Agnes rose to refill her glass with water from the faucet and hesitated briefly before carefully closing the door to the shop. She slid back into the chair in front of her thesis.
SHE’S SO OUT OF LINE
The door to the back room swung open and Belinda entered, only to stand just inside the room.
Agnes lifted her gaze from her thesis and was shocked to see Belinda crying her eyes out. Cheeks black from washed-out mascara, lips trembling.
“What happened?” Agnes rushed to Belinda, hesitating momentarily before putting her arms around her. “What happened?”
“It’s just, my mum. She’s so out of line.”
Agnes squeezed her tight and let her go. It felt odd holding Belinda in her arms, so instead she helped her into one of the chairs, handing her a roll of paper towels. “Here, take this.”
Belinda grabbed the roll and tore off a few sheets. There were drops of mascara-tinged tears down her clothes. She shook her head as she briefly met Agnes’s stare. She mumbled, “Oh my god.” Another wave of tears streaming down her face. Shaking her head, she bent over and cried in silence.
“I thought I heard you laughing just a minute ago.” Agnes pulled a chair over next to Belinda and sat down. She gently nudged Belinda’s arm. “What’s going on with your mother?”
“She kicked me out of the house.”
“As in right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“But why?”
Belinda fiercely wiped her eyes, smudging the mascara all over her cheeks. She inhaled slowly and finally lifted her eyes to meet Agnes’s stare. “She wants me to stop seeing Christoffer. It’s her way, or the highway.”
Agnes stood up and poured Belinda a glass of water. “Here, drink this.”
Belinda frowned. “I don’t need water. I need a fucking shot of vodka.”
Agnes set the glass on the table.
“She’s just so jealous that I’m young and attractive and she’s such an old hag. Men don’t desire saggy old women, you know? She should stay out of my love life. I’m an adult, a grown woman now. I don't need her sticking her nose into who I do and don’t date. It’s my business who I’m dating, right?”
“I guess.” Agnes wiped a spilled drop of water from the table, using her forefinger. “I’m not sure I get the point here.”
“What’s there not to get? My mother just called to say that if I continue seeing Christoffer, I need to find myself somewhere else to stay.” Tears started rolling from her eyes again. Belinda threw the paper towels on the floor. “Shit! Shitshitshit! I don’t wanna be sitting here whining and crying like a baby!”
“You’re not whining, Belinda. It’s okay.”
Belinda just shook her head.
Agnes looked out the window, trying to gather her thoughts. Being twenty-one years old, it might be good for Belinda to move away from home, learn to stand on her own two feet. “It might not be the end of the world. It could be for the best. One of the few good things about living in this part of the country, is that it’s not hard to find somewhere inexpensive to live. It’s going to be okay.”
Belinda nodded. “I know.”
“What’s the matter with Christoffer? Why does your mother want you to stop seeing him?”
“It’s so lame,” Belinda mumbled. “She…”
Agnes turned her head to the sound of a car stopping outside. “We’ve got a customer.” The sound of a car door slamming and then the humming of the petrol pump.
Laying a hand on Belinda’s shoulder, Agnes stood up. “I’m on it,” she said softly. “Just stay here.”
Belinda tried to smile, her face a mask of tears, snot, and mascara.
HAS THE FINAL STARTED YET?
“Agnes Birkemose,” the customer said, smiling disarmingly. The customer was a man in his forties wearing a dark suit and tie. Although, there was still something rural about him. Maybe it was the slightly ill-fitting suit or the plumpness in his face. Agnes had never seen him before.
“How do you know my name?” she asked, as she checked the consumption figures: Petrol Pump 3, Unleaded, transferring the expense to the cash register. His metallic blue Toyota was still parked next to Pump 3.
“Your name tag.” He pointed at the name tag on the left side of her chest.
“Oh,” she smiled. “Well.” A glance at the cash register. “That’ll be three hundred and fifty-five kroner.”
“By the way!” He raised his forefinger, “I need one of those smelly trees to hang from the rearview mirror.”
“A Wunderbaum?”
“Exactly. Oh, where did I put my wallet?” Searching the pockets in his jacket and trousers. “I’m sure I just had it in my hand a moment ago. I’m so sorry. I’m a little stressed out today. Oh, here it is! In my back pocket. I never put my wallet in my back pocket. Why would it be there?” He shook his head, pulling the credit card from his wallet. “Charge the exact amount.”
“Did you want a Wunderbaum?”
“Oh, yes, of course. I almost forgot.”
“What color? What smell?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Okay, then it’s 380 kroner.”
“The exact amount, please.” He slid the credit card into the machine, typed in his pin code, and accepted the amount to be charged on his credit card. The machine rejected the sale.
“Wrong pin code, it says.”
“I’ll be damned.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “Someday, I’ll manage to forget myself.” He laughed helplessly, retyping the pin code. This time the machine accepted it, and the cash register printed the receipt.
“You want the receipt?”
“No, just keep it.” He was already turning away to leave the shop.
“Don’t forget your Wunderbaum!” She picked it up from the counter and waved it in the air. “I think, you might need to wind down a little.” She smiled to him as he took the Wunderbaum from her hand.
“Yeah, so everybody keeps telling me.” He smiled, sliding the Wunderbaum down his pocket. “Thank you so much, Agnes.”
She smiled, but it was a fake smile. She disliked customers getting too personal.
“Thanks.” He turned around and walked away. Stopping curtly as the automatic door slid to both sides to let him out of the shop, he asked, “Has the final started yet?”
“I believe so.”
“Do you know the score?”
“No.”
“You’re not watching the game out in the back?”
“No.”
“I see.” He nodded a goodbye then rushed to his Toyota, clapping his pockets as he searched for the car keys.
Agnes remained standing behind the counter to gather some strength before going back to Belinda. She watched as the blue Toyota drove off, and a new car turned into the petrol station, stopping next to Petrol Pump 2.
THIS IS GOING ON YOUTUBE
It was an old BMW. White. Rusty. One headlight not working.
Both front doors opened and two young men exited the car. The one driving the car was tall and very muscular. He placed his hands behind his neck and stretched his back, showing off the curves of his chest muscles pressing against the fabric of his t-shirt as he turned his eyes toward the shop.
Agnes looked away, unconsciously stepping back. For one short second, it felt like he was looking straight at her, like his inquiring look was searching to find her standing behind the counter.
A wave of discomfort, maybe even shame, washed over her. Like she’d been caught peeping.
When she found the nerve to look again, he had begun to fill the car, using Petrol Pump 2. The other guy was filming him. She detected the camera in his hand, the strap around his wrist, the flap with the screen on the side of the camera open.
The big guy tried to wave off the other one, reaching for the camera to stop him filming. No luck. The other one laughed, still shooting. The big guy gave up, his large shoulders slumping, he just
stood there, filling the car, as the other zoomed in on his face. With the tank full, the petrol pump shut off. He put the hose back in its place by the pump, fastened the fuel cap and moved inside to pay for the gas, while the guy followed, still filming.
The automatic doors opened and they both entered the shop.
“We want something to drink?” the big guy asked.
The other just laughed as he turned around, filming the shop, the rows, the shelves, the candy, the maps, the fridge, the sodas. Agnes behind the counter. And there he stopped to focus the lens on Agnes.
“Stop it, Frederik!” the big guy laughed. “She doesn’t like it.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Frederik raised his eyes from the camera screen to Agnes’ face, smiling innocently. “We are just fooling around. You don’t mind, do you?” But he was still focusing the camera straight at her face.
Agnes hesitated. “You friend’s right. I’d rather you didn’t.”
“My friend? Who? Oscar?” He turned the camera to film the big guy, who was searching the fridge. “Oscar, are we friends?”
“Stop it. You want anything to drink? Yes or no?” He grabbed himself a cola.
Zooming the camera in, Frederik didn’t answer until Oscar had closed the refrigerator door. “Oh, I would like a cola.”
“Then why didn’t you say so?”
He laughed and turned back to Agnes. She could see the zoom working, his thumb adjusting the switch on top of the camera. He was zooming in on her. Way too much. She didn’t like it at all. What was he focusing on? Her lips? Her neck? Her breasts? No. She believed the camera was pointed at her face.
“Please, stop filming me,” she said, trying to speak with as much authority as she could muster. Which wasn’t much, not enough at least. “Stop filming me!”
“The lady told you to stop, Frederik.” Oscar stepped in front of the camera, blocking it, as he placed the two colas on the counter. “And the gas from Pump 2, of course.”
Agnes turned mechanically to the cash register and typed up the cost of the gas before scanning in the barcodes of the colas.
Oscar drew a 500 kroner note from his pocket as Frederik moved around him, the camera still rolling.
“And here we see our hero paying the picture-perfect shop assistant for gas and cola.” He spoke in the voice of a radio announcer from 1942.
“I apologize, I truly do,” Oscar said to her. “He just got that camera today and he’s been filming every second since he charged the batteries. And I do mean every second. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I’ve been trying to make him stop all day.”
He lowered his eyes as she tried to catch a glimpse of them. Shy? She turned to Frederik. He was zooming in again, though this time there was no doubt about the focus. The camera was aimed squarely at her breast.
“Agnes Birkemose,” he cried, laughing. He must have zoomed in on her name tag. “The beauty of the local petrol station in…Where the fuck are we, Oscar?”
“I’ve no idea. Come on, Frederik. Stop doing that. We’ve got our gas and our colas. We need to head on.”
“The beauty of the petrol station…Agnes, my beauty, can you inform us two visitors to this flat part of the country exactly where we are?”
“I’ve asked you to stop filming me,” she stated, clenching her hands. “So, I expect you to stop filming!”
“The beauty of the petrol station in Redneck, Denmark!” he exclaimed, laughing stupidly. “She’s a true beauty, but these farm girls are known to possess a fearsome temper. Stay alert ladies and gentlemen, as inside this attractive body dwells a dangerous lioness.”
“Please!” she demanded, yet failed to kill the smile forming on her lips. “Just, leave now, okay?”
“Come on, Frederik. We need to go!” Oscar grabbed the change and the two colas, and sent Agnes one last apologetic look. He turned around and exited the shop.
Frederik stayed put, camera still aimed at her. “We’re just fooling around, right? No harm intended. I didn’t mean to offend you. It was just for the fun of it.”
“Just go. Now! Or I will call the cops.”
“Oh my,” he laughed, holding a hand in front of him. “I’ll go. I promise. Just let me have your phone number. I’d really like to get to know you. You seem like a nice person.”
She inhaled very slowly. Feeling the muscles in her back tighten. “Goodbye.”
“I do need your phone number to let you know when this is going on YouTube.”
“Frederik! Come on!” Oscar was yelling out the car window. “I’m leaving right now!”
Frederik shook his head in disbelief. “Agnes,” he said, turning off the camera, “I’m just kidding. I apologize for crossing the line there. Okay?”
“No, it’s not okay. I asked you to stop filming me.” She replied, pointing a finger at him. Already the anger had lost its edge. “And you should have stopped filming me. It’s as simple as that.”
He bowed his head in what looked like some sort of acknowledgment of fault. “Surely I’m not the only one filming someone without consent here, am I? How many cameras have been filming Oscar and me while we’ve been at this petrol station?”
“Goodbye.”
Out by Pump 2, Oscar had started the engine. He honked the horn twice in rapid succession.
THEY HAD A WOMAN IN THE BACKSEAT
“Did you see the woman?” Belinda stood in the doorway to the back room. She’d wiped the black traces of mascara from her face. However, her eyes were still red and swollen from crying.
“What? What woman?”
“They had a woman in the backseat of the car. She was tied up. She must have been. She didn’t move at all. She just sat there. Her mouth covered with duct tape.”
“Duct tape? Those two guys that just left? The ones in the BMW?”
“Yes. They just raced off, tires screeching. They had a woman in the backseat. I think they’d kidnapped her.”
“Oh, no.” Agnes scanned the area next to gas pump two where the BMW was parked moments before. “Oh no, I don’t think so. I would have noticed a woman on the backseat. They weren’t kidnappers, they were just young and stupid.”
“I’m telling you, they had a woman with duct tape covering her mouth sitting on the backseat of the car. I saw her!”
“But how did you manage to see her? The window in the back room faces the other direction. You couldn’t see the car from there.”
“I came out here to help. Judging by what I heard, I figured you needed some backup.”
Agnes stared at her. “You did?”
She nodded.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Belinda nodded again. A nervous tick in the corner of her mouth. “They scare me. Fucking psychos! Don’t you realize what guys like them might do?”
Agnes looked away. “I honestly believe I would have noticed if there were anybody else inside that car.”
“So there was no woman in the backseat, because you didn’t see her?”
Agnes arched her eyebrows.
“But I did see her! She sat there, very erect, almost stiff. Maybe they’d doped her. She had duct tape covering her mouth.”
“Okay. I didn’t see her. Still, she could have been there, I accept that. Shall we leave it there?”
“I can’t stop thinking about what they are going to do to her. Fucking psychos! I once saw a movie where this psycho guy had a bunch of women locked up down in his basement. He tortured them. It was like, sick and vile.”
Agnes sighed, biting her lip. Maybe, you shouldn’t watch so many movies, Belinda? “Do you want to call the police? If there was a woman tied up in the backseat of that car, we should be able to see it on the recordings from the surveillance cameras. They’re being recorded on a hard disk somewhere I believe.”
Belinda shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back again. “No, fuck it. We don’t want the cops all over the place.” And with that, s
he turned around and returned to the back room.
Agnes stayed put, looking at the clock on the wall. Closing time was still hours away. She imagined what Benjamin was doing right now. Glued to the TV-set, watching the final no doubt. She was already feeling so tired.
“I hope they were the last customers of the evening,” Belinda said when Agnes entered the back room moments later.
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t want to lose our bet. There’s already been three customers, right?”
THE BLOOD FELT STICKY ON HER FINGERS
“Baby is that you?” Trying to open her eyes even wider in the complete darkness, she carefully stretched a hand toward the sound of a man’s breath somewhere in front of her. “Baby?”
There came no answer but a faint grunt of pain somewhere in the inky blackness ahead.
She got on her hands and knees, grinding her teeth as a wave of pain flashed through her body. Sweat dripped from her chin. Her heart beat faster, and faster, and faster. She groped ahead, trying to feel her way to the moaning man. Only, he wasn’t moaning anymore, the sound had gone. She couldn’t hear anything but her own breathing, her own heartbeat.
“Baby?” She rolled on her side to take the weight off her knees. The raw concrete floor had torn abrasions on her knees. She fought her heavy breathing, trying to force it into a slower and less noisy rhythm. She fought the terror raging through her insides, quivering her soul, the rush of adrenaline, and the hammering of her heart. She needed to be quiet. Her body needed to be silent.
She could feel the concrete crumble under her hands, the smell of fungus and humid air, the sense of damp cold. She could hear steps from somewhere in the building, another room, a hallway maybe. Voices; muffled, unintelligible. Unrecognizable.
“Baby?” she whispered. Hoping that it was him. Hoping that it wasn’t him. Hoping he got away. Hoping he was out there somewhere getting help. Hoping he was coming to save her. Hoping it was him, so he could hold her, so she wouldn’t be alone in this terrible darkness, so they could fight their way out of here together.
The Ringmaster Page 2
