Tweedledum and Tweedledee (17 page)

"Or to question our right to live like this," Dumdum said. "We are two separate beings. Though living in the same body, we have two minds."

"It's unfair to lump us together as one," Dumdum said.

"But yet, we belong together," Deedee said. "Why can't they see that? Why don't they understand we need to be joined together, that neither of us can live without the other?"

"They're afraid of us, Deedee," Dumdum said. "We make them uncomfortable. They don't like to look at us. They want to make us be and look like them. Like normal people."

Deedee started sobbing. "I can't believe they'll do this to us. Don't we have anything to say about it? Can't we stop them Dumdum? Can't we?"

"We have to. We have to, somehow," Dumdum answered. "There must be a way. But we must promise each other one thing. If we're ever separated. We must always find each other."

"I promise to find you," Deedee said, with tears in his voice. "I will not leave your side. Not ever. Life is not worth living without you."

The twins went quiet. They wanted to wrap their arms around each other like they used to do as children, but couldn't. Instead, they put their faces really close so their noses touched and fell asleep.

Two hours later, the door to their small room was opened and an army of men and women in white coats entered. They walked to the bed and started unstrapping their arms and legs. As soon as they were loose, the twins started fighting. They kicked and screamed, slamming their fists in the people's faces while growling and snarling. But the men were strong. They held onto them and put them onto a stretcher, where they were strapped down again. Tweedledee and Tweedledum screamed at the top of their lungs while they were being transported down a narrow hallway with bright lights shining in their eyes. They were scared, terrified. Their stretcher was rolled into another room with more bright lights and many instruments. A woman had a syringe in her hand.

"Hurry up," one of the men who had held them down said. "They're like wild beasts."

The woman smiled and lifted the syringe. "This will put an end to all of that," she said. She walked closer to the boys. The men held them down. The boys screamed and growled. Deedee managed to kick one of the men in the head. He fell backwards. Another man tried to hold their arms down, but Dumdum managed to knock him out. Yet another received a punch to his jaw. The twins were growling and fighting. The woman with the syringe fought to get room to put the needle in their skin. But the twins writhed and tossed so much, it was impossible.

"Hold it down!" she hissed.

The twins kicked and hit someone again. With their almost supernatural strength, they managed to pull themselves up and, by some miracle, the straps on their arms were loosened. Maybe from the tossing and writhing, maybe from their strength, or maybe because the straps weren't very strong, but they burst and suddenly the twins were free. They jumped to their arms and hissed at the woman, who backed up with a loud whimper. Then they jumped out of the room and ran on their hands towards the front door of the hospital…Seeing nothing but the ray of sunlight coming through the glass doors. Behind them, people were yelling and screaming for someone to stop them. But the twins didn't care. Beyond that door was freedom. Behind that glass they could run into the world again and be left alone.

"We're free! No one will stop us again," Deedee whined in joy. "No one will ever hurt us again."

At first, they thought something had bitten them, but they both knew the truth. They had experienced this pain before and recognized it…The pain from the arrow of the tranquilizer-gun. They both screamed and looked at each other as their limbs slowly refused to cooperate and they tumbled to the ground, flat on their faces.

Deedee smiled at Dumdum. "I'll find you," he whispered.

"I love you," Dumdum whispered back.

"I love you more."

48

April 2014

T
HE PHOTOGRAPHER WAS TOLD
to open the door to his cabin. He fumbled with the card in the reader. I noticed he was shaking heavily.

I wasn't doing too well myself. I kept wondering if Christoffer was still alive, or if we were too late. Did he kill his victims right away, then take the picture and get rid of them? He would have to act fast, wouldn't he? In order to for no one to find out.

My heart was thudding in my chest and I had to take deep breaths to calm myself down while we waited for the photographer to get his act together and open the door. The card wouldn't work. Of course, at an important moment like this, the card refused to cooperate. The light above the reader kept flashing red.

"Try again," Officer Del Rossi said.

The photographer tried again and, finally, he succeeded. The lamp flashed green and was accompanied by the well-known click. I closed my eyes for just a second, trying hard to erase the pictures in my mind of what might have happened to Christoffer. What was I going to find on the other side of this door? Did I want to see it? Was it best if I didn't? I swallowed hard and opened my eyes. No. I wanted to know.

Officer Del Rossi grabbed the door handle and walked inside, flanked by two of his men. He ordered them to start the search. I walked inside behind them.

"Christoffer?" I called, my voice trembling with fear. "Are you in here, buddy?"

There was no answer and hope left my body. The officers examined the room, turned over pillows and looked under the bed. I stared at the photographer. He was standing with his head bowed, staring at the floor. On his wall hung hundreds of pictures. I took a closer look at them.

"Why do you have all these pictures of people on the ship?" Officer Del Rossi asked, pointing at them.

"Those are all the ones that no one wanted to buy," he said. "People often say they want me to take a picture, but then, when I show it to them, they don't want it after all. Then I don't get paid."

"But, why keep the pictures? Why hang them on your wall? They're of no value to you. You don't know these people," I said.

"I don't have a family. These are my family."

I bit my lip. The photographer lifted his eyes and looked into mine. I saw something in them. Something I didn't want to see.

"Hm," I said, looking over the pictures. Some of them were quite good, I had to admit.

One of the police officers yelled in Italian from the bathroom. Officer Del Rossi looked at me.

"Has he found something?" I asked.

"Yes, come with me," Officer Del Rossi said.

I stormed into the bathroom, then stopped. Inside, stood the officer who had yelled. He was still speaking in agitated Italian and pointing to the floor. I looked down and saw something that made my heart stop.

It was a huge lock of Christoffer's hair. I recognized the color and the curls. Christoffer liked to keep his hair fairly long. The hair was spread over the floor. I gasped for air.

"It's…It's…it's his," I stuttered.

Tears were welling up in my eyes. A lump in my throat threatened to burst. I kept thinking about Sophia. Could it be? Was he really…? Had this man really done this?

I kneeled next to the hair, while tears rolled down my cheeks. Then I rose to my feet and jumped the photographer.

"You bastard! What did you do to Christoffer?"

49

April 2014

T
HE MAN WAS BREATHING
heavily while cleaning his hands. Blood was running of his skin into the white sink. He rubbed some off and put on more soap to get the rest off. He was panting with exhaustion and because of the excruciating pain in his shoulder. He turned the water off, then looked in the mirror.

"I told you, Deedee. It was all worth it."

"I'm so happy you did it, but you're in pain. You're sweating," Deedee answered.

"It doesn't matter. Having you close is all that matters. Feeling you up there, seeing you looking back at me in the mirror is all worth it."

"It feels good," Deedee said. "I like it up here."

The man forced a smile. Looking at Deedee's head that he had sewn back onto his shoulder made him happy. Even if the infection had gotten worse, even if the pain was increasing. The area around the head was swollen and red. It was throbbing.

The man took a deep breath, then turned to look at the boy who was still sleeping on his bed.

"Now, let's get you a new face."

He knew he had to hurry and started to pull out instruments from his bag. He placed them neatly in a row on the white paper towel.

"They're on to us, Deedee," he said. "They will soon be looking for us."

The man had seen the helicopter arrive and knew he was running out of time. But he had bought himself a little more time. He had seen the woman, the boy's mother fight the photographer on the pool deck. He knew he could use that for something. So he had gone back and cut a lock of hair from the boy, then run to the photographer's cabin and hidden his little surprise for them. He had placed it strategically where he knew they wouldn't miss it.

Actually, it was all Deedee's idea. He was the clever one of the two. He could come up with things like that.

"That should keep them busy for a couple of hours," he said, when he told the man about his plan.

The man had thought it was brilliant.

The boy on the bed was still sleeping heavily. The man suddenly wondered if he had used too high of a dose. After all, he had no idea what the boy weighed. He appeared heavier than he was, he now realized. He was tall, but very scrawny. It would take longer than anticipated for him to wake up.

"Should we just do it while he’s asleep?" Deedee asked.

"No! I want to look into his eyes before I kill him. You know I want to. That's what I have to do; I need that and you know it," the man hissed. Then he regretted his outburst. "I'm sorry Deedee. I'm a little tense, that's all. I didn't mean to be angry with you."

The man heard loud voices and footsteps in the hallway outside his door. He used the peephole to look out. The hallway was crowded. People were talking loudly. He spotted the woman. She seemed agitated. She was being held back by two police officers, while that photographer-fool was being held by two others. He was wearing handcuffs. And—
oh the joy—
he was bleeding. The uniformed men walked with strong forceful and serious steps towards his door. Then he gasped. Someone was with them.

Oh no. This isn't good.

Could it be? Was it really? It was. It was him! It was the guy the man had thrown over the railing the other night. He was wearing a patch over his eye where the man had burned him with his cigarette. The man started sweating again. How was this possible? How had he survived? The man drew in a couple of deep breaths to calm himself.

"He saw my face. He knows who I am," he mumbled.

This is not the time to panic. You have to stay focused.

The man held his breath and listened to their words. It was the woman who did most of the talking. She was telling them about the photographs and how she had a hunch that Mrs. Colombo had killed herself and that was why she went to examine her suite on her own and found the picture in the safe. Then she yelled at the photographer.

"Tell me what you did to him, you bastard!"

They were passing his door. The man was watching them closely.

"They're doing just as I expected," he mumbled. "You can't see it Deedee, but I'm telling you. They took the bait."

"I knew they would," Deedee said. "I knew they'd find your present."

"I placed it in his bathroom…On the floor, next to the shower. Of course they'd find it. I wasn't worried at all."

The man left the peephole as the last of the crowd passed his door. With a deep sigh of relief, he returned to face the boy, just as he started squinting his eyes.

"He's waking up," Deedee said.

The man grabbed his coat and put it on. He sat on the edge of the bed while smiling. "I know Deedee. I know. It's time."

50

April 2014

M
Y DAD HAD GONE
back to my suite when the police told him he wasn't allowed to walk with us down to the photographer's cabin. He was the first person I saw when I opened the door after being escorted back by the officers. He could tell by the look in my eyes that something was wrong. I threw myself in his arms.

"What happened, sweetie?"

My mother was standing behind him, biting her nails.

Finally, I let it all out. I sobbed, I cried. "Oh Dad. You won't believe it. It's horrible."

"What happened? Did they find him?" my dad asked. "Was Christoffer down there?"

My entire body was shaking and my knees collapsed beneath me. My dad grabbed me and held me in his arms. He carried me to the couch.

"Where is Christoffer?" he asked.

"We don't know. But he had him. He has him somewhere. We just don't know where," I said, crying loudly. I looked into my dad's eyes, then burst into tears again.

"How do you know he has him?" my mother asked.

"Because…because we found a lock of his hair. It was in the bathroom."

My mother covered her mouth. "Oh, my God."

My dad slammed his fist into the couch. "The bastard!" He looked at me again. "But that doesn't mean he’s dead, does it? I mean you didn't find…you didn't find Christoffer, did you?"

"No. We still don't know what he’s done to him. They took him away for interrogation. Hopefully, they'll find out soon, they said. They escorted me back here and told me I had to wait. I think I hurt the guy when I attacked him down there. I bit his nose. He was bleeding heavily afterwards. I just got so angry. You wouldn't believe it, Dad. I was so angry."

"Oh, I believe it," he said. "I’d do something similar if I could get my hands on the bastard. No doubt about it. If he’s hurt the boy in any way, I'll…I'll…"

"I know, Dad."

"Was there any blood?" my mother asked.