.
The woman laughed again. The hair rose on the back of Bill's neck. The
falseness, the dishonesty to her voice was creepy. A woman like her deserved
to die.
 31

AUGUST 2012

I LAUGHED AWKWARDLY AT my own joke. The whole situation was a little

strange and felt clumsy. Sune and I tried hard to lighten the atmosphere a
little, but with no luck. Henrik Fenger was a strange man who seemed to be
in way too much pain to be sitting here when he should be in a hospital. He
was sweating heavily and he seemed to be bleeding too. I didn't quite know
what to say to him, but I really thought he should go to the hospital.
As we spoke and he told his story, he kept groaning and moaning in pain.
Then he found some pills in his jacket and swallowed a couple, flushing them
down with beer. I asked him several times if we should drive him to the
nearest hospital, but he refused. It felt highly uncomfortable for both me and
Sune, but the man had, after all, the right to decide not to go. It was a very
strange situation and an even weirder interview. The man seemed so
uncomfortable and, every now and then, he would yell at me and hit his fist
on the table holding our drinks. I started wondering if he was really well. Not
just physically. He seemed to have a huge amount of anger trapped inside of
him. It made him a little scary.
"So how did you feel when you heard about the second case in Hasle?" I
asked.
Henrik Fenger froze in the middle of drinking. He put the glass down
very hard on the table. "The what?" He asked.
I looked at Sune, then back at Henrik Fenger. "You didn't hear about the
man who was killed at a hotel in Hasle?"
Henrik Fenger looked confused. "What?"
"It was very similar to your story, except he didn't survive," I continued.
"His liver was removed and he died overnight. The cleaning lady found him
covered in ice just like you were."
"But …" Henrik Fenger stared at me like there was something really
wrong with me. "You say he died?"
I nodded and drank from my wine. I looked up at the bar. It was strange. I
kept having the feeling that someone was watching me. Maybe it was just the
entire situation that made me a little paranoid. It was stupid, really, but the
thought of having to spend the night in a hotel scared me a little. I couldn't
help thinking: what if I wake up covered in ice? What if they take one of my
organs?
I shook my head. No it was ridiculous. There were so many hotels. To
have the organ thieves strike right at the one I was staying in was hardly
realistic. Or was it? I felt a chill and looked up at the bar behind Henrik
Fenger again. Was someone observing me?
I looked at Henrik Fenger again. He seemed to be getting worse. He was
sweating heavily and panting. He was still staring at me. I tried to smile.
"Anyway, that's all I know," I said.
"What do the police say?" Henrik Fenger asked. His voice was shrill.
"Apparently, he was with some girl on the night it happened. They have
her in custody now."
Henrik Fenger looked like he was choking. He put his beer down. "She's
WHAT?" He said yelling the last word with a shrill voice.
"She's been taken into police custody to be interrogated. But I spoke to
one of the officers when I was in my room earlier and he told me they will be
letting her go in the morning. She doesn't know anything, he told me."
Henrik Fenger's right eye started blinking and he was moving his head in
a weird way reminding me of the pigeons I used to feed with Julie in the
center of Copenhagen when she was younger.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Sune asked.
Henrik Fenger grinned. "Yes. Yes. I'm okay. Why shouldn't I be? Huh?
Tell me WHY? Because someone stole my kidney? Because my wife won't
answer my calls? Huh? Is that it? Because I'm sitting here with two
MORONS who don't understand ANTYHING? Because the whole damn
world has gone MAD overnight?"
 I turned to face Sune and our eyes met. He made a grimace. I fought hard
not to laugh. I got up and reached out my hand.
"I think we have what we came for. Thank you so much, Mr. Fenger for
taking time to meet with us."
I shook his hand and Henrik Fenger grumbled something as Sune and I
hurried to get away from him. As we left the bar, I couldn't let go of the
feeling that someone was still watching my every move, so I turned and
looked. I met a set of eyes in the mirror behind the bartender. They seemed
friendly, so I smiled. The eyes smiled back.
 32

SEPTEMBER 2001

"COULD YOU AT LEAST tell me why?"

Anna's voice was shivering as she spoke. Michael was packing a suitcase,
throwing shirts and pants randomly into it. He hadn't spoken a word since he
had told her he was leaving and Anna felt both frustrated and confused. She
wanted to grab on to him and shake him. But she had felt that for a long time.
She simply didn't understand how he could be so cruel … the same man she
had loved and wanted to spend her life with.
"Please, Michael. Don't do this to us," she pleaded desperately. She kept
wondering what she could say or do to make him stay.
But Michael didn't even look at her as he packed his stuff. It was like he
couldn't get out of the house fast enough, like he couldn't get out of their lives
fast enough.
"Michael you have a son, for Christ sake!" She yelled, when he closed the
suitcase and lifted it up. "You have a responsibility. You made a vow to me
once. You have a family."
Finally Michael looked at her. Anna's heart was beating so fast now. She
wanted to punch him, hug him, and hold on to him all at the same time. She
didn't do any of those things. Instead, she just stared at him with a feeling of
utter desperation exploding inside of her.
"He was never my son, you know that," Michael said. "He was a mistake
from the beginning."
Anna clenched her fist and smashed it as hard as she could into his face.
Michael let out a scream and flew backwards. Michael's nose was bleeding
when he looked at her again. He wiped the blood off with his hand.
"I have a new family now," he said. "A real one."
 "What the hell is that supposed to mean? How can you have a new
family?" Anna asked, confused.
Michael looked into her eyes. "If you must know, I've had another family
for a number of years now. I am with them when I'm not here."
Anna's heart dropped. She had to hold on to the frame of the door to not
fall. She couldn't believe what he was telling her. It was like a bad dream, a
nightmare that wouldn't end.
"What do you mean you have another family? I don't understand? How?"
"Well, it's been going fine until last week when she found out about you
and Valdemar. She asked me to choose between the two of you. And I chose
her. Her and … Patrick."
Anna stumbled backwards. Patrick? Not only did he have another woman
but also another son? "Patrick?" She said with a shaking voice. "Is that …?"
Michael looked at her with such coldness and cruelty she could no longer
understand how she could have loved him.
"He is my son," Michael said.
Anna heard something and turned her head to see Valdemar standing
right next to them. His eyes were filled with tears. Anna realized he must
have heard the entire discussion between her and Michael.
"Mommy?" He said. "Who … Who is Patrick?"
For the first time since Valdemar was born, Michael looked directly into
his eyes and spoke:
"He's my real son."
Then he lifted up the suitcase and stormed past the boy. Anna's entire
body was shaking when she ran to grab Valdemar in her arms. She lifted him
up and held him close to her body. For days after this, Valdemar never spoke
a word. He didn't ride his bike nor did he go into the garage for a long, long
time.
 33

AUGUST 2012

SUNE AND I COULDN'T stop laughing. We had gone back to Sune's hotel room,
room 237 and were going through the interview and pictures together.
"Can you believe that guy?" Sune asked.
"I don't think I can," I said, chuckling.
We grabbed a couple of beers from the minibar while we worked. "Look
at this one," Sune said and showed me a picture he had taken of Henrik
Fenger while he spoke. "The guy looks like he is about to explode."
"Did you see the tic, he had?" I said.
"And what was with the yelling of certain words?" Sune said.
"It's actually not funny," I said, still laughing.
"I know. It's really sad. The guy seemed to have some serious anger
management issues."
"I tried not to laugh, but it was hard. There was just something about the
guy that was so comical, I couldn't help it. I have always felt that way with
angry people. I never could take them seriously. I hope I wasn't
inappropriate," I said and opened my laptop.
"You were fine. He liked you. It was me he couldn't stand," Sune said.
"He kept staring at the ring in my eyebrow like he wanted to rip it out. I think
I was the one provoking him. My appearance does that to people from time to
time. If I had a penny for every time an old lady tried to beat me with her
cane because she thought I was going to rob her or something … well I'd
have a lot of pennies."
"You do look pretty provoking," I said with a grin. I opened a Word
document and started typing my article. I felt Sune's eyes on me. I didn't turn
to look at him. The air between us had been strange and almost tense all
night. I fought the urge to kiss him like nothing I had ever fought in my life.
"Well, you always look great," Sune said. "I think the guy wanted to be
alone with you. That's why he resented me so much. He wanted me out of the
way so he could make a pass at you."
I laughed. "You've got to be kidding me. The man was in so much pain.
He is sick. And I don't just mean physically. There was something really
wrong with him. He was kind of creepy, really."
Sune uploaded his pictures while I wrote my article, trying hard to be as
nice to the guy as possible and present him like a sane person. When I was
done, I sent it to my editor and looked at Sune. He was looking at me too. I
didn't like the look in his eyes and looked away.
"So I guess that's it, huh?" I said and closed the lid of my laptop.
Sune picked up his camera and was looking at me through the lens. I
could tell he was zooming in on me. Then he took a series of pictures.
"Stop it," I said. "I look terrible."
"I don't think so," Sune said, then took a series more. He got up from his
chair and started moving around while taking more pictures of me.
"Sune. You know I don't like to be photographed."
I lied. The fact was, I really liked it when he took pictures of me. I liked
when he was watching me, looking at me through the lens of the camera,
studying me. My heart was beating faster as he came closer. He lowered the
camera and looked me into my eyes. Then he leaned over and kissed me.
The kiss felt incredible. Like an explosion on my lips. It didn't feel like I
was cheating on Peter. It felt so right and that made it so difficult.
"Stay with me tonight," Sune whispered once our lips parted.
I exhaled, then kissed him again. I fought the urge, but in vain. I kissed
him again and again, then held him in my arms and felt like crying. It was
like my body had missed this, missed being close to his. It was like I was
depriving my body of something vital when I wasn't with him.
But when you're not with Peter, you're depriving your daughter of a
father, of having a real family, aren't you?
I pushed Sune away and got up. I grabbed my laptop and threw it in my
bag. "Rebekka," Sune pleaded. He grabbed my hand. Our eyes locked.
"Stay. Please stay here."
I stroked his cheek gently. My entire body was screaming madly at me as
I made up my mind. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm going back tonight."
 34

AUGUST 2012

BILL DURGIN FOLLOWED THE chosen couple through the hallway of the hotel
and watched as they went into a room together.
I knew it! Nothing but cheating bastards. Going in there to fuck are we?
Going to spend the night together making passionate love and then go home
to your families the next day and pretend like nothing ever happened, are
we?
Bill Durgin growled, put down the equipment-filled briefcase, pulled out
the dry erase marker and held it for a little while thinking about its origin and
felt such a deep sadness.
The marker was used to open the lock on the door to the room next to
them. Luckily, it was empty. Bill sat down and pulled out the iPad, hoping
that Thomas De Quincey would be in the chat room, but he wasn't. Instead, to
Karl Persson:
Picked my target. Now all I have to do is wait.
Good for you. Will you post pictures?
Sure.
Good. I will be waiting for them. Got myself a little treat today as well,
Karl Persson wrote.
I thought you were laying low? Someone called Michael Cogliantry
answered. He had just joined the chat.
I was. But I couldn't resist. It was like taking candy from a kid. There was
no way I was just going to let a chance like this pass me by, Karl wrote.
Who was she? Michael Cogliantry asked.
A girl around sixteen who walks past in the street every day on her way
home from school. I have watched her for weeks, followed her everywhere.
This afternoon I followed her from afar as she walked home. For the first
time, she was alone. No one was walking with her and not a soul was in sight,
even if it was broad daylight. As she put the key in the lock to her apartment
building, I walked up behind her and grabbed her. I raped her in the
basement of her own damn building with her parents probably drinking tea
and waiting for her to come home just upstairs. Then I stabbed her, found a
saw, cut her into pieces, and threw the remains in the dumpster behind the
building. They'll empty it early in the morning. No one will ever know where
she has gone. I slipped out and walked home without anyone seeing me. It
was perfect. So delightful. I feel refreshed. Born again.
Sounds a little risky if you ask me, Cogliantry wrote. You know it is
dangerous to kill too close to home. And in broad daylight? Are you crazy?
Remember what happened to Einaudi.
Einaudi was crazy. He ran amok. I'm not him and never will be, Karl
Persson argued.
How do you know? To me, it sounds like you're taking way too many
risks. I don't want to be exposed just because you're not being careful.
Why are you fighting? It was Thomas De Quincey. He had joined the
chat. Bill Durgin smiled in the hotel room and listened to the couple talking
loudly on the other side of the wall. Finally, Thomas was on.
This isn't a chat room for people fighting, he continued. This is all about
supporting one another, remember? It's about sharing experiences and
helping each other out. Artists like us can be very lonely, especially with our
kind of art. This is the only place we can share our masterpieces. I will not
have people fighting in here … or you're out.
You're right, Cogliantry wrote.
Sorry for that, Karl Persson wrote.
It always amazed Bill how much authority and power Thomas De
Quincey held over the others in the chat room. Bill was new to the whole
thing and was quite fascinated with this Thomas character. You could say he
had been a mentor.
This is Bill's night, Thomas De Quincey wrote. It's his time to shine. He is
coming more and more together as an artist and we should encourage and
support him for that. How's your next work coming along?
Bill smiled and heard the voices become even louder in the room next
door. Very good. Doing a couple this time.
Very good, Thomas De Quincey answered. A double murder. You're
progressing.
Well I have to, don't I? Progress towards the Grand Finale, Bill wrote.
And then your masterpiece is ready. I love what you are doing here. That
the world will never understand nor appreciate your work only makes you an
even greater artist, Bill.
Bill smiled again. There was no one who could encourage like Thomas
De Quincey. The voices had stopped next door and Bill wondered if they
were having sex. Waiting until they were done, Bill looked back at the iPad
when suddenly, a door shut. Was that? Could it be?
Bill stood up, put the iPad away, and rushed into the hallway just in time
to see the woman storm down the hallway and into an elevator. This was way
too early. Bill cursed and stomped, then fondled the marker as though it was
a talisman. Looking at the door, Bill wondered if leaving now might be the
best idea.
No, that would be a shame. There was still one person in there guilty of
adultery.
 35

AUGUST 2012

I CALLED PETER FROM the car on my way back and told him I was coming
back. He was so happy, he told me and he was going to stay awake to wait
for me. I kissed him when he opened the door and threw myself in his arms.
"I'm so sorry," I said. "I'm so sorry for everything."
Peter chuckled and stroked my cheek. "It's okay, Rebekka. I’m beginning
to get how important your job is to you."
I smiled and kissed him again, wondering for one insane second if he
could taste Sune on my lips. Could he taste that I had kissed someone else?
We went inside and up to bed where Peter wanted to have sex, but I told
him I was way too tired. He looked disappointedly at me.
"Tomorrow, Peter. Today I'm beat after a long day. I just want to go to
sleep."
Peter kissed my nose and turned around to go to sleep. I lay a long time
with my eyes open, staring into the old, hand-carved, wooden ceiling, and
feeling like the worst person on earth. I had been lying to Peter. I wasn't too
beat to have sex. The fact was I didn't want to. I hadn't felt attracted to him.
Probably just because you're so damn confused.
I closed my eyes and forced myself to think about something else and
finally, after half an hour or so, I fell into a heavy sleep.
"Mommy! Mommy! You're back." Julie woke me up the next morning
jumping into our bed with a shriek. I grabbed her and hugged her for a long
time. "What do you want to do today?" she asked.
"I want to do anything you want," I said and looked into her eyes.
"Let's play hide and seek," she said.
 "Okay. After breakfast."
"Do you want to play too, Daddy?" Julie said.
"I guess I could play a little," he answered.
"How's the painting going?" I asked. I looked at my family and felt
suddenly overwhelmed with gratefulness. To think I had almost thrown all of
that away again.
"Not progressing as fast as I'd like it to," Peter said. "But, alright I guess."
"Let's go," Julie yelled and jumped down from the bed.
"I'll take a shower first," I said. "Be right down."
I walked into the bathroom, when suddenly I felt incredibly nauseated. It
was overpowering and I had to sit down on the bathroom floor.
It's gotta be stress, I thought to myself.
I undressed and looked at myself in the mirror. Had my breasts grown?
They had been very sore lately and now I could hardly touch them. Another
wave of nausea flushed over me and I barely made it to the toilet before I
threw up.
It was when I lifted my head and spotted the box of Tampax on the shelf
that the penny finally dropped.
Could it be? Could I be? No. No. No.
I went through the stuff in my toilet bag, knowing I had hidden a
pregnancy test somewhere in it from back when I was with Sune. I had used
one of these a month, only to disappoint him with the results.
With a beating heart, I pulled out the stick and peed on it. Then I waited,
but I didn't even have to wait till the time was up before I had my answer. I
couldn't believe my eyes. I checked the box again, hoping I was wrong,
hoping I had misunderstood it. Nope. I hadn't. Two lines shows you're
pregnant it said.
I had to sit down. I stormed into the bedroom and sat on the bed staring at
the small stick with the very serious message, wondering whom the father
could be.
Was it Peter? If so, then there was no problem. We were a family and
now, an expanding one. Nothing wrong with that.
Except the fact that you'd have to say a definitive goodbye to Sune. The
thought hurt me deeply.
But could the child be Sune's? We had tried for months without any luck.
Maybe it had finally paid off? In that case, I would end up hurting both Peter
and Julie. I would crush the dream of a family. Sune would be thrilled
beyond anything, since he had wanted another child for all the time I had
known him. But what about me? I looked at the stick again, then down at my
stomach that suddenly seemed to have grown tremendously in the last five
minutes.
Did I really want another child? Did I want to destroy my family to have
it?
 36

AUGUST 2012

HENRIK FENGER WAS TRYING to run, but it hurt too much. He stopped for a
little while to catch his breath, leaning towards the wall of a building. The
bleeding had stopped and he had felt better waking up in his hotel room this
morning. Last night had been a disaster for him. He had felt so confused and
angry after talking to that journalist woman and after learning that there had
been another victim like him. At first, he had freaked out thinking he had
killed the wrong girl, but after a good night’s sleep, he finally saw things
clearly now.
They were in on it together. The both of them had worked together on
this. Two whores picking up guys in bars just to sedate them and steal their
organs at night. It was very simple really. That was the only explanation he
could come up with. Maybe there were even more than two? Maybe they
were an entire group of women working this way. Maybe getting their
revenge over men, who hadn't been treating them right or something.
That was it. A group of man-hating, freaking feminists. Maybe they were
even trying to prove a point or something. Maybe they were like activists
trying to tell people something through their desperate and violent actions.
Freaking feminists. Thinking they can have it all, thinking that they are as
good as men. Bah.
Henrik looked at the piece of paper with the address in his hand, then at
the iPhone where he had plotted the address in the app called maps. He had
parked the rented car far away, so it wouldn’t be seen. He had to turn right at
the next corner and then left on the first street. Henrik looked up the hill
thinking it was going to be hard for him to walk all that way. Then he thought
of Annabelle and how she had been deceiving him all night, whispering
sweet words in his ear telling him how handsome he was, how she enjoyed
being with him. Henrik growled and felt the adrenalin rush through his veins.
Anger was the best drive he could think of. He roared and started walking
again, now with renewed strength while picturing this Barbara character
doing all the same things to this guy who she had ended up killing.
"Barbara Rasmussen," he mumbled.
He had gotten the name from the bartender at the hotel in Hasle where the
other guy had been killed. Martin Damsgaard was his name. It was a name
Henrik was going to make sure Barbara Rasmussen wasn't going to forget
anytime soon. Martin wasn't here to take his own revenge, so Henrik would
do it for him. It was the least he could do. Make sure these women realized
they weren't getting away with this, even if the police were too stupid to see
what was going on.
Henrik had paid the bartender five hundred kroner to give him the name
and address of the girl. The bartender told him he had slept with her once,
himself, at her place, so he knew exactly where to find her.
Henrik turned a corner and walked some hundred yards until he finally
found the street where Barbara lived. It didn't take him long to spot the right
building. A garbage truck further up the street emptied the dumpsters. A
couple of neighbors were talking in a door opening.
"You hear about Jessen's daughter in number fourteen?"
"Yes terrible story. You think she ran away from home?"
"Nils in number twelve B says he saw her walk home yesterday afternoon
after school, as usual. She passed his window at three o'clock, but she never
made it home, her parents say."
"You think they're lying? They have beaten her before, remember?"
"Ah yes, terrible story."
Henrik shook his head and walked past the chatting women, not caring
that they saw his face. Women weren't his favorite species among humans
right now. He fought an urge to yell at them, to scare them senseless and give
them something real to talk about. But this was not why he had come here.
 37

AUGUST 2012

I WAS CLOSE TO tears as I walked down the stairs to eat breakfast. I had been
thinking about it over and over again, but had not come up with any good
solutions to my situation. So, I decided to try and ignore it. At least for a
couple of hours while playing with my daughter, spending time with my
family. Whatever happened, I didn't want to ruin this vacation for Julie. My
editor had been calling my phone and leaving messages, but I hadn't listened
to them or called him back, since I wasn't in the mood to work today. Today
he would have to find someone else.
When I walked inside the kitchen, the TV was on and both Julie and
Peter were staring at it.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Looks like you have to work again, Mommy," Julie said.
"What do you mean?"
"It happened again," Peter said. "Someone was attacked at a hotel in
Silkeborg."
My heart stopped. "In Silkeborg. I was just there yesterday. What hotel?
What hotel, Peter?"
"Easy now, Rebekka. I don't know the name of the hotel."
"Hotel Mercury," Julie said. I stared at her. My heart stopped.
"Who was the victim? Have they told who it was yet?" I asked.
"No. They don't know yet. All they know is that some guy was attacked
in his hotel room and was found covered in ice cubes in the bathtub. They say
he had his spleen taken out."
"Oh my God. Is he alive?"
 "He was airlifted to the hospital in Aarhus. That's all they’ve said, so far."
I felt nauseated and had to sit down to not faint. "Are you okay,
Mommy?" Julie asked. I felt her hand on my neck. It was like the room was
spinning around me and I was suffocating at the same time. I wasn't sure I
could stand up. The pregnancy, the decisions, the prospect of having to let
them all down, and now this?
I reached into my pocket and found my phone. I found Sune's number
and called it. Peter looked at me while I waited for an answer. But none
came. His voicemail started and I hung up.
Peter was still looking at me. "What's going on, Rebekka?"
I shook my head and tried to call Sune again. Still no answer. This time I
left a message on his voicemail.
"It's Rebekka. Call me when you get this."
I hung up. Peter had an angry look to his eyes. "It's him, isn't it? You're
worried about that Sune guy, right?"
"What?" Julie said. "What about Sune?"
My hands were sweaty. I wiped them on my pants. My heart was racing
like crazy. I felt like crying. Why the hell wasn't he answering his phone?
Sune always answered his phone. This couldn't be … it simply couldn't be
happening. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind and I had no time to
consider Peter's jealousy or emotions at this point.
"Rebekka, I think you're exaggerating here. You don't know why he isn't
answering his phone. Maybe he is still sleeping. Maybe he is already on his
way home. He was going by train, right? Maybe he caught an early one?"
I nodded, while pressing back my tears. I had a horrifying feeling inside
that something was wrong. I couldn't explain it. I only knew I was certain that
something bad had happened to him and I couldn't bear it.
I looked up at Peter. "I need to borrow your car again," I said. "I have to
go back to the hotel."
I got up from the chair and started packing my bag again. Peter exhaled.
"Rebekka is this really necessary?"
"I'm afraid so, Peter. I have to do this. I have to make sure he is alright.
Besides Jens-Ole probably wants me to cover the story for the paper anyway.
He has already called me several times this morning and left messages in my
voicemail. I just haven't called him back yet."
Peter handed me the keys to his Land Rover with a sigh.
"I'm sorry, Peter. But this is something I have to do."
"I don't understand it," Peter said. I detected anger in his voice. "It's not
just about the work, is it? It's about him. Is he really that important to you?
I'm sure if you wait half an hour he will call you back. Why Rebekka? Why is
he still this important to you?"
I kissed Julie and put on my jacket. "I don't know Peter. He just is,
alright?"
"Do you still love him?"
"Let's talk about it when I get back. First of all I need to know if he is
alright. Then, I think we need to sit down and talk."
Peter growled, then grabbed my arm. It hurt. He pulled me back. "No."
"No what?"
"No you're not going anywhere. You're staying here with me, with us."
I looked into his eyes and suddenly saw the Peter I remembered from
back when he wasn't well. I gasped and pulled my arm away.
"Don't ever tell me what to do, Peter. Not ever again."
 38

AUGUST 2012

I WAS BOTH FRUSTRATED and angry as I drove across the countryside towards
Silkeborg. I kept calling Sune, but he still didn't pick up. I had no idea what
to think. On the radio, they talked about the third case of organ theft in the
area and interviewed a police officer about how people should approach this,
asking him if they should be scared.
"No I don't think that they should. So far, the victims have all been white
males and all have been staying in hotels. There is no reason that normal
people should be afraid in their homes."
"But maybe if they're staying the night at a hotel?" The journalist asked.
The policeman sighed. "I don't want to spread panic or ruin the hotel
business so, no, you're not going to get me to say it is dangerous to stay in a
hotel."
I turned the volume down when there was a commercial break and drove
on. It was raining now and the winds had picked up a lot. When the
commercials were done on the radio, the presenter talked about a storm that
was on its way. I tried calling Sune again, but still no answer. I called Jens-
Ole instead and told him I had received his messages and was on my way to
the hotel in Silkeborg. Then I asked him if he had heard anything from Sune.
"Not since last night when he sent me the pictures for today's story. Great
article by the way."
"Thanks."
"I thought you were with him. Didn't you stay at the same hotel?" He
asked.
"No. I went home to be with my family."
 "Too bad. I thought I had you on the inside. That would have been a great
story," he said.
Yeah, then we could both have been victims and made the front cover, I
thought, sarcastically.
"You're not thinking something might have happened to him?" Jens-Ole
asked.
"I don't know what I’m thinking. All I know is, he spent the night there at
the same hotel and there weren't that many other guests. Is there any news
about the identity of the victim?"
"Not yet. My guess is they are looking to inform the relatives first," Jens-
Ole said. "I'm sure he is fine, Rebekka."
"I really hope so."
"Call me when you find him." I detected a slight concern in Jens-Ole's
voice.
"I will."
I hung up and continued through the many hills and forests thinking of
nothing else but Sune and all the fun times we had had together. I thought
about Tobias back at home in Karrebaeksminde. Who was going to tell him?
You're being ridiculous, Rebekka. Of course he is fine. You're
overreacting. Calm down, for Pete's sake.
I felt tears pressing my eyes again and speeded up, hoping that there were
no police in sight. Luckily, they were all at the hotel, parked by the front
entrance, where they had put up a roadblock to keep curious passersby out. I
parked down the street, then ran towards the crowd. I held up my press card
and elbowed my way through the crowd. I spotted officer Jansson, who I had
talked to the day before on the phone about the organ thefts. He was walking
behind the roadblock. I called out to him. I knew him from way back, when I
worked at a big national newspaper in Aarhus.
"Rebekka Franck?" He said and approached me. He signaled that I could
come behind the police strip. "It happened again, huh?" I asked. "Any ID on
the victim?"
The officer shook his head. "I haven't been up there yet. I just came in
from Aarhus, so I don't know much. As far as I know, he is still on the
operating table."
 "But he must have had personal items like a wallet or something, right?
They must have found his stuff in his room?"
"Probably. But you know how it is. They need to inform the relatives
first, before they can tell the media."
"Naturally."
"You look worried." He suddenly said.
"I know someone who spent the night here last night. I guess I am just
scared …" I could hardly hold the tears back now. Officer Janssen saw it.
"My God, Rebekka. Are you alright?"
"I don't know. I just need to make sure it wasn't him. What room was the
victim staying in?"
"Room 237."
 39

AUGUST 2012

"WHO ARE YOU?"

The woman Henrik guessed was Barbara Rasmussen stared at him. "How
did you get inside the building?"
Henrik grinned. "You don't know me, but I know a lot about you."
Barbara closed the door a little. "I'm not interested in buying anything."
"Oh, I'm not here to sell anything."
"So what do you want? Say, haven't I seen you somewhere before? Yes, I
have. On TV. You're that kidney-guy. The guy who had his kidney stolen?"
"Guess I have become quite the celebrity, well we don't need any further
introductions, then."
Barbara's eyes softened. She opened the door a little more. "I'm so sorry
for what happened to you. Is that why you're here? Because you heard I was
with Martin Damsgaard that night before …"
Save the drama, bitch. It doesn't work on me. I see right through that
little act of yours.
Henrik smiled compassionately and nodded. "Yes. That is exactly why
I'm here. I wanted to talk to you about that night."
Barbara shrugged and opened the door completely so Henrik could step
inside her apartment. "I don't have much to tell, but if it'll bring you any
comfort, then you're welcome."
Henrik put a hand to his chest. "Thank you so much. It means a lot to me.
I have so many unanswered questions and no one to talk to about it." Henrik
walked through the hallway and into the living room.
"Oh, I can understand how that must be hard," Barbara said behind him.
"I feel like such a victim in this too. I'm so confused and I’m having a hard
time sleeping at night since this happened. I mean, it was a close one for me
too. I could as easily have been killed as well if I hadn't left during the night.
I know I was lucky, but it still lingers with you, you know? Well, I guess you
do know more than anyone, right? You must be frightened to death of going
to sleep after this. Oh where are my manners? Do sit down in any of the
chairs or on the couch. I'll make us some coffee. How do you take it?"
"Black." Henrik said and found an armchair to sit in. As black as my soul.
"Be right back. Make yourself at home," Barbara said and disappeared.
Henrik could hear her rummaging in the kitchen. He looked at the paintings
on the wall. Modern art had never been his thing. All just a lot of random
strokes with the brush in different colors and then they dared to call it art. In
Henrik's mind, artists had always been a bunch of freeloaders and parasites. It
always enraged him when he read about the artists who received lifelong
support from the Danish government. Was he really the only one who could
see them for what they really were? Was he the only one to figure them out?
It was so obvious that they simply just didn't want to work. They were lazy
and didn't want to contribute to society, so now he had to pay for them
through his taxes? Henrik had tried to write letters to the minister of culture
and open letters to the newspapers about it, but no one seemed to care.
Henrik clenched his fist and hit the armrest of the chair. He restrained his
anger and closed his eyes.
"Here we are," Barbara said and entered the living room.
Henrik opened his eyes and looked at her. She was quite beautiful even
for a feminist. Freaking man-hater, tell me why you still want your man to
pay for dinner, huh? Why do you want him to hold the door for you if you're
so freaking equal, huh? Let me show you who's in charge, I'll hold you down
and fuck you back into your place. Treat you like a real woman.
"I brought a little brandy to spice up the coffee," Barbara said with a
smile. "It's not too early in the day for a little brandy, is it?"
"To hell with that," Henrik said and poured himself a big glass of brandy.
Barbara stared at his almost full glass, then poured herself a little on the
bottom of hers. Henrik lifted his and spilled a little when it ran over the edge.
"To new beginnings," he said and their glasses clinked. Then he gulped
down the entire glass.
Barbara stared at him and he could tell she was getting uncomfortable,
when he put the empty glass down on the table and wiped his mouth with the
back of his hand. Henrik smiled. "That hit the spot," he said. Then he leaned
over and smashed his clenched fist into Barbra's face. "So did this."
The punch threw her backwards. Her nose was bleeding and she was
staring at him with great confusion. "What?" she mumbled and spat out a
tooth.
"Now we can talk properly," Henrik said. "How many of you are there
out there? Who is in charge?"
Barbara's eyes rolled in her head as she was trying to understand what
Henrik had said. "What? What are you talking about? Why the hell did you
hit me?" She tried to get up from the chair, but was too dizzy and fell
backwards.
Henrik tried hard to relax, to hold back his anger. He felt like the
paintings were staring at him, laughing at him, reminding him what a sucker
he had been all of his life, working so hard paying his taxes and for what? So
these talentless freeloaders could throw a few strokes with a brush on a
canvas and call it art? Was that what they paid them to do?
"Please leave," Barbara stuttered. Her voice was shaking with fear. It
annoyed Henrik even more. He tried to think of something nice. Like his
third grade teacher had told him to when he felt that anger rise inside of him.
Just think of a beautiful meadow, think of the ocean, think of flowers, or your
mom and dad. Whatever calms you down. Then count backwards from one
hundred.
Henrik did all of that right now. He saw the beautiful meadow, he
pictured a waterfall in Hawaii, he imagined he was on a boat in the ocean
fishing and drinking beer, he pictured the most gorgeous woman dancing in
front of him wearing absolutely nothing at all. But still, he couldn't calm
himself down.
"You need to leave now," Barbara said.
"I'm afraid I can't do that." Henrik said through gritted teeth. He poured
some coffee from the pot and slurped it loudly.
"What … What do you want from me? Why have you even come here?"
Barbara asked.
"I want to know who you are working for. I've had my kidney stolen and
I want to know what happened to it. Who has it?"
"I …" Barbara tried to talk, but her mouth hurt. "I have no idea what
you're talking about."
"Come ON! Don't you think I know? How stupid do you think I am? I
know you're all working together. Don't take me for a FOOL. I know how it
works. I have figured ALL of you out. All I want to know is what you have
done with my stolen kidney. Where is it?"
Barbara was trying to get up from her chair again and this time she
succeeded, holding on to the back of her chair. She reached out for the phone.
Henrik watched her while laughing. Finally she managed to get the phone in
her hand, when Henrik kicked it out of her hand and slammed his fist into her
face once again. Barbara fell backwards, her head hitting the tiles so hard it
sounded like a melon cracking. Henrik walked closer and looked at the blood
that was running from the back of her head onto the white tiles.
What a mess.
 40

JANUARY 2010

WHEN VALDEMAR TURNED FIFTEEN, he had long ago stopped asking if his
father was going to come for his birthday. Not that Valdemar had forgotten
about his father, no Anna knew he thought about him a lot and about how he
had hurt his mother and him by leaving for another family.
And he hated him for it. The longing for his acceptance and love had
turned into a resentment that Anna saw growing inside the eyes of her sweet
young boy every day that passed. It blackened his insides, darkened his mind,
and poisoned him with a deep, grieving sadness.
Valdemar would never tell her if she asked about it. He would say things
like "Daddy didn't mean to hurt us, Mom. The other family needed him too."
Stuff like that that Anna knew he didn't mean. On the inside, his hurt
grew deeper and deeper and for every day that passed, he became more and
more isolated. Valdemar had taken a liking to computers and had taught
himself hacking. Using nothing but his toes on the keyboard and the mouse
placed underneath his table, he was able to hack his way into government
sites and secret police files. In the beginning, he showed his mother proudly,
but later he learned it was better to keep it a secret since Anna had freaked
out and told him he would end up going to jail.
But she knew it hadn’t helped that she told him that. He told her that he
wasn't doing it anymore, but she knew he was. And she had no way of
controlling it. Part of her was very impressed with his skills on a computer
and in the garage where he still spent hours and hours creating inventions that
Anna had never seen anything like. She had tried to threaten him with taking
the computer away, but he knew she didn't mean it. The computer was his
everything and, on Anna's modest salary, it was a big sacrifice for her to be
able to buy it for him. She wasn't going to take it away and have wasted the
money. So instead, she decided to try and keep an eye on what he was doing
now and then. But truth be told, Anna had no idea what she was even looking
for.
Valdemar was a lonely child. He didn't have any friends, but somehow
Anna sensed that he didn't care much about it, about other children. She had a
feeling he didn't like them much and found them to be childish and immature
for him, since he had been a grown-up trapped in a child's body ever since he
was no more than two years’ old.
One Wednesday afternoon, a week after his birthday, Valdemar was
sitting in his room, when Anna walked inside. He hurried up and hid
something under the table by kicking it, but it was too late. Anna had seen it.
"What are you up to now, Valdemar?" she asked.
"Nothing," he sighed.
"Come on. I'm your mother. I know you. I can smell when you're up to
something. Hand it over."
Valdemar picked it up with his feet and handed it to Anna. She looked at
it, but could make no sense of what it was. "A dry erase marker? What's so
special about that?"
Valdemar looked guilty and Anna realized there was something inside of
the marker. She pulled it out. It looked like a small circuit board and a lot of
wires.
"What is this, Valdemar? Talk, or I'm definitely taking away the
computer."
"You'll just get mad," Valdemar said.
"I'll try not to," Anna said. "Now speak up. What is this?"
"It's a key."
"A key?"
Valdemar nodded. He pulled out something else from under his desk with
his feet and gave it to Anna. It looked exactly like a lock to a hotel door with
a handle and everything. A small red light was blinking on top of it.
"What is all this?"
"It's a master key for all hotel room locks." Valdemar said.
 "It’s what?"
"I found a hole in the code to the Onity HT lock system for hotels.
Approximately ten million Onity HT locks are installed in hotels worldwide.
This accounts for over half of all the installed hotel locks and can be found in
approximately a third of all hotels," he said.
"And this is one of those locks, I take it?" Anna asked.
"Yes. The Code key values consist of 24 bits of data and are used to gain
entry to locks. A lock contains a guest code key value and, generally, one or
more master code key values. Rather than programming the lock anew for
every guest or when master keycards need to be made, a concept called card
cycling is used. When a valid card is introduced to the lock, the lock's code
key value is moved up to the value on the card. This allows the lock to
automatically invalidate old cards when new ones are used. A 24-bit code key
value has 16.7 million unique values, but this is divided by the lookahead
plus one, as any card in that range will be valid. Thus if you have a lookahead
of 50, the key space is reduced to only 328,965 values. With the lookahead
set to the maximum, 255, the key space is reduced to only 65,536 values.
While this means that, even in the worst case, you would need to try 32,768
cards in a door, on average, to open it, this introduces another problem. If two
doors happen to be close enough in code key value that their lookahead
values overlap, it's possible that a legitimate guest card intended for one door
can open another door at the same property. When the doors are assigned
initial code key values, these are separated by 1,000 to make this less likely.
However, all doors are not created equally in a hotel, it's very likely that
certain rooms will see higher turnover than others, leading to a situation
where the code key values are likely to overlap …"
Anna stopped Valdemar. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but
this is not a good idea, Valdemar."
Valdemar looked down. He bent his head. Anna stared at the dry erase
marker with curiosity. "So it works on all locks to all hotels, huh?"
Valdemar lifted his head. "Most hotels. Only those that use the Onity HT
lock system."
"So how does it work?"
Valdemar smiled. With his feet, he grabbed the marker out of her hands.
He put the circuit board inside and closed it on the back, then he grabbed the
lock and put it on the table. Anna watched closely and couldn't help feeling a
little proud of her son, yet terrified he would get himself in trouble with this.
"Now the Onity brand of key card locks most commonly used in hotels
have a power jack on the bottom that doubles as a 1-wire communications
port …"
"Simplify it, please," Anna said.
"Okay," Valdemar said. "See that small hole underneath the lock?"
Anna bent down and saw it. "Yes."
"Okay. Now I place the end of the marker down at the bottom here and
give it a small push into the hole and then … now look, did you see the lamp
went from red to green?"
"That's right, I saw that," Anna said, trying hard to not sound excited.
"Now you can turn the handle." Valdemar said.
Anna reached down and turned the handle.
"And the door is open."
Anna looked at her boy, then leaned over and kissed him. "You're a
genius," she said. "Just promise me one thing."
"And that is?"
"Don't ever use it, alright?"
"It was never meant to be used. It was just an experiment."
 41

AUGUST 2012

I WAITED NERVOUSLY FOR what felt like hours at the hospital before the doctor
came out and told me Sune was in recovery.
"We managed to close him up. He’s lost a lot of blood," the doctor said.
I was standing next to officer Jansson who had driven me to the hospital
in his police car with blaring sirens and all.
"But he will make it?" Officer Jansson asked.
"It's too early to determine. The next twenty-four hours are crucial. We'll
keep him under close observation."
"But he can live on without a spleen, right?" Officer Jansson asked.
"Yes. You can live perfectly well without your spleen. But because the
spleen plays a crucial role in the body's ability to fight off bacteria, living
without the organ makes you more likely to develop infections, especially
dangerous ones like those that cause pneumonia, meningitis, and other
serious infections. His own doctor will make sure the patient is given
vaccinations to cover these bacteria."
I sat on a chair once the doctor was gone. I hid my face in my hands. "I
can't believe this is happening. I can't believe it."
Officer Jansson sat next to me. He put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure
he'll be alright."
"He has a son," I said. "I need to tell Tobias. He's back in
Karrebaeksminde with his nanny."
Officer Jansson nodded. "Let me take care of that. I'll get the local police
to contact them and have him transported here. Don't worry about that part."
Officer Jansson left the room talking on the phone. I took mine out and
looked at it. Then I called Jens-Ole and told him. I hung up crying, then
called Peter and told him not to say anything to Julie until I knew if Sune was
going to live or not. Peter was very quiet and said nothing but yes and no.
Probably feeling guilty, I thought when I hung up.
The wait was terrible. My emotions ran amok. At one point I was crying
for Sune and for the baby that might not get to know his father, then I was
overwhelmed with guilt. If only I had been there. Maybe the organ thieves
would have left him alone? Maybe I could have stopped them? Then I
became angry. Angry at the thieves, at this cruel way to treat other people.
Officer Jansson soon returned. "Tobias is on his way in a police car. They
told him his father was in the hospital, no details so far."
"I'll take care of him when he arrives," I said.
"Good." Officer Jansson sighed. "I'm afraid I have more bad news. There
was another case last night."
"Two cases at the same time? What's going on here?" I asked.
He exhaled and touched his forehead. "I have no idea. This is crazy."
"What happened this time? Organ theft again? You think it was the same
person?"
"That's the strange part. It was a woman this time. All the others have
been men," Officer Jansson said.
"Maybe it doesn't matter to them if it is a man or woman. An organ is an
organ, right? On the black market, it probably doesn't matter. Or do you think
they might be responding to orders? That someone places an order for a
spleen from a woman to make sure it fits?" The thought was repulsive and
made my stomach turn.
"I have thought about it. But the worst part about this one is that it was
performed in her own home."
"What?" I asked.
"She lived in an apartment in Silkeborg, where she was found this
morning by a friend she was supposed to go to Aarhus with today. The door
wasn't locked, so the girlfriend walked right in when the woman didn't
answer the door. She found her on the floor, blood everywhere."
"What organ had been stolen?"
 "That's the even stranger part. She had been cut open using one of her
own kitchen knives and several organs had been cut loose, but none were
missing. When the forensic team put her together it was all there. Some were
on the floor and blood had spurted everywhere, like the person doing the
cutting had gone berserk, but nothing was missing."
"That doesn't sound much like the other cases?"
"No not at all. In the three previous cases, the organ thieves have been
very professional and even left the victims in ice with a note to tell them to
call 112 when they woke up, if they woke up."
I felt sick picturing Sune sitting in the bathtub filled with ice-cubes. Who
in their right mind could be this cruel?
"Maybe there are many of them out there? Maybe this one wasn't as
controlled and professional as the others?"
"I don't know. It makes sense that there should be more of them since
they struck at almost the same time last night in two places in the same
town."
"Kind of makes you want to lock your door with extra locks, right?"
"And sleep with one eye open," Officer Jansson said. "I don't think I'll be
able to sleep again before this case is solved."
 42

AUGUST 2012

SUNE WOKE UP LATE in the afternoon and the doctor told me we could see him.
Tobias had arrived and I had been reading to him for a long time to make
sure he wasn't too scared.
"Daddy's going to be fine," I kept reassuring him.
Sune was very pale and could hardly look at us when we walked in.
Tobias pulled free from my hand and stormed to him. He threw himself on
top of him.
"Tobias! Be careful," I yelled.
Sune tried to smile, but was in too much pain.
"Hi buddy," he said hoarsely and put his arm around Tobias' back.
"Daddy. Daddy. I missed you so much. They say you were sick, what
happened to you?"
Sune cleared his throat. "Well, I'll tell you all about it another day. When
I'm feeling better, okay buddy?"
"Okay Daddy."
Sune closed his eyes for a few seconds. I hated to see him in pain like
this. "How do you feel?" I asked.
"Like crap," he said. His eyes met mine, then he tried to smile. I walked
closer and grabbed his hand.
"I'm so sorry," I said. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Well, you didn't do this to me, so I don't see why you should be sorry?"
he said, trying hard to smile.
I felt so confused. Maybe it was just my hormones, but my emotions
were going berserk. I was wondering if I should tell him, just blurt it out, but
stopped myself. What if the child wasn't his? What if it was Peter's? That
would only make things worse between us, it would kill him to know I was
going to have a child with someone else.
"I'll be fine," Sune said.
I leaned over and kissed his forehead while a tear escaped the corner of
my eye. "I was so scared I'd lose you," I whispered.
"Nah. You won't get rid of me that easily. Huh buddy?" He said,
addressed to Tobias. "I'm like the weed in the yard."
I chuckled and studied his pale face. There were so many things I wanted
to say to him and so many things I wanted to ask him, but I could tell he was
exhausted.
"You need your rest," I said and kissed his forehead again. "I'll take
Tobias down to the cafeteria and get him something to eat. What do you say,
buddy? Maybe they'll have some ice cream for dessert?"
Tobias jumped down from the bed. As we were about to walk out of the
room, he stopped and looked at his dad. "Will you be alright while we're
gone, Daddy?"
Sune forced a smile, but he was already halfway asleep.
"He'll be fine," I said and grabbed Tobias' hand in mine.
Tobias didn't eat much of the food I bought for us and neither did I. Even
the ice cream didn't taste right. Tobias kept turning his spoon in it.
"Better eat it before it melts," I said.
"He will be alright, won't he?" He suddenly asked.
"Yes, sweetie. He will. I know he will. These doctors are really skilled.
They know how to take good care of your daddy. Don't you worry about that.
I was thinking you might want to go with me back to the island tonight and
maybe sleep in Julie's room with her?"
Tobias' eyes grew big and wide. "Really? We could do that?"
"We most certainly could and we will," I said and finished my soda.
"Julie is going to be so excited to see you again. She has missed you a lot."
"And I've missed her. But what about dad? Will he be alright all alone?"
Tobias asked.
"He is going to be just fine. He needs a lot of sleep and tomorrow he'll be
feeling much better. Just you wait and see."
 43

AUGUST 2012

HENRIK FENGER ASKED FOR another beer. The bartender took his glass and
poured him one.
"And a whiskey," he said.
The bartender nodded, then gave him his drinks. Henrik looked at the
foam on the beer and felt a pinch of sadness in his heart. He had no idea
where to go. He couldn't go home to Roskilde since he was certain his wife
wouldn't have anything to do with him and, frankly, he didn't want to go back
anymore. Everything had changed the last couple of days. He had changed
and there was no turning back anymore. Killing the two girls had left him
excited, but not quite as satisfied as he wanted. He didn't understand what it
was that was missing. He had gotten his revenge like he wanted, but still it
left him unfulfilled somehow.
What was it that was missing? He wondered while gulping down the third
whiskey since he entered the bar on the corner of the building where he had
killed Barbara Rasmussen only a few hours earlier.
It dawned on him when he put the glass down and moved on to the beer.
He wanted to keep the buzz going all day. That was his plan so far. But he
realized that he didn't feel as satisfied as he wanted to because he didn't feel
like he had gotten the real bad guys. Killing the girls was fine, since they
were both accomplices, but he knew now that there was no way they could
have been alone on this. They had to have someone helping them, arranging
it, maybe even planning it for them. Henrik sensed there had to be some kind
of brains behind this, a leader somewhere behind all these attacks on innocent
men. Some big fat woman who hated men and all they stood for.
Probably a dyke. A big fat ugly lesbo whom no man would ever touch.
 Henrik turned the tall, slim beer glass between his fingers, wondering
how he should get to the bottom of this, how he should find this fat leader
who was pulling the strings on these girls and making them attack men,
poisoning beautiful women into hating men.
Henrik lifted the glass and drank when he felt like he was being watched.
He turned his head slowly and looked to his right side where a man was
sitting in one of the booths. The man was grinning from ear to ear and very
obviously staring at Henrik.
Henrik turned his head away and ordered another round of beer and
whiskey, not paying any more attention to the strange man. These kinds of
places often attracted some weirdos, especially at this hour of day. Henrik
figured he was probably like a stray dog. If you ignore it, it'll go away.
The bartender gave Henrik a new round and he was about to drink the
whiskey when a voice interrupted him. He turned his head with an annoyed
sigh and saw the man from the booth was now sitting next to him at the bar.
"How was it?" The man asked.
Henrik shook his head. The man seemed even weirder up close. Couldn't
he see Henrik wanted to be alone? "How was what?"
The man grinned again, then leaned closer. Henrik didn't want him this
close and tried to lean in the other direction.
"The kill," the man whispered.
Henrik stared at the man. Who the hell does he think he is, talking to me
like that?
"What are you talking about old man? I'm trying to enjoy a drink here.
I'm really not looking for company."
As if he hadn't heard what Henrik said, the man leaned even closer. Then
he sniffed Henrik. "I can still smell the scent of adrenalin on your skin. It's
still fresh. How long has it been? A couple of hours since you killed her?"
"You're insane, do you know that?" Henrik said and drank from his
whiskey, trying to ignore the strange man next to him.
"In that case, that makes two of us, then. We have a lot in common you
and I. Who was she?"
"Who was who?" Henrik was getting really annoyed with this man and
wondered if he should just get up and leave.
"The girl you killed."
Henrik almost choked on his whiskey. He looked at the man who was
still grinning widely. "How do you know it was a girl?"
The man shrugged. "Just a lucky guess. Most men start out killing girls
because they're an easier prey. I still kill only girls, but that's because I get a
kick out of the power I posses over them. It never gets old."
Henrik looked in the direction of the bartender to make sure he couldn't
hear what they were talking about, then lowered his voice even further. "How
did you know?"
"I can smell it from far away. I can always spot a killer in a crowd.
Especially one who is new to it and has just killed. It's written all over your
face. Takes one to know one."
"So you … you're?"
"You got it. I spotted you from far away once you walked in here. I could
see it in the look in your eyes, the way you moved, your hands were still
shaking from the thrill."
"Well this girl had it coming. I was doing it for someone else, someone
who couldn't defend himself, since the girl had killed him."
"Ah a hero, are we?" The man's voice became shrill.
"I don't know what I am," Henrik said.
"But I know," the man said. His voice whistled when he spoke. "You're a
killer. Just like me."
"I'm nothing like you. I seek revenge. It's different."
"Oh the motive might be different, but you enjoyed it, didn't you? You
liked to see the fear in their eyes, didn't you? That makes you no different
than me. Besides you want to kill again. I can tell."
Henrik growled. Who was this strange man?
"You're new to it, I get it," the man continued. "You still tell yourself that
you do it for a noble cause. But, take it from someone who has been in this
for many years, you are not going to stop here. You're hooked. I see it in your
eyes. You will be looking for that same feeling you felt when you did your
first kill for the rest of your life. You will be longing for it at night. You'll
wander the streets at night seeking for it, lusting to feel it again. Believe me. I
know about these things. If you stick with me I might teach you a thing or
two."
Henrik looked at the man again now with a new set of eyes. Not because
he suddenly liked the guy or because he really felt a kinship with him. No,
but because he suddenly realized the man was right. Henrik had enjoyed
killing the two girls and he did want to kill more. He wanted to kill all the
women who were a part of this feminist group taking men's internal organs.
He wanted to find the leader, the freaking dyke behind it all. And now he
realized this strange man might be able to help him.
Henrik reached out his hand. "Henrik Fenger," he said.
The man shook his head. "No, No. Rule number one. You never give
anyone your real name. Especially not someone like me. You come up with a
name. Like me, I'm Karl Persson, how do you do?" He said and shook
Henrik's hand.
"Make up a name, huh? Like what?" Henrik asked.
"My name belongs to a famous artist, a painter who is known worldwide
for painting some very gruesome and vulgar pictures … some of them even
have strong cannibalistic motives. I chose him because I see myself as an
artist. Even if my art is never for anyone else to see or understand."
"I see," Henrik said. "So I could be like Dali or da Vinci?"
"Yeah, sure. Whatever you like."
Henrik nodded and finished his whiskey. "So tell me, are there more of
your kind out there?"
 44

JUNE 2011

IT STARTED JUST AS summer hit the country. At first it was nothing but a small
insignificant cough, but then Valdemar lost his appetite.
In the beginning, Anna wasn't too worried since the boy never had eaten
much and he didn't seem to grow much either. He was a handsome boy even
if he was short and skinny, but suddenly, he started losing weight and that
worried his mother.
One day he came down the stairs for breakfast as usual and his pants just
slid right off him while he was walking. Anna almost dropped the pan with
the scrambled eggs.
"What's going on with you lately?" she asked and helped pull up his pants
before she served his breakfast.
Valdemar shrugged. He put his fork into the egg but only to push it
around on the plate. Anna looked at him with worried eyes. Even his face had
gotten skinnier.
"I think we should go and see doctor Kristensen," Anna said, as she ate
her food.
"Do we have to?" Valdemar said.
"I think we need to. You're not eating and you're coughing a lot. Maybe
you have a light pneumonia or something. You don't seem to have a fever,
but still, there is something going on. What do I know? You'll have to stay
home from school today."
Valdemar smiled from ear to ear. Anna shook her head. "That doesn't
mean you're not doing the work they did today. When we get back you'll call
someone from your class and make sure you get all the work done that you
missed today."
 "Still a day off to me," Valdemar said. "It takes me ten minutes to do a
day's school work. You know that."
Anna chuckled. "That's true."
"Plus, I'll have time to work on my game," Valdemar said.
"Game? What kind of game?"
"I’ve started developing a new computer game. It's pretty neat, if I say so
myself. It's this world of blocks where you build your own house, or castle if
you like and animals and stuff."
Anna smiled again. He always had something going on, the boy. He is
not sick. He seems fine. Maybe he just needs a day off.
"I call it Mindskill," he said, smiling even wider than before.
"Sounds really great, honey," Anna said without really listening. Her
head was filled with worried thoughts. "I'll call the doctor right away and
schedule an appointment."
A week later, Anna was called into the doctor's office again. Doctor
Kristensen was sitting behind his desk looking like he was the one who
needed a vacation, Anna thought.
"Valdemar is not well, Mrs. Kragh," he said.
"What do you mean, he's not well? He is doing much better now. The
cough is getting better and yesterday he ate almost an entire burger. I think he
is definitely improving."
"He might be, but not for long," the doctor said. "He'll soon start to go
downhill fast."
Anna's heart stopped. "What do you mean go downhill?"
"Your son has Cystic Fibrosis. I don't know why we haven't caught this
earlier, but he hasn't shown any symptoms up until now. I mean we both
knew he wasn't growing much, but I figured it would kick in eventually."
"Cystic Fibrosis? What is that exactly?" Anna asked with a shivering
voice.
"It's a lung disease. Actually a disease of the mucus and sweat glands. It
affects mostly your lungs, pancreas, liver, intestines, sinuses and sex organs.
It causes your mucus to be thick and sticky. The mucus clogs the lungs,
causing breathing problems and making it easy for bacteria to grow. This can
lead to problems such as repeated lung infections and lung damage."
"But what does this mean? How bad is it?"
Doctor Kristensen exhaled. "It's bad. In Valdemar's case, the disease has
developed faster than usual. His lungs are heavily affected by this and I'm not
sure how long he has left."
"How long he has left? What are you saying doctor? Is he … will he …
die?"
The doctor exhaled deeply. "If he doesn't have a lung transplant within
the next six months, I'm afraid so. Usually the patients might live till they're
in their thirties, but not the way it is progressing in Valdemar. I'm sorry Mrs.
Kragh."
"A lung transplant?" Anna asked. "How does that work?
"Well, we will get him on a list right away, but lungs are not that easy to
get. A lot of people are waiting for them right now, so the list is long and the
donors few."
"What about me? Can I give him my lung?" Anna asked.
"You could. But not alone. Living lung donation requires two donors.
One person giving one lobe, or a portion of their left lung, and the other
giving a lobe of their right lung. The two lobes are transplanted into a single
recipient. The donors' lungs must be the appropriate size and volume."
"So if I could find a second donor, we could save him?"
"Well there is always a risk of him rejecting the transplant, but it is the
only thing that would be able to save him, yes. But you'd have to find one fast
since Valdemar will only get weaker as the days pass by and he will need all
his strength to be able to fight possible infections associated with the
transplant."
Anna's mind was spinning with thoughts as she wondered who could
make a possible donor for Valdemar.
"What about the father?" Doctor Kristensen asked. "Would he be
willing?"
 45

AUGUST 2012

THE KIDS WERE ECSTATIC. Tobias slept in Julie's room and the next morning,
they both got out of bed and went downstairs to play on Julie's iPad without
waking up anyone else in the house.
Peter was less excited about the whole thing. He barely spoke a word to
me the night before and, in the morning, I heard him leave the bedroom
without a word to me. I felt bad. No that's an understatement. I felt horrible. I
felt like the worst scum on earth. I knew Peter was mad because I was more
concerned about Sune than about him and our failing relationship. Because I
worried more about Sune than about keeping my family intact. I knew that
was how he felt. But it just wasn't that easy for me. I cared about Sune and I
had to try and help him out. I loved Tobias and couldn't have just left him at
the hospital.
I got out of bed and took a shower before I went downstairs. When I was
done, I walked back to the bedroom and picked up my phone. Someone had
left a message. I called my voice mail and listened to it. It was Jens-Ole.
"Hi Rebekka. I know you guys are busy and I realize it might be quite
insensitive given Sune's situation, but I wanted to let you know that the organ
thieves have struck again, in case you hadn't heard. This time it was another
woman in her apartment in Hasle. That makes it five cases in total these
thieves have on their consciences. Three deaths and two survivors. Just
wanted to fill you in. Let me know how you're doing and tell Sune we miss
him."
I hung up and sat on the bed. Another woman in her apartment? What
kinds of animals were these bastards?
I got dressed and walked downstairs where Tobias and Julie were
laughing and playing on the iPad. "Mindskill again, huh?"
"Yeah, Tobias loves it too, Mommy. He knows how to get into a mode
with dragons and butterflies and everything. And he knows cheat codes."
"He does? Wow." I said and walked into the kitchen. Peter was sitting in
there all by himself eating toast with cheese.
I pulled out a chair next to him and sat down. "Is this how it's gonna be,
Peter? You not talking to me?"
He sighed and wiped his mouth on a napkin. "I don't get it Rebekka. You
come here to be with your family and then you're hardly with us."
"I can't help it that organ thieves are killing people and hurting one of my
best friends and co-worker, can I?"
"I guess not. I just really wish Julie and I were higher up on your list of
priorities."
I poured myself some coffee from the pot and sipped the cup. I didn't
know what to say to him. To be honest, all I could think of was Sune and how
he was doing.
"You're going to see him at the hospital today, aren't you?" Peter asked.
I sighed. "Yes, Peter. I am. He's seriously hurt. I'll take the kids with me.
Tobias needs to see his dad and Julie wants to be with Tobias. Look I'm
trying my best here to please everybody."
"And you're doing a really good job," Peter said and smiled sarcastically.
"You're making everyone happy except for me."
I closed my eyes. "Sometimes it's just not about you, Peter. Sometimes
it's about people who have been hurt, people who were almost killed."
"People like Sune. Like your ex-boyfriend." Peter took another bite of his
toast. It crunched between his teeth. The sound annoyed me just like he
annoyed me immensely right now.
"Yes, I care about him still. Is that what you want to hear? Yes I still love
him. There you go. Are you happy?"
Peter's face changed drastically. He got up from his chair.
"Peter don't … It doesn't mean I don't love you as well. It's just not that
simple for me. I can't just stop caring for a person like that. I'm not like you. I
can't turn off my love like a faucet."
 Right before he walked out the door to the kitchen, Peter turned around
and looked at me. "Do what you want to today. Go see him. See if I care. I'll
be in my studio painting."
"Peter … don't be …" But it was too late. He had left.
 46

AUGUST 2012

KARL PERSSON SOON PROVED to be an interesting contact. After meeting at the

bar, they had moved on to another bar, then another and, by nighttime, they
were both so hammered they could hardly stand up straight.
Henrik crashed at Karl's place. A small basement in an old house from
the seventies. He woke up on the couch with a serious hangover to the sound
of the TV. He opened his eyes and looked straight into the eyes of Karl.
"Wakey wakey, hands off snakey," Karl grinned.
Henrik growled and sat up. With only one eye open he looked at the TV
screen.
"What's going on?"
"You're famous," Karl shrieked. "They found your girl. Genius to make it
look like it was the organ thief by the way."
Henrik growled again. He hadn't really thought of it as a cover up, but it
was kind of effective, though he didn't like the idea of giving the feminists
the credit or even more attention. That was what they wanted wasn't it? That
was their purpose to it all, wasn't it? To get some lame point out to people.
Exactly what the point to it all was, Henrik couldn't figure out, but they didn't
fool him. As soon as he found their leader, he was going to ask her about it.
He was going to get her to explain everything.
Right before he killed her.
"How do you know it wasn't the organ thieves?" Henrik asked.
"It's not his style. This one reeks of desperation, of frustration and anger.
Plus the organ thief would never pick someone in her own home. He's only
after businessmen on trips being unfaithful."
 "How do you know? And why do you keep talking about it as if there is
only one? The police seem to think it is an entire group."
Karl clapped his hands in excitement. "Because I know him."
Henrik opened both his eyes widely. "You what?"
"Yes," Karl said with a shrill voice. "I know the organ thief."
"How? How do you know him?" Henrik asked.
"I talk to him on a daily basis. Remember last night when you asked if
there were others out there like you and me?"
Henrik remembered asking if there were others out there like Karl, not
himself. I'm not like you, you crazy imbecile.
"Yes. Vaguely."
"Well, I answered that we often chatted with one another. That's how I
know him and others just like him. We support each other, we help each
other out."
Like a support group from hell or what?
"You do? How? How do you get in touch with this organ thief? How do
you find him?"
Karl clapped his hands again and jumped in excitement. He pulled out an
old laptop and placed it in Henrik's lap. "His name is Bill Durgin. He's new to
the chat forum, but I speak with him almost every day. He always writes right
before a kill, when he is sitting in the hotel bar waiting for his victim. He
especially looks for businessmen who pick up women and bring them back to
hotels. If you look at the screen you'll see his latest writing."
Henrik looked at the screen. Karl had been writing in the chat room all
morning while Henrik was still asleep. Someone called Alex Andreyer had
answered. And then there was one message from the one called Bill Durgin.
Henrik read it.
I didn't kill those women. Someone out there is impersonating me.
Don't be so angry about that, a Thomas De Quincey answered. It just
means you have the public's attention. You are someone people want to be.
Someone people out there are trying to copy. Only the biggest artists are
being copied. Be proud.
"Who's that Thomas De … Quincey?" Henrik asked.
 "He's the one who came up with the whole thing. He created the secure
chat room. We were shut down a month or so ago when the police discovered
us because of some lunatic named Allan Witt who went berserk, but Thomas
created a new page for us, even more secure than the first. He's the real
genius here. His art by far excels any of what the rest of us are doing."
"So, he is the leader? He is the one telling you what to do?" Henrik asked.
"Well, not exactly. He has set up some rules for us to follow so we won't
get caught. He helps us out to become all we can be and not get stopped by
the police. He helps us with details when we come to him and ask for his
help. He makes sure we don't screw up. He has killed more people than any
of us. We draw on his expertise, so to speak."
"What's in it for him? Why is he doing it?" Henrik asked.
"We donate a sacrifice to him," Karl said. On TV an officer was talking
to the reporter in front of Barbara's apartment.
"A sacrifice? What kind of sacrifice?"
"We donate something. It can be the body of our first kill, or a body part,
or photographs or something like that. But it has to be something big.
Something that characterizes us as killers and why we do it."
Just when I thought the world couldn't get any crazier?
Henrik rubbed his forehead wondering what he had gotten himself into.
He scrolled the chat and stopped at a message send by Karl earlier in the
morning. He read it while Karl watched TV, grinning from ear to ear.
Caught myself a little something last night. Will have fun with him for a
while, then cut him to pieces and eat him for dinner tonight. My first male.
Thought it was about time I progressed. Wish me luck.
 47

AUGUST 2012

SUNE LOOKED AT LOT better when we arrived at the hospital. He was sitting up
when Tobias and Julie ran to him and crawled into his bed.
"Easy there kiddos. He just had surgery," I said.
Sune chuckled and hugged the both of them.
"Wow, you look great," I said and placed a bouquet of flowers in a vase
next to him. "You even have some color in your cheeks again."
"I feel a lot better. How has he been?" He said and touched Tobias' hair.
"I think he is fine. A little worried last night and found it hard to fall
asleep, but being with Julie helped a lot, I think."
"I'm fine Daddy," Tobias said. Julie laughed, acting silly, and Tobias
copied her.
I smiled, enjoying watching them together again. I missed it.
"Those two have been inseparable ever since I brought him home."
Sune looked at me. Our eyes locked. I felt warm. A stirring grew inside
of me. "Thank you," Sune said. "Thank you for all you have done."
"It's no problem, really. It's nothing. The least I could do."
Sune grabbed my hand and pulled me closer. "I don't think it's nothing."
Julie jumped down from the bed and pulled my shirt. "Mommy. Can
Tobias and I go out in the hallway and play Mindskill on your phone? I want
to show him something."
I looked at Sune. "Don't you think Tobias wants to be with his dad a
little?"
"It's okay," Sune said. "Let them have their fun."
 "Okay then. Just don't leave the floor, alright?"
They both promised. I gave them my phone and they stormed out the
door. I pulled a chair close to Sune and sat down.
"So I was planning on calling officer Jansson later today," I said. "You
know to hear how they're doing on catching those who did this to you and all.
Did you hear there was another case?"
Sune looked at me, then shook his head. "No I've been kind of busy with
getting well and all."
"Of course, no, I'm silly. It was another woman. That makes it two
women who were both killed in their own apartments and three men who
were attacked in hotel rooms. It's weird I think. There is something I don't
quite understand. Why bother with the hotel rooms where you could easily be
spotted if you might as well go inside someone's apartment and take their
organs. And another thing, in both cases with the women, the attacker didn't
take any of their organs at all. He just opened them up and cut the organs
loose. In the second case, the body had been more chopped with a knife than
cut professionally. It is very unlike what happened to you and the kidney-
guy." I paused and looked at Sune who was avoiding my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm being insensitive here."
"No. I like to hear you talk, but …"
I interrupted him. "I was thinking that maybe you could help me learn
more by hacking into the police files? Or maybe … no you're too tired."
Sune sighed and looked at me. "If it's important to you, I'll do it."
I grabbed my laptop and put it on Sune's lap. "Well it's not only important
for me, it's important for you too."
I flipped through a magazine while he let his magic fingers dance across
the keyboard.
"There you go," he said. "I'm in. Now I'll take a nap if you don't mind."
"No go ahead. I'll just go through it."
Sune turned around to try and sleep.
"This can't be right," I said.
Sune turned and looked at me.
"I'm sorry," I said. "You're trying to sleep. I'll be quiet."
 He forced a smile. "No. I can tell you are dying to tell me what it is
Rebekka. Go ahead."
I jumped up from the chair and put the laptop on his lap again. "See this?
Look at the names here and there."
"They are the same. So what?" Sune asked.
"These are the names of the women who were killed and the women
sleeping in the hotel rooms with two of the victims. Apparently, the rumors
were right about Henrik Fenger. He wasn't alone as he claimed to be. But,
don't you see? They are the same two women."
Sune looked at me. "So what do you think this means?"
"Well, it's strange, isn't it? It can hardly be a coincidence, can it? The
same two women?"
Sune shrugged. "Who knows?"
I grabbed the laptop in my hands and scrolled more, then opened a new
file and gasped.
"What?" Sune asked.
"The body of Martin Damsgaard has gone missing."
"Excuse me?"
"You know, the guy who died after having his liver taken. Look here," I
said and showed him the screen. "The police believe someone broke into the
forensic department in Aarhus where he was being examined and stole the
body of Martin Damsgaard a couple of nights ago. There was no sign of
breaking and entering, though." I paused and thought for a second. "Hm,
there was no sign of breaking and entering in the apartments of the women
either."
"It's all very interesting, Rebekka, but …"
"I wonder if there is a connection to the disappearance of the bodies of
the kings from the churches?"
"Why on earth should there be a connection to that?" Sune sounded tired
now. He rubbed his eyes.
"I don't know, but it's strange right?"
Sune exhaled deeply. "Maybe it's just me because I’m really tired, but I
honestly don't care, Rebekka."
 "Don't care? How can you say that? These people attacked you while you
were asleep. They sedated you and took your spleen. They almost killed you.
You almost bled to death. How can you not care?"
Sune closed his eyes. "I just don't. Not anymore. It's not worth it."
"Not worth it? Hello? Where is the real Sune and what have you done
with him?"
"Very funny, Rebekka," Sune said with a tired voice.
"Don't you want to catch these thieves or at least help the police catch
them? Don't you want them put away for what they did to you?" I asked.
Sune looked at me. There were tears in his eyes, but he tried to repress
them. "Don't you see it doesn't matter anymore? All I care about right now is
getting well. And then I want to take my son and go home."
I couldn't believe my own ears. What was going on? This was so unlike
him. "But we are so close. I feel that we are so close to finding who is behind
all this."
"Rebekka. I really don't want to talk more about this. And I don't want
you to come and pretend to be interested in me or pretend to be caring or
whatever it is you're doing here."
"What I am doing here? I'm trying to help you out. I do care about you,
Sune. You know I do," I said.
Sune looked at me. The look in his eyes felt like a knife to my heart.
"Who are you kidding here? Who are we kidding? I'm sick of this. I'm sick
and tired of this life going back and forth with you, thinking one moment that
you want to come back, knowing in the next that you never will. Do you
think this is easy for me Rebekka? Do you think it is easy for me to be around
you constantly?"
"What are you saying?"
"I get that you have a hard time choosing between me and Peter so I'm
going to make it easy for you. Leave and don't come back. I'm going to quit
my job at the newspaper and go away with Tobias, leave Karrebaeksminde.
There, I made the choice for you. Now leave."
 48

JULY 2011

ANNA TRIED HARD TO hold back her tears. She was sitting outside Michael's
office waiting for him while his secretary was on the phone. She looked
down at the 60GB memory stick in her hand that she so sincerely hoped
would help save the life of her beloved son.
Valdemar had gotten a lot worse just in the last month, since Anna had
received the news from the doctor and waited to gather the courage to face
Michael for the first time since the day he left to be with his other family.
Back then, he had offered to help them financially, but Anna had refused
to take any of his money. And, up until now, they had done fine without him;
to be frank, life had been much easier without him. It was only the hurt in her
son's eyes that reminded her that Michael had once been in her life. Back
when he left, she had thought she would never see him again, especially
never be asking anything from him again.
It was like life was laughing at her right now. It was the cruel irony of
destiny that she now had to beg him for something again. It felt so
humiliating, so demeaning.
Anna took in a deep breath to calm herself down. When she was about to
leave the house, she went upstairs to say goodbye to Valdemar who had spent
most of the week in bed. He was lying on his back coughing heavily as she
entered. She kneeled next to him fighting her tears.
"I'm leaving now, sweetie. Wish me luck."
Valdemar had tried to laugh, but it ended in another cough attack. The
doctor had told them he only had ten percent of his lung capacity left now.
Valdemar looked at her while breathing heavily. Oh, how she hated that
sound, that wheezing, hissing sound he made when he gasped for air. All
night she would lie awake listening to him in the room next door, worrying
about him, thinking at least he was still breathing and fearing the day the
sound stopped and all she would wish was for it to start again.
"Why are you going there anyway? It's a waste of your time," Valdemar
said, out of breath. He paused and took in a deep breath. "He's not going to
say yes. What has he ever done for us?"
"I know it's a long shot. But, he is, after all, your father. I loved him once,
remember? Enough to marry him, enough to have a child with him."
Valdemar coughed and wheezed. "He's a worthless bastard, that's what he
is."
"I know, sweetie. But he's our only hope right now."
Valdemar breathed with trouble. His nostrils moved when he breathed in
air. "I have something I want you to bring to him," he said. "I want you to
show him my game." Valdemar held up a memory stick in the air with his
toes and handed it to Anna.
Anna looked at her boy and stroked his hair gently. Her handsome, sweet
boy. All he ever wanted in life was for his daddy to accept him, to love him.
Still now, as a teenager, sick with a deadly disease, that was all he could
think about.
"It's all on this. Promise me you'll show it to him, will you?"
"Of course, sweetie." Anna leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I
promise you I will."
Valdemar closed his eyes to rest. Anna stayed and watched him breathe.
A tear fell from the corner of her eye and rolled across her cheek. Oh how she
wished she could just give him both of her lungs. She had pleaded with the
doctor to take hers and give them to him, but the doctor had said it wasn't
legal, that she would die. Anna had said it didn't matter, but still, the doctor
refused.
"Mr. Jacobsen is ready for you now, Mrs. Kragh," the secretary said and
pulled Anna out of her reverie.
"Thank you," Anna said and walked towards the door. With a deep breath
she put her hand on the handle and pulled it down.
Michael wasn't even looking up when she entered.
"Hello Michael," she said.
 49

AUGUST 2012

KARL PERSSON WAS STILL grinning when Henrik closed the lid of the laptop.
"So, aren't you proud?" he asked and pointed at the TV where they were
still talking about the death of Barbara Rasmussen. "You're all over the news.
Gives quite the kick, doesn't it?"
Henrik shrugged and put the laptop away. "I guess."
"Aw, come on. Don't be so modest. I know how it feels. Usually I make
sure no one ever finds the bodies, but it happened to me once that my kill
made the news. I remember feeling like the king of the world. The entire
country was appalled by what I had done. Everybody was talking about the
dismembered body of a teenage girl that had been found in a dumpster.
Chopped into small pieces. The public ate it all raw. Fascinated and repulsed
at the same time, they were all glued to the TV. That was back in the late
eighties, back when a killing like that was a huge thing and would be in the
news for weeks. Nowadays, it drowns in all the other bad stuff. You'll have to
do some real nasty stuff to impress the news. Like the organ story. That's
new. Never been seen before. I tell you, this Bill Durgin is a genius."
Infuriated by Karl's last sentence, Henrik stared at the screen. A reporter
was talking to the anchor while yellow signs were flashing in the bottom
BREAKING NEWS - Woman killed in her home by the organ thieves last
night.
Henrik didn't care one bit about all this. All he kept wondering was how
he was going to get out of this apartment alive. This lunatic was dangerous
and, right now, planning on killing him and chopping him into pieces. Henrik
looked around and saw no knives or other deathly weapons. Karl was still
grinning like someone who had just won the lottery.
 "We should celebrate your newfound fame," Karl said and went into the
kitchen.
Henrik looked at the front door and wondered if he should just make a
run for it. But where was he going? He looked around the small basement. He
could also choose to stick around for a while.
"I have beer," Karl said and showed up carrying a six-pack. He handed
one to Henrik.
"Cheers," Henrik said.
They drank. Karl emptied his, but Henrik only took a small sip. He still
felt sick from yesterday's drinking and he wanted to stay alert.
"So, are you hungry?" Karl asked when he was done with his beer. He
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"A little," Henrik answered.
Karl smiled from ear to ear. "Me too." He stared at Henrik, like he was
sizing him up. "I thought I might chop something up for us. Make a stew or
something. One of those that need to simmer for hours in a delicious sauce.
What do you say?"
Henrik took another sip of his beer. It tasted suddenly strange and he
wondered if Karl had put something in it. Or was he just imagining things?
Was Karl staring at him with lust in his eyes? Lust for the kill? Was it really
him that he had written about in the chat or could it be someone else? Could
it have been an old message?
Of course it was you, you idiot. Don't be a fool.
Henrik smiled. "I say it sure sounds great. What kind of stew?"
"I was thinking either heart in crème sauce, or I could do something
completely different, how about pan fried liver, or kidney flambé? I once
made boiled, smoked tongue, now that was really something. What do you
think?”
“I think it all sounds very delicious. It’s hard to choose really. I’m fine
with any of it,” Henrik said. His hands were sweating. It was hard to hold on
to the beer. “Or we could just call for a pizza?”
“Oh, but that's so boring, now isn't it? So ordinary," Karl said and took a
step forward.
 Henrik nodded and pulled back. "I guess."
"So, what'll be then?" Karl asked. "The guest decides."
"I'm really not that hungry anymore."
"Oh, that's a shame. Good thing that I've been known to have an appetite
for two then."
Henrik was sweating heavily and had clammy hands. Karl was
approaching him slowly now, looking at him like he was studying him
closely.
"You know, I did wonder for a long time what to do with a man once I
killed him," he said. "I mean, women I know how to handle. I rape them, then
kill them. But why kill a man I kept asking myself? Besides the rush of the
kill, what will I get out of it? Last night, I kept wondering and wondering
until I came up with the idea. Why not COOK them?"
As Karl spoke the last words, he jumped towards Henrik and grabbed
him around his neck with both hands and started squeezing. Henrik gasped
for air and tried to fight Karl off. He took the bottle in his hand and hit it hard
against Karl's head until it shattered. Karl cursed and let go of Henrik, who
was now standing with a broken bottle in his hand. Karl was holding a hand
to his head when Henrik swung the broken bottle towards his face and cut
him. Karl screamed, then tried to punch Henrik, but Henrik grabbed his fist
mid-air, and bent it backwards, until Karl screamed. Henrik stared at the
squirming Karl who was bleeding from his face. Henrik was breathing
heavily and feeling the anger rising in him again. It felt incredible. He was
like the incredible Hulk, bending Karl's arm backwards, till he heard it crack
and Karl screamed in pain. When Henrik let go of the arm again, it was
dangling from Karl's shoulder, the cracked bone poking out through the skin.
Now it was Henrik who was grinning as he approached Karl puffing himself
up like the Hulk, feeling how the anger allowed his muscles to grow and his
strength to increase.
As he lifted his fist and punched Karl hard in the face again and again,
knocking out teeth and breaking his lip, he realized that Karl had been
absolutely right.
Henrik did get a kick out of killing people. It was his fix and from now
on he would never be able to live without it again.
 50

AUGUST 2012

I WAS STUNNED. Heartbroken beyond speech as I drove with Julie back to the
island. The winds had picked up a lot now and leaves were flying
everywhere, even branches kept falling from the trees as we passed them. On
the radio, they kept talking about the storm that was supposed to approach
tonight and sweep across the country during the next couple of days. They
expected roads to be closed due to falling trees and possible flooding and
asked people to stay inside and only go out if absolutely necessary.
The trip across the lake was nasty with the churning water, but we made
it to the dock and walked across the island towards the big mansion with our
clothes flying in all directions.
"Mommy I'm scared," Julie shrieked, when the wind pushed her
sideways. I grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. I held her tight and
helped her push her way against the strong wind. When we were closer to the
house, Peter came storming out and grabbed the both of us and helped us get
back inside.
"I saw you from the window," he said. "You should have called me and
told me you were on your way back. I had no idea you were out in this
horrible weather."
I took off my jacket and put my bag on a table. I had no idea what to say
to him or to anyone for that matter. I still had a hard time comprehending that
Sune never wanted to see me again and that my daughter had been deprived
of her best friend. I was heartbroken, to put it mildly.
"Are you okay?" Peter asked as he tucked my hair behind my ear. "Is
Sune alright?"
"Sune is fine," I said feeling the tears press from behind my eyes. Peter
saw it and pulled me close. He hugged me for a little while and it felt really
good. I wanted so badly to cry, but didn't want the questions that were bound
to follow. I simply couldn't tell Peter why I was this upset. It would hurt him.
I wondered what to do next and felt so hopeless.
What about the baby? What if it is Sune's?
"Let's go get some hot chocolate," Peter said. He looked at Julie who
nodded with a smile.
"That sounds great," I said.
We went into the kitchen and sat at the table while Peter made the hot
chocolate for us. I enjoyed watching him in the kitchen.
"So Sune is going to be alright?" Peter asked.
"That's what the doctors say, yes," I said.
"And then they're moving," Julie said. "It's so unfair."
Peter looked at me. "They're moving?"
"Yes. Sune told me they're leaving Karrebaeksminde as soon as he gets
back. He told me he will be leaving the paper as well. Guess he wants to
move on."
"Well that is great news," Peter said.
"No it's not," Julie said.
"Try to hide your enthusiasm just a little, Peter," I said.
"No, of course it's not great that you're losing your best friend, sweetie,"
he said and served the hot chocolate for us. He put whipped cream on top.
"But you'll make a lot of new friends soon."
"Not one like Tobias," Julie said.
"No, but another one. Maybe even a better one, right? Maybe a little girl
who likes horses just like you?" Peter tried again. He sat next to Julie while I
sipped my cocoa, hoping it would help cure my sadness. "Look at it this
way," Peter said. "When we get back, you have a lot to look forward to. Your
mom and dad will probably move in together again and you'll get your family
back."
Julie smiled and leaned her head on her dad's shoulder. "I would like
that," she said. "But what about grandpa? Who's going to take care of him?"
"We'll hire a nurse," Peter said.
 That's your answer to everything, isn't it Peter? Just hire someone to fix
it.
"We will visit him all the time," I said. "And we'll find a house close by."
"Yeah. But who am I going to play with?" Julie said. "I loved to play
with Tobias."
Peter looked at me and smiled, then he looked back at Julie. "Well your
mom and I just might have an answer for that too," he said. "See, right now
your mommy is carrying a little brother or little sister in her stomach and
when he or she comes out, you'll always have someone to play with. Isn't it
wonderful?"
I spurted out a mouthful of hot cocoa on the table.
"We're having a baby?" Julie shrieked.
Peter smiled and nodded.
I stared at him.
"What?" He asked. "I found your pregnancy test in the garbage in the
bathroom. We had to tell her at some point. This seemed like the perfect
time."
 51

JULY 2011

"WHAT A SURPRISE TO see you here," Michael said. "What can I do for you?"
Anna sighed. The nervousness and anxiety made her stomach hurt. She
looked into Michael's eyes, looking to see if she could spot the man she had
once loved and who had loved her.
"Valdemar is sick."
Michael shrugged. "So take him to the doctor."
"No not like that. He is really sick. Seriously ill. He has Cystic Fibrosis."
"So what?" Michael said and looked down at his papers. "Listen, I'm
really busy these days. In case you haven't heard, our company is in big
financial trouble, the economic crisis has made people stop buying toys for
their kids. We need something major to pick us up. I have to go through all
these new products to find that one thing, that one big bestseller that can help
us get back on top. If I don't, I'm fired. So you can understand why I'm trying
to have you get to the point here. What is it you want from me?"
"I want a part of your lung," Anna said.
Michael dropped his paper. Now she had his attention. "You want what
from me exactly?"
"Valdemar needs a lung transplant or he'll die. His lungs are below ten
percent in capacity as it is. And it's going downhill fast now, the doctor says.
He keep getting infections and the doctor says he won't be able to pull
himself through them for much longer. His body simply can't keep fighting
them. So he needs new lungs. They need two donors. I'll be one and I'm
asking you to be the other. They won't take your entire lung, just a part of it,
or a lobe as they call it. I'm no expert but I know a person has five lobes and
they'll only be taking one out. One from you and one from me. You'll
naturally have to undergo a series of medical and psychological tests first."
Michael stared at Anna like she was insane. "This is a joke, right? This is
you getting back at me for leaving you, right?"
Anna shook her head. "No. I'm serious here Michael. Valdemar will die if
we don't help him."
Michael exhaled and leaned back in his leather chair. He was quiet for a
long time, while a million thoughts ran through Anna's mind.
Come on, Michael. Step up for once. Show the boy you're not a bastard.
Be human for once.
Michael looked at Anna. He shook his head and leaned forward.
"Michael. This is important. This is a matter of life or death for our son.
Don't you dare …"
But it was too late. Michael had made up his mind. Anna could see the
determination in his eyes. They had the same cruelty to them as they had on
the day he saw Valdemar for the first time in the hospital. "The boy was a
mistake from the beginning, Anna. You know how I feel about him. Maybe
this is just nature's way of sparing him a horrible life. You know he will
never be able to do any of what other kids do. He will never be able to live a
normal life. Who would hire him? Who would marry him, huh? A sick man
with no arms? Do you think he is going to provide grandchildren for you,
huh? How should he be able to do that? Who would want to be with him? Is
he going to live with you for the rest of his life?"
Anna couldn't believe what he was saying. The cruelty, the heartlessness.
It was unbearable. "What are you saying, Michael?"
"I'm saying, I think it is for the best if he dies. I know it's going to sound
cold-hearted, but that's how I feel. It would give you a chance to finally move
on. You've been stuck with him for way too long. He was never meant to
live, Anna."
"How can you be so cruel?"
"Nobody likes to hear the truth, but that's all it is. The boy is useless."
Anna lifted her hand and threw the memory stick on the desk. "You see
this? On this memory stick is a game, a computer game that Valdemar has
created for the sole purpose of impressing you. And that's just one thing. Our
house is packed with inventions made by him. I tell you Michael, the boy is a
genius. He is NOT useless. He is brilliant, and if you can't see that then you're
fucking blind."
Anna was standing in front of Michael's desk now, snorting in anger.
When she saw no change in Michael's eyes, she turned around and left.
Through the open door to his office, Anna heard Michael yell:
"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.
"Oh my God, the chat room," I said. "You're Thomas De Quincey, aren't
you? You ordered me killed, didn't you?"
 Peter shrugged with a smile. "Guilty as charged. Nice name, don't you
think? He wrote the essay On Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts in
1827. He wrote about the Society for the Encouragement of Murder and that's
how I got my idea. De Quincey wrote that the members of this secret
gentlemen's club profess to be curious in homicide, amateurs and dilettanti in
the various modes of carnage, and, in short, Murder-Fanciers. Every fresh
atrocity of that class which the police annals of Europe bring up, they meet
and criticize as they would a picture, statue, or other work of art."
"But Peter, his essay was satirical. It’s fiction. It's a joke."
"I know that," Peter said. "But he gave me the idea. Once I was back
from Iraq, I missed the action, I missed the war, so I kept going back either to
Iraq or Afghanistan, but I was never quite satisfied. It just wasn't as fun when
it was war, you know. I needed something new, so that's how I came up with
my own club for killer artists like me."
"Artists? What the hell are you talking about?"
"The art of killing of course." Peter paused and looked around. "Do try
and keep up here, Rebekka. I hate having to repeat things."
I remained shocked and speechless.
"Oh, you need to see this as well," he said with pride. "This is what I
think will make people want to come from all over the world."
Peter grabbed my arm and dragged me again. I followed him fearing
what would come next.
"This one is quite impressive," he said. "Look at all the gold on the
caskets."
"Is that the remains of the two kings? You are the one who stole the dead
kings from the churches?"
"Yes. They're perfect for my purpose. You see both of them were
murdered. The murder of Erik Klipping is still unsolved to this day. Fits right
into my exhibition, I figured."
I shook my head, not understanding how I had not seen how insane Peter
really had become. He had fooled us all, hadn't he? Pretending to have
changed when, in fact, it was much worse than any nightmare I could have
imagined.
"Oh and the last part. The best part, well, for me at least, since it's my
contribution," Peter said and dragged me again.
"It's empty Peter. There is nothing there," I said and stared at the vacant
wall.
"Yes, but imagine the entire wall plastered with photos of someone who
knows they are about to die, and then slowly dying … documented with a
picture each minute of their dying hours. Wouldn't that be neat? I don't think
the world has ever seen that before. Read the sign."
I looked at the wall again and found the small metal plate. My heart
stopped as I read it.
Rebekka Franck's dying minutes.
 56

AUGUST 2012

"WHAT THE HELL IS this Anna? What are you going to do? What do you mean
you'll take my heart?"
Anna looked at the man she had once loved and smiled. "I meant just
what I said, Michael. See, I have been collecting new organs for our son, and
all I need is a new heart."
"But … but Valdemar is dead?" I don't understand."
"I dug him up. I wanted to be with him. Do you have any idea how much
I miss him every day of my life, do you Michael?"
"N … No."
"Where were you, Michael?" Anna asked.
"Where was I … when? Anna, I really don't think you're well …"
Anna leaned in over Michael's numb body. He was still naked. She
looked into his eyes and shook her head slowly. "Where were you when he
died, Michael?"
"I … I don't know. How am I supposed to know?" Michael said with a
shivering voice.
"How are you supposed to know? Well, any normal father who cared
would know exactly where he was at the moment his son died. I know where
I was, Michael. I was right next to him. I had given him a part of my one
lung, but it wasn't enough. I begged the doctor to take more, to take whatever
my son needed, but he refused. It would kill me, he said and he wasn't
allowed to do that. Can you imagine, Michael sitting there holding him in
your arms while he draws his last breath? Huh? Can you? No, of course you
can't, 'cause you WEREN'T there, were you? Did you look into his big
beautiful eyes and tell him how sorry you were that you couldn't save him,
did you? No you didn't. But I did, Michael. I held him with these arms, these
two arms while he slowly died. And then I screamed, Michael. I screamed
and cried in anger because, if anyone deserved to live, it was him. Because I
knew he could have lived, if only his dad hadn't been such a BASTARD."
Anna was crying now and lifted the scalpel into the light to make sure
Michael saw it. His eyes grew wide. "Anna, I … I …"
"It's too late, Michael. There is nothing you can say to bring him back to
me. He was my everything, Michael. He was all I had and now … now I'm
alone. Alone with my shame, alone with my guilt that I couldn't save my only
son. Where were you, Michael? Were you with your new family? With your
new son?"
"I … I don't kno …"
"Of course you don't. Because you don't care, do you? And then, what
happens next? I call his dad's office to let him know that his son died and
when the funeral is." Anna fought her tears and anger. She spoke through
gritted teeth. "You didn't even show up for the funeral, Michael. You just had
your secretary send a flower arrangement."
"I was out of town."
"Doing what, Michael? Selling your new product? Selling the new game
that saved your company and saved your job, huh? And tell me, Michael,
what is the name of that game, huh? The game you're now making millions
off of? The game you pretend is yours?"
A shadow crossed Michael's face.
"What's the name of it, Michael?" Anna yelled.
"Mindskill," Michael said with a low voice.
"Mindskill, huh? Now, is that a coincidence? Your son created a game
with the exact same name. It couldn't, by any chance, be the same game, now
could it? NO you would never just steal it, would you? You would at least
give him the credit and maybe send a check to his mother every now and then
since it has become such a huge success, am I right? How could you,
Michael? You know that all he ever wanted was for you to accept him, for
you to see how smart he was and for you to love him despite his handicap.
Why couldn't you just do that? Everything he ever did, he did to make you
proud, to make you finally see him. You couldn't even give him the credit for
having invented the game could you?"
"Look Anna, if this is about the money, then I am willing to …"
"It was never about any money. I don't need your blood money.
Valdemar doesn't need your blood money. We don't need anything from you.
We don't want anything from you." Anna paused and looked at Michael's
chest. "Except for your heart."
Then she lifted the scalpel and sank it into his skin. Michael screamed as
he watched Anna make an eight-inch incision cut down the center of his chest
wall. Then, she cut his breastbone and opened his rib cage to reach his heart,
when suddenly, someone knocked on the door.
"We don't want to be disturbed," she yelled, but the knocking didn't stop.
"Room service," the person outside yelled. Anna took off her gloves,
walked to the door, and opened it just enough to peek out. "We didn't order
any …" Then she paused. The face greeting her on the other side of the door
was suddenly very familiar.
"So Bill Durgin is a woman, huh?" The man said. "Well I'll be damned."
 57

AUGUST 2012

"PETER, PLEASE, DON'T DO this to me." Peter had put me in a straitjacket and
was now tightening it on my back so I couldn't move. Then, he tied me to a
plank of some sort.
"You know, I found this among a bunch of equipment in the basement
recently. I believe it must have been used back when the place was a mental
hospital. It's exciting to think about who might have worn it before, don't you
think? It could have been a famous historical person."
"I doubt it, Peter."
Peter laughed. "Well, maybe not. But I do have a feeling about this place.
You know, back when you first left me, I came out here and often spent
weeks here, just walking the hallways and discovering the place. I have made
many friends here. The place is filled with history. Like that doctor that I told
you about. I have met him. He killed himself after killing more than a
hundred patients here doing all kinds of experiments on them. He shot
himself and his family in room 237, but every now and then, I meet him in
there. He has a big hole in his head from the shot right here, and there is
blood all over the walls and floor, "Peter said and put a finger to his forehead
with a grin.
"Peter, you're hurting me. It's too tight," I said. "Please just let me go, will
you? Let me and Julie go. You don't want to hurt us, I know you Peter."
Peter lifted his camera and took a series of pictures. "There you go. The
first one for the wall. The one where you start pleading for your life." He
giggled in delight. "Isn't this fun? Oh, did you know that back when this place
was a hospital for the mentally ill, they simply called the patients ‘lunatics’?
It's the truth; that's what the doctor told me. Back then, the mentally ill were
people who had to be put away, they were an embarrassment to the family, so
they were often forgotten once they arrived here at the asylum. So, the dear
doctor could perform any experiment and treatment he pleased. No one ever
cared."
I stared at Peter, wondering how I was ever going to get out of this. Julie
was still downstairs and I just hoped that she would stay safe. "That's all very
interesting, Peter, but what are you going to do to me?" I asked, thinking it
would be best if I kept the conversation going. Maybe an opening would
come. Maybe I could talk him out of it.
"Oh, I have something extraordinary planned for you, Rebekka, dearie.
Don't you worry about that. It's going to be spectacular."
Peter walked towards a small box covered by a cloth. Peter looked at me
with excitement in his eyes and pulled the cloth off.
"Ta-da."
A small cage appeared underneath. Inside of it was a huge rat. He was
staring at me with empty black eyes and vibrating whiskers. I had always
hated rats more than anything in this world. Any nightmare I’d ever had,
always contained at least one rat. Peter knew that.
"Peter. You know I hate rats. What are you doing with that?" I said, with
my heart in my throat.
Peter opened the cage, took out the rat, and held it in his hand. I started
breathing heavier, gasping in fear of what he was going to do with it.
"Isn't he a beauty?" Peter said and lifted the rat so I could better look at it.
"It was actually the doctor who came up with the idea. He told me that he
used rats in many of his experiments. See, back in the late eighteen hundreds,
when this place was an asylum, the doctor thought rats were able to find
diseases in the human body and eat them. One of his many theories was that
mental illness was caused by something growing inside of the patient,
overshadowing the patient's way of thinking, making them think they saw
things they didn't and making them filled with fear and so on. So, his theory
was that the rats would be able to detect the disease in the body and remove it
like trash from a garbage can."
"So, what did he do?" I asked with a shivering voice.
"You'll see," Peter said. "It's very simple really." Peter grinned and found
a metal bucket. Then he placed the bucket on top of my stomach and put the
rat underneath it.
I felt sick to my stomach just thinking of the creature on top of me. Peter
then found an old Bunsen burner that reminded me of chemistry lab in high
school.
"Peter what are you doing?"
Peter found his camera and took another series of pictures before he
turned on the Bunsen burner, then started heating up the metal bucket. "Peter
I don't like this," I cried. "What are you doing?"
"As the container is being gradually heated, the rat will begin to look for
a way out. The only way out is through the patient's body. Digging a hole, by
gnawing its way through the straitjacket and then your skin, will probably
take a few hours of agonizing pain for you. And then result in certain death."
 58

AUGUST 2012

IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG before I started feeling the rat gnawing on the
straitjacket. The thought of those teeth soon nibbling my skin scared me to
death. My entire body was shivering in fear.
"Peter I promise I'll … I'll do anything for you."
Peter stroked my head gently. "Oh, but dear Rebekka. You just aren't
well, are you? You need to be cleansed. The doctor told me how I could cure
you."
"But Peter," I cried. "This will kill me. You told me so yourself."
"But then you'll be made immortal afterwards, Rebekka. Through my
pictures, through my art, you'll stay alive for eternity."
Slowly I felt the straitjacket gave in to the rat's sharp teeth. "Peter please,
don't do this …"
As I spoke, suddenly a sound interrupted me. Peter heard it too and
turned to look. I couldn't believe my eyes. In through the door came Henrik
Fenger. He looked like he had been through hell and back. His clothes and
hair were soaking wet, his eyes looked like those of a mad man.
"Who the hell are you?" Peter asked. "What are you doing here? This is
private property."
I wanted to scream for help, but somehow the expression on Henrik
Fenger's face made me hesitate. I was whimpering while feeling the rat
gnawing through the jacket and now reaching the fabric of my shirt. Next
would be my bare skin.
"Thomas De Quincey, I presume?" Henrik Fenger said.
Peter growled and walked closer. "Who the hell are you? Who told you
where to find me?"
"Anna," Henrik Fenger said. "You probably know her as Bill Durgin. I
killed her a couple of hours ago. You told her to bring you her contribution,
remember? She told me all about it before I slit her throat with her own
scalpel. You were stupid enough to give her this address where she was
supposed to bring the body of her son. Quite the wacko, huh? Trying to keep
her dead son alive by putting in new organs? What a lunatic."
Henrik Fenger had developed a tic in his left eye and was constantly
blinking now. I could feel the rat's teeth on the other side of the fabric.
"I don't know what you're talking about. We're kind of in the middle of
something here," Peter said. He had clenched his fist and was waiting for the
right moment to attack Henrik Fenger. Henrik saw it too, but he didn't seem
the least bit scared. More like he was really angry.
"She was a loose end anyway, Thomas," Henrik said. "It was too easy to
figure out where she was. She wrote, or rather Billy wrote that she was
watching her next victim eating soft tofu soup. Well anyone travelling in
hotels in Denmark knows there is only one hotel that serves only vegan,
organic food and that's Skal's Hotel in Vensyssel. See the thing is, everybody
knows it, but it's the only hotel in Vendsyssel and there isn't a restaurant
anywhere near, so you're kind of stuck with their annoying food, aren't you?
So I figured that no man, and we knew all of her victims were travelling men,
didn't we? Well cheating travelling men, that is. So, I figured that no man
would want to eat tofu soup unless he was forced to, if you know what I
mean."
"I really don't care," Peter said. He lifted his clenched fist and stormed
against Henrik. He punched him and cracked his lip, but to my surprise
Henrik didn't even move. Blood was running down his chin and he still didn't
even stop smiling.
"Is that it, Thomas? Is that all you've got? ‘Cause I've gotta say, it wasn't
much of a punch." Henrik lifted his clenched fist and slammed it into Peter's
face. The blow forced him to stumble backwards. I gasped while watching
Peter's eyes roll back in his head. His nose bled heavily. He landed on the
floor and his head was still spinning when he sat up.
"Now try again, Thomas 'cause I really was looking forward to a proper
fight. After all, you were the guy who gave Anna the idea that she should
take my kidney, now weren't you? You are the guy I have been searching for.
The mastermind, or should I say kingpin? Maybe you just need a little more
motivation. Maybe if I told you I killed Karl Persson as well. And … uh …
Michael Cogliantry and Alex Andreyer. Everyone in that pathetic little chat
room of yours. I pretended to be Karl and then set up a meeting with each and
every one of them. Told them we should go on a killing spree together. Guess
it wasn't a complete lie, huh?" Henrik laughed.
Peter finally managed to get to his feet, then stormed towards Henrik,
slamming his fist into his face, causing Henrik to fall backwards. Then Peter
was all over him. I tried to move in my straitjacket and suddenly realized that
the rat had bitten its way through what was holding my arms. Suddenly my
arms were loosened and I was able to move them. My right hand was soon
freed and I managed to hit the bucket onto the ground. I screamed as I saw
the rat. It was still gnawing on my clothes, but as soon as it realized the
bucket was gone, it shrieked and jumped for the ground. I twisted my body
back and forth and soon, my other hand was free as well, and I was able to
squirm out of the jacket. Panting, I put my feet on the ground and watched as
the two men fought each other, panting, throwing punches, yelling and
groaning.
I looked around me to see if I could spot a second exit and found a small
door in the other end of the room, behind a part of Peter's macabre exhibition.
I opened it and snuck through. I ran down the stairs, stormed into Julie's
room, and found her on the bed. She had been crying. In her hand she was
holding my cellphone that Peter had taken from me and left in the kitchen
when he dragged me upstairs.
"I called the police," she said. "They should be here any minute."
 EPILOGUE

I WAS HOLDING MY dad's hand when he woke up. Three days had passed since
I had escaped the castle in Brabrand holding Julie in my arms. While we were
running outside, we heard sirens blaring in the distance. We found the boat
Henrik had used to get to the island and sailed away to safety while hundreds
of officers stormed the house.
Apparently, Peter had put up a fight, so the officers had ended up
shooting him, while Henrik Fenger was arrested for breaking and entering.
He ended up paying a fine. The police never could find evidence enough to
accuse him of any of the killings that I knew he had committed. The story
had gone worldwide about the lunatic man alone in a castle on an isolated
island who wanted to make the exhibition from hell. The kings' coffins were
returned to the churches and I took Julie back to Karrebaeksminde to be with
my dad while he was recovering.
"Sweetie," he mumbled and opened his eyes. "I'm so glad to see you."
"You're doing much better, Dad. Don't worry. The doctor says I can take
you home, maybe tomorrow."
My dad chuckled. "No, that's not what I meant. I'm glad you're here
because someone came in earlier. I told him to come later today so he could
see you."
"Hi Rebekka."
I turned my head and looked into the eyes of Sune. I rose to my feet and
let go of my dad's hand. "Sune? What are you doing here? Jens-Ole said you
quit. I thought you had left town."
Sune smiled. "I was about to, but I wanted to say goodbye to your dad.
He has, after all, meant a lot to me. He convinced me I should at least say a
proper goodbye to you."
My heart was pounding in my chest. There was so much I wanted to say,
but why? To make him stay? Was that what I wanted? Him to stay against his
will just because I might or might not be pregnant with his child? I had my
doubts.
"Did you hear about …?”
Sune nodded. "Peter? Yeah. I heard. Quite the story, huh?"
I exhaled. "The funeral is Friday. I guess we'll be there, since Julie needs
to say goodbye to her dad."
"Naturally." Sune looked at me and sighed. "Well okay. I'd better … I
should just … I mean we need to be in Copenhagen at three, so I should …"
"Stop." I looked at Sune. It had burst out without me even thinking. Our
eyes locked. I gasped. My tongue felt so dry. I could hardly move my lips.
"Argh, for Christ sake," my dad grumbled. "She's pregnant and the child
is probably yours."
My heart stopped. I wanted to yell at my dad for blurting it out like that.
But then I saw the look on Sune's face.
"Is it true?" Sune asked.
"Well … uh … I guess it is. Yes, Sune, yes. I'm pregnant."
Sune's eyes grew wide. He was breathing heavily.
"You don't have to do anything, Sune. It's okay. After all it might be
Peter’s."
"But it might be mine?"
"Well, yes. I mean we did try for a long time … and the dates fit. The
doctor told me it happened by the end of June and there was no Peter then.
Not until July."
Sune smiled widely. "I'm gonna be a dad again? We're going to be
parents?"
"I guess so?"
Sune grabbed me around my waist and picked me up. He started spinning
around with me in his arms. I laughed. He stopped and let me slide down
slightly till my eyes were in front of his.
"I love you Rebekka Franck."
"I love you too."
Then we kissed.
 THE END

Dear reader,

Thank you for purchasing Nine, Ten ... Never sleep again. This was the
last and final book in my series about Rebekka Franck and her photographer
Sune Johansen. I hope you have enjoyed their crazy journey as much as I
have. It is with great sadness that I let them go. They have been a big part of
my life for a very long time now.
But if you enjoyed this series then you might also enjoy my Emma Frost-
series. I have included an excerpt from the first book Itsy Bitsy Spider on the
following pages. Get the entire series by following the links below.
And don't forget to check out some of my other books as well.

Take care,

Willow

Connect with Willow online and you will be the first to know about new
releases:
Sign up here: Sign up to email
I promise not to share your email with anyone else, and I won't clutter your
inbox (I'll only contact you when a new book is out).
 BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

MYSTERY/HORROR NOVELS:

ONE, TWO ... HE IS COMING FOR YOU (Rebekka Frank #1) -

http://www.amazon.com/One, two ...
THREE, FOUR ... BETTER LOCK YOUR DOOR (Rebekka Frank #2) -
http://www.amazon.com/Three, Four ...
FIVE, SIX ... GRAB YOUR CRUCIFIX (Rebekka Frank #3) -
http://www.amazon.com/Five, Six ...
SEVEN, EIGHT ... GONNA STAY UP LATE (Rebekka Frank #4) -
http://www.amazon.com/Seven, eight ...
ITSY BITSY SPIDER (Emma Frost #1) - http://www.amazon.com/Itsy Bitsy
Spider
MISS DOLLY HAD A DOLLY (Emma Frost #2)- Coming out October 2013
RUN RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN (Emma Frost #3) - Coming out later this fall
2013
EDWINA - http://www.amazon.com/Edwina

HORROR SHORT STORIES:

EENIE, MEENIE - http://www.amazon.com/Eenie, Meenie
ROCK-A-BYE BABY- http://www.amazon.com/Rock-a-bye
NIBBLE, NIBBLE, CRUNCH - http://www.amazon.com/Nibble, Crunch
HUMPTY, DUMPTY - http://www.amazon.com/Humpty, Dumpty
CHAIN LETTER - http://www.amazon.com/Chain Letter
PARANORMAL ROMANCE/SUSPENSE/FANTASY NOVELS:

BEYOND (AFTERLIFE #1) - http://www.amazon.com/Beyond

SERENITY (AFTERLIFE #2) - http://www.amazon.com/Serenity
ENDURANCE (AFTERLIFE #3) - http://www.amazon.com/Endurance
COURAGEOUS (AFTERLIFE #4) - http://www.amazon.com/Courageous
SAVAGE (Daughters of the Jaguar #1) - http://www.amazon.com/Savage
BROKEN (Daughters of the Jaguar #2) - http://www.amazon.com/Broken
A GYPSY SONG (The Wolfboy Chronicles) - http://www.amazon.com/A Gypsy
song
I AM WOLF (The Wolfboy Chronicles) - http://www.amazon.com/I am
WOLF

BOX SETS:
REBEKKA FRANCK SERIES - http://www.amazon.com/Rebekka Franck
DAUGHTERS OF THE JAGUAR - http://www.amazon.com/Daughtersof the Jaguar
THE AFTERLIFE SERIES - http://www.amazon.com/Afterlife
HORROR STORIES FROM DENMARK - http://www.amazon.com/Horror Stories
THE WOLFBOY CHRONICLES - http://www.amazon.com/THE WOLFBOY
CHRONICLES
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

WILLOW ROSE is an international Best-selling author. She writes

Mystery/Suspense/Horror, Paranormal Romance and fantasy. Originally from
Denmark she now lives on Florida's Space Coast with her husband and two
daughters. She is a huge fan of Stephen King, Anne Rice and Isabel Allende.
When she is not writing or reading she enjoys watching the dolphins play in
the waves of the Atlantic Ocean. Her books have been downloaded in more
than 300.000 copies.

Connect with Willow online:

http://www.willow-rose.blogspot.com/
www.facebook.com/willowredrose
https://twitter.com/madamwillowrose
 The following is an excerpt from Willow Rose's newly released Horror
Short Story:
ITSY BITSY SPIDER:
 ITSY BITSY SPIDER

Emma Frost #1

Willow Rose

The Itsy Bitsy Spider crawled up the water spout.

Down came the rain, and washed the spider out.
Out came the sun, and dried up all the rain,
And the Itsy Bitsy Spider went up the spout again.
- Nursery Rhyme
 PROLOGUE

1977

AT FIRST SHE THOUGHT it was an accident. That the door to the bunker had
shut by accident. Then she tried to open it on her own, but couldn't. It was
either too heavy or must have locked when it shut. She knocked carefully.
"Hello?"
The quiet coming from outside the iron door was gruesome. Astrid
swallowed hard and knocked once again, this time harder.
"Hello?"
But nothing. Nothing but the horrendous sound of her own breathing.
Someone will open it. Once they realize it has shut, they'll come. Astrid took
the ten steps from the door down into the bunker. She felt tired and her feet
were swollen. She sighed and sat down on a bench, waiting, staring at the
door anticipating it swinging open at any moment now. It was actually two
doors separated by a small hallway between them. Even if she hammered
they wouldn't be able to hear her. All she had to do was wait. Someone would
eventually come for her.
Wouldn't they? Of course they would. He would come. He who told her
he loved her?
Astrid knew she wasn't among the smartest of the young kids on the
island. Her mother always told her that. But she had good hands and she
wasn't a half bad cook. If she stuck to what she knew, she might be lucky
enough to one day have a man, her mother had always said. Now she had
found one. And he wanted more than just her cooking. He wanted her. He
loved her, he said. Then he made love to her in the dunes by the beach.
He was nice to her and she wanted him to meet her mother, but he kept
telling her, not now, not today. Astrid never thought of asking when, she
waited patiently for him to find the time in his busy schedule. She never
wondered why he never took her places, why he insisted they only meet at
night or why he never spoke to her except for the dirty words he whispered in
her ears, that Astrid was educated enough to know wasn't something they
would say in church.
No, Astrid never thought there could be anything wrong with her
relationship to this boy who once said he loved her, and who showed his love
for her in the dunes again and again, night after night during that endless
summer in 1977. Instead she started looking forward to their life together,
preparing herself to one day become the mother she had always dreamt of.
"You'll get nothing but dummies like yourself," her mother had said.
"There should be a law that demanded that people like you were sterilized so
you wouldn't pass your stupidity on to your kids. Stupid girl," she said and
slapped Astrid across the face.
Yes, Astrid was very well aware that she wasn't the smartest among
people, but she had a good heart to her. That much she knew. One day she
would become a great mother to a child that would have the father's intellect
and that child was going to go on into the world and do great things.
"That'll show them," she said sniffling while staring at the closed iron
door up the stairs.
"He'll come for me, won't he?" she asked and her voice echoed into the
small room behind her lit only by a light bulb hanging from under the ceiling.
Of course he will. Of course.
Astrid drew in a deep sigh. She looked around and spotted the big
flashlight on a shelf in the corner among blankets, water bottles and canned
food. She pulled it out and held it in her hand. Then she sat down again,
waiting for someone to come and get her. Not just someone. Him, the boy of
your dreams, the love of your life. Not just anyone.
Astrid sighed and calmed herself down. She always did this, mother
would say, she always made herself uneasy or even anxious for no reason at
all.
 1

2012

THE MAN WAS LOOKING in the windows of the French doors leading into the
kitchen. It was dark inside the mansion by the ocean. A small light under the
door revealed that there was someone in the other room next to the kitchen.
Just as he had hoped.
The man lifted his gloved hand and smashed it through the small
window, then stuck his hand through and unlocked the door. He opened it
without making any sound at all. Smoothly he slid through the door and into
the woman's kitchen. Carefully he closed the door behind him, while stepping
on the broken glass underneath his heavy boots.
The man turned and looked at the perfect kitchen. Knives were hanging
on the wall. He grabbed one and looked at it in the moonlight coming from
outside. Then he sighed with a deep feeling of satisfaction while putting it
back. He reached into his own sports bag and found his own set of knives
rolled up in their bag. Like a professional chef he unfolded the bag and rolled
the knives out on the table.
What a beautiful sight to the man's eyes. Clean blades, sharpened to
perfection. Almost a pity he had to mess them up. Cutting through meat and
bones always made them dull. The man picked one out and put the rest back
in his bag. Then he approached the door leading to the living room where he
could tell the TV was on.
The man had studied the woman's daily routine for weeks now and knew
she always dozed off to her favorite show, The Sopranos, before she went to
the bathroom at exactly ten-thirty. She was as precise as a clock. She would
go into the kitchen and grab a glass of water that she would bring to put next
to her bed for the night. She had a hard time sleeping lately and that made her
thirsty.
The man walked out of the kitchen door and into the hallway while he
could hear the theme song for The Sopranos, and then the TV was shut off.
The man sat down on a chair in the corner of the guest bedroom and
waited, listened to the woman performing her routines, like he had done
many times before, but this time was different. This was the big finish, le
grand finale, as they said in French.
The man glanced at his reflection in the mirror on the dresser. He touched
his pale skin and followed one of the veins with his finger. Then he smiled at
himself. He had been looking forward to this moment for all of his life.
Prepared for it, dreamt about it, arranged it into details, waiting for the right
time and to be in the right place.
And the best of it? He was just starting out.
 2

2012

THE OLD MRS. HEINRICHSEN let out a small shriek. The spider in her bathroom
sink had startled her. They always did. She shook her head and turned on the
tap. The spider tried to fight the river of water, clinging on to the slippery
side as the water was threatening to flush it down the drain. Mrs. Heinrichsen
watched its struggle with great joy and turned the tap to speed up the water.
She grinned and sang while watching the spider fight for its life.

"The Itsy Bitsy Spider crawled up the water spout.

Down came the rain, and washed the spider out.
Out came the sun, and dried up all the rain,
And the Itsy Bitsy Spider went up the spout again."

Finally the spider gave up, lost the fight and disappeared with the water
into the drain. She liked these small displays of power over nature, well she
had always enjoyed them over humans as well, but the last many years the
respect for her and her status on the small island had diminished. No one
seemed to care who she was and had been anymore.
There was a time when it wasn't only spiders that had struggled to stay
alive by her mercy. Oh how she missed those days. How she missed seeing
the fear and terror in people's eyes as she strolled down the street in her new
car, showing off her newest fur brought in from Paris or a jumpsuit from
Milan. Those were the days, those were the times she had cherished, and
would remember as her golden years.
But these days no one cared anymore. No one respected her in the
manner they had done back then. To them she was just an old lady. Someone
whose time was ticking down. Someone who was close to the finish line of
life. The youngsters of today didn't have any respect for status or title
anymore. It was all just the same baloney to them. They didn't care about her
position; hell most of them hardly knew her name anymore.
Mrs. Heinrichsen finished brushing her teeth and walked back towards
the bedroom. The old wooden floors of her villa creaked underneath her
weight even if she could hardly make it past ninety pounds anymore. She was
still a strong woman and expected to live at least twenty years more.
"Gotta make it past the one hundred," she always said. "Get the letter
from the queen before you go."
It was her goal, and Mrs. Heinrichsen always reached her goals.
Something she had tried to teach her son but in vain. Today they didn't care
abut setting goals and reaching them, about doing what it took to make it, no
matter the cost. Working to accomplish something. Nowadays it was all
about how to get out of working and getting the state to pay for everything.
She saw them down by the harbor, down by the boats leading to the
mainland. The people who could just as well be working, hanging out,
drinking their beers, with their dogs and dirty clothes. Mrs. Heinrichsen knew
they got paid from the state to live that kind of life. Destitute was the nice
word for them. People who couldn't take care of themselves, so the state had
to. Freeloaders, Mrs. Heinrichsen would call them. They were nothing but
people who didn't want to work in her book. And lately with all those
newcomers, all those brown people who had almost invaded the country,
even their small island. They were all being paid huge amounts from the state
to get all their relatives up here, and it was about to destroy the small
paradise, destroy Denmark with all their demands, under the pretense that
they just wanted to be equal. How those dirty faces could ever get the thought
that they were equal to the proud hardworking Danish people, she never
understood. It was an atrocity. The beautiful country had been invaded by
these ... these foreigners and Mrs. Heinrichsen certainly didn't like what they
were turning this country in to.
Mrs. Heinrichsen entered her bedroom and sat on her bed with a sigh. It
had become increasingly more and more difficult for her to sleep while lying
down with her breathing troubles, and she wasn't looking forward to yet
another night sitting up and sleeping. The nights had become long and painful
to her lately and even if she did take a small nightcap it never quite helped
her through the entire night.
"Oh, John. You bastard," she said and looked at the empty side of the bed
where he used to sleep. "I bet you're up there somewhere enjoying seeing me
suffer through these nights, aren't you?"
The silence from the room was answer enough. Mrs. Heinrichsen sighed
once again, then leaned back on her stack of pillows and embraced herself for
the night. Barely had she closed her eyes before she heard a sound. Mrs.
Heinrichsen sighed annoyed and got out of the bed again with much
discomfort.
"If it's that neighbor's dog again, I'm sure I'm gonna ..."
She never made it further than that. As she fought to get out of the bed
and up onto her legs, she watched the door to her bedroom open quietly.
Then she gasped.
A face appeared in the darkness.
"Hello, Agnes," the man said.
 3

2012

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU inherited a real house, Mommy."

I looked at my seven-year-old son, Victor sitting in the back seat of our
old Toyota through the rearview mirror. He was smiling and his small eyes
sparkled. He had been so excited ever since we received the phone call telling
me that my grandmother, my father's mother had passed away and much to
my surprise, since I never knew her, she had left her house to me.
My oldest daughter Maya was less excited to put it mildly. But then again
at thirteen not much was exciting, especially if it involved me, her mother or
anything remotely grown up and boring.
"Of course she inherited it, you doofus," she said to her younger brother.
"She's her only grandchild."
"Well she could have left it to grandpa, her son," I argued while finding
my exit from the highway. "That would have been the most normal thing to
do. But for some reason she wanted me to have it."
"Why?" Maya said with her lips curled, making her look like she was
extremely annoyed.
I shrugged. "I don't know. I have never even known her. Grandpa says I
met her once when I was just a small child, but I don't remember it. Maybe I
chose to forget because she was too scary," I said and made a funny face.
Maya looked mad. "You're so ... so pathetic."
"Wow. Well thanks."
That seemed to be the end of that conversation. It had been a long ride
from Copenhagen to Esbjerg and my children hadn't exactly been talking
much. It was getting dark outside the car's windows and would be way past
their bedtime by the time we arrived at our new house.
Victor had slept most of the way and Maya seemed to feel it was beneath
her dignity to talk to me for more than three minutes at a time. She was
pissed because I had made the decision for all of us. I had decided to move
there, to my grandmother's house on Fanoe, a small island in the North Sea
outside of Esbjerg. I knew it wouldn't be popular to make a decision like that
on my children's behalf, but there was no way around it. I was broke and
couldn't afford to keep our apartment in Copenhagen. I had been fired from
my latest job as a writer for a fishing magazine simply because I had pissed
off the chairman of the Danish Fishing Federation, DFF, by asking him about
the many bottles of expensive wine that the Federation had deducted on their
taxes this year. Needless to say it wasn't that kind of story the magazine was
looking for, so they kicked me out. Well, that's just the way things go. I
wasn't exactly looking for a long-term career in fishing journalism anyway,
but it was a paying job and I brought home enough money for the rent and
expenses that my ex had left me with when he decided it was more fun to be
with a twenty-five-year old intern at his TV station.
"Are we there soon?" Victor said with a slight whimper.
"Why?" I asked. "You need to go?"
Victor nodded heavily. "Badly."
Maya sighed and rolled her eyes. "You could have gone when we stopped
for snacks."
"I did," Victor said.
"But that's only like ten minutes ago. How can you need to go already?
We have stopped twenty times for you on this trip." Maya accompanied the
last words with a deep annoyed sigh.
"Maya. Your brother ..."
"Has a nervous bladder. I know. There is always something with him,
isn't there?"
That shut me up for once. What was I supposed to say? Yes, there is
always something wrong with your brother? Yes, he suffers from anxiety
attacks, light autism, strange seizures, occasional loss of bladder control and
maybe some other stuff that the doctors are just waiting to throw at us? Yes,
he hasn't been well ever since his dad just took off and only wanted to see
him every six months or whenever it suited him? Yes, I could say all those
things, but I didn't. What's the point anyway? She knew. Maya knew Victor
hadn't been well and she was suffering too, suffering because every hour of
my attention went towards him. She was a big girl, now. She was supposed to
be able to handle it.
"What's that smell?" she asked and wrinkled her nose.
"That my friend is the smell of Esbjerg," I said and smiled as I could see
the town rise in front of us. "We'll take the boat out to the island from there.
It'll be fun once we're on the boat. Just wait and see."
"Yay!" Victor exclaimed. "I love boats."
"It smells like fish," Maya said and held her nose.
I had to admit the smell was pretty bad and opening the window only
made it worse. "It is fish," I said trying to sound cheerful. "Fish guts."
 4

1977

IT DIDN'T TAKE ASTRID many hours to lose track of time, but she guessed it
was getting closer to nighttime, since she was beginning to become tired. She
decided to lay down a little bit and closed her eyes and soon she was sound
asleep.
It wasn't until the morning the panic erupted inside of her. She woke up
and realized she was still trapped in the bunker and now she was beginning to
feel hungry. She got up and walked to the door again. Then she started
hammering it.
"Help!" she yelled but then felt bad. Her mother always told her not to
raise her voice.
"You're always so loud, Astrid. And shrill. You should learn to keep your
mouth shut. You don't have a pretty voice and boys like pretty voices, so you
stick to what you can do. You cook, alright?"
"Yes, Mom."
Astrid sighed and decided to try again even if she didn't like to be loud.
"HEEELP! I'm in here! I'm trapped! Christian? Can you hear me?"
She stopped and listened for footsteps or maybe even voices. But still
there was nothing. Nothing but the terror of silence.
She tried again. This time she clenched her fists and hammered with all
her strength against the iron door, and continued till they became numb. Then
she managed to put her fingers into the small crack and tried to rip the door
open, but it was stuck.
"Help!" she yelled while the feeling of utter panic grew.
What if no one hears me? No you stupid fool. Don't think like that.
 She tried to scratch the door with her fingernails, but had to stop because
it hurt. Astrid sat down on the step and covered her face with her hands. She
was so hungry now. She looked up at the ceiling.
Maybe there was another way out? There had to be an air vent
somewhere. Astrid got up and went to the end wall with the shelves. She
removed some blankets and touched the wall behind it, felt it, scanned it for
anything that could indicate that there was some secret passage way or just a
small hole that she could get through.
But there was nothing. She went through the stuff on the shelves
meticulously in the hope she could find something to break the door open
with. But she found nothing but the flashlight. She rose with it in her hand
and ran towards the iron door. While taking the last step, she swung it and
smashed it against the door, but didn't even make a bump.
She cried as she swung it again and again and destroyed the flashlight,
but never harmed the door in any way.
Astrid sobbed and fell to the cold stairs.
You really are no good, aren't you? she heard her mother's voice say. Got
yourself into trouble again. I knew you would. He's not going to take care of
you. Be a damned fool if he did.
No, no, Dr. Jansen says I'm okay, remember? I'm good and healthy and
strong. My man doesn't care about me being smart or anything. He loves me,
he said.
You fool. No one loves a retard. No one, I tell you. No one!
Astrid wiped off her tears in disgust. Why did thinking of her mother
always do that to her? Why did it always make her feel so bad about herself?
No there had to be a way, there had to be. Astrid stared at the canned food on
the shelves, then sprang up and pulled one down. Luckily it was one of those
you could pull open. She didn't even need a can opener. This was good, she
thought to herself as she pulled it and the sweet smell of ravioli hit her
nostrils and tricked her deep hunger even more. This was very good. Astrid
searched everywhere and finally found a bunch of plastic spoons. Relieved
she sat down and started eating.
Things always looked better on a full stomach, mother used to say. So as
soon as she had finished this can, she would find a way to get out of there.
 5

2012.

WE TOOK THE LAST ferry to get to the island. I had to drive past the local
police station to pick up the key to the house as soon as we arrived. It was
almost midnight as we finally found the right place. Everything was dark now
and the wind had picked up in the almost barren trees outside. I walked
through a pile of dead leaves someone had gathered with a broom earlier
before I entered the small building they apparently called a police station.
The kids wanted to stay in the car. Victor was asleep and Maya was listening
to music on her iPhone. I was tired now and looking very much forward to
finally entering my future home and throw myself on one of the beds. The
house was still furnished, I had been told by the lawyer who gave me the
deed to the house. I took that as a sign that I could move in right away.
"Are you serious?" Maya had exclaimed when I told her back at the
apartment. "Do you really want to live in some dead woman's old furniture?"
"We'll get our own shipped over there eventually, but until then, yes. Plus
it's a really big house. We don't have enough furniture to fill it up. I bet my
grandmother's was nice. She was loaded, you know."
"Couldn't she just have left us the money instead?" my smart daughter
argued. "Then we could build our own house or stay in our own apartment
and not have to leave the city for some deserted island where only freaks
would live."
"She left her money to grandpa, who's the rightful heir to it being her son.
I was just ... I'm sorry we were just lucky that we got this splendid house out
of it. I didn't expect to get anything."
"How do you know it was luck? Maybe the house is really her way of
getting back at you," Maya said and went to her room.
 I stuck my tongue out after her, and then returned to my packing.

The police station looked almost deserted as I entered. There was no one
behind the counter.
"Excuse me?" I said and cleared my throat. "Hello?"
"Freeze!" a voice said next to me.
I gasped and jumped. A guy came out of a door pointing his fingers at me
making them look like a gun. I raised both arms. He laughed.
"Boy, you scared me," I said and looked at him the way my annoying
teenager did to me.
The guy laughed. I hadn't noticed until then, but he was quite handsome.
Blond with blue eyes, tall and very masculine. About my age, maybe a little
older but it was hard to tell. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't get out much as you
can imagine. I don't get to have much fun either. Especially not at night. Boy
you should have seen the look on your face."
"That was not funny. My heart is still racing."
The police officer grinned. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I really didn't
mean to. It was just so tempting."
"Okay, okay. I get it," I said. "Maybe there is reason they don't let you get
out much, huh? Maybe they keep you at the nightshift for a reason?"
The officer tilted his head. "I never thought about it that way. Hmm.
Maybe you're right."
"You bet I am."
"I'm Officer Dan," he said and reached out his hand. "Dan Toft."
I smiled and took it. "Emma Frost."
"Nice to meet you, Emma Frost," he said and kept shaking my hand while
still grinning.
"Likewise, Officer Dan."
He let go of my hand and went behind the counter. "What can I do for
you at this strange hour? Are you visiting our island?"
"No. We're actually moving here. I was supposed to pick up the key here?
At least that's what my lawyer told me. I thought it sounded strange but ..."
I never finished the sentence before Officer Dan dangled the keys in front
of my face. "These should be the ones. We do all kinds of jobs for the public
here on this station. Yesterday I walked Mrs. Olson's puppy since she had
fallen and hurt her leg and couldn't walk it herself. Keeping people's house
keys is the least of our jobs. It's kind of nice though. We get to know people
closely that way."
"Plus it means you don't have much else to do, which means you don't
have much crime here on the island. Must be kind of nice, right?" I said and
took the keys out of his hand.
"It sure is," he responded.
"Well, thanks," I said and started walking towards the door.
Officer Dan ran in front of me and held it open for me. I chuckled.
"See you around," he said as I walked out.
I caught myself thinking I would really like that.
 6

2012

HE WAS WONDERING WHAT kind of mood the old hag was in today as he waited
for the garage door to open, before he drove into the driveway. The gravel
was loud underneath the wheels of the Mercedes. Why she insisted on still
driving this old car when she could easily afford a newer model, Torben
didn't understand. But it was her car and her money.
Torben had worked for Mrs. Heinrichsen for as long as he could
remember. Drove her around to wherever she needed to be. Did some
handiwork around the house whenever it was needed or at least made sure the
right people were called to fix it. He was her go-to guy as they said in the
movies. Torben didn't mind that. In fact he enjoyed being needed by
someone. Ever since his wife had passed away six years ago the old house
seemed so empty. The kids had moved away many years ago, off to the
mainland, to the big city to lives of their own and soon forgot all about their
old father rotting away on the island.
Back in the day when Mr. Heinrichsen was still alive Torben had not
liked his job very much. He simply didn't like Mr. Heinrichsen and the way
he treated people. Well the old lady wasn't much better herself, and age didn't
seem to soften her up, but Torben had known her now for many years now
and knew she wasn't so bad once you really got to know her. She would boss
him around, yes, but now that Yvonne wasn't alive anymore he quite frankly
liked to have someone tell him what to do from time to time. It had that
familiar feeling to it. Like he had a purpose.
Torben sighed and fixed his cap and tie to make sure it was on straight.
Mrs. Heinrichsen preferred him to look right. She didn't like sloppiness and
over the years Torben had learned to appreciate it. You didn't find much of
that these days anymore. Discipline, self-control. It was all in the character
and Mrs. Heinrichsen had helped Torben build his character. She had made
him stronger. Not with loving and caring attitude, no by being harsh and hard
on him when he needed it the most. Like when Yvonne died. It had nearly
broken him. He was about to slide into a deep depression, when Mrs.
Heinrichsen told him to stop feeling sorry for himself.
"Just get over it," she had said.
She had given him a day off to go to the funeral, actually a whole week,
but the next day he had shown up at her doorstep, the cap in his hand asking
her if she needed him today. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she
hadn't any plans, but she had come up with some.
"As a matter of fact you're late," she had said with her well-known snort
that Torben had hated so much but suddenly found very comforting, very
familiar. "I have to see my hairdresser in ten minutes and with all this traffic
it's going to take at least fifteen."
"Then let's get going," he said with a huge smile, then brought the car
out. Of course the old lady didn't have an appointment, but the hairdressers
found time for her anyway. She had a way like that. She could make people
jump for her.
That was when Torben realized the old woman did have a heart. They
never talked about the death of Yvonne or Torben's sadness again, but they
didn't have to. Somehow they had found each other, a strange sort of
friendship in the middle of it all and that was enough for him. He didn't need
her pity or her compassion. He needed everything to go back to normal, and
so it had. It made coming home to the empty house a lot easier when he knew
there was someone needing him in the morning.
Torben whistled and waited in the driveway for the big old wooden door
to open, but minutes passed and nothing happened. Torben wrinkled his nose.
In all the thirty years Torben had worked for the lady she had never ever been
late once. A feeling of unease was starting to spread in his body as the
minutes passed by and shortly after, he couldn't stand it anymore. Mrs.
Heinrichsen was supposed to be at her lawyer's office on the mainland at ten
and if she didn't come out now, they weren't going to catch the ferry.
Torben knew Mrs. Heinrichsen would be very angry with him for doing
this, but something compelled him to walk up the stairs and walk into the big
old house.
"Hello?" he said hoping Mrs. Heinrichsen had merely overslept. "Mrs.
Heinrichsen? The car is ready for you? The ferry leaves in half an hour."
As he received no answer Torben's heart started racing in his chest. This
was not good; he thought and ran up the stairs and down the hallway. He
knocked on her bedroom door with the cap in his hand.
"Mrs. Heinrichsen. We're going to be late."
He knocked twice, three times, and when there was no answer after the
fifth time, he took in a deep breath and did what he had never done before.
He walked into Mrs. Heinrichsen's bedroom.
"I'm sorry to do this but ..."
Torben froze by the sight of the old lady lying on her bed with her empty
eyes staring into the ceiling. Then he cried. Not because he was reminded of
the time he had come home and found his wife in the same position, dead by
a heart attack on the same bed she had given birth to their two sons, not
because he was sad that he was now going to be really alone since no one
would need his services any longer. No Torben cried because of what had
happened to her body. He cried and sobbed because never in his sixty years
of living had he been in the presence of such cruelty.

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TABLE OF CONTENT

Prologue
1
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3
4
5
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12
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Epilogue
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Itsy Bitsy Spider
Prologue
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2
3
4
5
6
Table of Content