by Rose, Willow
"Samuel would never hurt her. He loves her. Sometimes I think she is the only one who gets him around here."
"He might not mean to, but she could get hit by something he's throwing. You know he can't control it once he takes off like he did tonight. He doesn't think."
Alexandra picked up a broken piece of an old lamp from the floor. "I loved this lamp," she said. "It used to be my grandmother's."
Poul helped her pick up the rest of the pieces and put them in the trash. Then they found a roll of garbage bags and started throwing everything out. Two hours later, they went to bed. It took Alexandra a while to calm down and she cried secretly for about an hour. She didn't want Poul to see how upset she really was, since she was afraid he would start resenting the boy again.
Finally, around midnight, she fell into a deep sleep.
A little later, she was pulled out of her sleep by a strange sound. She opened her eyes and looked at the clock. It was only two a.m. She blinked her eyes. What had woken her? She lifted her head and saw Samuel. He was standing by her bedside, staring at her with a strange look in his eyes.
"Sammy? What are you doing up? It's only two a.m. Did you have a bad dream?"
Suddenly, she was wide awake. She looked down at his PJs and his arm.
Oh my God. Oh my God! He is covered in blood! Is he holding a knife in his hand?
Alexandra sat up and looked at the boy. "Sammy, what are you doing with that knife? What have you done?"
That was when her heart stopped.
Olivia!
She stormed past Samuel into the nursery next door.
Please don't let this be true. Please don't let the blood be Olivia's! Please God! Please, NO!
Alexandra didn't even manage to finish the thought. Once she saw the blood on the crib, she knew it was too late. Samuel was behind her now; she turned and screamed into his face.
"What have you done!!!!?”
In his eyes, she saw nothing. No emotion of any kind. Just pitch blackness. No remorse, no regret, no I'm sorry, Mom, the voices told me to do this, no explanation. Nothing.
He opened his mouth and spoke: "You're stupid, Mom."
She barely saw what happened. She only felt the pain from the knife as it sank into her chest and made her heart stop immediately.
68
February 2014
MORTEN CALLED AGAIN TO tell me it looked like they might be in luck.
"Looks like our friend have made a mistake," he said. "The security cameras were on the entire time while he placed Victor inside the bank. Well, not all of them, since he managed to shut most of them off, but one was still working; one, I'm guessing, he didn't know about. They had it installed just a week ago."
"That is wonderful news," I exclaimed.
"Yeah. Now we're going through the footage, but so far we haven't been able to see his face properly, since he's wearing a cap."
"No glasses or long hair?" I asked.
"Not this time, no. Maybe that's because we released the sketch of him. "
"But you can't see his face properly, huh?"
"No, but at least, so far, we can see him placing Victor and there is no longer any doubt about Victor’s innocence. So, you can breathe a little lighter now. It was a wild thing you did to take him home before we had him examined. Be glad you know me, since I managed to talk the officer in charge out of arresting you for destroying evidence."
"I couldn't let them touch Victor anymore. You know how he is. He can't take it. I had to get him out of there."
"I understand, but it took some talking before the officer in charge realized it was okay."
"Thanks," I said.
"No problem," Morten said.
"Now, go back to that footage," I said. "I want that bastard off the streets."
"Yes, ma'am!" Morten said and hung up.
I finished my food and the beer. I walked into the living room to check on Victor. He was sound sleep on the couch. I breathed a sigh of relief. He seemed calm now. That was good. I grabbed my phone and tried to call Maya, but she didn't answer. I sent her another text, telling her I was sorry and to come home so we could talk. I didn't like that she was out there while the killer was still on the loose.
Hopefully, Morten will catch him now.
I wondered about that Ole Knudsen character from the Inn and thought about calling him. I never really got to ask him why he left Hummelgaarden. I thought about just driving out there today to talk to him. I had a feeling he was more closely attached to this entire affair than we had thought at first. I walked back into the kitchen to my mom, who was doing the dishes. It was so nice to have her in the house. She lifted her head and looked out the window.
"There he is," she said and took off her apron. "How do I look?"
"Too good for someone who is about to crush a man's heart."
My mom shrugged. "Well I can't help it. He'll just have to mourn me, right?"
I chuckled. "Right. Good luck."
I found my laptop and placed it on the kitchen table, while listening to my mother open the front door and call for Arne to come up to the door.
"Poor guy," I mumbled. "He’ll never know what hit him."
I googled Ole Knudsen and found the Inn online. Then, I found a newspaper article dating back to 2008.
Employees Escaping Hummelgaarden, was the title. I started reading. Yet another of Hummelgaarden's counselors left the institution yesterday because of a disagreement with the management at City Hall.
"It is most unfortunate that Ole has chosen to leave us, but that's his choice," a social worker named Marianne Moeller was quoted as saying.
Marianne Moeller? Wasn't that the woman who was found killed in her souvenir shop? Could hardly be a coincidence, could it? I continued, as I heard my mother talk to Arne and try to persuade him to come in for coffee, while he tried to explain that he was working and way too busy.
"I can't live with the choices that they're making at City Hall anymore," Ole Knudsen was quoted as saying. "It's not human. The system is broken. They destroyed that family."
Family? What family? I kept reading and got my answer.
Earlier this week, a family tragedy occurred in a home here on Fanoe. A young boy named Samuel Holm killed his mother and younger sister with a knife in the middle of the night. Samuel was one of Ole Knudsen's patients, who he took care of in his free time by going swimming with him, since there was no room for Samuel at the institution. The city stopped Ole's treatment of Samuel, since he wasn't allowed to do it outside of work hours.
"Of course, I blame myself," Ole told the paper. "I was doing a great job with the boy. I shouldn't have let City Hall stop me. I should have left this place much earlier and still seen Samuel. Maybe this tragedy wouldn't have happened."
Now, Ole Knudsen is planning on opening up an Inn in the middle of the island.
"I really can't see how this is something you can blame anyone for, tragedies happen all the time. We can't blame ourselves every time, another social worker named Tine Solvang said.
I leaned back in my chair feeling that aha-moment. "So Ole is mad at the system. Ole decides to do something about it, to change it?"
My mom finally managed to get Arne inside the house. I heard them walk into the living room. I decided to let them have their privacy, hoping they wouldn't wake up Victor. I looked at the article again and again. A big picture of Ole Knudsen stared back at me.
Could it really be him?
"If the shoes fits…"
My mom entered the kitchen. She looked stressed out. "He'll be fine, Mom," I said. "He's a big boy."
She found two cups and poured coffee into them. "I know. I just really don't like to have to do this. What are you up to?"
"I think I might have found the identity of The Caring Killer."
"Really? That's interesting. Better tell Morten, then. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to break up with my boyfriend."
My mom left the room with a tray between her hands carrying
cups and a plate of cookies. I chuckled and shook my head. Crazy old woman. Living the life of a teenager.
I decided to dig a little deeper on the story and googled family tragedy on Fanoe Island.
Up came a lot of articles from 2008. I decided to open one and read through it, then looked at the picture. It was a nice picture of the family before the tragedy. Underneath it, the text said:
The happy family before the tragedy. Only the dad survived Samuel Holm's nighttime attack on his own family. Poul Arne Holm testified against his son today. Samuel Holm is under the age of consent and will probably be sentenced to spending the rest of his teen-age years in a closed institution.
I froze. I stared at the picture, and especially at the father's face that I suddenly recognized. For seconds, I refused to believe it. Then I read the text again.
"Poul Arne Holm?"
I lifted my head and stared at the kitchen door that my mother had just gone through.
Oh my God.
69
February 2014
I SPRANG THROUGH THE kitchen door and into the living room, slamming the door open.
"Emma?" my mother said, startled. "What are you doing?"
I searched for Victor and saw, to my relief, that he was still sleeping on the couch.
"Emma?" my mother said again. "We're kind of in the middle of something here."
I tried hard to control my breath. I stared at Arne, sitting on my couch, holding a cup of coffee between his hands. He was smiling at me.
"Well hello there, Emma. You seem upset. Are you upset?"
"He," I said and pointed. "You…"
Arne tilted his head. "Now Emma, you know it's not polite to point, don't you? I think your mom must have taught you better than that."
My mother was suspecting that something was wrong. She looked at Arne, then back at me.
"What are you trying to say?"
"The Caring Killer. He's the killer. The one who has been harassing us."
"Excuse me?" my mother said. She looked like she was trying to decide whether to laugh or cry.
"No, Ulla. It's alright," Arne said, with a creepily calm voice. "Let her talk."
"You did this to us? You did all of this to us?" I said, still pointing my shaking finger at him. "Why?"
Arne sipped his coffee with stoic calmness. Then he sucked his teeth. "Well, if you must know, I like to play games," he said the last word with a grin.
"You're crazy," I said.
Arne tilted his head. "Well it depends on your definition of crazy now, doesn't it, my dear? The word crazy isn't really a psychological term now is it? You know just as well as I do that there are many degrees to craziness or mental illness. You've tried it, haven't you Emma? You've been through it. Been through the system. Tried to fight for your son. Tried to get the help you needed, but just kept running that pretty face of yours against a wall again and again, didn't you? Well, there is your answer. That's why I chose you. I knew you would understand. You, of all people, would know what I wanted. See, I’ve been watching you, Emma. Ever since you moved here, I have delivered mail to your house and followed your life. I knew about Victor. That's why you were perfect. That and the fact that you write books about your life. I was kind of hoping you'd write about this, as well. Maybe get all the details about how badly mentally ill people are treated in our society, as well. Really stir up people and maybe make them want things to change. Say, are there more of those cookies? They're simply delicious."
Arne leaned over the table and took another cookie. I was shaking in anger. This creep had been watching me?
"How?" I asked. "How did you do all those awful things to these people?"
"I knew them. I knew everything about them. I was their mailman, remember? A mailman knows everything. He knows all of your little secrets. The mailman knows everyone, sees everyone, but very few people see him when he secretly opens your mail and glues it back again before he delivers it to you. He knows if your mother has died and the lawyer writes to you, he knows what illnesses you suffer from when the doctor or the county sends you letters about it, talking about disability income and so on. He even knows the codes to the security system in the bank, since it has just been changed and sent it in a registered letter to the manager. Everybody trusts the mailman, don't they? Taking Victor was probably the easiest part. Your father was asleep, so I could walk right in through the front door that he hadn't locked. I had left your mother at the restaurant, telling her I had somewhere important to be. Telling her I had promised my old mother I’d stop by and wish her Happy Valentine's Day. I sedated Victor while he was sleeping and carried him out to the car. There was no one in the streets except from some weird guy in a black suit that I saw cross the street and hide in your yard. But, he didn't seem to care about me."
"Why did you hurt Ole Knudsen if he was the only person who ever helped you and your son?"
"I wanted you to meet him. I wanted you to connect the dots so you could write my story. The story of the system that killed my family. Ole plays an important role. I never hurt him, though. I just tied him up and led you to him."
Arne chewed and washed the cookie down with coffee, then he looked at me again. "See the thing is, Emma. In the beginning, I blamed my son for what happened. For a long time, I blamed him, but as time went by, I realized he wasn't the problem. The system was what screwed everything up. There was one place, one person that could help my son, but they weren't allowed to. Because of rigid rules and regulations. Well those rules and regulations killed my family. Those social workers killed my family. So, I killed them. But that wasn't quite enough. I wanted to kill the system as well. Save Hummelgaarden and change the system. That was my plan. And I wanted you to help me. I wanted you to see the unfairness. No, it was more than that; I wanted you to feel it. How did it feel to stand there in the bank with your son when everyone thought he was dangerous? It wasn't a nice feeling was it? To have to explain to people that he was simply scared. Explain that he didn't respond like normal people would in a situation like this. Wasn't fun, was it? Well now you know what it feels like. Now you can write about it."
"I won't write about this. I'm not giving you that pleasure," I said through gritted teeth.
Arne took another cookie and dipped it in his coffee. "Well that's just too bad, Emma. ‘Cause then I'll have to kill all of you."
As he said the words, he lifted his coffee cup and threw the burning hot coffee at my mother's face.
She screamed. Then I screamed. Victor woke up and screamed and then there was someone else who was screaming. Someone jumping out from the closet in my living room with a long sword in his hand, dressed all in black.
Startled, I looked at the black ninja in my living room as he jumped in front of me, sounding like a kid playing.
"What the hell?" I said.
"It's burning. It's burning!" I heard my mother scream.
"Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" I heard Victor scream.
"Who the hell is this?" I heard Arne ask.
I had no idea.
The ninja looked at the scene, then turned towards me. "Emma Frost. I'm here to save you. This is my mission."
Then he lifted his sword in the air with the words:
"I'm sorry Emma, but you've been way too fearful the last several days. It’s time to set you free from your fears. The voice told me to save you from yourself. You can thank me later."
Before I could react, he stabbed the sword into my stomach. I gasped as I saw it go through and the blood started pouring out. I bent over and leaned on the wall. I watched the blood gush to the floor. I started getting dizzy and had moments of blackout. I fell to the ground, just as I heard the front door open and Morten's voice yell.
"This is the police. Everybody down on the floor!"
After that, everything went black.
EPILOGUE
February 2014
I WOKE UP IN a hospital bed. Morten was sitting next to me, holding my hand. His eyes were re
d when he looked at me. He’d been crying.
"Hey," I said with a weak voice.
"Emma! You're awake!" he said and got up.
"Yeah. Feels like I'm still in a dream though."
"Oh, how happy I am to see you again," he said and kissed my hand. "You had us all worried there."
"What happened?"
"We got them. Both Poul Arne Holm and Anders Samuelsen are locked up now. Don't worry about them."
"Anders Samuelsen? The guy from the coffin? He was the ninja?"
"I know, it’s weird. Apparently, he lost it after what happened to him. Didn't take his medicine. We don't know all the details yet, but it is a very strange story, I’ll tell you that much."
"You came right in time, huh? My knight in shining armor. How did you know?"
"I saw the mailman's face on the video footage. I remembered seeing him at your house that day you received the head in the mail. I tried to call you, but you didn't answer. I decided to drive to your house to make sure you were alright and that was when I noticed that his postal bike was parked outside your house. The rest is history. Luckily, with a good ending."
"My mom and Victor. How are they?"
"Victor is with your dad at the house. Your mom…well, it doesn't look good."
I rose in the bed and felt dizzy. "What doesn't look good? Is she…?"
"Well, it's only her skin that got burned and she'll be fine, but the warm coffee kind of ruined her face a little."
I fell back in the bed. "Really? How bad is it?"
"Don't know yet. They’ve taken skin from her leg to cover it."
"Oh, that sounds bad. Guess Botox and facelifts won't help her this time."
"No. But, at least she has a guy who loves her. Your dad has been so nice to her while she’s been in the hospital. He sent her a hundred red roses today. And balloons. Her room is filled with balloons."
I chuckled lightly. It hurt my wound. "I hope he won't get his heart crushed again," I said.
