Tweedledum and Tweedledee (5 page)

"Let's not get ourselves agitated here," the uniformed man said. "I'll have all my staff looking for him and I'm sure he'll show up."

11

April 2014

A
LBERTO OPENED HIS EYES
with a gasp. The man's face was close to his. He was smiling eerily.

"Well, hello there."

"What happened?" Alberto asked.

The man tilted his head, then giggled for his answer.

Alberto sat up. His head was hurting. He was dizzy. "Where am I?"

"Welcome to my humble chambers," the man said and bowed in his long black coat.

"What is this place?"

"We're on the lower deck. Take a good look at it. It'll be the last place you see." The man spun and made his black coat twirl theatrically in the air. 

"Excuse me?" Alberto asked.

"Yeeezz?"

"I just…It sounded like you said…"

"Well I did," the man exclaimed. "I indeed did."

Alberto looked at him. Suddenly, he seemed really creepy. Alberto hadn't noticed earlier but the man's body seemed funny. Alberto watched as he walked to his suitcase and opened it. He started taking out what looked like bottles of chemicals with warning labels on them, then some strange instruments and tools. Alberto felt an eerie sensation in his body.

What the hell is this?

"So, just give me my drugs and I'll be out of here," he said. He could hear how his voice was shivering as he spoke.

The man stopped what he was doing and turned his head like an owl to look at Alberto. Then he laughed.

"What's so funny?" Alberto asked.

The man pulled out a scalpel and showed it to Alberto.

"What're you going to do with that?" he asked with a trembling voice.

The man giggled. "I need something from you."

He came closer and Alberto pulled his legs up under his knees and pulled backwards till his back hit the wall. The man sat on the edge of the bed. He was still smiling. He stroked Alberto's cheek.

"So pretty. So beautiful."

Alberto pushed the man's hand away. The man grabbed his hand and held it tightly.

"You're hurting me," Alberto whimpered.

The man studied Alberto's arm and ran a finger across his skin. "Such beautiful skin," he mumbled. "Even prettier when you get closer to it. We'll have to make sure nothing happens to it, won't we? So precious. So soft."

Alberto tried to pull his arm back, but couldn't. The man had extremely strong hands. He was stronger than he looked. Alberto was terrified. He didn't like the way the man looked at him.  

Mom? Dad? Please help me. Please come for me? I'll never do anything bad again. I promise. It doesn't matter that you don't notice me. I'll never ask you for anything again. Please, dear God. Help me.

The man looked like he enjoyed watching Alberto in distress. He stroked Alberto's cheek again. "There’s someone I want you to meet," he said.

"Who…? Who…Is that?"

The man giggled, then took off his coat.

The sight that met Alberto was made by such a horror he wasn't even able to scream. Nor did he feel anything when the scalpel quickly penetrated the skin and slit his throat.

12

April 1976

T
HEY CAME IN THE
next morning. The twins were sleeping when they entered the room. The broad woman was flanked by two men. They were yelling when they opened the cage and took out the twins by pulling their arms. The twins screamed in fear as they were dragged out on the floor.

The men stripped them down before they started beating them, taking turns throwing punches at their faces. The twins screamed in pain and anguish. The woman stepped forward, pulled a knife, and started cutting their faces, arms and legs. One of the men punched them in the belly. Then he pulled a knife with the intention of stabbing them. The twins screamed.

"Not there," the woman said. "Only in places that are visible. We want to increase sympathy not disable them further."

The beating and disfiguring continued for an hour before they finally stopped. Then the twins were dressed in new clothes, mostly rags, and were carried out to the truck and thrown inside. A few moments later, they were pulled out. Blood was still dripping from the cuts in their faces. They were dragged into an open space and put next to a building. The woman put a tin cup and a sign in front of them stating:

We are the Spider-boys. We're hungry. Please help.

The woman patted them on the head. "There. You're ready. Make mama some money. Remember, pity pays."

Then she left. Soon, people walking past started noticing the boys and, not long after, a crowd had gathered in front of them. Tourists were taking pictures, others were chatting amongst themselves and pointing their fingers at the twins. Some were even laughing, but most felt sorry for them and eventually threw bills in their cup. The twins were so badly beaten, they could hardly see out of their eyes and, if they did, all they saw were disgusted frowning faces and occasional merciful looks. Meanwhile, in between the many people in the crowd, the woman's helpers, mostly younger children, crept up from behind and put their small fingers in the staring tourists' pockets, pulling out their wallets along with anything else of value.

Surprised by this, the twins tried to speak, but nothing but groaning and growling sounds exited their badly beaten mouths. They tried to get up and crawl away, but the pain in their arms made them fall down again. The crowd gasped. The twins tried again, then staggered back and forth on their hands. The crowd suddenly clapped and cheered and started throwing money at them.

That was when some of them realized something was wrong.

"Hey. Who stole my wallet?" one man yelled.

Everybody in the crowd reached in their pockets and purses.

"Mine is gone too."

"And mine!"

The crowd soon turned and looked at the twins. The pity in their eyes was gone, replaced by anger.

"Get them," someone yelled.

Realizing the danger, the twins crawled sideways like a crab as fast as they could, but it wasn't fast enough. The crowd grabbed them and started beating them. Meanwhile, the children and the woman disappeared. Men in the crowd kicked the twins and yelled at them to give their money back and it wasn't until the police arrived that they stopped. One of the officers who had picked them up and taken them to the station continued to hit them with his truncheon while yelling at them.

He stopped when his superior entered the room. "What do we have here?" the superior asked.

"They're part of the Slovenski Gang, sir."

"The gypsies?"

"Yes, sir. They were stealing people's wallets downtown. I'm trying to get them to tell us where they're hiding."

The twins were crying and whimpering in pain, hardly able to breathe, let alone speak and defend themselves. They wanted badly to tell their story, but had only enough strength to whisper.

"My God they're creepy," the superior said. "Disgusting creatures. What are they? One or two?"

"I don't know, sir."

"It doesn't matter. Have them speak and then get them out of here. I get sick just by looking at them."

"Yes, sir."

13

April 2014

B
ACK IN MY SUITE,
I ordered some ice cream for the boys and me. We ate it while watching the History channel where they showed an old World War II documentary. Victor loved this kind of stuff and I relaxed by checking my Facebook and playing Candy Crush on my iPad. Christoffer went to his room to read, once he had finished his ice cream.

My editor had written an e-mail telling me my latest manuscript
Peek-A-Boo, I see You
that I had just finished before we left was amazing and she was already talking to a German publisher who was interested in buying the rights to it.

I didn't feel good about the book. It was good. It was well written and it was a great story. I knew that. But I had debated for a long time whether to write it or not. Mostly because it was exactly what my former mailman Arne Holm wanted me to do. To write his story. He had told me that was the entire idea for him to do all those awful things to me and my family and to kill those people, it was to have me write about it, to have me write his story. So, at first, I had refused to do so. I didn't want him to have the pleasure of succeeding. But the more I thought about, it the more I realized it was an important story to tell. Especially now that the current Danish government was cutting off the funding to a lot of institutions like Hummelgaarden and placing children with mental disabilities in normal classrooms where they didn't get the help they needed. Just like Victor. So I wrote the book for my own sake, I kept telling myself. It was for Victor. I was hoping it would stir up some debate and maybe make people aware of the problems. But it bothered me that somewhere in a Danish prison sat Arne Holm with a smile on his face. As soon as the book was published, he would think he had succeeded. And I didn't want him to think that. I wanted him to think he failed. But how could I? So I had written a foreword to the book where I explained my own and Victor's situation and the reason for writing the book.

But who was I kidding? Arne Holm had planned this all the way and he knew I would eventually write his story. I just had to come to terms with that.

I dozed off on the couch while Victor indulged himself in the horrors of the World War. It had been a great day for him. He truly enjoyed walking the streets of Pompeii, knowing it had all once been covered in ashes and people had died in their houses and in the street. It fascinated him.

I woke up to the sound of my phone. It was Morten calling.

"Hey. Just wanted to reach you before you go to bed. How's the cruise-life treating you?"

"Excellent. Went on a great trip today. I just posted some pictures on Facebook if you want to see them."

"How's Victor?"

I smiled. I loved how he always worried about my kids. It suddenly struck me that I hardly knew his daughter. But it was harder with her since she was very jealous and didn't really want to get to know me.

"He's fine. He had a blast at Pompeii today. Christoffer too, even if he didn't find the dead people as fascinating as Victor. He loved the volcano, though. "

"That's good."

"How are things back home on the island?" I asked.

"Nice and quiet. Just the way I like it. I'm on night duty, so I'm about to take off now. How are the lovebirds?"

I groaned. "They're fine too. A little annoying if you ask me, but hey, it's better than them hating each other, right?"

Morten laughed. "Sure is. Well take care of everyone and I'll talk to you tomorrow, alright?"

"Have a good shift."

"Thanks."

I hung up, still smiling. I really loved Morten. He was so easy, so uncomplicated. A new show started on the History channel.

"It's time to get ready for bed, buddy," I said and looked at the clock. It was important for Victor that some things like his bedtime remained the way it always was. Especially when we were out. Ole Knudsen had taught me that. Victor needed clear limits and boundaries.

"I want to see the next show," he said. "It's about the children born after the Vietnam War. They have all kinds of deformities. Lots of Vietnamese children are suffering from devastating effects of toxic herbicide sprayed by US Army forty years ago."  

I looked at the screen where a woman was holding her strangely deformed child into the air. Then there was a teenager who was bed-ridden because his feet were bent backwards and he couldn't walk. He was also deaf, the speaker told us.

"That’s just a freak-show," I said and grabbed the remote.

Victor took it out of my hand.

"Victor!" I said. It was so unlike him to do anything like this. "Give it back."

Victor didn't look at me. He stared at the floor while speaking. "I want to see this."

"Well, you can't. It's time for bed now. You've had enough death and destruction today."

Clear limits, Emma. You're doing the right thing.

"It's important. I want to SEE it!"

"Victor. Don't you raise your voice at me. I'm your mother and I decide what you watch. And it is time for bed now. No more TV. If you don't give me the remote, there will be no TV tomorrow either."

Victor held onto the remote. He stared at the screen. A little girl lacked an arm and a leg.

"Victor, this is disgusting. Why do you want to watch this anyway?"

"Am I disgusting too?" he asked, while his eyes were fixated on the screen.

My heart dropped. Was that how he saw himself?

"No! Don't you ever think that about yourself."

"But I'm just like them, Mom. I'm a freak too."

I almost burst into tears, but managed to hold them back. I grabbed the remote from his hand and finally turned off the TV. "You are not a freak, Victor. Listen to me. You're not a freak."

"But what's the difference between them and me?"

I exhaled deeply. "Well most of them can't walk or take care of themselves. You can. You can do everything by yourself and you're smart, Victor. You're smarter than most people."

Victor shook his head. It was the first time I had seen him like this, questioning himself and who he was.

"No. I'm like them. I'm a circus-freak. That's what they call me at school."

I closed my eyes for a short second and took a deep breath. I knew this would come eventually. I knew they would start picking on him in school. It was bound to happen. I had just hoped he wouldn't care.

"I'm sorry that they do that, Victor. I'll have to talk to your teacher about it. Kids can be really cruel sometimes. Especially when someone is a little different."

Victor sat on the bed with his head bowed. He nodded. He was drumming his fingers on his lap. "I am different. I know I am. Why am I different Mommy?"

"I don't know, Victor. You have what they call a light autism. It makes you really smart and special, but also different in the way you act around people. That can be hard for other kids to accept."