Seven, eight ... Gonna stay up late (Rebekka Franck #4) (21 page)

I ran up
the stairs and through a hallway. It ended with two doors on each side, I ran
into one, an office. It had books on many shelves from floor to ceiling and
nice leather chairs and a desk with a big iMac in the middle of it. Desperately
I searched the room for anything I could use to protect myself with. I opened
the drawers hoping to find a knife or better yet, a gun. I went through the
shelves and pulled down books, I went to the window and tried to pull it open,
but that too was locked by key. I panted as I stormed around turning everything
upside down, knocking over stacks of papers, tumbling to the floor.

Then I heard steps on the stairs and froze. I
found a letter opener, and with my hands shaking picked it up and held it in
front of me, ready to greet him if he entered,
when
he entered.

I held my breath as the steps came closer and I
heard his voice close to the door. "Here kitty kitty," he said.
"Here kitty kitty."

I looked at the letter opener in my hand. It was
shaking heavily. My heart was pounding in my chest. I focused on keeping myself
calm. My plan was to stab him with the knife as soon as he opened the door. A
surprise attack. The voice came closer and now there was movement behind the
door. Someone touched the handle and moved it. I went closer to the door
holding the knife out in front of me. My palms were moist from sweating, my
jaws trembling.

I stood with my back up against the wall next to
the door, the knife ready in front of me as the door slowly opened, then was
pushed up with a huge bang.

"Boo!" he said and jumped in front of
me.

I lifted my hand with the knife and was about to
stab him, when he grabbed my arm and held it back. It hurt so bad I dropped the
knife. Then he slapped me across the face and I fell to the floor. "That's
for kicking me," he said. "Now let's get to work."

He grabbed my legs and started pulling me, when
suddenly the doorbell sounded again. Allan Witt let go of both of my legs. Then
he sighed loudly. "Not again!" He looked at me, then he leaned over
and slammed my head hard with the handle of the butcher's knife.

When I woke up I was alone. I opened my eyes and
realized I was still in the office. I got up and tried the door. It was locked.
The bastard had locked me inside the office while he answered the door. I heard
loud music coming from downstairs and I heard ... could it be? I heard voices.
Lots of voices! There were people in the house. People that might be able to
help me, help us. I started banging hard on the door while screaming and
yelling. Then I tried running into it with my shoulder like they did in the
movies. But it didn't work. No one seemed to hear my pleas and cries for help;
it was all drowned out by the loud music and many people talking at once. I
sighed and slid down with my back against the door. I hid my face in my hands
and cried thinking about Julie, Peter and Sune, thinking about Camilla and
Amalie who probably were both dead by now. Was I ever going to see the people I
loved again? Was I ever going to get out of here? I was beginning to lose hope.
I looked around in the office. Then my eyes locked on the computer. I hurried up
and ran to it. I could certainly use the computer for something!

I touched the space-bar and the screen lit up.
Allan Witt hadn't shut it off properly when he left it. I touched the mouse and
began looking at all the pages that were open. I opened the Internet, then
logged on to my Hotmail account. I wrote an e-mail then sent it to Sune, Peter
and the police in Karrebaeksminde where I assumed I still was. I told them
where I was and where I was being held captive. I told them the Princess was
here too, and her friend, but I didn't know if they were still alive. I pressed
'send' but the computer kept waiting, trying to send it. Then a note came up on
the screen. Hotmail apologizing but
an error
occurred
.

"No!" I said moving the mouse
frantically. "Not now. Please work! Please send the mail."

But the webpage wouldn't reload. It waited and
remained white for a long time. I sighed and bowed my head.

I decided to wait. Maybe there was something
else I could do. I looked through his computer, looked at everything that
seemed interesting. Then I found something. A folder on the desktop. It
contained a lot of files, old articles, some of them I had written, some were
financial statements and records for Allan and some of them were for
Christopher III, Prince of Denmark.

They had been
early. The guests had been early. Sebastian had invited them to come early,
they told him. Come at five o'clock he had said. We'll surprise Allan.

Oh he was surprised alright when he opened the
door and hundreds of people had screamed "Surprise!"

No doubt he was surprised. Especially since he
wasn't ready with any of the food yet. Now he was walking around, mingling,
talking to everybody, thanking them for coming while serving them the champagne
Sebastian had bought before he died. Allan was shaking as he handed the glasses
out.

"Now where is Sebastian anyway?" A
woman with a big hat chirped. Allan wanted to pull the hat over her face and
strangle her with it. He restrained himself and smiled charmingly.

"Just went out to get something. I'm sure
he'll be here any moment," Allan answered. "You know how he is.
Everything has to be perfect."

"That is true," the woman said and
grabbed a glass.

Allan greeted another guest and handed him a
glass, while looking towards the stairs. He had knocked the woman down and
locked her in, but he was afraid she might wake up soon. He hadn't had the time
to go to the basement either, but as soon as the guests were settled down a
little he should be able to run off without them noticing anything.

"Did you see Sebastian's new collection at
the show in Milan?" A man Allan knew as a very famous columnist for one of
the big national newspapers said to him.

Allan shook his head.

"Oh you missed out. It was fabulous. A true
masterpiece. I don't believe the world has ever seen as great a mind as his. He
will do great things, I tell you. I predict that he will revolutionize the
world of fashion." The people surrounding the man speaking all gasped in
awe. "And you know I'm never wrong about these things."

"Well you might be about this," Allan
mumbled and tried to wiggle his way out of the crowd. Everybody seemed to have
a glass in their hand now. He had shown his face plenty to be able to disappear
without being missed. It was after all Sebastian they all came here to see.
Allan knew that perfectly well. To them Allan was only "the guy dating
Sebastian." They hadn't come to celebrate his birthday, they had come to
not miss out on being at one of Sebastian's great parties. Everyone knew you
didn't miss out on those. They were always the social event of the year. The
kind mentioned afterwards in the magazines with paparazzi pictures taken from
the entrance and outside the house. Even if his parties often were very
spontaneous, Sebastian always managed to gather a huge crowd because nobody
wanted to miss out. You just had to be there.

Now why was it again that Allan had agreed to do
this? Oh, yes, he thought as he turned around and looked into the face of no
other than Prince Christopher III. He cleared his throat.

Allan smiled. "Welcome your Highness,"
he said and bowed slightly. The two bodyguards stepped backwards on the
Prince's command.

Then the Prince signaled for Allan to come
closer. He spoke to him with a low voice. "Cut the crap, Allan. You told
me to be here, now I'm here. In case you don't know it, I'm having a family
crisis at home; my daughter is missing, so if you don't mind please tell me
right away what I am doing here?"

Allan smiled and kissed the Prince's cheek. Then
he whispered. "Well you're here to party. Is there anything wrong with a
man to want to see his own father?"

The Prince's face turned to stone. "I don't
know what you're talking about. I'm not here to be ridiculed."

"Oh, but you have to dear father. Or I'll
tell the entire party who my real father is."

"You must be deranged. I'm not your father.
Yes I took you in when your mother died and took care of you till you were old
enough to go to boarding school. Yes I have taken care of you ever since, but I
am not your father. I don't know where you get these ideas from."

The Prince signaled his bodyguards that he
wanted to leave and turned away.

"I got them from your wife," Allan
said.

The Prince froze. Then he turned and walked back
to Allan. The bodyguards stayed behind on the Prince's signal.

"What?" the Prince said.

Allan smiled. "Yes, Father. Countess Alexis
told me. She told me that you are my father and that I am a rightful heir to
the throne. You can't deny me my birthright. For all those years I should have
been a part of the royal family. I should have been treated like a royalty
instead of getting beat up and raped at a boarding school and never seeing my
father. I should have received
apanage
,
the funds, lifelong pay if you like - from the Danish state given to members of
the royal families. I am entitled to be addressed properly, like royalty. I
want all the perks, all the advantages that has been taken from me, that are
rightfully mine. I want what is mine. I am royalty!"

The last part Allan said a little too loud.
People surrounding them were looking in their direction. Allan smiled
charmingly then lifted his glass to greet them. They nodded and greeted him
back, then turned their heads. The Prince stared at Allan with wide eyes. He
was shaking with fury.

"This is not the time nor the place for
this," he growled.

"Well I think it is," Allan said
calmly. "It's my birthday and I want my father to be here. So you better
stay if you don't want all these people to know about your illegitimate
son."

"I find it hard to believe that Alexis really
told you all this," the Prince growled.

"Well she did. She contacted me right after
she had left you. Guess she was in the mood for some revenge after you sent her
lover-boy to the hospital."

The Prince growled again. Allan smiled perkily.
"So you'll stay for dinner then?"

The Prince never answered. He turned his back to
Allan and emptied his glass of champagne.

Allan shrugged. "I'll take that as a
yes."

I went through
all of Allan Witt's files on his computer and little by little all the pieces
were put together for me to understand. An e-mail from the Countess Alexis,
Princess Amalie's mother stated that Allan was the illegitimate child of Prince
Christopher. In the mail she regretted her behavior back when he was a child
and for the way they had sent him off to a boarding school and never even let
him come back for weekends or holidays.

 
It was
all my fault
, she wrote.
I should
have protected you. I should have demanded that you stay even if we had the
baby in the house, but I didn't. When the Prince suggested that we send you
away, I agreed. A decision I regret today. It wasn't fair to you. But the fact
was that I was afraid of you. How could anyone be afraid of a 10-year-old child
you might ask? Well you scared me. Ever since Amalie was born you had that look
in your eyes like something had been taken from you, like your childhood had
been deprived by the baby. I guess you knew she would somehow push you out of
our lives which she finally did. One day I came into the nursery and found you
standing next to the crib staring at the princess. At first I thought you were
staring at her because you liked her, but then I looked at your hand and saw
your clenched fist. It was bleeding. You had clenched it so hard your nails had
penetrated the palm and caused it to bleed. You wouldn't stop staring at Amalie
even after I called you to me. After that day I was afraid you might hurt the
baby somehow. I kept you away from her and never left you two alone. I didn't
know the Prince was your father. I didn't learn that awful truth until
recently. I found your father's financial statements, his accounts and realized
he was still paying you a huge amount of money even though you were old enough
to take care of yourself. It had always been our agreement that we would pay
for your education and for you to live until your eighteenth birthday, then it
was supposed to stop. We would take care of you as long as you were still a
child. So I confronted him, asking him why he had continued to pay for you
every year even after that, and he finally confessed. He told me he was your
father and that he had an obligation to take care of you. I realize now that he
was paying to be discharged. He was paying you to not have to face the
consequences of his actions in life. And I can't let him do that. I can't let
him keep on lying to you and to the world. You are a rightful heir, you are
part of the royal family and no one can take that away from you. You might
never get the royal family to admit it publicly, but you are royal.

With the best wishes for you
in your future, Countess Alexis of Merchenburg
.

I sat back in the chair while letting this new
information settle in my head. It made sense, I guess, at least it explained
Allan Witt's anger towards the Princess and her family. But it still left many
unanswered questions.

A sound coming from the computer startled me. A
message appeared in the side. I clicked on it and suddenly something appeared
on the screen.

Any new pictures? I'm dying
here. Let me in on what you're doing,
a man named
Cogliantry wrote. Cogliantry? I had heard that name somewhere before. Wasn't he
a famous artist? Probably just a pseudonym I thought. He was talking about
pictures. Maybe it was some sort of chat room for art lovers? Something about
the chat made me continue reading. I went back to old messages, scrolled way
back and skimmed what they had talked about. Then I froze completely feeling
the blood leave my head. I started shivering as I scrolled through the
messages. They were all so gross and despicable. They talked about women's
private parts, about having vile sex with them, about forcing them, hearing
them scream for mercy. All these messages that didn't go any further back than
just a few days were all about killing people. Killing and torturing people. I
gasped, my fingers trembling and shaking on the mouse while the realization
found its way to my brain even if I tried to block it simply because it was too
horrifying to even think it.

Allan wasn't alone
.
There were more like him out there. Many more, it seemed. And they were sharing
their achievements on this chat room, sharing pictures and experiences, dreams
and fantasies.

Afraid of what I would find next I scrolled back
in Allan's messages and found one a few days old. Then I dropped the mouse on
the floor. One of them had gone so far as to order a kill from Allan. A man who
called himself Thomas De Quincey was specifically asking him to kill someone
for him. It was the picture that made my heart stop. Underneath it said:
Her name is Rebekka Franck.