by Willow Rose
"I want you to stay one more night," he kept telling her. And so she did. One more night became a week, a week became a month and now she had been there for almost six months at his house.
Nina dressed herself in clothes the man bought for her, a new dress almost every day and jewelry that he told her she could keep. Nina couldn't believe her own ears or eyes for that matter. In just six months she had blossomed into a woman. She had gained a lot of weight from all the food his servants brought her during the day. And she was now dressed like one of the rich ladies that the other girls at the brothel had told her about. She didn't mind him dressing her up like a doll, even if it did remind her of her mother.
Some nights he would just look at her and sometimes he even just wanted to brush her hair all night. Nina let him even if she herself loathed every second of it.
"Why can't I leave the house?" she asked one night when he came to her chambers carrying a very expensive designer dress in his hands.
"Because I don't want you to," he answered firmly.
"But I want to take a stroll in the garden. I want to be able to breathe fresh air," Nina said.
"Then open the windows."
"I want to be able to walk, to dance in the yard, to look up at the blue sky. I want to be able to go into town. Can't I go into town, please?"
"You'll get dirty in the yard," he said with a smile. "And the city is no place for a beautiful girl like you." Then he leaned over and whispered in her ear the words he would come to regret. "Baby doll."
Nina saw red. How she loathed these two words more than anything in the world. Memories of her mother calling her those exact two words when she dressed her in those awful dresses and brushed her hair appeared in her head and poisoned her mind with unsustainable furor.
Nina pulled away, found the mafia boss's old knife that she had hidden under her pillow in case she needed it one day. She pulled it out and stabbed him in the chest. The man stared at her in astonishment and held a hand to the knife. Blood was gushing out of his mouth as he fell backwards to the bed. Nina stared at him and much to her surprise she felt no pity, no mercy. Not even to the one man who had ever treated her nicely. No, in fact she realized she enjoyed watching him die slowly and painfully looking up at her like he wanted her to somehow rescue him or at least explain herself.
As soon as he was dead, she gathered all her jewelry and some of her expensive dresses and dragged out two big suitcases she found in a closet. Then she threw in anything valuable that she could fit in the suitcases and emptied the man's pockets of his wallet and cash. She even stripped him of his expensive looking watch and diamante rings. Also his golden necklace that she had stared at so many times with him on top of her, speculating how much it was worth. She filled the suitcases till they could barely close, then ran downstairs to the servants that had been bringing her food.
"I need a car to take me to town," she said with as much authority as her fifteen year old voice could muster. "Now."
Chapter 48
April 2013
They moved the rest of the auditions to an old movie theater on the other end of town and even if there were a lot fewer kids showing up, it all went well. Patrick found the day to be extremely boring. He wasn't allowed to do any huge media stunts or make a spectacular entrance as he used to, since the producers behind the show found it inappropriate given the tragedy.
All that kept Patrick going throughout the day was the prospect of what he had planned for the coming night. The day seemed endless to him when finally around three o'clock he was told the last contestant was up. Patrick wrapped up the last interview with the boy who was going to sing, had him talk about his family and how they struggled financially and how he wanted to help them out by becoming the next Shooting Star.
When he was done, Patrick could finally return to his hotel and get ready. He had found his next victim online. He was actually searching for something else, when he stumbled over her webpage and saw her picture. There was no doubt in his mind. Those eyes he would recognize anywhere.
Patrick checked the web-page once again and looked at her face. Oh how he was looking forward to this. He giggled and shrieked with joy. Patrick found the butterfly knife in his drawer and then the sewing kit with his strong needle and heavy duty thread, a kit that was intended to be used to sew in leather. Patrick hadn't had the time to wash it since he sewed the bowtie into the girl's skin so he went into the bathroom and cleaned it now. It had been close with the young girl. A little dangerous and very risky. Patrick didn't mind a little danger, it made it so much more fun and exciting, but this time he had been very close to getting caught. While talking to the woman outside the audition room afterwards, Patrick had realized that he had somehow gotten blood on his fingers even if he had worn gloves killing the girl. He had wiped it off in the red cloak hoping the woman didn't notice, which she didn't. At least he didn't think she did. Maybe she was just too damn stupid.
They're all so stupid. Freaking morons is what they are. Dumb as rocks.
Patrick laughed and winked at his own reflection. No. No one would ever suspect the host of the most popular TV show in Danish TV history. It was absurd. They all felt like they knew him so well, didn't they? After all, he did come directly into their living room week after week. He was almost like family to most of them. The crazy uncle, yes, but still family. And you always believe the best about your family, don't you?
Patrick took off his pants and underwear to take a quick shower. He looked at himself in the mirror naked. He turned his torso in the light. The scars were still there but only he knew where they were. Plus the hair growing on his chest was covering them nicely. He lifted his forearm and looked at the scars there as well. They were harder to cover, but it wasn't so important. It made him look tough, he thought.
Patrick dropped his head and looked at his penis. To think that it had once been a part of his forearm was still hard to comprehend. Forearm phalloplasty was what they had called it at that that hospital in Poland where he'd had it made eight years ago. Patrick still didn't have much sensation in it, they told him he had fifty-one percent chance of being able to have intercourse and erection after the operation. Well, Patrick didn't care much about that anyway. Sex was never on his mind. And certainly not now.
Patrick looked at his hair. He would have to cut it again soon. It was getting long and he hated when it got long. He opened the cabinet and took out some pills and swallowed them. Extra hormones. He'd had to take so many of them the last few years to make the change properly. He needed the male hormone in order to grow chest hair and facial hair like any other man. The eyes he couldn't change. They still resembled those of a girl, those of Nina who had once been such a big part of his life.
But now she was gone. He had gotten rid of her right after leaving the rich man's mansion with all the jewelry and all his credit cards that Nina had maxed out to get as much cash out of as possible before she threw them away so she didn't get caught.
At the sex change clinic they had asked her many questions but never where her money came from. Three years later Nina, who was now Patrick, had booked a flight—first class naturally—and returned to the country he had once been stolen from. An article in the newspaper a couple of months later sent him to audition to become the host of a new TV show.
Patrick got dressed thinking about how much he loathed that little girl that he had once been. So feeble, so weak, so easy to possess and put in a prison.
"Never again," he mumbled as he found his hooded sweater and put it on. Before he closed the lid of the computer where his next victim was staring back at him, he read the name of where he was going out loud to himself, making his voice shrill like that of a young girl's.
"Dolls and trinkets. Dolls and trinkets."
Chapter 49
April 2013
Helle Wickman was feeling good about herself this Sunday afternoon. It had been a busy morning with a lot of tourists wanting to buy small souvenirs to bring home befo
re they left the island. The afternoon had been quieter, but Helle liked that, too. Especially since she really didn't need the money. She had plenty and more where that came from. The store was more of a hobby. She had dreamed about opening her own store since childhood.
Helle walked down the row of shelves with dolls and looked at them. Oh how she adored those beautiful dolls. They had become family to her. And now with her new boyfriend it all seemed to be going so well for her, she could hardly believe it. Back when her daughter had gone missing, Helle never thought she was going to feel happy again. To think of all the times she had thought about just ending it, just killing herself and ending all the suffering.
But somehow she had never done it. It was like she had always known that there was something more for her, that life wasn't finished with her yet. And now she had finally found love. She was being loved by someone else and that made her happy again. Even if she found it hard to love herself.
Helle looked at the picture of her daughter. She had considered removing it from the shop. Putting it away since it always made her sad, it always made her feel bad. Maybe it was about time she started over? Maybe it was time to clean the slate and move on?
Helle sniffled and shook her head. No. No it wasn't time yet. Maybe later. She turned and walked back to the counter. She sighed and looked out into the street between shelves that were overly filled with souvenirs. She knew she would have to clean up the window shelves soon, since no one could look inside the store anymore from the outside. But Helle liked it that way. She liked having lots of stuff surrounding her.
A lady stopped and looked at something, then moved on. Helle looked at her watch. It was almost time to close the shop. Maybe she should call it a day already? Get out of here early? She looked into the street again. No, there were still plenty of tourists out there. The TV show had attracted so many people this weekend it could easily end up being the best weekend of the year for people with small shops like hers.
Helle decided to go out in the back and grab herself a last cup of coffee. Once she was done with that she would close up. She was humming in the kitchen when she heard the bell above the door ring telling her there was someone in the shop.
I knew it. Good thing I didn't close up.
She left the coffee cup on the table in the small kitchen and walked back out humming and wearing a big smile. She enjoyed entertaining people in her shop. She never knew who would walk through that door and with what background. She liked watching them as they browsed through the store, guessing where they were from and what they were looking for. She always let them look a little on their own before she asked them if she could help with anything. To make them feel comfortable first, let them look at other stuff than what they initially came for, so they might buy something they didn't plan on. Helle loved every little trinket in her store and she loved how excited people often were when browsing around.
Helle glanced towards the door and noticed it seemed to be a man that had entered. She couldn't quite see his face because of the hood he was wearing. It didn't bother Helle, though. Some people preferred their privacy and she knew to let him have longer finding what he was looking for than other people. He didn't seem to bring any kids and that made her feel relaxed. Kids were always the worst. They touched everything and moved it around and sometimes even broke something then put it back without telling anyone. She had often considered putting up a sign stating no children next to the no dogs allowed sign, but then again she would probably lose a lot of business. The man's head peeked up behind a row of shelves. Helle smiled.
"Let me know if I can help you with anything," she said.
He didn't answer so she assumed he was foreigner and tried in German as well. When he still didn't answer she tried in English and finally in Polish which was the only other language she knew.
The man finally replied, but Helle wasn't sure she liked the answer. At first she thought she might have translated it wrong, but then he repeated it in Danish.
"Where is your ice cream truck, lady?"
Chapter 50
April 2013
It was late in the afternoon and I was just lazily hanging out in the living room with my kids when the phone rang. I picked it up.
It was Jack. He was panting, speaking incoherently, stuttering heavily. "Iiiii dddidn't know wwwho else to call. Your dad…your dad needs to cccome. Something…I…I ddon't know how to say this. I've ccalled the pppolice…"
"Easy now, Jack," I interrupted him. I suddenly felt very anxious. What was going on? "Try and calm down. You're not making any sense here. Please try and tell me from the beginning. What is going on? Where are you?"
I heard him take a couple of deep breaths like he usually did when his stuttering was bad. It helped. "I'm at the shop. Helle's shop. It's bad, Emma."
My heart started beating wildly. I got up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen. "Helle?" I asked. "Has something happened to Helle?"
Jack was quiet. I could hear he was busy controlling his breath.
"Jack? Please answer me. What happened to her?"
"I was going down to her store to continue my painting. When I opened the back door with my key I heard a noise from the store. It sounded like an entire self of trinkets was being tipped over and I thought Helle needed help, so I hurried in there. But I was too late. He ran out the front door just as I went in. I didn't see him. Just the door closing. And then I found her…"
"Found her where? How? What happened to her?" I asked while putting on my jacket.
"She was on the floor. He had stabbed her."
"Is she alive?"
"I checked and she still has a pulse—wait the ambulance is here. I hhhave to go, Emma."
"I'm coming down."
I hung up, then called Maya. "I'm going to town for a couple of hours. Can you look out for your brother?"
My daughter nodded. "Of course. What's going on?"
I leaned over and kissed her cheek thinking she'd had enough shocks lately and that she didn't need to know what had happened yet. Not until I knew more at least. "I'll be back later and then I'll explain, alright?"
"You always say that. Can Granddad come over? In case you're going to be really late?"
I sighed and shook my head. "No. Not this time, sweetie. Granddad has to go with me. I'm going to pick him up on the way."
My daughter shrugged. "Whatever," she said and turned her back to me.
Thinking I'd have to deal with her later, I stormed out the door. I called my dad from the car and told him he had to come with me, that something bad had happened to Helle. The sound of his voice cracking like it did made me feel so sad. He really loved her.
"How bad is it?" he asked when I drove up to his house and he jumped inside of the car.
"I don't know, Dad. Jack told me she still had a pulse, but she had been stabbed. The ambulance was just arriving when I talked to him."
When we arrived at the store, the ambulance was still parked outside in the street. Inside the shop two paramedics were working on Helle who was now on a stretcher. Blood was all over the floor in a pool. My dad gasped when he saw it. Jack came towards us.
"How is she?" my dad asked.
"She's still alive. They're preparing to take her to the hospital right away. There's a helicopter coming to pick her up outside of town and she'll be airlifted to the mainland." Up until now I don't think my dad had realized how serious it was, but he did now. Now that he saw her on the stretcher and saw all the blood.
"Can I go with you?" my dad asked. "I'm her boyfriend. The closest she has to a family."
The paramedics looked at each other, then nodded. My dad kissed me then ran to catch up with them.
"Me and the kids will take the next ferry and be there as fast as we can," I yelled after him.
Officer Morten was also there and told me not to go too close to the scene of the crime. The forensics team was on their way, he said.
"They never left the island since they're st
ill working at the last crime scene down at the theater. They'll be here soon. They'll have to close the entire area off." He was wearing plastic gloves and putting something in a small bag.
"Is that what I think it is?" I asked.
Officer Morten exhaled. Then he showed me what was in the bag. A small white bowtie, a piece of string, and a needle. "I guess he was interrupted before he could sew it into her chest."
I felt sick to my stomach as pictures of the girl in the kiosk and the girl in the theater flashed before my eyes.
"But why Helle?" I asked. "The other victims have been much younger. Is he changing preferences?"
Officer Morten shrugged. "Maybe their age doesn't matter."
"Hello?"
The voice came from the back. I walked out there to see who it was. An elderly lady stood in the doorway. "Hi there. Is Helle here?"
I shook my head. "No. No she's not. She has just been taken to the hospital a minute ago."
The woman looked surprised. "Oh. Oh. Is it serious?"
"I'm afraid so. Who are you?"
"I'm Asta. I just had a new doll that I had made for Helle, and I thought I'd stop by and ask her if she would like to see it, but it can wait till later."
"I'll let her know," I said. The woman left and I went back inside.
"Who was it?" Officer Morten asked.
"Some lady that had a new doll for Helle."
"Asta Kristensen," Officer Morten said.
"That's her."
He tapped on his notepad with his pencil for a few seconds. Then he looked at me. "You know, I never thought about it before, but those two women share more than a passion for dolls with one another."
