by Willow Rose
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 n
ow. 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.
