Rebekka Franck Series Box Set vol 1-5

by Willow Rose

  "Oh my God, the chat room," I said. "You're Thomas De Quincey, aren't you? You ordered me killed, didn't you?"

  Peter shrugged with a smile. "Guilty as charged. Nice name, don't you think? He wrote the essay On Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts in 1827. He wrote about the Society for the Encouragement of Murder and that's how I got my idea. De Quincey wrote that the members of this secret gentlemen's club profess to be curious in homicide, amateurs and dilettanti in the various modes of carnage, and, in short, Murder-Fanciers. Every fresh atrocity of that class which the police annals of Europe bring up, they meet and criticize as they would a picture, statue, or other work of art."

  "But Peter, his essay was satirical. It’s fiction. It's a joke."

  "I know that," Peter said. "But he gave me the idea. Once I was back from Iraq, I missed the action, I missed the war, so I kept going back either to Iraq or Afghanistan, but I was never quite satisfied. It just wasn't as fun when it was war, you know. I needed something new, so that's how I came up with my own club for killer artists like me."

  "Artists? What the hell are you talking about?"

  "The art of killing of course." Peter paused and looked around. "Do try and keep up here, Rebekka. I hate having to repeat things."

  I remained shocked and speechless.

  "Oh, you need to see this as well," he said with pride. "This is what I think will make people want to come from all over the world."

  Peter grabbed my arm and dragged me again. I followed him fearing what would come next.

  "This one is quite impressive," he said. "Look at all the gold on the caskets."

  "Is that the remains of the two kings? You are the one who stole the dead kings from the churches?"

  "Yes. They're perfect for my purpose. You see both of them were murdered. The murder of Erik Klipping is still unsolved to this day. Fits right into my exhibition, I figured."

  I shook my head, not understanding how I had not seen how insane Peter really had become. He had fooled us all, hadn't he? Pretending to have changed when, in fact, it was much worse than any nightmare I could have imagined.

  "Oh and the last part. The best part, well, for me at least, since it's my contribution," Peter said and dragged me again.

  "It's empty Peter. There is nothing there," I said and stared at the vacant wall.

  "Yes, but imagine the entire wall plastered with photos of someone who knows they are about to die, and then slowly dying … documented with a picture each minute of their dying hours. Wouldn't that be neat? I don't think the world has ever seen that before. Read the sign."

  I looked at the wall again and found the small metal plate. My heart stopped as I read it.

  Rebekka Franck's dying minutes.

  56

  AUGUST 2012

  "WHAT THE HELL IS this Anna? What are you going to do? What do you mean you'll take my heart?"

  Anna looked at the man she had once loved and smiled. "I meant just what I said, Michael. See, I have been collecting new organs for our son, and all I need is a new heart."

  "But … but Valdemar is dead?" I don't understand."

  "I dug him up. I wanted to be with him. Do you have any idea how much I miss him every day of my life, do you Michael?"

  "N … No."

  "Where were you, Michael?" Anna asked.

  "Where was I … when? Anna, I really don't think you're well …"

  Anna leaned in over Michael's numb body. He was still naked. She looked into his eyes and shook her head slowly. "Where were you when he died, Michael?"

  "I … I don't know. How am I supposed to know?" Michael said with a shivering voice.

  "How are you supposed to know? Well, any normal father who cared would know exactly where he was at the moment his son died. I know where I was, Michael. I was right next to him. I had given him a part of my one lung, but it wasn't enough. I begged the doctor to take more, to take whatever my son needed, but he refused. It would kill me, he said and he wasn't allowed to do that. Can you imagine, Michael sitting there holding him in your arms while he draws his last breath? Huh? Can you? No, of course you can't, 'cause you WEREN'T there, were you? Did you look into his big beautiful eyes and tell him how sorry you were that you couldn't save him, did you? No you didn't. But I did, Michael. I held him with these arms, these two arms while he slowly died. And then I screamed, Michael. I screamed and cried in anger because, if anyone deserved to live, it was him. Because I knew he could have lived, if only his dad hadn't been such a BASTARD."

  Anna was crying now and lifted the scalpel into the light to make sure Michael saw it. His eyes grew wide. "Anna, I … I …"

  "It's too late, Michael. There is nothing you can say to bring him back to me. He was my everything, Michael. He was all I had and now … now I'm alone. Alone with my shame, alone with my guilt that I couldn't save my only son. Where were you, Michael? Were you with your new family? With your new son?"

  "I … I don't kno …"

  "Of course you don't. Because you don't care, do you? And then, what happens next? I call his dad's office to let him know that his son died and when the funeral is." Anna fought her tears and anger. She spoke through gritted teeth. "You didn't even show up for the funeral, Michael. You just had your secretary send a flower arrangement."

  "I was out of town."

  "Doing what, Michael? Selling your new product? Selling the new game that saved your company and saved your job, huh? And tell me, Michael, what is the name of that game, huh? The game you're now making millions off of? The game you pretend is yours?"

  A shadow crossed Michael's face.

  "What's the name of it, Michael?" Anna yelled.

  "Mindskill," Michael said with a low voice.

  "Mindskill, huh? Now, is that a coincidence? Your son created a game with the exact same name. It couldn't, by any chance, be the same game, now could it? NO you would never just steal it, would you? You would at least give him the credit and maybe send a check to his mother every now and then since it has become such a huge success, am I right? How could you, Michael? You know that all he ever wanted was for you to accept him, for you to see how smart he was and for you to love him despite his handicap. Why couldn't you just do that? Everything he ever did, he did to make you proud, to make you finally see him. You couldn't even give him the credit for having invented the game could you?"

  "Look Anna, if this is about the money, then I am willing to …"

  "It was never about any money. I don't need your blood money. Valdemar doesn't need your blood money. We don't need anything from you. We don't want anything from you." Anna paused and looked at Michael's chest. "Except for your heart."

  Then she lifted the scalpel and sank it into his skin. Michael screamed as he watched Anna make an eight-inch incision cut down the center of his chest wall. Then, she cut his breastbone and opened his rib cage to reach his heart, when suddenly, someone knocked on the door.

  "We don't want to be disturbed," she yelled, but the knocking didn't stop.

  "Room service," the person outside yelled. Anna took off her gloves, walked to the door, and opened it just enough to peek out. "We didn't order any …" Then she paused. The face greeting her on the other side of the door was suddenly very familiar.

  "So Bill Durgin is a woman, huh?" The man said. "Well I'll be damned."

  57

  AUGUST 2012

  "PETER, PLEASE, DON'T DO this to me." Peter had put me in a straitjacket and was now tightening it on my back so I couldn't move. Then, he tied me to a plank of some sort.

  "You know, I found this among a bunch of equipment in the basement recently. I believe it must have been used back when the place was a mental hospital. It's exciting to think about who might have worn it before, don't you think? It could have been a famous historical person."

  "I doubt it, Peter."

  Peter laughed. "Well, maybe not. But I do have a feeling about this place. You know, back when you first left me, I came out here and often spent weeks here
, just walking the hallways and discovering the place. I have made many friends here. The place is filled with history. Like that doctor that I told you about. I have met him. He killed himself after killing more than a hundred patients here doing all kinds of experiments on them. He shot himself and his family in room 237, but every now and then, I meet him in there. He has a big hole in his head from the shot right here, and there is blood all over the walls and floor, "Peter said and put a finger to his forehead with a grin.

  "Peter, you're hurting me. It's too tight," I said. "Please just let me go, will you? Let me and Julie go. You don't want to hurt us, I know you Peter."

  Peter lifted his camera and took a series of pictures. "There you go. The first one for the wall. The one where you start pleading for your life." He giggled in delight. "Isn't this fun? Oh, did you know that back when this place was a hospital for the mentally ill, they simply called the patients ‘lunatics’? It's the truth; that's what the doctor told me. Back then, the mentally ill were people who had to be put away, they were an embarrassment to the family, so they were often forgotten once they arrived here at the asylum. So, the dear doctor could perform any experiment and treatment he pleased. No one ever cared."

  I stared at Peter, wondering how I was ever going to get out of this. Julie was still downstairs and I just hoped that she would stay safe. "That's all very interesting, Peter, but what are you going to do to me?" I asked, thinking it would be best if I kept the conversation going. Maybe an opening would come. Maybe I could talk him out of it.

  "Oh, I have something extraordinary planned for you, Rebekka, dearie. Don't you worry about that. It's going to be spectacular."

  Peter walked towards a small box covered by a cloth. Peter looked at me with excitement in his eyes and pulled the cloth off.

  "Ta-da."

  A small cage appeared underneath. Inside of it was a huge rat. He was staring at me with empty black eyes and vibrating whiskers. I had always hated rats more than anything in this world. Any nightmare I’d ever had, always contained at least one rat. Peter knew that.

  "Peter. You know I hate rats. What are you doing with that?" I said, with my heart in my throat.

  Peter opened the cage, took out the rat, and held it in his hand. I started breathing heavier, gasping in fear of what he was going to do with it.

  "Isn't he a beauty?" Peter said and lifted the rat so I could better look at it. "It was actually the doctor who came up with the idea. He told me that he used rats in many of his experiments. See, back in the late eighteen hundreds, when this place was an asylum, the doctor thought rats were able to find diseases in the human body and eat them. One of his many theories was that mental illness was caused by something growing inside of the patient, overshadowing the patient's way of thinking, making them think they saw things they didn't and making them filled with fear and so on. So, his theory was that the rats would be able to detect the disease in the body and remove it like trash from a garbage can."

  "So, what did he do?" I asked with a shivering voice.

  "You'll see," Peter said. "It's very simple really." Peter grinned and found a metal bucket. Then he placed the bucket on top of my stomach and put the rat underneath it.

  I felt sick to my stomach just thinking of the creature on top of me. Peter then found an old Bunsen burner that reminded me of chemistry lab in high school.

  "Peter what are you doing?"

  Peter found his camera and took another series of pictures before he turned on the Bunsen burner, then started heating up the metal bucket. "Peter I don't like this," I cried. "What are you doing?"

  "As the container is being gradually heated, the rat will begin to look for a way out. The only way out is through the patient's body. Digging a hole, by gnawing its way through the straitjacket and then your skin, will probably take a few hours of agonizing pain for you. And then result in certain death."

  58

  AUGUST 2012

  IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG before I started feeling the rat gnawing on the straitjacket. The thought of those teeth soon nibbling my skin scared me to death. My entire body was shivering in fear.

  "Peter I promise I'll … I'll do anything for you."

  Peter stroked my head gently. "Oh, but dear Rebekka. You just aren't well, are you? You need to be cleansed. The doctor told me how I could cure you."

  "But Peter," I cried. "This will kill me. You told me so yourself."

  "But then you'll be made immortal afterwards, Rebekka. Through my pictures, through my art, you'll stay alive for eternity."

  Slowly I felt the straitjacket gave in to the rat's sharp teeth. "Peter please, don't do this …"

  As I spoke, suddenly a sound interrupted me. Peter heard it too and turned to look. I couldn't believe my eyes. In through the door came Henrik Fenger. He looked like he had been through hell and back. His clothes and hair were soaking wet, his eyes looked like those of a mad man.

  "Who the hell are you?" Peter asked. "What are you doing here? This is private property."

  I wanted to scream for help, but somehow the expression on Henrik Fenger's face made me hesitate. I was whimpering while feeling the rat gnawing through the jacket and now reaching the fabric of my shirt. Next would be my bare skin.

  "Thomas De Quincey, I presume?" Henrik Fenger said.

  Peter growled and walked closer. "Who the hell are you? Who told you where to find me?"

  "Anna," Henrik Fenger said. "You probably know her as Bill Durgin. I killed her a couple of hours ago. You told her to bring you her contribution, remember? She told me all about it before I slit her throat with her own scalpel. You were stupid enough to give her this address where she was supposed to bring the body of her son. Quite the wacko, huh? Trying to keep her dead son alive by putting in new organs? What a lunatic."

  Henrik Fenger had developed a tic in his left eye and was constantly blinking now. I could feel the rat's teeth on the other side of the fabric.

  "I don't know what you're talking about. We're kind of in the middle of something here," Peter said. He had clenched his fist and was waiting for the right moment to attack Henrik Fenger. Henrik saw it too, but he didn't seem the least bit scared. More like he was really angry.

  "She was a loose end anyway, Thomas," Henrik said. "It was too easy to figure out where she was. She wrote, or rather Billy wrote that she was watching her next victim eating soft tofu soup. Well anyone travelling in hotels in Denmark knows there is only one hotel that serves only vegan, organic food and that's Skal's Hotel in Vensyssel. See the thing is, everybody knows it, but it's the only hotel in Vendsyssel and there isn't a restaurant anywhere near, so you're kind of stuck with their annoying food, aren't you? So I figured that no man, and we knew all of her victims were travelling men, didn't we? Well cheating travelling men, that is. So, I figured that no man would want to eat tofu soup unless he was forced to, if you know what I mean."

  "I really don't care," Peter said. He lifted his clenched fist and stormed against Henrik. He punched him and cracked his lip, but to my surprise Henrik didn't even move. Blood was running down his chin and he still didn't even stop smiling.

  "Is that it, Thomas? Is that all you've got? ‘Cause I've gotta say, it wasn't much of a punch." Henrik lifted his clenched fist and slammed it into Peter's face. The blow forced him to stumble backwards. I gasped while watching Peter's eyes roll back in his head. His nose bled heavily. He landed on the floor and his head was still spinning when he sat up.

  "Now try again, Thomas 'cause I really was looking forward to a proper fight. After all, you were the guy who gave Anna the idea that she should take my kidney, now weren't you? You are the guy I have been searching for. The mastermind, or should I say kingpin? Maybe you just need a little more motivation. Maybe if I told you I killed Karl Persson as well. And … uh … Michael Cogliantry and Alex Andreyer. Everyone in that pathetic little chat room of yours. I pretended to be Karl and then set up a meeting with each and every one of them. Told them we should go on a killing spree
together. Guess it wasn't a complete lie, huh?" Henrik laughed.

  Peter finally managed to get to his feet, then stormed towards Henrik, slamming his fist into his face, causing Henrik to fall backwards. Then Peter was all over him. I tried to move in my straitjacket and suddenly realized that the rat had bitten its way through what was holding my arms. Suddenly my arms were loosened and I was able to move them. My right hand was soon freed and I managed to hit the bucket onto the ground. I screamed as I saw the rat. It was still gnawing on my clothes, but as soon as it realized the bucket was gone, it shrieked and jumped for the ground. I twisted my body back and forth and soon, my other hand was free as well, and I was able to squirm out of the jacket. Panting, I put my feet on the ground and watched as the two men fought each other, panting, throwing punches, yelling and groaning.

  I looked around me to see if I could spot a second exit and found a small door in the other end of the room, behind a part of Peter's macabre exhibition. I opened it and snuck through. I ran down the stairs, stormed into Julie's room, and found her on the bed. She had been crying. In her hand she was holding my cellphone that Peter had taken from me and left in the kitchen when he dragged me upstairs.

  "I called the police," she said. "They should be here any minute."

  EPILOGUE

  I WAS HOLDING MY dad's hand when he woke up. Three days had passed since I had escaped the castle in Brabrand holding Julie in my arms. While we were running outside, we heard sirens blaring in the distance. We found the boat Henrik had used to get to the island and sailed away to safety while hundreds of officers stormed the house.

  Apparently, Peter had put up a fight, so the officers had ended up shooting him, while Henrik Fenger was arrested for breaking and entering. He ended up paying a fine. The police never could find evidence enough to accuse him of any of the killings that I knew he had committed. The story had gone worldwide about the lunatic man alone in a castle on an isolated island who wanted to make the exhibition from hell. The kings' coffins were returned to the churches and I took Julie back to Karrebaeksminde to be with my dad while he was recovering.