Seven, eight ... Gonna stay up late (Rebekka Franck #4) (14 page)

Allan was
getting
ready. He found a new shirt and put it on in
front of the mirror in his bedroom. He had chosen a light blue to make him look
trustworthy. He read in a magazine once that women found a man in a light blue
shirt more likable and reliable than any other color. And that was what he
needed to signal. Most of his friends dressed in camouflage-green when going
hunting, but Allan dressed in light blue.

He turned his torso in front of the mirror, then
slicked his blond hair back with some wax. He nodded slowly while correcting
the shirt and rolling up the sleeves. It was a warm night out. The right kind
of night for hunting, he thought.

Sebastian had called earlier and said that he
would be over later to spend the night. It would give Allan the alibi he needed
in case anyone would ever think of suspecting him of anything. Though they
never did. He was way too good and way too careful for that.

On the table his iPad lit up. A message on the
chat. It was from Cogliantry.

Good luck tonight
,
it said.
Think of me as you grab her.

I won't,
Allan
wrote
. I don't want to ruin the moment, lol.

Point taken. At least I will
be thinking about you. All night long. Imagining what you're doing to her,
fantasying that it's me. Me who smells her skin, me who looks into her
fear-filled eyes before I end her life. Me, who fucks her afterwards, chops her
into little pieces and feeds them to the pigs.

You're sick,
Allan
wrote.

No, my friend. You're the sick
one here. Posting any pictures soon?

Allan looked at his watch. He had to get going,
but he really wanted to show his friends the pictures he had taken of his
Princess.

Give me a sec.

I'll give you more than that
if you promise me it's good. Boy are you gonna make my night if it's anything
as good as your earlier works.

Oh, it's better. It's much
better. Just wait and see.

 Allan found his single-lens reflex camera
and hooked it up to his Mac. He found the best ones, then uploaded them. As
soon as he plugged in his iPad they were immediately transferred and now he
could upload them to the secure chat. He smiled widely as he watched them
again, then waited for the reaction. It took a few minutes and Allan was about
to get impatient, when a new message popped up:

That, my friend, is a true
masterpiece.

Allan chuckled satisfied. His fellow artist’s
opinions were more important than any opinion. He was his own worst critic and
hard to please, so like many other artists he was constantly looking for
encouraging words and acceptance of his art from others.

Allan logged off the chat. He was getting ready
and had to get in the mood. There was no time for other stuff, he needed to
focus. But there was something that seemed to be bothering him, he thought as
he glanced at his reflection in the mirror once again.
She
was bothering him. Her. She had been
on his mind ever since that night in the parking lot. He exhaled and
straightened his back to make himself look taller. What was it with her? Why
did he want her so bad? He kept fantasying about what he could do to her and
how she was going to make him happy. He was getting too obsessed with her face,
well with everything about her. If he wasn't careful it could end up destroying
him. He risked losing his focus and maybe getting too careless. He could end up
making a mistake if he wasn't careful. History was filled with people who let
an obsession destroy their work. A passion for someone could end up devouring
him. There was really only one way to get rid of an obsession like that.

He had to kill her.

Allan grabbed his car keys and ran downstairs.
Luckily everything seemed to come together for him lately. A message in the
chatroom earlier today had come as a blessing to him. It was almost like
someone knew about his secret desire and wanted to bless him. It could hardly
be just a coincidence, could it?

Just before he went outside he stopped by the
door leading to the basement and listened. Not a sound from the girls. Good, he
thought. They were definitely exhausted after a busy day. He chuckled as he was
walked towards the main door, throwing his car-keys casually in the air and
catching them again. It was good the girls got some sleep. They were about to
have a busy day tomorrow again.

Allan locked the front door carefully, and then
took two steps at a time down the stairs into the gravel where he jumped inside
of his car. The Mercedes spun like a cat as he turned on the engine. He turned
on the GPS in the car and plotted in the name of the town that had been chosen
for tonight's hunt. Karrebaeksminde, it replied. One hundred point nine
kilometers, one hour and seventeen minutes.

Allan smiled at his own reflection in the
rearview mirror, then drove off.

"So what
do
you think of the story about Erik Klipping?"
Peter asked.

We were sitting in my dad's yard drinking a
glass of wine. I offered him one after Julie had fallen asleep and my dad had
turned himself in. I don't know what it was or why I asked him to stay, but I
guess I enjoyed being with Peter again. I enjoyed his company and that he
seemed to be back to his own self again. I had been thinking about Camilla and
Amalie all evening, unable to stop wondering where they could be and if they
were alright. It upset me that I couldn't do anything to help them right now.
But I had to trust the police were doing all they could to find them.

"I don't know," I answered. "Why
would anyone want to steal the remains of a king buried more than seven hundred
years ago? I don't get it. Is it worth anything?"

Peter shrugged then sipped some wine from his
glass. "I guess it might be, but who would buy it?"

I chuckled trying to imagine a wealthy Saudi
Arabian oil-sheik paying millions to have Erik Klipping's coffin in his mansion
somewhere. Then Peter laughed. "The real question is why? Why would
someone buy it?"

"Maybe someone who collects these kind of
things," I said and put my glass on the table. It was a nice bright summer
evening. I had put on a sweater since it had gotten a little chilly, but
otherwise it was very nice sitting on Dad’s patio furniture with Peter.
"Like weird rich guys who collects national relics and treasures."

I thought for a second about Sune while looking
at Peter. I knew he would be so hurt if he knew I was hanging out with my ex.
But wasn't I allowed to do that every once in a while? I mean we used to be
married. We used to have a family and hang out all the time. I missed him.
Wasn't I allowed to do that? It was after all best for Julie that we remained
friends. It was in her best interest.

The guilt was nagging me. I found an old packet
of cigarettes in the pocket of my sweater and took one out. Peter stared at me.
"I thought you'd quit."

"I did," I said and lit it.

Peter shook his head. "Well, at least share
with me," he said and put his fingers in the air to signal that he wanted
the cigarette. I hesitated, then smoked a little more before I handed it to
him. He smiled and inhaled. Then he coughed.

"Too strong for you, huh?" I said
laughing. Peter handed me the cigarette back. I took a couple of puffs, and
then killed it with my shoe.

"No, just too long since I last smoked.
Phew I remember why this was never for me," he said still coughing.

"You used to smoke."

"When I was younger. Before I met you, yes.
Guess I'm getting too old."

I smiled. "You are kind of old. But heck so
am I. Too old."

Peter stopped coughing then looked at me.
"Too old for what?" he asked.

I exhaled. "Too old to be having more
children," I mumbled, then picked up my glass and drank my wine.

Peter burst into laughter. "Ha. You having
more children? Where did that come from?"

I chuckled. "I know. It's kind of silly,
right?"

Peter stopped laughing. "You're being
serious? Do you really want more kids now? I thought you were happy with the
way things were. With Julie and your job here and living the life you do now?
Do you really want to start all over again with a baby?"

I inhaled sharply. "Tricky question. Not
sure we should go there right now."

Peter nodded. "Ah, I see. He wants to have
more children, you don't?"

"Well it's not that simple. It's a lot more
complicated than that. I do want to have more children, or I did, but we have
been trying for a long time now and nothing is happening. Now I feel like we're
wearing each other out on this subject. It's grown too big, you know? Plus I'm
not getting any younger as we wait for it to happen. I'll be thirty-nine in
October."

"I know. You're getting up there with the
rest of us," Peter said with a grin.

I slapped him amicably on the shoulder.
"I'm not old. Not like you."

He grabbed my hand. "You'll never be as old
as me. You'll always be young and absolutely gorgeous."

Peter pulled me closer to him till we were face
to face. He closed his eyes with a sigh. "I've missed this," he
whispered. Then he opened his eyes. My heart was beating fast. I wanted to run,
I wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him to leave, but something inside of me
refused to do it.

"I still love you, Rebekka. Things have
changed. I have changed ..." In the middle of the sentence he leaned over
and kissed me.

To my surprise I kissed him back.

He watched them
from afar. From behind the neighbor's privet hedge. He had been lucky, Allan
thought to himself. Lucky to have been able to find her this fast. He hadn't
been able to locate her address from the yellow pages by using her phone-number
from the business card, but he had been able to locate her father's address by
typing in the last name and much to his surprise, he had found her there. There
she was.

When he passed the house in his car for the
first time, he saw her walk into the house with what he assumed was her family.
Allan had been watching them through the windows with his binoculars for an
hour or so before she to his great joy suddenly stepped out in the backyard
with a bottle of wine and some guy Allan didn't care much for. There she was.
So close to him again. Looking striking in her summer-dress and soft, tanned
skin. Deep in a conversation with the guy, laughing, drinking wine and even
smoking cigarettes.

Allan listened in on their conversation about
the remains of the King Erik Klipping. He himself had been wondering about that
story as well. It had taken all too much space in the media, taking space from
the abduction of Princess Amalie and her friend, from his story, his
masterpiece. Allan growled thinking about it. At this time of year the media
normally had nothing to tell, so a story like his would fill everything, would
be everywhere, but he hadn't counted on competition from a dead king. Allan got
why they liked the story. There was some fascination about that specific person
in the country's history, since he was assassinated, stabbed to death and the
murder was never solved. But other than that, Allan couldn't see what the fuss
was about. Who cared about some old dead king, when there were so many lives to
take, so many living that could be killed in so many fascinating ways. Over the
years Allan had done many killings, so many he no longer counted them, but to
him the fascinating part wasn't why he killed them, but more how. The art of
creating a horrific death for someone, and creating it to perfection was his
passion.

With Princess Amalie it was slightly different
than his earlier works. With her it was both. It was both the why and the how
that was interesting. It was personal. She was chosen for a reason, but that
was the first time for him, maybe not the last, since he had quite enjoyed
himself so far. It gave the kill an extra touch to it, an extra thrill.

Normally it didn't matter who she was, as long
as she served her purpose. And the girl Camilla? Well she was just there as a
way of tormenting the Princess. Seeing her suffer was an extra plus, a bonus.
He knew Camilla was one of the very few that the Princess actually cared about.
He even knew they had shared a kiss once. He had seen it, when he was watching
the Princess, preparing his plan for her death. She had pretended to not like
it, but Allan knew she did. He knew she liked Camilla much more than she would
care to admit. Allan shook his head while watching the man cough after smoking.
All those deceits and lies, he mumbled to himself. Why couldn't they ever just
tell the truth? Why had Amalie's parents pretended to be a family even after
her mother left? he asked himself. Amalie's mother and father had pretended
towards the world to be this happy couple. Whenever they went to anything
official, whether it was the opening of a museum that they had to cut the red
velvet cord, or if it was gala at the queen's castle, they went together,
smiling at the cameras, waving at the people, pretending that everything was alright.
But it wasn't. Allan knew it wasn't. The mother had moved to Spain and lived
with another man. Why did they insist on deceiving the world like that? Why all
the lies?

Allan growled and shook his head heavily in
anger. He was so tired of all the lies! He clenched his fist while staring at
the woman he desired so badly. He wanted to kill, he thought. He needed to kill
tonight. The voices in his head wouldn't stop demanding, wouldn't stop yelling
at him.

Kill, kill, kill.

He clenched his fist harder and harder. Soon his
nails were penetrating the skin of his palm, but he hardly noticed. Not until
he saw the man kiss the woman and he lifted his hand and realized he was
bleeding. Blood was running down his arm from his hand and dripping on his new
black shoes made from expensive Italian leather.