Run run as fast as you can (Emma Frost #3), Page 2

  Lisa peeled the potatoes while shaking her head, thinking about her stroll in the park earlier in the day. All that garbage people threw everywhere. It was disgusting. And why wasn't anyone cleaning it up? This was a nice town and should remain that way.

  Lisa kept peeling the potato and didn't realize she had cut herself. She gasped as she saw the blood run from her index finger into the sink, dripping onto the potatoes. She looked at the blood running down her finger for quite a while, studying closely how it found its way down and how the drops were shaped at the end. Why some women didn't like to see blood, she couldn't understand. To Lisa there was something so fascinating about it, so alluring that she couldn't stop staring at it.

  "When will dinner be ready?" Christian asked, as he stepped inside the kitchen.

  Quickly, Lisa turned on the faucet and washed the finger. Then she found a paper towel and wrapped the finger in it before she turned to face him.

  "Sorry honey. What was that?"

  "I asked when dinner would be ready. I'm starving."

  "I'm working on it," she said.

  "Could you give me an estimate? Is it like half an hour or an hour? Cause then I'll probably go down to the pub and meet with the guys from work."

  "I guess it’s more like half an hour," she lied, knowing he wouldn't have enough time to go.

  "So, is it precisely half an hour or most like half an hour? ‘Cause I could easily make it down and back real fast if I left now."

  Lisa took the potato peeler in her hand and imagined stabbing Christian with it in his throat. She pictured how he would look at her, startled, taken aback, searching for an answer, while she would just look at the blood running down his torso, wondering if she would ever be able to get it all off his white shirt.

  "Lisa?" he said.

  Lisa looked at him with a distant smile. "I'm serving salmon for dinner," she said, then turned around and grabbed another potato in her hand.

  4

  November 2013

  IT WAS COMPLETELY dark when she opened her eyes. Simone felt dizzy and tried to sit up, but had to put her head back on the floor to not lose consciousness again. It took a few minutes before she remembered.

  "Liv," she mumbled and tried to lift her head again. Pictures of her crying daughter on the back seat of the car flickered in front of her eyes. "Where is Liv?" She said a little louder. "Tim?" She called out.

  But there was no answer.

  "Where am I?" she asked the darkness.

  Desperately, she tried to feel the floor around her. Something crackled when she touched it. She stretched out to try and reach further away. It seemed the floor was all covered in what felt like newspapers. Simone tried to crawl across it while feeling her way with her fingers. Her hand bumped into something. It was an edge of some sort. It felt like wood. She touched it and felt it upwards. The wood stopped but now there was something else blocking her way. Something that made her heart stop. It was wire. She felt it again. It had holes that she could put her fingers through. Was it a net? Or maybe some kind of wired fence?

  Simone tried to feel how far it went, but the darkness scared her. She was afraid of moving too much and falling and hurting herself. Why was it so dark? There had to be some kind of light somewhere. She turned her head to try and find any kind of light, something coming from a window or under a door. There seemed to be a little light coming from somewhere far away from her, near the floor. Probably a door, she thought. Maybe it was a way out? At least there had to be a light switch near the door, right?

  The newspapers crackled underneath her as she moved frantically around, feeling her way towards the light, but was stopped by more wire fence. She was sobbing slightly now, wondering where she was and how she had gotten there, but most of all, fearing that something had happened to her daughter.

  Oh, God, please let me see her again. Please don't let anything happen to her. I promise I'll never complain about her crying again, I promise I'll never dream about running away. I didn't mean it, God. I really didn't. I was just tired and exhausted. You know that don't you?

  The thought that something might have happened to her daughter fed the growing panic. Where was she? Was she still in the car? Was she still crying in the back seat? Who would find her there?

  "Tim?" she called again. "Hello? Is there anyone who can hear me?"

  She grabbed the fence and tried to pull herself up to her feet. She succeeded, despite the strong dizziness, only to realize she couldn't stand up straight. Her head hit some sort of ceiling made from more wire. Simone gasped and patted it to feel how big it was. That was when her hand accidentally touched something that made her pull back and throw herself back to the floor with a whimper. She curled up in the corner and looked up to see if she could spot what it was that she had touched. It had felt soft and warm. There was no doubt in Simone's mind that it had been an animal of some kind. Simone shivered and stared into the darkness. She sensed movement. There was a sound. Yes, something was definitely up there. She wasn't alone.

  What is this place? Where am I? Please someone get me out of here. Oh, Tim, please find me.

  Simone heard more movement from above her and looked up with a gasp. Something touched the net and made a loud noise, like it was grabbing on to it. Simone stared into the darkness and wondered. Those small dots that were constantly moving. Were those eyes looking at her?

  Another sound startled her. A small shriek almost like a bird or a baby crying. But it wasn't a bird or a baby, that much she knew. The sound was too different, much different than anything she had ever heard before. Sometimes it was like screaming, then more like a clicking.

  Then something came towards her, she saw it move and sensed it come closer, but it wasn't until it grabbed her hair with its claws that she screamed.

  5

  October 2003

  THOMAS HAD GIVEN Ellen the flowers anyway. He didn't know what else to do with them. After running back to his car and waiting till she and that handsome man had both left, he had walked up to the door and placed the flowers on the doormat for her to see when she came home. Crying, he had run back to his car and driven home. Now, he was sitting in his living room, staring at the wall, wondering where Ellen was and what she was doing with that guy.

  Thomas looked at his phone on the table in front of him, then picked it up and found Ellen in his contacts.

  "Hello?"

  She sounded happy; not out of breath like they had been in the middle of something. There was a lot of noise in the background sounding like they were out somewhere. Maybe in a restaurant? Had he taken her to dinner? Had he taken her to La Petite Cuisine? Thomas swallowed hard to calm himself down. Why did she sound so happy?

  Because she is with him and not you, you freak. What's not to be happy about? He is handsome, he is tall, he pleases her; you don't.

  "Hello? Is there anyone there?" she asked.

  Thomas opened his mouth with the intent to speak, but no words left his mouth.

  "Hello? Who is this?"

  Thomas breathed heavily, fighting the urge to cry.

  "Who is it?" A voice asked in the background.

  Probably him, probably Mr. Handsome. Do you think he is holding her hand while she is speaking to you, do you? Do you think he is looking her into her eyes while caressing her hand and arm the way you dream of doing? You're a fool, Thomas. She doesn't love you. Nobody loves you.

  "No one," he heard Ellen's voice reply. "Probably a wrong number. I can hear someone breathing, though." She paused, then laughed. "Hello?" she asked again. "Listen you pervert. I'm not into this kind of kinky stuff. Find someone else to breathe at."

  Then she hung up.

  Thomas stared at the phone as it went silent, then put it back on the table. He bit his nails while looking at the phone's display, hoping she would call him back.

  "No, she does love me. I know she does," he mumbled to himself. "I'm not going to give up this easily. I'll fight for her if I have to."

  Deter
mined, Thomas rose from his chair, went into the living room, and turned on his computer. He went online and found a local florist. He ordered seven roses to be delivered to Ellen's house, one every day for a week.

  That'll show her how much I love her.

  As the order went through and he paid with his credit card, he leaned back expecting to feel satisfied, but something was still very wrong. He still felt angry and so jealous. What was his Ellen doing with that creep? Suddenly, a thought struck him. What if this guy was mean to her? What if he hurt her? Thomas felt the anger rise inside of him and got up from his chair. He could not let that happen, could he? He loved her and that meant he had to protect her.

  Thomas stormed out the door and jumped into his car. There weren't that many restaurants on Fanoe Island. He turned on the engine and drove towards town, where most of them were, then parked the car. Knowing how much Ellen loved the place, Thomas went to La Petite Cuisine first and, just as he thought, there they were, sitting at a corner table. Thomas asked to get a table near the window so he could watch them without them seeing him. He sat down, not taking his eyes off of Ellen for even a second. He ordered a roasted duck and some wine and finally the waiter left him alone. Thomas observed the two of them as they ate and talked. Ellen laughed at something the handsome man had said. The sound of her laughter felt like knives to Thomas's heart. The handsome man put his hand on top of hers. Then he reached over and caressed her cheek. She chuckled and kissed his hand.

  "Are you alright, monsieur?" the waiter asked.

  Thomas looked up and nodded while swallowing his tears. "Yes. Yes. I just had some bad news. It'll get better."

  "I brought you your wine."

  "Thank you," Thomas said and forced a smile. "Just what I need."

  "Very well, monsieur," the waiter said and poured some into Thomas's glass. Thomas tasted it and nodded, still with his eyes fixated on Ellen and the handsome man. The waiter then poured more into his glass.

  "Just leave the bottle," Thomas said.

  The waiter nodded before he left. Thomas gulped down the entire glass of wine, then reached for the bottle and poured some more into it. Ellen was laughing out loud. Thomas closed his eyes. How desperately he wanted to be in that seat across from her right now. Oh how he wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that.

  Thomas opened his eyes and looked at his beautiful Ellen across the room. He didn't care for the way the handsome man was looking at her, like he wanted to devour her.

  If that guy ever hurts her, I swear I’ll kill him. I’ll cut off his balls and feed them to him. I swear I will. Please Ellen, don't be with that guy. If you still love me, then show it to me. Show me, give me a hint.

  And, just like that, she did. Just as Thomas had wished, Ellen leaned down and reached a hand into her purse and pulled out a hair tie. She pulled her hair back and tied it into a ponytail.

  Thomas gasped and smiled. That was her signal. She did still love him. She knew how much he loved it when she wore her hair like that. It was her sign to him. It had to be.

  Thomas lifted his glass and pretended to be saluting her, imagining that he was the man sitting across from her.

  "To our love," he whispered. "A love that will last till death parts us."

  6

  November 2013

  I KEPT HAVING nightmares. I dreamt about girls being trapped in small rooms with men abusing them over and over again … Just like in the stories I had been told by the many kids we had seen on our trips to look for the missing Danish girls in Eastern Europe.

  I woke up again and again with my heart pounding in my chest and tears rolling across my face. Around five a.m., I couldn't sleep anymore and got out of bed. I grabbed my laptop and walked downstairs. The light was on in the kitchen and, at first, I thought I had forgotten to shut it off, but then I realized someone was in there.

  "Victor?" I asked and walked closer. He was sitting with his head bend over his book, writing in his notebook like his life depended on it.

  "What are you doing up, buddy? It's only five a.m."

  He didn't answer or look at me, but I was used to that.

  "What are you writing in the notebook?" I asked and walked closer. I looked at it from above his shoulder. It looked mostly like random numbers and letters. "What is all this, buddy?"

  He didn't answer, but kept on writing. I sat down next to him with a knot in my stomach. I didn’t like this; I didn't like that he wasn't sleeping properly. Was this because of me? Because I had been gone too much lately? Was this his way of telling me? I touched his hair. He froze. I removed my hand in fear that he would scream like he had before when I touched him.

  "Why aren't you in bed, Vic?" I asked. "You need your sleep. You know that. You have school today and I don't want you to be all tired and indisposed. Maybe you should go up and get an hour. How long have you even been down here? What made you get out of bed, huh? Did something wake you up?"

  Victor turned his head and looked directly at me. I smiled. I wanted so desperately to reach out and grab him in my arms but held myself back. I didn't want to ruin the moment. "What is it, Victor? What woke you up?"

  "Bats," he said. "The bats woke me up."

  Then he turned his head and returned to the book.

  "Bats?" I asked. "I didn't hear them."

  "Of course you didn't hear them. You were asleep," he said. "I heard them. I heard them scream."

  I stared at my son, not knowing what to say to him. I was thrilled he was talking to me, and decided to just enjoy that.

  "What are you writing?" I asked.

  "Numbers."

  "I see that. What kind of numbers?" I leaned over to better see but the numbers still made no sense to me. "I like the drawings there," I said, hoping he would explain to me what it was, but Victor had decided that was enough talking for now and wasn't answering me anymore. After a little while, I pulled out my laptop and opened it. I made myself some coffee and went through my many e-mails that had piled up while I was away. Every now and then, I glanced at Victor, enjoying just sitting there with him even if we didn't talk.

  Around seven, Maya came down and we had breakfast. Victor ate and got dressed and soon I had shipped the both of them off to school. I answered a couple more e-mails, when suddenly I heard the front door open and someone walk in. A second later, my friend Sophia peeked in through the kitchen door.

  "Hello? Anyone home?" she asked.

  I smiled and gave her a hug. She had her baby Alma, who was now nine months old, in her arms. She put her on the floor and kept an eye on her while she sat down. Alma quickly crawled towards the cabinets and started opening drawers. Sophia visited my house almost every day with the baby, so I made sure to keep only tablecloths and dish towels for her to pull out in the drawers she could reach. Now she was covering her head with a towel and giggling underneath.

  "She does that all the time," Sophia said.

  "Coffee?" I asked.

  "Don't mind if I do," she said. "I want to hear everything about your trip. But I only have an hour, then I'm off to meet with my mothers’ group downtown. The old movie theater is having an event where they're showing a movie and you're allowed to bring your baby."

  7

  November 2013

  LISA WAS IN a hurry to get everyone out of the house. She was meeting with her mothers’ group downtown at the movie theater and didn't want to be late.

  As soon as she had shipped the kids off to school and Christian had left for the office, Lisa grabbed baby Margrethe and ran upstairs with her. She changed her diaper and put her on the floor where she could play in the bedroom while Lisa got herself ready. She put on jeans and a nice shirt, but realized it had a stain on the shoulder. With a dissatisfied grunt, Lisa pulled the shirt off and found another. It wasn't as pretty as the one she wanted to wear and it made her look chubby around the waist. Lisa looked at herself in the mirror and grunted again. Christian kept telling her she was getting too skinny, but that was just something h
e said to make her feel better. She stared at the shirt. This wasn't at all the way she wanted to look for this event. She had planned on wearing the other one and looking amazing; that way, every other mommy in the movie theater would look at her with envy in their eyes, thinking how does she do it? It annoyed Lisa and she picked up the first shirt again to look at the stain and see if it was something she could hide somehow.

  Lisa sighed. It was all over the shoulder. A big red stain. Too visible on the salmon colored shirt that was her favorite. How infuriating. Lisa growled and threw the shirt on the bed again. The shirt was completely destroyed. Her favorite shirt ruined. She took in a couple of deep breaths to calm herself down. She had been seeing a therapist, just a couple of times, because she hadn't been able to control her anger recently. The therapist had taught her to breathe calmly and count backwards. Lisa closed her eyes and tried it. It seemed to help a little. Margrethe started fussing and Lisa reached down and picked her up in her arms. Holding her close always made her so calm and happy.

  Lisa walked downstairs with Margrethe on her hip and put her in the playpen while packing the bag with diapers, pacifiers, and extra clothes in case of an accident. She let out a satisfied sigh, thinking it was going to be great just spending the day at the movie theater with all the other mommies. It had been years since she last went to the movies.

  "Let's go sweetie," she said and smiled at Margrethe who grinned with her two small teeth in the lower part of her mouth. She was a plump baby, but that would wear off soon enough, the doctor had said. As soon as she starts to walk it'll come right off. Lisa didn't like the fact that her baby was so fat. None of her other kids had looked like this. Margrethe took more after her daddy. She even had the same nose, the poor thing. Lisa grabbed her bag, put it over her shoulder, and had just picked up Margrethe when the doorbell rang.