Nine, Ten ... Never Sleep Again (12 page)

She was
prettier than
he thought she would be. Henrik Fenger
didn't exactly know what he had expected, but not this. He watched her from
afar, in the mirror behind the bartender, as she walked out from the restaurant
and towards him in the bar. Her searching eyes scanning the area to find him
gave her away. Behind her followed a younger guy, very tall and who looked more
like a punker than a photographer.

"Mr. Fenger?"

Henrik grinned and turned on his bar stool.
"Rebekka Franck I assume?" He reached out his hand and she took it.
Nice firm handshake. He liked that in a woman. Probably a feisty little one.

"This is my photographer Sune
Johansen," she said introducing the punk-guy behind her.

"Hi," he said and reached out his hand.

"Hello," Henrik said and shook his
hand slightly, reluctantly wondering what kind of germs and following diseases
this guy was going to give him. Henrik stared at the photographer's ring in the
eyebrow. He wrinkled his nose. He never understood why people wanted rings all
over the place that could get infected.

"Let's go sit in the corner over
there," Rebekka Franck said and pointed at some couches.

"Can I get you anything to drink?"
Henrik asked. He couldn't stop staring at the woman. She was beautiful, not in
a traditional way, but there was just something about her, something alluring
that made him want to screw her.

"No, we just ate," Rebekka said.

"Ah come on," Henrik said. "You
look like someone who would enjoy a Chardonnay."

"As a matter of fact, I'm more of a red
wine person," she said.

"Then let me buy you a glass of red
wine," Henrik insisted. Before she could protest, he ordered one for her.

"I'll just have a beer," the
photographer said.

He was already annoying Henrik and he was
starting to wonder how he was going to get rid of him. Henrik moaned slightly
in pain as he got up from his bar stool and walked towards the black leather
couches in the corner.

"Do you need a hand?" Rebekka Franck
asked.

"No." Henrik said a little too
harshly. "I mean, I'm fine. Just the damn pain that won't go away."

"From the surgery?" Sune the
photographer asked.

No from fucking all night. Yes
of course it's from having my kidney removed you idiot!

"It must have been quite painful?"
Rebekka Franck asked.

Henrik loathed the tone of pity in her voice.
Yes, he was the victim, but no he didn't want to be treated like a cripple. He
wanted her to see how handsome he was, how attractive he was. Henrik always had
a way with the ladies.

"It wasn't so bad," he said, trying
hard to smile.

"Oh my God," Rebekka Franck suddenly
said and pointed at his white shirt.

"What?"

"I think you're bleeding," she said.
"Is that blood on your shirt? There on the right side?"

Henrik looked down. Her had taken a shower after
killing Annabelle and put on new clothes so he hardly thought it could be hers,
but suddenly he feared it was. "It's nothing," he said, and smiled.

"Don't you think we should take you to the
hospital?" Sune the photographer asked.

He shook his head while imagining himself smashing
the boy's face in with a clenched fist. "No it's nothing. I can hardly
feel anything. The doctor said this might happen."

They sat down on the couches and Henrik found a
handkerchief in his pocket that he wiped his forehead with. He was sweating
heavily now.

"You don't look too well," Rebekka
Franck said. "Maybe we should do this another day?"

"No," Henrik said, annoyed with all
the fussing. Yes, the doctor had told him to rest and stay calm, but how could
he? How could he remain at peace with so many IDIOTS in this world?

Henrik wiped his forehead again, then forced a
smile and looked at Rebekka Franck. "Shall we begin?"

Bill Durgin was
sitting
in the bar with an iPad on the counter. The
bartender had served up a beer while Bill was looking for the next lucky
victim. Meanwhile, Bill was in the chat room, talking to one of the other
artists.

I'm sitting in the bar at the
hotel now
.

Oh, the thrill of the chase
,
someone named Karl Persson answered. Bill had been chatting with him before. He
was quite the lunatic, but very good at inspiring and giving good advice.

Spotted your next victim yet?
He asked.

I have my eyes on several
right now.
Bill was looking up into the mirror behind
the bartender, where observing the guests in the hotel without being seen was a
lot easier. A guy at the end of the bar looked promising.

Ah I love this part
,
Karl wrote.
Scanning the room, knowing you
hold the power of life and death in your hand, knowing you get to choose who
will live to see tomorrow and who won't.

Bill had to admit, it was enjoyable. Who could
have ever guessed, but Thomas De Quincey had been right. After the first kill,
the thought of the next one was much easier; it was almost thrilling. It
provided the ultimate satisfaction to hurt these people. These people who
deserved nothing better, who had it coming to them.

Cheating bastards.

A woman sat in the corner with a tall punk
fellow and another man who had his back to Bill. They were talking; the punk
fellow was taking pictures of the guy who had his back turned. Bill studied the
woman and the punker. They didn't look like a couple. He was way younger than
her. But they had dinner at the restaurant earlier in the night and seemed very
comfortable, stealing looks and looking at each other like they weren't
supposed to be together, like they were afraid to be caught. Bill could smell
an affair from far away and those two had one. The tension in the air between
them was electrifying. There was no doubt. They smelled of deceit.

I have my eye on two right
now. I might do them both this time
.

You go for it. A double kill
is very rare. Did one back in '89. I can still remember the thrill. I live to
relive it.

Bill chuckled and drank the beer. A man entered
the bar and sat two stools down from Bill. He smiled and nodded. Bill smiled
back.

"How's the beer?" The man asked.

"To die for," Bill answered.

The man laughed awkwardly. Bill turned to look
at the couple again. The punker was laughing, looking at the woman who
apparently had said something funny. A chill ran down Bill’s spine. It was
disgusting. The way they looked at each other was repulsive.

What about your husband at
home, little lady
? The young boy didn't look like he
was married with children, but the woman probably was. She looked like it. It
was in her eyes, her entire body was smeared in it. The way she looked at the
boy when she talked and then looked down quickly afterwards made her look
guilty. Tormented by it.

So have you chosen?
Karl asked.

I think I have.

When will you strike?

At midnight when they're all
asleep. They'll never know what hit them. It'll be a night of terror. A
punishment to fit the crime.

You're evil.

The woman laughed again. The hair rose on the
back of Bill's neck. The falseness, the dishonesty to her voice was creepy. A
woman like her deserved to die.

I laughed
awkwardly at
my own joke. The whole situation was a
little strange and felt clumsy. Sune and I tried hard to lighten the atmosphere
a little, but with no luck. Henrik Fenger was a strange man who seemed to be in
way too much pain to be sitting here when he should be in a hospital. He was
sweating heavily and he seemed to be bleeding too. I didn't quite know what to
say to him, but I really thought he should go to the hospital.

As we spoke and he told his story, he kept
groaning and moaning in pain. Then he found some pills in his jacket and
swallowed a couple, flushing them down with beer. I asked him several times if
we should drive him to the nearest hospital, but he refused. It felt highly
uncomfortable for both me and Sune, but the man had, after all, the right to
decide not to go. It was a very strange situation and an even weirder
interview. The man seemed so uncomfortable and, every now and then, he would
yell at me and hit his fist on the table holding our drinks. I started
wondering if he was really well. Not just physically. He seemed to have a huge
amount of anger trapped inside of him. It made him a little scary.

"So how did you feel when you heard about
the second case in Hasle?" I asked.

Henrik Fenger froze in the middle of drinking.
He put the glass down very hard on the table. "The what?" He asked.

I looked at Sune, then back at Henrik Fenger.
"You didn't hear about the man who was killed at a hotel in Hasle?"

Henrik Fenger looked confused. "What?"

"It was very similar to your story, except
he didn't survive," I continued. "His liver was removed and he died
overnight. The cleaning lady found him covered in ice just like you were."

"But …" Henrik Fenger stared at me
like there was something really wrong with me. "You say he died?"

I nodded and drank from my wine. I looked up at
the bar. It was strange. I kept having the feeling that someone was watching
me. Maybe it was just the entire situation that made me a little paranoid. It
was stupid, really, but the thought of having to spend the night in a hotel
scared me a little. I couldn't help thinking:
what
if I wake up covered in ice? What if they take one of my organs?

I shook my head. No it was ridiculous. There
were so many hotels. To have the organ thieves strike right at the one I was
staying in was hardly realistic. Or was it? I felt a chill and looked up at the
bar behind Henrik Fenger again. Was someone observing me?

I looked at Henrik Fenger again. He seemed to be
getting worse. He was sweating heavily and panting. He was still staring at me.
I tried to smile.

"Anyway, that's all I know," I said.

"What do the police say?" Henrik
Fenger asked. His voice was shrill.

"Apparently, he was with some girl on the
night it happened. They have her in custody now."

Henrik Fenger looked like he was choking. He put
his beer down. "She's WHAT?" He said yelling the last word with a
shrill voice.

"She's been taken into police custody to be
interrogated. But I spoke to one of the officers when I was in my room earlier
and he told me they will be letting her go in the morning. She doesn't know
anything, he told me."

Henrik Fenger's right eye started blinking and
he was moving his head in a weird way reminding me of the pigeons I used to
feed with Julie in the center of Copenhagen when she was younger.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sune
asked.

Henrik Fenger grinned. "Yes. Yes. I'm okay.
Why shouldn't I be? Huh? Tell me WHY? Because someone stole my kidney? Because
my wife won't answer my calls? Huh? Is that it? Because I'm sitting here with
two MORONS who don't understand ANTYHING? Because the whole damn world has gone
MAD overnight?"

I turned to face Sune and our eyes met. He made
a grimace. I fought hard not to laugh. I got up and reached out my hand.

"I think we have what we came for. Thank
you so much, Mr. Fenger for taking  time to meet with us."

I shook his hand and Henrik Fenger grumbled
something as Sune and I hurried to get away from him. As we left the bar, I
couldn't let go of the feeling that someone was still watching my every move,
so I turned and looked. I met a set of eyes in the mirror behind the bartender.
They seemed friendly, so I smiled. The eyes smiled back.