Nine, Ten ... Never Sleep Again (4 page)

Thomas De
Quincey was
looking through pictures on his computer.
Pictures of a woman lying on the ground somewhere, her dead eyes staring at the
photographer, her mouth stuck in a scream, her hand cut off and stuffed into
her mouth making it look like she was throwing up her own hand. He studied it
closely. The pool of blood gave the picture great color, but the girl didn't do
anything for him. He wasn't appalled, he wasn't disgusted or delighted.

Thomas De Quincey leaned back in his chair and
tilted his head slightly to look at it differently, but it still didn't do
anything. The creator, the artist of this piece claimed it was worth a lot of
money. Two hundred and fifty thousand, he wrote in his e-mail. With the deal,
Thomas would get the girl and the hand in the mouth and that was quite unique.
Thomas had never seen anything like this before. But he couldn't help wondering
if the girl had already been dead when the artist put the hand in? ‘Cause that
would change everything. If she was still alive, then it had the cruelty and
gruesomeness that he was looking for, but if she was simply killed, and then
the artist had cut off the hand and stuck it in her mouth for effect, then it
was worth nothing to Thomas. And he simply didn't get the vibe from it he was
looking for. It didn't cause the hairs to stand up on his back. It didn't have the
brutality to it to make him shiver in delight. It simply wasn't there.

Thomas closed the picture and checked the chat.
He had recently received a new follower, a new member who he had tutored and he
was very excited to hear news from him and what he was about to do. He called
himself Bill Durgin after the famous photographer whose macabre pictures were
well-known to those, like Thomas De Quincey, who enjoyed the macabre immensely
and lived for it.

Thomas chuckled when he saw that his new
apprentice was online. He had that same feeling of excitement he used to have
back when he had let Fred Einaudi, alias Allan Witt become a part of his small,
yet very exclusive, club. Thomas broke a pencil thinking about how things had
ended with Allan. Thomas had been very careful taking in a new member this
time, in order to not make the same mistake twice. Allan had simply been too
crazy and finally lost it completely. It was too dangerous to have someone that
unstable as a part of the group. But, with the kind of people he attracted, it
was probably hard to avoid.

This one, he was pretty sure, wouldn't let him
down. He had passed all of Thomas' test and questionnaires. His fantasies were
quite different from those Thomas usually encountered, since he wasn't as
interested in actually killing, as he was in just simply inflicting immense
pain on a special group of people. This was a new approach and very very
intriguing. Thomas was extremely excited to see where this Bill Durgin was
going to take it.

How did it go?
Thomas
wrote.

Perfect,
Bill
Durgin answered.
It went exactly as I had
hoped.

Bill Durgin went quiet, then posted some
pictures. Thomas looked at them, feeling thrilled. He clapped his hands like he
was applauding him, then wrote:
Good. I'm so
happy to hear that. Don't forget to give me my payment.

I won't. Next time. I promise.

When will you strike next?

Tomorrow night.

How exciting. Good luck.

Thanks.

Then he was gone. Thomas saw that two of his
other apprentices were on as well. He wondered if he should write to them, but
decided to just watch as they talked to one another instead. It was his chat
forum, he had created it and he could listen in on his member's conversations
any time without them knowing it. They were discussing a kill that one of them
had done two nights ago. One of them was posting pictures while the other was
jerking off watching them. The display on Thomas' phone lit up. He had received
a text. Thomas looked at it:

Your delivery is here
,
it simply said.

I slept
wonderfully that
night in the big bed. Peter woke me
up with kisses and touches.

"Not now," I groaned, hoping
desperately to get to sleep just for a little longer. I felt his hand on my
thigh and his kisses on my throat. It felt good.

"Just a quick one," he whispered and
put his hand inside my panties.

"Mmm," I moaned and let him crawl on
top of me.

"Mmm you smell good," he moaned.
"You taste even better."

I chuckled, but stopped as he came inside of me.
I held his head between my hands and stared into his blue eyes. I felt so happy
to be back with him. I hadn't realized how much I had missed him, how deeply I
still loved him. Making love to him again reminded me of how much I liked us,
how much we belonged together even if it meant having to fight through bad
times.

I took a shower before breakfast and Peter went
down to the kitchen to start cooking for us. Julie was already awake, he told
me before he left the bedroom. She was running around in the yard, playing hide
and seek with her imaginary friend.

"She has an imaginary friend?" I
asked. Why hadn't I heard about that?

"I think he arrived the last time she was
up here. I guess he lives here or something. Maybe he's just an animal, who
knows?"

"I hope she won't get lost out there,"
I said.

"It's an island, Rebekka," Peter said
with a grin. "We'll find her if she is lost. Don't you worry."

I heard her squeal in laughter from the yard and
peeked out through the bathroom window. Then I laughed. Julie was running in
circles, laughing out loud. I wiped myself with the towel thinking this stay
was going to do all of us good.

I grabbed my toilet bag and started unpacking my
stuff in the bathroom, putting things on the shelves in the cabinet above the
sink. I pulled out a pack of tampons and looked at them. I was terrible at
keeping track of when I was supposed to have my period. When I had been trying
to get pregnant with Sune I had tried to be systematic about it. I had written
in my calendar when I had my period but always ended up forgetting a month and
then it was all messed up. Sune had been really annoyed with that.

I put the box on the shelf in the bathroom, then
walked back into the room. I got dressed while looking at myself in the mirror.
Had I gained weight?

No you're just acting crazy
again. You always think you've gained weight. Learn to live with it. Make peace
with your thighs.

I put on my jeans and a shirt and went
downstairs. It took awhile for me to find the kitchen and Peter. He smiled when
I entered.

"Right on time," he said.

"In time for what?" I asked, when the
smell of food hit my nostrils and I realized I was starving.

"Breakfast is on the table."

He wasn't kidding. On the table was everything I
loved. Scrambled eggs, croissants, buns and soft boiled eggs.

"You didn't make all this?" I asked.
In all the many years of us being married he had never cooked for me before.
Not even boiled an egg.

Peter smiled. "Nah," he said. "I
have help. Mrs. Holm. She was here early this morning and made it all. She
cooked for the entire day, so we only have to warm it up. She'll be back
tomorrow morning."

"Of course you have help," I said with
a grin and sank my teeth into a croissant. It was heavenly. "Does she come
every day?"

"Not on weekends. Her husband loves to
fish, so he keeps his boat on the dock on the shore that she uses to get here
every day."

"Does she clean the entire place as
well?" I asked, feeling suddenly sorry for this poor lady, with all the
many rooms and bathrooms.

Peter chuckled. "No. She puts on new bed
sheets and stuff in the rooms we use, but she doesn't clean. I have a cleaning
company that I hire to do that."

"Of course you do." I grabbed another
croissant happily, forgetting all about how fat I thought I looked in the
mirror less than half an hour ago. I chewed while looking at Peter. He was so
handsome. He drank his coffee, holding the cup between his big hands. I loved
his big hands. I loved that he was so much man and nothing like … I sighed and
looked out the window where I spotted Julie in the yard. I hadn't spoken to
Sune in weeks now and I felt really bad about how it had ended. I thought that
if I gave him some time to heal, then maybe he would one day be able to forgive
me. I didn't expect us to be friends again since he was so angry with me, but
part of me still hoped we could … someday. Julie had been asking a lot for
Tobias and it was getting harder and harder for me to find reasons why we
couldn't see each other, why I couldn't just call Sune and ask him to come over
with Tobias like I used to.

The back door to the kitchen opened and Julie
stormed in. Her cheeks were red from the cold wind and fresh air, her eyes
sparkling with joy.

"Are you coming out to play?" she
asked us.

I looked at Peter and shrugged. "Why
not?" I asked. "It's not like I have something else to do today. How
about you?"

Peter stretched himself with a long yawn.
"I was actually planning on getting some painting done."

"Painting?" I asked. "Don't you
have people to do that for you?"

Peter grinned. Julie made a disappointed sound.

"No not painting the walls, but real
painting on canvas. I have created a studio for myself in the attic."

I almost dropped my fork. Peter painting? The
idea was so strange to me. Peter the military man who had spend his entire life
in war? First as a soldier, then by running his own private military security
company that was, in fact, a mercenary company, making money off of war.

"Why did you start painting all of a
sudden?" I asked.

"It all began some months ago," he
said. "It is all a part of my therapy. I paint my emotions, so to speak.
It's really soothing for me. Makes me calm and relaxed, I discovered. You know
I've never been good at expressing myself and how I feel. This helps me deal
with some of the stuff I carry around with me."

I stared at him thinking I hardly recognized the
Peter I had once been married to. Was it really possible for someone to change
this much?

"Surprised?" he asked.

"To put it mildly, yes."

Peter laughed again. "What can I say? It
makes me happy. Painting makes me a better person."

"Good for you. I really mean that. I'd love
to see them. I'd love to see your paintings."

Peter exhaled. "And you will. When I'm
ready to show you. Right now I'm keeping them to myself, but someday …"

"No pressure, Peter. It's okay. Just when
you're ready for it. I know that kind of thing is sensitive. It's hard to put
yourself and your work out there for people to see and criticize. Don't worry.
I won't pressure you into showing me."

"Will you come out and play then,
Mom?" Julie asked. "Please?"

I looked at her. "I'll come out and play in
a few moments. I just want to catch up on the news first. I might be on
vacation, but I still need to keep up with what’s going on."

It was
Valdemar's second
birthday. Anna was preparing the
cake in the kitchen, putting whipped cream on top and setting the candles in
the middle of it, while Valdemar was sitting on the floor looking up at her
with affection in his eyes.

She smiled and looked down at him. "It's
almost done, Valdemar. It's gonna be perfect, absolutely perfect."

Valdemar grinned, then bent forward and picked
up a toy car between his teeth and started playing with it, using his mouth to
push it around. Anna felt such great love for him at that instant. He had been
finding his own ways to do things ever since he had started moving around on
his feet. Crawling had been too much of a challenge without the arms to support
him, so he had skipped that step and started walking at the age of seven
months. One morning, while Anna and he had been sitting on the floor, he had
suddenly bitten onto the bars of the playpen and pulled himself up with help
from his mouth. Anna had gasped, thinking at first that something was wrong
with him, since that was what Michael kept telling her.

"The boy is wrong. He is a mistake. He
should never have been born. He will never be able to do anything. He'll need
help just to eat for the rest of his life. What kind of a life is that for a
child? And who will help him when he's a grown up? No one. He'll have to live
in a home."

But at that instant, on the floor with seven
month old Valdemar pulling himself up to an upright position using his mouth
instead of hands, Anna realized that maybe, just maybe Michael was wrong about
the boy. Suddenly, he was standing up next to the playpen with a huge smile and
that was when he took his first step towards Anna with a big grin. At that
moment, Anna cried and held out her arms and let him walk right into her
embrace where she held him tightly for a long time, tickling his tummy, telling
him how absolutely wonderful he was, how beautiful he was and how he would be
able to do anything in life … anything and no one should ever tell him
differently.

And she had kept telling him that every day of
his life ever since. She knew, in her heart, that this boy wasn't normal, and
she thanked God every day for it. No, he wasn't normal, he was special. And he
was going to do special things in this world. Things no one else would ever do
or dare.

"Mommy?" he said and stood up.

"Yes sweetie?"

"Will daddy come home for my
birthday?" Anna looked at her boy, then kneeled in front of him. She
stroked his light hair between her fingers and looked into his eyes. What she
saw in there didn't belong to a two-year old. No, Valdemar had clever eyes,
eyes that had seen much, eyes that understood more than what a two-year old
normally would. The way he talked told Anna that he was smarter than other
kids, even if many people thought he was retarded because of the way he looked
and moved. His language was much more developed than any other two-year old’s.
The doctor had told her and she heard it every day, how fast it developed and
how long the sentences were that he was able to say. He was always using bigger
and bigger words, sometimes so big Anna had to look them up to know what he
meant.

"No, sweetie," she said looking into
those eyes that seemed like they belonged to someone who was carrying the
troubles of the world.

Just like last year, Michael wasn't going to be
there to celebrate Valdemar's birthday. It was too difficult for him since he
viewed this day as the darkest day in his life, not as the happiest like Anna.
Like last year, he would probably go directly to the local bar in Brabrand
after work and drink till he passed out and someone put him in a cab home. But
even if Valdemar would understand all that if she explained it to him, she
didn't want to. She saw every day how the gap between the boy and his father
grew wider, how Valdemar looked at his father with longing eyes in the morning
at the breakfast table, desperate for him to just look at him or even speak a
few words to him.

But he never did. Michael ignored the fact that
Valdemar even existed. And he had done so ever since they had come home from
the hospital. He never picked him up. He never changed a diaper or even spoke
to the boy. He simply pretended like he didn't exist and Valdemar didn't have
to be as bright as he was to feel it, to sense his dad's resentment towards
him. It was so obvious it hurt in every bone of Anna's body and some days she
wished Michael would wait to come home from work till Valdemar was in his bed
sleeping, to spare the boy from the pain of looking at his father without him
looking back, of talking to him, asking him things and the father never
answering. It was heartbreaking and she was tired of making excuses for him,
yet she still did. Luckily for her and Valdemar, Michael's job as a salesman
for a big toy company demanded that he travelled a lot and was often gone for
weeks at a time.

"Daddy had a trip," she said, like she
had said so many times before. And, like so many times before, she saw the
small light of hope in her son's eyes slowly die out.