by Willow Rose
EMMA FROST
MYSTERY SERIES
VOLUME 7-9
Willow Rose
Copyright Willow Rose 2015
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
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sigettys Cover Design
Special thanks to my editor Janell Parque
http://janellparque.blogspot.com/
African Mask Photo: Thomas Ernst
Connect with Willow Rose:
http://www.willow-rose.blogspot.com/
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TABLE OF CONTENT
EASY AS ONE TWO THREE
THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME
SLENDERMAN
Books by the author
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Eleven Twelve ... Dig and Delve(excerpt)
EASY AS
ONE
TWO
THREE
Emma Frost #7
PROLOGUE
April 2014
"THE FOURTEENTH OF MARCH. Hm…March is the third month. So that’s three. That means we have one…and four…is five, plus three…and the year was nineteen-ninety-nine. So that is…twenty-eight. Add that to the five and three and you have…thirty-six. So that is three plus six and that equals…nine."
The numerologist looked at the number with satisfaction. Then she opened the book on the table next to her.
"So if her life path number is nine, then she is…," she put her pointer on the row of numbers and scrolled down till she reached the bottom. The numerologist frowned.
"Oh, that isn't good. Nine means you have a hard time letting go of the past. You are weighed down by the things you can't change. You often suffer from lack of sleep at night because you worry about tomorrow and your thoughts just wander off. You have an addictive personality. That's really bad. You depend on others to make you happy and when they don't, you might turn to drugs or alcohol. Let me take a look at your name. Maya was it? Let's see."
The numerologist flipped a page in her book and looked for the letters. "Ah, here they are." The numerologist looked at the girl. "You do realize that the numerical value of your name influences areas of your personal and professional development in a huge manner, right? I really hope you do."
The girl whimpered. "Please, just let me go."
The numerologist stuck her finger in the air. "Shh, I'm trying to focus here. I'm here to help you, alright? You're out of balance and I need to figure out why. We need to figure out what motivates you, what causes all your trouble."
The girl cried harder now. "Please. I don't have any trouble. I'm not out of balance. You're the one who is out of balance. Please, just let me out of here."
"No," the numerologist said sounding very firm and angry. That was the only way to treat people who were in denial.
"Please, just let me go," the girl pleaded. "I can't stand being in here. I hate rats. I really hate rats. There’s one in here with me inside this cage; it's crawling on me. I'm freaking out here. Pleeeaaase let me out."
The numerologist tried to shut out the girl's crying. She was tired of listening to her whine. Didn't she understand that this was much more important? Didn't she understand that she was only trying to help her? So many people walked through life without knowing why they were so miserable. It was all in the numbers. Why couldn't they see it the way the numerologist did? Why did they refuse to see it?
She focused on the book and the alphabet. "M is the number four and A is number one, so that’s five. Y is a seven add that to the five you have twelve and then it ends with another A, so that's another one…so in total that gives us thirteen, so that is one plus three, that’s four. Your name is a four…." The numerologist looked at the girl in the cage with a smile. "Isn't that interesting?"
"Pleease…"
"Four, huh?" she continued and flipped another page. "That means you're associated with a foundation, order, service, struggle against limits, steady growth. Hm…struggle against limits. Yes, that's certainly one of your problems. Hm and I sense a lot of negative energy associated with the name given to you at birth. Lots of anger. The numbers are certainly not working in your favor. You have a lot of ones in your name, but you need more threes and eights to balance you out. That's what we need to work on. The numerological vibrations of your current name are too negative the way it is now. See, the thing is, your numbers simply aren't compatible. Your life path number and your name number don't go well together. That's why you're having trouble in your life. That's why you tend to run away from home like you told me you did before you hit the poor guy with your dad's car. And stealing your father's car when you're only fifteen? That's really bad, Maya. Really destructive."
"You don't know anything about me," Maya hissed. She let out a scream and flipped the rat off her arm.
"Do be gentle with her," the numerologist said. "She’s my family."
Maya grunted. "I don't care. Let me out of here or I'll kill it. I'll break its freaking neck."
The numerologist gasped. "Don't even joke about such a thing. This rat is very dear to me. I'm just trying to help you here, Maya. Four and nine are just not very compatible numbers. Don't you see? There is very little where the four and the nine see eye to eye. The problem is that they simply don't connect. The nine holds on to the past while the four wants to let it go. It's an eternal struggle inside of you and it's eating you up. We need to get you a new name and then everything will change. Everything will be better. I promise you."
The numerologist rose from her chair while mumbling to herself. "So how do we get more threes and eights into the poor girl's life? How to do it. What to name her? L is a three. Yes, we need some ones. And a Z, yes that's an eight. That's good."
The numerologist had an epiphany. She saw the name in front of her eyes like the universe had just sent it to her in a vision. She knew exactly what to call the girl. It was perfect. She walked to the desk and picked up a syringe. Then she walked towards the cage and opened the lock to the large rat cage that was the size of a small human. The rat squeaked and the girl whimpered as she saw the syringe.
"Please don't," she stuttered. She tried to fight her way out, but the numerologist overpowered her easily, then held her down and placed the needle on the skin of her shoulder and emptied its content into the girl's veins.
"It's okay. It's for the better…say goodbye to your old life, Zelllena."
1
April 2014
"HOW CAN A FIFTEEN year old girl simply vanish into thin air?"
I was yelling at the police officer in front of me, not caring one bit that everybody at the small police station in Karrebaeksminde had stopped talking and were now staring at me.
"She’s been missing for three days now. There has to be something you can do. You have to have at least some idea of where she can be."
I felt Morten's gentle hand on my shoulder. He was trying to calm me down, but I didn't want to be calm. I had been looking for Maya for three days now—ever since I got back from Italy and still there was absolutely no trace of her. "
"I know it’s frustrating, Mrs. Frost, but we're doing all we can to find her," the officer I had come to know as Officer Hansen, told me. "Believe me, we want to find her as much as you do.
She hit a man with a car and left him in the street. A hit and run is a very serious crime."
I sighed. I knew he was right. And, frankly, I couldn't believe my daughter would do such a terrible thing. If there was one thing I had taught her it was to own up to your responsibilities. You simply don't run.
"I know you're working hard to find her," I said and looked at Morten next to me. He had been such a wonderful help through it all. I had asked my parents take Victor with them back to the island as soon as we landed in Copenhagen after our disastrous cruise-trip. Morten and I had been staying in a hotel close to the police station in the small town ever since. The man Maya hit was in the hospital in Naestved, the closest big city, only a ten minute drive from Karrebaeksminde.
"I know we've been over this a couple of times," Officer Hansen said and cleared his throat. I could tell this case was beginning to get on his nerves. "But I need you to tell me again. What was your daughter doing in Karrebaeksminde anyway?"
I rubbed my forehead, thinking I was getting tired of answering the same questions over and over again.
"She wanted to get away from her father for some reason I have yet to get clarified. So she stole his car. I have no idea why she drove all the way down here. It's fifty-four miles from where her dad lives and more than a hundred and fifty miles from Fanoe where I live. It's not even on the way to Fanoe, so it appears she wasn't going back to the island. I have no idea where she could have been heading. She doesn't know anyone around here. She just moved back to her father's place in Copenhagen, so she hadn't made many friends before she decided to leave. I spoke to one of her new classmates yesterday, the only one that Maya had apparently been talking to at school, but she knew nothing of Maya's plans to leave. She never told a soul. And that worries me a lot. It's not like her to run away like this. It really isn't. As I told you before, I spoke with her on the phone while I was in Italy. It was right after the accident and I told her to call for an ambulance and then for her father to come and help her. But she never called me back. And she never called her father either."
"Well, I understand you're worried, but this is a typical pattern for a young criminal," Officer Hansen said. "She never called for an ambulance or her dad. She clearly didn't want to be caught. I’ve seen this many times before."
I shook my head in disbelief. "No. Not Maya. She's not like that."
"All parents say that," said the officer. It was one of those statements that it was impossible to argue against.
"I know it’s hard to believe," he continued, "but these are the cold facts. She hit a man, then took the car and drove away. It's very simple."
"No," I said. "I don't think that’s what happened. I'm afraid something bad happened to her after I spoke with her."
Officer Hansen looked troubled. "Well, as far as the police investigation goes, it appears she’s run off and tried to hide from her actions. She’ll show up at some point and then we'll take her in."
I exhaled. I knew there was nothing I could say or do to convince the officer. I had tried for three days now.
"So, why did you call us in again?" I asked. "I thought you had something new to tell me? First you tell me you have no clue where she is, then you call her a criminal. What’s next? Did you just call us in here to insult us?"
"No, I didn't. As a matter of fact, we found something." The officer leaned backwards and pulled out a drawer. He picked something up and put it on the table in front of me. My heart literally dropped.
"Her phone?" I asked, as a million thoughts went through my mind. Maya would never abandon her phone, would she? No, never. She was a teenager. Her phone was her lifeline. "You found her phone?"
"It was thrown into a bush nearby where the accident happened. She probably threw it there herself when she decided to run from her crime…so we wouldn't track her down."
I gritted my teeth. It bothered me how he constantly referred to Maya as a crafty criminal. I knew in my heart she would never do such a terrible thing. I just knew it. The more I’d thought about it in the days after the accident, the more I had reached the conclusion that something had to have happened to her after I spoke with her. I simply refused to believe that Maya could have done this. And I had no intention of just waiting for her to show up on her own. I was going to find her, no matter the cost.
2
April 2014
THE FIRST THING HE noticed were the tubes. They were in his nose, but he couldn't see them. He could feel they were there. Next, there were the voices. There were people talking with low voices, serious voices, authoritative voices. Mads had no idea where he was and tried to open his eyes, but couldn't. He couldn't see anything and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't open his eyelids.
Had he gone blind? Panic spread inside of him. The voices in the room didn't seem to know he was awake.
The accident! I was in an accident. There was a car. Oh my God, I remember now. I was hit by a car.
Suddenly, he remembered in detail how the car had come closer so fast he couldn't react. He remembered thinking this is it before the car knocked him down. He even remembered the eyes of the girl behind the windshield. Those eyes had been so frightened, so terrified, right before she…before she drove right into Mads. He remembered the hit, the pain, and then his body rolling across the front of the car. He even remembered landing on the asphalt. He remembered seeing his own blood on the ground next to him. He remembered hearing the girl scream inside the car. He remembered a long time passed and he wondered what would happen next. He remembered the girl talking and crying. He remembered wondering if she would call for an ambulance. He must have been falling in and out of consciousness. The next thing he remembered was seeing her face close up. He remembered her looking at him. He remembered her reaching down and checking for a pulse. He clearly remembered her weary eyes when she realized what had happened. How did he remember all this?
Mads had no idea. He had to have been conscious at the time, he thought to himself, while pictures from the accident flickered inside of his mind. He saw the car again and again, moving towards him, then the pain, the scream, the girl, crying, then…then there was something else, wasn't there? There was someone there? He remembered seeing someone there before he lost consciousness.
Oh my God, I remember everything. There really was someone there. She took her. She took the girl. She forced her into the car and drove off with her, didn't she? Yes she did. I remember her standing there. I saw her. She walked closer; she looked at me, then at the girl. Then she hit her. Yes, that's what happened. She hit the girl with her fist, knocked her out, and then carried her to the car. Oh God, she hurt the girl. I have to tell someone, I have to tell…
Mads tried hard again to open his eyelids. He could still hear the voices in the distance, they were talking in a monotone, mellow fashion. Why weren't they helping him? Why weren't they aware that he was awake? They had to know. Didn't they?
Mads wanted to speak. He wanted to open his mouth and try to tell everything to the people in the room…tell about the girl and the woman and how he had seen everything. Even if he couldn't see them, they would certainly react when he started speaking.
But nothing happened. No matter how hard Mads tried, no words left his mouth. He didn't even open his mouth.
What the hell is this? What's going on?
"I am very sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Rahbek, but we believe that there isn't any hope for your brother."
Mrs. Rahbek? That's my sister! My sister is here. She can help me. Hey sis. I'm right here!
The male voice continued talking. "Mads was an organ donor. I do believe you and your mother should consider a transplant of his kidneys and liver."
"But it has only been three days?" His sister argued. "Couldn't he suddenly wake up from this coma? It has been known to happen before, hasn't it?"
"It has," the male voice said. "But in your brother's case, I don't believe he will wake up. There is no brain activity at all. I'm sorry. I'm not going
to lie to you. There is no hope for him. We’ll run some tests on his liver and kidneys to see if someone might be able to use them. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Schou."
Mrs. Schou? Mom? That's my mother. My mother is here? Why are they talking about me in the past tense? Why is the man saying there is no hope? There is lots of hope. I'm right here, Mommy, I can hear everything you're saying. I'm not dead. I'm alive. I can hear everything! Stop them. Don't let them take my organs. I need them. I'm alive. Hello? Can anyone hear me? Mommy, don't let them kill me. Don't let them!
"We'll probably need a few more hours before we make the final decision," Mads heard his sister say.
Yes, that's it, sis. Believe in me. I'm back. I'm here. I hear everything. You just need to see it. Look at me. I'm awake. I'm right here.
"His father is trapped in Dubai. He’s trying to get on a plane to be here. We should at least wait to make our decision till he gets here, shouldn't we?" his sister continued.
No one answered. Mads wondered if his dad really was going to arrive to say goodbye. So many times in his life he had told him he was going to be there, but then forgot or ran into something more important.
"We’ve tried to reach Mr. Schou's wife," the male voice said. "We’ve left messages for her, but so far she hasn't been here. Do you have any way of reaching her? She might want to be able to say goodbye."
Say goodbye? What is he talking about? I'm not dead. I'm right here! Hello?
3
April 2012
THEY WERE SO HAPPY on the day of their marriage. Mads and Signe were the couple everyone adored; they were the couple everyone looked up to and wanted to be like. From the outside, everything seemed to be perfect.
