by Willow Rose
The boy whimpered and obeyed. Preben tipped him generously as a thank you for the good laugh, then walked inside the building. It was more splendid inside than out, he thought. And he wasn't just talking about the interior decorating.
Preben smiled to himself as he spotted her in the lobby. The woman he had loved since high school. She was standing with a key in her hand talking to that smug Jacob Lomholdt.
9
December 2013
LINE MADE IT TO THE hotel right before noon. The train was late and she had to wait for a bus to bring her to the hotel, since she couldn't afford to take a taxi. Then she had to walk through the plantation and was almost run over by some idiot speeding by in a blue BMW, one of those egotistical cars that had no back seat and no room for children.
She had always resented people who bought those kinds of cars and now she resented them even more, since she had to jump off the road in order to not get hit by it.
Line entered the hotel and stopped just to stare. She had never been inside a building quite like this. So charming and old-fashioned, yet so modern and expensive-looking that she told herself not to touch anything in case she accidently broke it. She stood at the entrance with eyes wide open and simply stared at the interior. So tastefully decorated in light colors. The Scandinavian style.
"Miss?"
A young boy in a uniform stepped up to her.
"Yes. Sorry," she said.
"Can I take your bag?"
She looked down at her suitcase. "Of course."
She approached the counter. After she gave her name, the clerk smiled and gave her a key. "Your room is to the left, the up the stairs and to the left again."
"I sure hope it is a big one," she said.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing. To the left?" she asked again.
"To the left. The bell-boy can show you the way."
"Follow me, Miss," the boy said and walked towards the stairs on the left.
He opened the door to the room with her keycard and they entered. She felt like a princess as she went inside, but then she froze. "Is this it?"
"What do you mean, Miss?"
"Is this all there is? This room isn't much bigger than my apartment. I thought this was the most expensive hotel in the country?"
"It is, Miss."
"So what are people paying for?" She turned and looked around. "There aren't even any flowers? Or fresh fruit?"
The bell-boy shook his head. "We never …"
Line exhaled and threw her arms in the air. "Don't you have anything better?"
"I … I …"
"Look at the bathroom. I had at least expected a hot-tub. My aunt has a hot-tub in her bathroom and her house isn't even that expensive, mister. And what's with the TV?"
"You'll find the remote in the drawer," the bell-boy said.
"Now you're just saying your little rehearsed lines. Look at it. What is it? Forty inches? That's hardly anything. My mother has a forty-inch flat screen TV. Anyone can have that. This is nothing. I had really expected more from this place. Can't you do a little better than this?"
"These are the rooms we have, Miss."
"Somehow, I doubt it," she said. "What do you do when royalty and movie stars stay here, huh? I bet you have much nicer rooms for them, don't you?"
"It is an old building, Miss. It was built in 1918. Rooms were small back then. The hotel has been kept exactly like it was back then. Even the floors are old."
"Old huh? That's why they creak when you walk on them," Line said disapprovingly. "You really should consider getting new ones. I can even hear people walking around in the room next door. Is this really something people pay a lot of money for?"
Line looked up at the slanted ceiling and white painted wooden planks. She could reach up and touch it. It made her feel like she was in an attic. Line was disappointed, to put it mildly. She had expected the rooms to have high ceilings and hoped they would have an ancient stucco ceiling in the shape of a flower or maybe painted like in old churches. She loved that kind of stuff. Not this. This was just an old wooden house. Nicely painted and decorated, yes, but old and creaking.
Everything in her room was painted white, even the bed and it made her feel like she was in a mental hospital or something.
"It's hand carved," the bell-boy said when he saw her look at the wooden headboard of the bed. "It’s original."
"You mean to say the bed is from 1918?" she asked, appalled.
"Yes, well the headboard is, not the rest of the bed," the bell-boy said.
Line scoffed and sat on the bed. The mattress felt good.
"Some of the rooms don't even have a bathroom," he said. "You're lucky to get one that has."
"Are you kidding me? People pay to live like this?"
The bell-boy tried hard not to smile. "Yes they do, Miss. People pay a lot of money to stay at this old hotel by the ocean. The place has a lot of history. People seem to like that."
"I guess it does have a great view," Line said.
The bell-boy nodded. Line looked at him. Why was he even still here? Oh, of course. "You want a tip!"
The bell-boy nodded. Line went through her pockets and found a coin. "Here," she said and handed it to him.
He nodded, then backed towards the door. "Lunch is in half an hour," he said before he closed the door.
10
December 2013
HE HAD NEVER BEEN SO happy to get away. Soren Hedelund stared out the window of his room at the hotel while the phone kept vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and turned it off completely. It had been ringing constantly all the way up there and he hadn't answered it once. He didn't want to talk to anyone while he was here. This was his getaway. This was his chance to think everything through and figure out what to do.
What if something happens to Margit? What if she gets worse? What if the kids need you?
He looked at the dark phone. They'd have to get by without him. They would be fine. It was, after all, only for two days.
Soren opened the window and took in a deep breath of the fresh salty air. It felt ice cold on his skin, but he liked it. This was just what he needed. He looked at his watch. Lunch was only five minutes away. Then he had to meet everybody. He wondered if he should just stay in his room for the rest of his time there. Did he really have to go down there and put on a show? Did he have to pretend he was fine, pretend he was glad to see them again?
Soren exhaled and closed his eyes. There was probably no way out of it. Maybe he could just go down this one time, then pretend he wasn't feeling well and stay in his room the rest of the weekend. Maybe go for a stroll on the beach.
He had thought about disappearing on his way up here and now he was thinking about it again. Just take the train somewhere, maybe go to Germany or France? He had always loved France. His French was bad, but he could probably get by if he had to. He'd learn how to manage.
They'll find you there. They'll track your credit card and have you arrested before you know it. You know they will. You'd have to go further away. Like Bulgaria or Hungary. You liked Hungary when you were there, remember?
Did he really want to live like a fugitive for the rest of his life? Did he want to be separated from his wife and children and constantly wonder if they were alright? How could he live like that, knowing his wife was sick?
There has to be another way.
Soren closed the window and put on some nicer clothes that Margit had packed for him. She wanted him to look his best, she told him. "Show them how handsome you still are."
Soren looked at himself in the mirror. Yes, he was still fairly handsome. He had a way with women. Always had. Soren growled. Why couldn't he just have restrained himself? Why did he have to have sex with that girl?
Because she was defenseless. Because he could. Because he had done it so many times without getting caught. Because he liked it.
Soren pounded a fist on the dresser in anger, then looked at himself. "You fall, you get up. That's the
way it is. Pick yourself up and move on."
Soren lifted his head, then put on a shirt and jacket. He was hungry and was going to enjoy this meal no matter what. He combed his hair and put wax in it. Then he opened a button on his shirt so his chest-hair showed a little bit.
Satisfied with his appearance, he walked out the door and down through the lobby. His heart was racing in his chest as he opened the door to the restaurant and a small crowd of people all looked at him.
"Soren?" a woman he didn't recognize at first said. "Soren Hedelund?"
He took in a deep breath and found his most charming smile. "I guess so."
"I'm Line," she said. "Line Elgaard."
"I remember you now. Still going by your maiden name, huh? Never married?" he asked and she heard a slight gloating tone in his voice.
The woman froze for a second before she answered. "No, no. But I am expecting, though." She touched her stomach gently. Soren couldn't even see a bump. She grabbed his hand and let him feel it. He couldn't feel a thing. He smiled and pulled the hand back. "Well isn't that nice. Congratulations."
Line's face lit up like a Christmas tree. Soren felt like punching her. He felt like yelling at all the staring and smiling faces in the room, telling them they were all just phony, fake and a disgrace. Telling them that they had just come here to show off and brag about all the things they had achieved, but when it all came down to it, they weren't any better than he was.
But of course he didn't. Like the rest of them, he simply smiled from ear to ear while taking the round and shaking their hands one after another, telling them; yes, I have been very well, thank you. A paramedic. Yes it is a very giving job. Two children and a beautiful wife, yes, I have been very fortunate.
11
December 2013
HE WAS, BY FAR, THE most successful in the restaurant, Jacob Lomholdt thought to himself as he took a bite of the black hake they had been served accompanied by roasted cauliflower, clams and a lobster reduction. He didn't have much appetite, though and didn't quite understand why that was. The food was great, the wine was exquisite. There was nothing to comment on that account. The views were spectacular even for a man like Jacob who lived by the ocean. Everything was perfect. Yet he felt slightly nauseated and had a hard time eating.
Jacob sipped his wine and looked at the people around the table with a grin. He could tell that they felt inferior to him. Just the way they admired his expensive clothes was a true joy to him. It made the long trip up there all worth the trouble.
"So what have you been up to since high school?" he asked Preben Krogh who was sitting next to him.
"I'm a dentist," Preben answered. "I have my own clinic in downtown Aarhus where I live."
"No wife and kiddos, huh?" Jacob asked.
Preben smiled. "No. Divorced. No children."
Jacob lifted his glass of wine to salute him. "Smart man."
They toasted and drank. Soren Hedelund who was sitting across from them, toasted as well. He seemed to be drinking heavily and was already on glass number three. He hadn't said a word yet to the group.
Jacob remembered Soren very well. He had been skinny back then. The skinniest in the class. Insignificant, really. Used to want to hang out with the popular kids in class. Would do anything for them to accept him. Did whatever Jacob told him to. Even if it meant taking the blame for spying on Emma Frost when she was showering after PE. Or the times when they had beaten Niels with sticks till he was hospitalized for a week. Even then, Soren had taken the blame for all of them. Despite his efforts, he never really became a part of the group, though. Jacob never saw him as more than an outsider trying to play along. He didn't have what it took. He simply wasn't one of them. Not to Jacob at least.
"Didn't you used to wear glasses?" Jacob asked Preben.
Preben nodded. "Had laser surgery a couple of years ago. Never have to wear those bastards again. What a freedom."
He accompanied the last word with laughter. Jacob laughed too. A forced one. It really wasn't that funny. Jacob watched Preben … scrutinized him as he ate. He had gotten chubby over the years. Too much red wine and steaks at the golf club, probably. Too little golfing. Jacob chuckled and drank some more to try to keep up with Soren on the other side of the table. Preben sitting next to him lifted his glass and toasted with Emma Frost who was sitting next to Soren. She returned the toast and toasted with Soren as well. Preben couldn't take his eyes of her, Jacob had noticed. He couldn't believe Preben still had a thing for her after all these years. It was quite pathetic.
"So what about you?" Preben asked.
"What about me?" Jacob asked as he leaned back and stretched his neck so he could look down at Preben. It was a trick he often used with his employees. Made them feel inferior and insecure. Made him feel powerful.
"Are you married and all?"
"All meaning do I have children? Then no to both. Haven't been stupid enough to fall into that trap, if you know what I mean."
Preben nodded. "I think I might. When my divorce came through I felt more relieved than ever."
Jacob nodded and lifted his glass again. "Then you and I understand each other."
"I believe we do."
Jacob drank again and shot a glance around the table. Emma Frost smiled at him and he smiled back. He had to admit, she looked great. She had gained weight since back then, but it looked great on her. She had always looked good. He had followed her career from the sidelines over the years. Her days as a reporter hadn't been very successful, but since she started writing books, her career had certainly taken off. Smart girl, he thought to himself and bit his lip.
If only things had been different back then. If only you hadn't … No stop it. Don't go there. It's all in the past. Leave it there.
Jacob cleared his throat, then rose from his seat holding his wine glass in his hand. "I think we should start this weekend off properly by toasting to the class of '98. Will you all toast along with me?"
Everyone around the table lifted their glasses in the air. "To the class of '98," they said, then drank.
12
July 2005
THEY BOUGHT A NEW CAR. Cash. Erik had simply swiped his debit card and bought it brand new. Now they were looking at it from the window of their small apartment. The beautiful Audi A4, silver, looked so shiny among the Toyotas and Hondas in the parking lot.
"Do you think it will be safe here tonight?" Maria asked.
"I hope so," Erik said and put his arm around her. "Tomorrow we'll start looking for a new place to live. Something bigger in a better neighborhood."
He kissed her on the head and held her tightly. The police had been there earlier in the day and told him that they believed the fire was arson. That someone had set it on fire deliberately.
"It isn't uncommon in this area," they had said. "Probably just some young boys having fun. We see it from time to time. We'll have a chat with them."
Erik had been a little shocked, not because he cared about the car anymore, since he could easily afford a new one, but more because he suddenly realized they lived in a neighborhood that could be dangerous for his children. It was time to move.
"I'd like that very much," Maria said and kissed him back. "I don't feel safe here anymore."
Erik nodded. "I know what you mean."
The next day they visited a realtor and were shown a couple of houses outside of Copenhagen and they immediately fell in love with an old villa by the ocean in Klampenborg. It was half an hour drive from the city, but it was gorgeous and close to Dyrehaven, a beautiful Danish national park. It was one of the most expensive addresses in Denmark and, at first, Maria said she wasn't sure they needed all this space or to live in this fancy place with all the rich people, the rich-people's ghetto, she kept calling it. But once the paperwork went through and they started moving in, she took a liking to the house and the area and so did Erik and the girls. The new house had a huge yard with swings and an old tree where Erik made a tree house for them. For weeks
they were extremely happy in their new home and, to their surprise, they even felt at home among all the wealthy people. Settling into the house meant they had to put off the plans of traveling around the world for a little while. They weren't forgotten, just put on hold.
They got acquainted with their neighbors and the girls soon found friends to play with on the street. The house was close to the beach and Erik and Maria enjoyed strolling on the beach and breathing in the fresh air.
It wasn't until a month later that there was a fly in the ointment.
It happened on a Sunday. The kids were playing in the yard and Erik and Maria were enjoying their breakfast on the terrace outside when there was a knock at the door. Outside stood a green bicycle courier, which was very common in that area, especially in the city of Copenhagen where they could often get to their destination faster than by car because of the traffic.
"Delivery, sir," he said and had Erik sign the papers.
Erik took the package and closed the door as the courier disappeared.
"Who was that?" Maria asked from the kitchen where she was putting the dishes in the washer after breakfast.
"A courier with a package," Erik said and went out to her. He looked for a sender but there was none.
"Who would send you a package on a Sunday? You better open it. It might be important."
Erik shrugged, then opened the package at the top. He looked into the box, then felt everything inside of him suddenly freeze.
"What's the matter, darling?" Maria asked.
Erik closed the lid of the box in a hurry so she wouldn't see it. "Nothing," he said, as he exhaled to calm himself down. "It's nothing really. Just a stupid joke. Probably just my former employees saying a proper goodbye, if you know what I mean."
Before she could protest, Erik stormed up the stairs and into his study where he locked the door behind him. Panting, he went to his desk, then poured the box's contents out on the desk. Then he gasped.
