Nine, Ten ... Never Sleep Again (13 page)

"Could you
at least
tell me why?"

Anna's voice was shivering as she spoke. Michael
was packing a suitcase, throwing shirts and pants randomly into it. He hadn't
spoken a word since he had told her he was leaving and Anna felt both
frustrated and confused. She wanted to grab on to him and shake him. But she
had felt that for a long time. She simply didn't understand how he could be so
cruel … the same man she had loved and wanted to spend her life with.

"Please, Michael. Don't do this to
us," she pleaded desperately. She kept wondering what she could say or do
to make him stay.

But Michael didn't even look at her as he packed
his stuff. It was like he couldn't get out of the house fast enough, like he
couldn't get out of their lives fast enough.

"Michael you have a son, for Christ
sake!" She yelled, when he closed the suitcase and lifted it up. "You
have a responsibility. You made a vow to me once. You have a family."

Finally Michael looked at her. Anna's heart was
beating so fast now. She wanted to punch him, hug him, and hold on to him all
at the same time. She didn't do any of those things. Instead, she just stared
at him with a feeling of utter desperation exploding inside of her.

"He was never my son, you know that,"
Michael said. "He was a mistake from the beginning."

Anna clenched her fist and smashed it as hard as
she could into his face. Michael let out a scream and flew backwards. Michael's
nose was bleeding when he looked at her again. He wiped the blood off with his
hand.

"I have a new family now," he said.
"A real one."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?
How can you have a new family?" Anna asked, confused.

Michael looked into her eyes. "If you must
know, I've had another family for a number of years now. I am with them when
I'm not here."

Anna's heart dropped. She had to hold on to the
frame of the door to not fall. She couldn't believe what he was telling her. It
was like a bad dream, a nightmare that wouldn't end.

"What do you mean you have another family?
I don't understand? How?"

"Well, it's been going fine until last week
when she found out about you and Valdemar. She asked me to choose between the
two of you. And I chose her. Her and … Patrick."

Anna stumbled backwards. Patrick? Not only did
he have another woman but also another son? "Patrick?" She said with
a shaking voice. "Is that …?"

Michael looked at her with such coldness and
cruelty she could no longer understand how she could have loved him.

"He is my son," Michael said.

Anna heard something and turned her head to see
Valdemar standing right next to them. His eyes were filled with tears. Anna
realized he must have heard the entire discussion between her and Michael.

"Mommy?" He said. "Who … Who is
Patrick?"

For the first time since Valdemar was born,
Michael looked directly into his eyes and spoke:

"He's my real son."

Then he lifted up the suitcase and stormed past
the boy. Anna's entire body was shaking when she ran to grab Valdemar in her
arms. She lifted him up and held him close to her body. For days after this,
Valdemar never spoke a word. He didn't ride his bike nor did he go into the
garage for a long, long time.

Sune and I
couldn't
stop laughing. We had gone back to Sune's
hotel room, room 237 and were going through the interview and pictures
together.

"Can you believe that guy?" Sune
asked.

"I don't think I can," I said, chuckling.

We grabbed a couple of beers from the minibar
while we worked. "Look at this one," Sune said and showed me a
picture he had taken of Henrik Fenger while he spoke. "The guy looks like
he is about to explode."

"Did you see the tic, he had?" I said.

"And what was with the yelling of certain
words?" Sune said.

"It's actually not funny," I said,
still laughing.

"I know. It's really sad. The guy seemed to
have some serious anger management issues."

"I tried not to laugh, but it was hard.
There was just something about the guy that was so comical, I couldn't help it.
I have always felt that way with angry people. I never could take them
seriously. I hope I wasn't inappropriate," I said and opened my laptop.

"You were fine. He liked you. It was me he
couldn't stand," Sune said. "He kept staring at the ring in my
eyebrow like he wanted to rip it out. I think I was the one provoking him. My
appearance does that to people from time to time. If I had a penny for every
time an old lady tried to beat me with her cane because she thought I was going
to rob her or something … well I'd have a lot of pennies."

"You do look pretty provoking," I said
with a grin. I opened a Word document and started typing my article. I felt
Sune's eyes on me. I didn't turn to look at him. The air between us had been
strange and almost tense all night. I fought the urge to kiss him like nothing
I had ever fought in my life.

"Well, you always look great," Sune
said. "I think the guy wanted to be alone with you. That's why he resented
me so much. He wanted me out of the way so he could make a pass at you."

I laughed. "You've got to be kidding me.
The man was in so much pain. He is sick. And I don't just mean physically.
There was something really wrong with him. He was kind of creepy, really."

Sune uploaded his pictures while I wrote my
article, trying hard to be as nice to the guy as possible and present him like
a sane person. When I was done, I sent it to my editor and looked at Sune. He
was looking at me too. I didn't like the look in his eyes and looked away.

"So I guess that's it, huh?" I said
and closed the lid of my laptop.

Sune picked up his camera and was looking at me
through the lens. I could tell he was zooming in on me. Then he took a series
of pictures.

"Stop it," I said. "I look
terrible."

"I don't think so," Sune said, then
took a series more. He got up from his chair and started moving around while
taking more pictures of me.

"Sune. You know I don't like to be
photographed."

I lied. The fact was, I really liked it when he
took pictures of me. I liked when he was watching me, looking at me through the
lens of the camera, studying me. My heart was beating faster as he came closer.
He lowered the camera and looked me into my eyes. Then he leaned over and
kissed me.

The kiss felt incredible. Like an explosion on
my lips. It didn't feel like I was cheating on Peter. It felt so right and that
made it so difficult.

"Stay with me tonight," Sune whispered
once our lips parted.

I exhaled, then kissed him again. I fought the
urge, but in vain. I kissed him again and again, then held him in my arms and
felt like crying. It was like my body had missed this, missed being close to
his. It was like I was depriving my body of something vital when I wasn't with
him.

But when you're not with Peter,
you're depriving your daughter of a father, of having a real family, aren't
you?

I pushed Sune away and got up. I grabbed my
laptop and threw it in my bag. "Rebekka," Sune pleaded. He grabbed my
hand. Our eyes locked.

"Stay. Please stay here."

I stroked his cheek gently. My entire body was
screaming madly at me as I made up my mind. "I'm sorry," I said.
"I'm going back tonight."

Bill Durgin
followed the
chosen couple through the hallway of the
hotel and watched as they went into a room together.

I knew it! Nothing but
cheating bastards. Going in there to fuck are we? Going to spend the night
together making passionate love and then go home to your families the next day
and pretend like nothing ever happened, are we?

Bill Durgin growled, put down the
equipment-filled briefcase, pulled out the dry erase marker and held it for a
little while thinking about its origin and felt such a deep sadness.

The marker was used to open the lock on the door
to the room next to them. Luckily, it was empty. Bill sat down and pulled out
the iPad, hoping that Thomas De Quincey would be in the chat room, but he
wasn't. Instead, to Karl Persson:

Picked my target. Now all I
have to do is wait.

Good for you. Will you post
pictures?

Sure.

Good. I will be waiting for them.
Got myself a little treat today as well,
Karl Persson
wrote.

I thought you were laying low?
Someone called Michael Cogliantry answered. He had
just joined the chat.

I was. But I couldn't resist.
It was like taking candy from a kid. There was no way I was just going to let a
chance like this pass me by,
Karl wrote.

Who was she?
Michael Cogliantry asked.

A girl around sixteen who
walks past in the street every day on her way home from school. I have watched
her for weeks, followed her everywhere. This afternoon I followed her from afar
as she walked home. For the first time, she was alone. No one was walking with
her and not a soul was in sight, even if it was broad daylight. As she put the
key in the lock to her apartment building, I walked up behind her and grabbed
her. I raped her in the basement of her own damn building with her parents
probably drinking tea and waiting for her to come home just upstairs. Then I
stabbed her, found a saw, cut her into pieces, and threw the remains in the
dumpster behind the building. They'll empty it early in the morning. No one
will ever know where she has gone. I slipped out and walked home without anyone
seeing me. It was perfect. So delightful. I feel refreshed. Born again.

Sounds a little risky if you
ask me,
Cogliantry wrote.
You know it is dangerous to kill too close to home. And in broad
daylight? Are you crazy? Remember what happened to Einaudi.

Einaudi was crazy. He ran
amok. I'm not him and never will be,
Karl Persson
argued.

How do you know? To me, it
sounds like you're taking way too many risks. I don't want to be exposed just
because you're not being careful.

Why are you fighting?
It
was Thomas De Quincey. He had joined the chat. Bill Durgin smiled in the hotel
room and listened to the couple talking loudly on the other side of the wall.
Finally, Thomas was on.

This isn't a chat room for
people fighting,
he continued.
This is all about supporting one another, remember?
It's about sharing experiences and helping each other out. Artists like us can
be very lonely, especially with our kind of art. This is the only place we can
share our masterpieces. I will not have people fighting in here … or you're
out.

You're right,
Cogliantry
wrote.

Sorry for that
,
Karl Persson wrote.

It always amazed Bill how much authority and
power Thomas De Quincey held over the others in the chat room. Bill was new to
the whole thing and was quite fascinated with this Thomas character. You could
say he had been a mentor.

This is Bill's night,
Thomas
De Quincey wrote.
It's his time to shine. He
is coming more and more together as an artist and we should encourage and
support him for that. How's your next work coming along?

Bill smiled and heard the voices become even
louder in the room next door.
Very good.
Doing a couple this time.

Very good,
Thomas
De Quincey answered.
A double murder. You're
progressing.

Well I have to, don't I?
Progress towards the Grand Finale,
Bill wrote.

And then your masterpiece is
ready. I love what you are doing here. That the world will never understand nor
appreciate your work only makes you an even greater artist, Bill.

Bill smiled again. There was no one who could
encourage like Thomas De Quincey. The voices had stopped next door and Bill
wondered if they were having sex. Waiting until they were done, Bill looked
back at the iPad when suddenly, a door shut. Was that? Could it be?

Bill stood up, put the iPad away, and rushed
into the hallway just in time to see the woman storm down the hallway and into
an elevator. This was way too early. Bill cursed and stomped, then fondled the
marker as though it was a talisman. Looking at the door, Bill wondered if
leaving now might be the best idea.

No, that would be a shame. There was still one
person in there guilty of adultery.