And the expectation of pains to come.
BELINDA’S VOICE EVAPORATING INTO THIN AIR
Belinda lingered by the door as Agnes slid her laptop into the backpack, collected her papers and books.
“We can’t just leave and go home. We are working here!” Belinda argued.
“I’ll call Arni and tell him what’s happened. He has to understand. I can’t be here anymore. Not tonight. Look at my hands! They’re shaking.” Agnes held her hands up for Belinda to see. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going home.”
“It was just Christoffer. It was just a prank. Listen to me, Agnes!”
“It wasn’t funny to me.” She placed her backpack on the table and shoved her books and papers in next to her laptop. After that, she dropped her arms by her sides and looked at Belinda. “What are you saying?”
“Closing time is less than two hours away. I need to get that paint off the carwash wall. If Arni sees it and finds out that Christoffer did it, I’ll lose my job. I’ll be sacked the minute he finds out.”
“No, you won’t.”
She retorted. “How well do you know Arni?”
Agnes tilted her head. Actually, she didn’t know the man at all. She hadn’t had this job for more than a few weeks. “Maybe I’m overreacting,” she said. “It’s the thing about someone paying Christoffer to scare us that I don’t like. The thought of someone sitting somewhere else, getting their kicks outta watching the recordings from Christoffer’s cell phone; That’s what freaks me out.”
Belinda smiled. “He’s so full of shit sometimes. Don’t overthink it, it was probably all lies.”
Agnes sensed her face tightening. Unable to return the smile, no matter how hard she tried, she turned away from Belinda to look out the window. The window was facing the dark back side of the petrol station and, by now, she really couldn’t see anything but the reflection of the back room. She nodded and closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts and feelings. She was scared. But she was also angry. Anger being the dominant feeling she reckoned now, as she took the time to reflect on her own feelings. And it was Belinda who was the subject of her anger. The threat Christoffer painted on the carwash wall hit some nerve deep inside her soul, and she was not going to stand for it. Besides, she was goddamn tired of listening to Belinda making excuses for him! She’d had it with this crap. That was it, kaboom, thank you so much Belinda. I’ll leave it up to you to get your ass out of this bloody mess. I’m out of here!
Agnes filled her lungs, aiming to release her anger. She didn’t believe in anger, she didn’t believe in acting out on impulse. So instead, she grabbed her backpack, looking straight at Belinda who was clenching her hands deep in the pockets of her hoodie.
“Belinda,” Agnes said in a calm but cold voice. “I can’t stand listening to you making excuses for that loser anymore. I got so fucking scared, okay?”
Belinda nodded. “So did I.”
Agnes held her glare, still feeling the rush of anger, and an unfamiliar and unwelcome urge to hurt Belinda.
“Let’s see if we can find a way to get that paint off, shall we?”
It took a while for Belinda to comprehend the words but when she did, her face lit up with relief. “Maybe the paint’s still wet, we need to hurry.”
A tired sense of release took over as anger left Agnes’ body. She did well, she thought. She was above her own fury. She’s better than that, she’s just proven that she is. “Maybe all we have to do is to start the carwash?”
“We might want to remove the paint pail before that.” There was joy forming in Belinda’s voice. However, that stopped the second they heard a car entering the petrol station.
“That better not be Arni showing up,” Belinda said, going out into the shop.
Agnes followed her, thinking what a night, and shaking her head. But the next instant, she was slamming into Belinda’s back, who had halted abruptly.
“What is it?”
“There’s no car.”
Agnes peered over Belinda’s shoulder at the brightly lit area under the petrol station’s canopy. No car anywhere.
“You heard it too, right?” Belinda asked.
“Of course, I did.” She pushed past Belinda to have a look at the screen showing live images from the surveillance cameras. No car to be seen anywhere. Not in the carwash, not by the petrol pumps. “Maybe it went around the back?”
“Why should it?” Belinda’s voice evaporating into thin air.
YOU ARE THE STAR OF TONIGHT’S SHOW
Someone tore the bag off her head, the heavy fabric scratching her nose and swollen lips. A second after, the bright light hurt her eyes, and again she was blinded, but not as fiercely as the last time.
A few seconds passed before she was able to glimpse the dark shadow of the clown moving in front of her, the light still hurting her eyes. A few seconds more, and the clown emerged in all his hideous insanity: The blood on his white slaughterhouse overalls. The crying clown mask. The green hair.
He was alone. The iron door behind him was closed and Benjamin was tied to a chair like herself. A black bag made of heavy cloth over his head, with a yellow smiley printed on the front of it. Only partly visible from where she was sitting, but more because Benjamin’s head was resting against his chest. His body now limp, blood still flowing freely from the wound in his thigh, running down his seat to pool on the concrete floor. He was dying. He needed a bandage. Someone had to stop the bleeding or he was going to bleed to death.
The clown bowed deeply in front of the one-way mirror and then turned to each of the three video cameras, miming a happy salute to each of them. Two of the cameras were positioned under the ceiling in the corners of the room, the last one she couldn’t see from where she was seated, but judging by the direction the clown saluted, it appeared to be placed somewhere behind her back. She could hear a fait hum from one of the cameras, as it zoomed in on her face. She felt very naked, very vulnerable, and very afraid.
The clown stroked her chin with a soft hand, gently lifting her head to force her to look directly into the camera.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She moved her head, trying to shake off his hand.
“Tell us your name, Agnes.”
That voice. Like the eyes. She knew it from somewhere.
“What is your name?”
“Ag…Agnes Birkemose.”
“Please, Agnes, would you be so kind as to tell us something about yourself?”
Terror wracking through her body and soul, her mouth was dry. She shook her head. “Please, let us go. Benjamin’s bleeding so bad, he needs to go to the hospital. Please.”
“Tell us something about yourself! How old are you?” He tightened his grip on her chin as his other hand slid into his pocket. “How old are you!”
“Twenty-six.”
“Where do you work?”
“The petrol station.”
“The young gentleman sitting in the other chair is your boyfriend, correct?”
He shoved her head sideways to make her glimpse Benjamin, but jerked it back immediately. Now, he was holding a strange tool in his other hand. He lifted the tool for her to see. “Do you know what this is?”
She shook her head. “A…pliers?”
“It’s shears for steel plate cutting.”
She was scheming like crazy, trying to figure a way to get out of the chair but it was hopeless. Whoever tied her up knew what he was doing. Shivering, she broke down crying as he opened the shears and slid them over her breasts. He caught one nipple between the two blades and squeezed the handles just enough for the shears to dig into her flesh, but not breaking the skin. She stiffened, trying to pull away, but of course she couldn’t. Her skin shone with a mix of sweat and dirt.
“You are the star of tonight’s show, my beautiful. It’s a sad show; A tragedy, filled with pain and passion. It’s a dark and shadowy circus you‘ve become a part of, but tonight, you are the star. Now, salute your a
udience!” He turned her head toward the one-way mirror. “You can’t see them, but they can see you my dear. Salute them!”
She was shaking so badly, feeling so scared, she couldn’t find the words. Nothing but incoherent sounds escaping her swollen lips.
The clown gently squeezed the handles of the shears again, making the blades dig deeper into her nipple, sending a flash of pain through her body.
She screamed.
“Greet them!” he repeated.
“He…Hello!” she whimpered.
“Tell the audience that you honestly hope they will enjoy your death.”
“No, no! You mustn’t! I haven’t…”
The shears dug in deeper. “Say it!”
She was crying so hysterically now, sobbing loudly as she said the words, “I…hope…you will…enjoy…my death.”
“That’s a big girl,” the clown whispered, patronizing joy in his voice. He removed the shears from her breast and turned to face the one-way mirror. “Let the show begin!” he shouted triumphantly.
LIKE ‘DISASTER DATE’ ON MTV
“Why would anybody drive around the back of the petrol station? Why?” The words flying out of Belinda’s mouth, still her voice not much more than a whisper.
“How would I know?” retorted Agnes, eyes locked on the backdoor, as she pulled out her phone. “Where else could it have gone? Tell me, did you notice any glare from the lights of the car?”
“No.” Belinda looked from the cell phone in Agnes’s hand, to the backdoor. “You’re not calling the police, are you?”
“I’m calling Benjamin. I didn’t see any glare from the headlights either. Still, we both heard the car turn into the petrol station. We heard the engine. It tells me one thing. Somebody must have switched off the headlights in advance before turning in here, and then also the engine as the car rolled around the back. I’m calling Benjamin, to tell him to come around and pick me up this instant. You can come along if you want to.”
“But why would anyone drive around the back with the lights out?”
“Why would anyone pay your boyfriend to scare the shit out of us?”
Belinda swallowed a lump, turning around to check out at the brightly lit area. “Someone has moved the air pump again. See!”
“Of course, they have.” leveled Agnes, not even glancing at the air pump and calling Benjamin, “They like their games.”
“They?”
“Sure—one man couldn’t do all this by himself.” The phone beeped against her ear, Benjamin not answering the call. “If he’s not answering because the final’s still on…” sneered Agnes through clenched teeth, when the answering machine took over.
“Hi, this is Benjamin. I’ve probably left my cell phone somewhere. Leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you when I find it.”
“Benjamin! It’s me. I want you to come to the petrol station right now and pick me up. Something’s happening…I don’t know what…I’m scared…hurry!” She cut the line and stashed the phone away.
“The first time that air pump was standing like that, I thought to myself that it smelled like candid camera…” Belinda looked at her, a faint hope flickering in her eyes. “Do you think…?”
“No.”
“Like ‘Disaster Date’ on MTV or…”
“This is too creepy. I’m so scared, Belinda. Candid camera’s supposed to be funny, right?”
“Maybe…It’s funny afterwards?”
Belinda’s lower lip began to tremble, to quiver. Her hands began to shake, and fear flooded her eyes, as they both heard the unmistakable sound of a car door opening behind the petrol station.
AND SUDDENLY SHE MANAGED TO BREATHE AGAIN
“Don’t cry, Agnes,” the clown cooed. “It’s only showbiz after all.” He transferred the shears to his other hand. “I promise, I won’t kill you, okay?”
Agnes was hunched over in the chair as far as the ropes allowed. Tears and drool were dripping from her chin. She turned her head ever so slightly and sized up the clown, trying to read his eyes behind the mask.
“I promise,” he repeated. “I won’t kill you—and nobody else will either—until you beg us to do it.”
He laughed. A goofy, sneaky, almost shy laugh. He sounded a little like a teenage boy trying to lure a girl out of her panties.
The clown turned his back to her and shuffled in tiny swinging, dancing-like steps over to Benjamin, who still appeared unconscious.
“No!” Agnes gasped. “Don’t. Leave him alone!”
The clown tore the smiley bag from Benjamin’s head, opened the shears and placed them under Benjamin’s nose.
Agnes stiffened as the terror of the situation drained her lungs, paralyzed her, made everything stand still. Her lips formed a silent ‘no’ but she had no air to make the sound.
Conversely, there was plenty of sound to be heard when the clown snapped the shears shut, and Benjamin jolted to life. Howling from pain, he threw himself about, unable to free himself from the ropes. The clown used the shears again, and again…
Agnes couldn’t see Benjamin as the clown was now blocking her view, but she could hear him, and she could certainly hear the snapping sound of the shears.
Suddenly she managed to breathe again. She screamed, yelled, spat, threatened, bargained, begged, cried. She was unsure her words gave meaning anymore, she was unsure, she gave meaning anymore, she was so lost in this madness, this terror, the stench of blood.
With horror, she witnessed a finger falling to the dirty floor, and she couldn’t takes her eyes off it. That finger had touched her, caressed her, she had kissed it, bit it, held it. It used to be Benjamin’s finger.
She stopped screaming, slumping her shoulders. Her chest heaving as her breath hissed through her sore throat and tears blurred her vision, still she saw the finger. It was lying on its side, giving her a clear view of the nail. Her eyes locked on the finger, riveted. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, daren’t, mustn’t take her eyes from the finger. There was nothing but the finger here. Nothing else was happening. She couldn’t let it happen. She couldn’t accept that this was happening. It wasn’t happening to her. It’s not her boyfriend, not her beloved Benjamin being cut open with shears for cutting steel plates. It’s not his blood pooling under the chair. It has nothing to do with her. She’s shutting it out, closing herself down, blocking it all out.
The clown was at his best. He even started whistling a happy little tune as he sliced away. Blood oozing down his hand, making the gloves slippery. Repeatedly, he was close to dropping the shears, but he wasn’t going to let a small thing like that stop him. He was an artist almost at his peak. Benjamin had fallen silent now. Dead. Still this didn’t stop the clown. He was possessed, bewitched by bloodlust.
Meanwhile, the three cameras zoomed in with a greedy humming, two of them aimed directly at Agnes’s face.
I JUST FELT TRAPPED BEHIND THE COUNTER
Soon after, the car door slammed shut, followed by the sound of shouting and a commotion out the back.
“What’s happening?” Belinda whispered.
Agnes bent down to grab the fire extinguisher from the shelf beneath the counter. She lifted it, weighing it in her hands, and replied with a shrug. She jumped up onto the counter and slid down the other side.
“Where are you going?” Belinda reluctantly shifted her stare from the backdoor to look at her.
“I just felt trapped behind the counter,” Agnes whispered, once again scouring the lighted area around the rows of petrol pumps. The air pump was still standing in the middle of it all. She spotted lights out on the highway, moving in this direction. A single headlight. She remembered the two fools with the love doll and the camera, driving the BMW with the broken headlight but it could’ve been anybody. It didn’t matter, so long as they stopped at the petrol station.
The commotion out the back had stopped and all was quiet again.
“You got a weapon?” Agnes asked.
Belinda shot her a
long, silent stare, her eyes narrowed. She was biting her lower lip hard, making it turn white despite the firm layer of lip-gloss. She nodded and lifted a heavy wrench. “From the box of forgotten items,” she whispered.
Agnes nodded. Why the hell didn’t she think of looking in that box for a weapon? It was full of stuff customers had left behind at the petrol station; tank covers of all sizes, cell phones, sunglasses, and all kinds of stuff. People forgot the weirdest things.
“You cover the backdoor, okay? I got this one.”
A fast nod.
Just then, the backdoor slammed open and Christoffer stumbled inside. His hair a sweaty mess clinging to his head. His eyes wild, exited, scared. He staggered, grabbing the wall for support, sending magazines, newspapers, and bags of candy tumbling to the floor. Then fell to his knees gasping for air.
It was only then that Agnes saw the blood, and in seeing the blood it was impossible to comprehend that she didn’t notice it sooner, as the whole front of his shirt was covered in it.
“Run!” he gasped as he slid to the floor. “Run for your life!”
LOOSING THE BALANCE FOR A MOMENT
“Christoffer!” Belinda dropped the wrench and fell to her knees next to him. He was muttering incomprehensible words, holding his stomach, where his blood had dyed the fabric red. “Talk to me, Chris! I’m here. I’m right here.”
Unable to shift her watch over the wide open backdoor and the darkness behind it, Agnes backed away from where Belinda was kneeling over Christoffer. She backed into the shelves of potato chips, losing her balance for a moment as bags of chips fell to the floor all around her. The whole row of shelves caving in and crashing to the floor, pulling her down as it hit the fridge and the postcard stand, flipping it over and sending postcards flying everywhere. Rolling on to her hands and knees, she started moving instantly, stumbling out of the automatic doors with her pulse hammering in her ears. Only to face the bright glare from the sole headlight of a motorcycle with a sidecar.
The Ringmaster Page 6
