Seven, eight ... Gonna stay up late (Rebekka Franck #4) (20 page)

I was fumbling
with the lighter while Allan was gone. I tried to melt the plastic but ended up
burning my fingers instead after a few minutes. It hadn't even left a burn mark
on the plastic. I sighed and took a break. Allan Witt had been gone for a long
time now and I wondered what he was up to. I talked to Camilla all the time,
encouraging her to hold on, to keep her head up. But she was getting tired now.
They were shaking.

"I can't hold on," she said. "I
can't hold it anymore."

"Yes you can," I yelled back.
"I'm getting us out of here. Hold on as long as you can."

"But I can't. My arms are hurting so badly.
They are shaking now. It smells so bad in here. I can hardly breathe."

"You have to. Keep holding on just for a
little longer now," I said while trying to melt the plastic with my
lighter once again.

"It's armored," Camilla said.
"The plastic is armored. It can sustain anything, bullets, fire
everything. He told us."

"Crap." I sighed deeply and stared
hopeless at the box, feeling its edges, its sides. Everything has a weak spot,
I kept thinking. Everything and everybody.

"My arms," Camilla cried.
"They're caving in. My elbows are hurting."

"Your arms need to move to be able to pump
the blood around in your body. You need to rest them, just for a little while.
Can you dive under for just a few seconds, then come back up?"

"That's what I did when he filled the box
with water, but this smells so bad. It smells so bad, Rebekka," she wept.

"I won't let you die in there," I
said. "Neither you, nor Amalie. I will get you out of there. I promise.
But for now you have to focus on staying alive. You have to rest your arms and
then come back up. Move your arms while you’re under, so the blood can
circulate, and then come back up. It'll make you be able to sustain it longer.
Trust me, okay?"

"O...okay," she stuttered. Camilla
closed her eyes and held her nose as she dove under the fluid. A few seconds
later she came back up, crying heavily, coughing, spitting.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I got some in my mouth, but I spat it out.
It tasted so horrible!"

"I know. Just hold on."

The door opened and I hid the lighter in my hand
with a gasp. In stepped Allan with a big butcher's knife in his hand. His hair
was slightly messed up and his eye flickering with constant tics. He was
smiling widely but seemed less controlled than earlier. If he was losing it, it
could be both an advantage since he might be less careful, but it could also
have the opposite effect since the crazier, the more dangerous he would be.

Camilla was gasping but holding on in the box next
to me, while I had no idea how Princess Amalie was doing and it scared me that
I hadn't heard a sound from her in a long time. All I heard was the sound of
the pump constantly pushing more of that yellow mush inside of her. I had no
idea how long a person could sustain that before the stomach would explode.

Allan Witt walked to Amalie's box, peeked in
with a satisfied smile, then continued to Camilla. He looked at her while she
struggled to keep her head above the surface.

"You'll give in soon," he said.
"But I've ordered more just in case. It should be here soon."

Then he turned and looked at me. I gasped as our
eyes met. He bent over my box and stared at me from above. Then he tapped it
with his nail like I was an animal and he wanted to get my attention.

"You ready?" he asked.

I stared at the butcher's knife he was holding
above his shoulder. Then I gulped. I knew what his intention was.
"Please," I said. "Can't we find another way? Maybe I can help
you with something. I know a lot of people, maybe I could get you out of the
country," I lied. "There is still time. You could stop now. Do
yourself a favor and stop before it's too late."

Allan Witt laughed loudly. "You don't know
half the people that I know. I can get out whenever I want to. Don't you worry
your pretty little head with that."

Allan Witt found a screwdriver and began
unscrewing some of the screws in the box. "Now I could have sedated you
with chloroform first," he said. "But that would be cheating, don't
you think? No one sedates the fish when it's cut open." He smiled and
looked into my eyes. "I want you to feel the pain."

I swallowed hard as the bottom of my box was
carefully pulled off. I was completely still with my hand clenched on the
lighter. Allan Witt removed the end wall and reached in to grab my legs. I
kicked and screamed as he pulled me out. One kick hit him in the face, another
in the chest. But still he managed to tie duct-tape around them and tie them
tight together so I couldn't move them.

I grunted and tossed my body as he pulled the
rest of me out and tried to catch my arms to tie them as well. I moved them
constantly, throwing punches with my fists clenched, when he managed to grab my
right wrist and restrain it on my back. I screamed in pain as he pulled it hard
and I had to bend forward. I stared directly into the puddle of blood next to
me. Allan Witt's expensive Italian leather shoes were in the middle of it. In
the middle of the puddle of blood and Armagnac. I looked at my clenched fist as
I felt Allan Witt's fingers on me, trying to turn me around and get my other
hand. I lifted my head and looked him straight in the eyes, then I lit the
lighter and set the small puddle on fire. I covered my face and threw myself
backwards. In a matter of seconds the alcoholic drink exploded and caught Allan
Witt's pants soaked in Armagnac.

"What the hell ...?"

Allan felt the fire lick his leg and burn the
hair and skin on his shin. He jumped with a scream as the fire quickly moved to
his apron and soon flames were close to his face. He sprang for the hose in the
corner that he normally used to hose the blood off the floor. While screaming
and patting the fire down from his clothes, he managed to grab the hose, and
turned on the water. He yelled as he hosed it all down and managed to douse the
flames.

Panting and gasping for breath he looked back.
The woman was gone. The duct tape that had been around her legs was on the
floor. The butcher's knife was gone.

Allan threw the hose on the ground. Soaking wet
and with his shoes making sloshing sounds as he walked he hurried towards the
stairs. With a grunt he stormed up to the door and opened it with a huge bang
as it hit the wall behind it. He scanned the hallway and the open kitchen. He
looked at the main entrance. No, it was locked and could only be opened by key.
She couldn't have gotten out that way. Then he looked at the sliding doors
leading outside. They were locked by key too. He wasn't that stupid. He knew
that if he made a mistake and one of them came loose he would need to keep them
inside the house. It was hermetically sealed. No one came in and no one got
out. He heard a sound from the living room and reacted to it. With the speed of
light he entered it and saw her. She hadn't gotten far. She was pulling all the
doors and all the windows trying to open them. Frantically she was pulling,
shaking the handles, banging on the glass as she saw him walk closer. Then she
tried hitting it with the butcher's knife. She managed to crack the glass,
before Allan grabbed it out of her hand.

Poor little thing, he thought. Just filled with
hope and now it was all gone again. Sometimes life was just brutal that way,
wasn't it?

"You can't get out," he said. "I
have locks on all windows and doors. They can only be opened with a key."
He put his hand in the pocket and pulled out his chain with his many keys. He
dangled them in front of her, then pulled them away as she tried to grab them
out of his hand. He put them back in his pocket.

"Nice trick with the fire by the way. I was
completely startled. Very nice. But now we're done playing. You better come
with me," he said and grabbed her arm.

She refused to move, so Allan lifted the knife.
"Do you want me to cut you up in here, in the living room? I do prefer the
basement since it tends to get so messy, don't you agree?"

He never did hear her answer before they were
interrupted by the doorbell. Startled by the sound he turned his head. In a
matter of a second the woman managed to plant a knee in his privates then put
her fist in his face causing him to let go of her arm. For a few seconds Allan
saw nothing but stars and the ceiling, he barely noticed that the woman stormed
towards the main entrance. She was already at the door when he got back on his
legs. She was fumbling with the lock trying to get the key in. Wow she was
fast, Allan thought as he realized she had stolen the keys from his pocket.
But not fast enough
. Allan stormed towards
her as she tried another key, then another, but he knew it would take her too
long to find the right one. Only he knew his system, which color went to what
door. No one, not even Sebastian could figure that out. She heard him and
turned her head. Desperately she tried another key, fumbled with it, then
realized that didn't fit either. Then she started banging on the door, trying
to alert the person standing on the other side pushing the doorbell.

"HELP! I'm being held as a prisoner. Please
help me!"

Now Allan was in a hurry to shut her up. He
charged towards her, but as soon as he was almost there, she turned and ran
towards the stairwell leading upstairs. Then she was gone. Allan cursed and
snorted. Why did she have to make everything so damn difficult for him?
Normally he enjoyed it when his victims were feisty, but today he didn't have
the time for it. The doorbell sounded again and Allan slicked his hair back and
checked that he looked decent. He pulled off the apron that had been burnt at
the bottom. Then he put on his most charming smile, picked up the keys that the
woman had dropped on the floor and put the right key in the lock.

"Yes?" he said to the teenage boy
standing outside. He was holding a bag in his hand.

"Delivery?" he said. "From
Hansen's Delicacies. You ordered three bottles of Armagnac."

Allan chuckled and smiled. "That's
correct," he said. "I promised you a thousand dollars. He grabbed his
wallet and pulled out a stack of bills. "Here take two."

The boy's eyes lit up. "Wow, thank you so
much!" He was almost about to leave when he stopped. "Say. I thought
I heard someone bang at the door just before and yell that they were being held
captive or something?"

Allan laughed his aristocratic laughter.
"That was just my daughter. She likes to play games, you know. Kids are
like that sometimes. You know what it is like, don't you. You probably have a
sister or a little brother, am I right?" Allan said while studying the
kid. He took a step towards him, observing if there was any doubt in his face.
If Allan detected any he would have to kill him. He held the bottle tight in
his hand. He really didn't want to waste this last bottle of Armagnac on the
young boy's pimply face. But he would if he had to.

"I guess," the kid said. Then he
stared at the money in his hand and shrugged like he didn't care. "Thanks
for the tip anyway," he said and waved goodbye.

"That-a-boy," Allan said and closed
the door slowly while making sure the kid didn't come back. He went to the
kitchen and put the bottles on the kitchen table. He debated within himself for
a moment on what to do next. Should he go down to the basement and pour in the
last Armagnac to finish his project with the girl or should he go upstairs and
kill the woman right away before she found a way to get out or to alert more
people? He wasn't sure what was most important right now. Time was running out,
the guests would be here soon and he still hadn't even made an appetizer. On
the other hand he couldn't leave the woman up there for long. She was smart and
might find a way to get out or to expose him.

With the butcher's knife in his hands he started
walking up the stairs quoting Jack Torrance in
The
Shining
:

"
I'm not
gonna hurt ya. I'm just going to bash your brains in. Gonna bash 'em right the
fuck in! ha ha ha."