I beat death. Nothing can beat me now. I'm invincible! I've never felt more alive in my life!
Two days passed in the hospital bed where he slowly got better and better. He joked with the nurses and laughed with the other patients, who found him to be entertaining and funny. But, best of all, Anders was happy. For the first time in his life, he wasn't afraid. He wasn't terrified, constantly thinking about what could possibly go wrong, what could possibly make him sick or hurt him in any way.
He was finally free.
On the second day, a police offer named Morten Bredballe came to his bed and asked him a ton of questions that Anders answered happily.
"Did you see the man who did this to you?"
"I did," he answered, smiling. "He was driving the cab I was in when he kidnapped me. I got a very good look at his face before he sedated me."
Anders saw how the officer's face lit up. "That's excellent," he said. "Did you know him?"
"I felt like I had seen him before, but I didn't know where. I don't go out much. At least, I didn't used to. Now, I think I will. Now, I think I'm going to go out every day and enjoy this beautiful world. This island has so much to offer, do you realize that? So much we don't appreciate. I think it's about time we all start living a little, don't you?"
The officer looked at him, puzzled. Anders didn't care.
"There was a woman at the cemetery when you found me. Who was she?" he asked.
"Who, Emma?" Officer Bredballe asked.
"Emma, what a delightful name. Almost angelic."
"I guess so. I never thought of that," the officer said. "She’s a writer. She's actually the one who figured out where to look for you. She’s been very worried about you and whether you'd make it or not."
Anders couldn't stop smiling. "I think I'll have to give her my thanks once I'm out of here."
The officer smiled. "Well, first of all, get well. That's what's important now. As soon as you're well enough, we'll send a sketch artist out to draw a picture of the guy who put you in that box. We want him in jail as quickly as possible."
25
February 2014
I WAS SO EXHAUSTED. After finding the guy alive, I went straight to bed when I got home and stayed in it for two days. Luckily, I had my mother to take care of the kids and, even though I knew it would be hard on Victor, I felt like I needed this. I had to do it. I needed a break from the world.
Morten came to visit every day and even stayed the night. He made me feel good. He made sure I got something to eat - something real and not the strange food that my mother served me - and he spoiled me with chocolates and red wine.
On the night of the second day, he lay in my bed with me and held me tight in his arms while he told me what Anders Samuelsen had told him at the hospital earlier that day.
"It was strange, ‘cause the guy seemed to smile through everything. It was like he was in a world of his own. But he did tell me that he knew what the guy looked like. So, as soon as we get the sketch done, we'll go public with it and nail him within just a few hours."
"Someone is feeling confident," I said, as I ate a chocolate.
"This is a small island. You can't hide for long," Morten said. "We'll get him. I can feel it in my guts."
"Your police-guts," I said with a smile.
"Yup."
Morten turned on his side and kissed my neck. He leaned over and continued down. He undid the buttons on my very un-sexy pajamas, then opened the shirt and kissed my breasts. I closed my eyes and put my hands around his neck and pulled him closer. He removed my hands, then pulled off my pants and undressed himself. Now we were both naked in the bed. We lay entangled with legs between each other's, face to face and he pulled the covers over us. I laughed and kissed his nose, his lips, then closed my eyes as he entered me. I moaned and, for just a few seconds, let go of control.
When I opened my eyes, I stared directly into his and saw the love for me in them. This was a beautiful moment, one I wanted to last.
Afterwards, we lay with his head on the pillow, his arm around my neck, the back of my head resting on his chest. He gave me my glass of wine and I sipped it, feeling better than I had in days.
"Guess it was just what the doctor ordered," I said with a smile.
Morten kissed my forehead, then sipped his wine.
"So, you think it's over now?" I asked.
"What is?"
"The killer? You think he's done?"
Morten ate a piece of chocolate. "Sure. He got what he wanted didn't he?"
"You think that was all that he wanted? To save Hummelgaarden?" I asked, puzzled.
Morten shrugged. "It's all he demanded, isn't it?"
"Guess so. But I can't stop thinking…"
"You think way too much."
"Okay, I’ll give you that, but still."
"Still what, my little Sherlock?"
"He killed two women, buried a guy alive, and nearly killed him as well. All for what? Five hundred thousand kroner? It sounds a little extreme to me."
Morten nodded. "Sure. But, who knows why people do stuff like this? He's a psychopath, and who knows what goes on inside of their minds?"
I exhaled and sipped more wine. "I guess you're right."
"Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll find him and then it'll all be over. Trust me. We have a team from Esbjerg who has come over here to help us catch him. I give him three days. Tops."
"I sure hope you're right."
26
April 2007
ALEXANDRA CLOSED HER EYES and leaned back in her chair. She was sitting on the porch in her backyard, enjoying the few rays of sun that spring had brought with promise of summer around the corner. She breathed in deeply and hummed a little as she exhaled again. Oh, how she enjoyed the peace.
It had been a year since Poul took Samuel away and put him in boarding school. And, even if Alexandra wasn't happy to admit it, she had enjoyed every minute of the peace since…immensely.
Samuel had been home on vacation for Christmas, but other than, that she hadn't seen him. She missed her son, of course she did, and she hated the fact that it had to be this way, but oh, the peace and quiet inside of her was all worth it. After so many years of fearing the boy's rage and tantrums, she was now, finally, living her own life again, not constantly afraid to say or do something wrong. And the boy was getting a wonderful education. Poul kept telling her so and she knew he was right. Herlufsholm Boarding School was the best school in the country. Samuel was among sons of big-shot CEOs and the Danish aristocracy. It was a school with great discipline and many traditions. They could take Samuel’s hand and straighten him up. She knew they could.
It was the best for everybody, she kept telling herself, mostly to try and drown out that nagging doubt and feeling of guilt that was growing inside of her. Samuel had seemed fine at Christmas. He had been very quiet and mostly stayed in his room. Not once did he have one of his tantrums. He had been a completely different son.
Poul and Alexandra's marriage was doing slightly better as well. Alexandra now had the energy to actually be a wife to her husband and Poul had stopped spending all his time in the garage. They had somehow found each other again and it felt so good. It was actually so great that Alexandra had become pregnant again and they were expecting a little girl in three months.
Alexandra touched her stomach gently and caressed it, thinking about the little girl growing inside of her and how wonderful it was for them to be able to start all over, even if she was now at the age of forty-two.
"This time, it’s going to be perfect," she said with a secretive smile, while the baby kicked on the inside. "I'm not making the same mistakes again."
Poul appeared on the porch with a glass of juice that he put on the table in front of her. She looked up and smiled.
"Is she kicking again?" he asked.
Alexandra nodded. "You want to feel her?"
"Sure."
Poul put his hand gently on Alexandra's big stomach and felt the ba
by kick. Alexandra laughed. "Look," she said and pointed at a small bump that was moving across the stomach. "The doctor said that's her ankle."
"She's getting big, huh?" Poul said.
"I'm not sure there’s enough room for her in there to stay another three months," Alexandra laughed.
"Well, Samuel was ten days late, so don't get your hopes up of this one arriving on time," Poul said.
Then they both went quiet.
"You do realize what day it is today, right?" Alexandra asked.
Poul nodded. "I know. I know." He bit his lip.
"He's turning eleven, Poul. We should at least call him at the school."
Poul's eyes were filled. "I don't know what to say to him anymore. I mean, he hurt you, Alex. You still have a scar from where he cut you."
Alexandra dropped her head. She felt like crying, but didn't. "I know. But let's at least call him. I don't like the fact that he might be lonely at that school…if no one celebrates him. Plus, I feel really bad that we've told the school to keep him all summer like last year. I know it’s too much for us to handle him now that we have the baby and all, but still…"
Poul nodded. "I guess you're right." Poul sighed and went inside the house. He came back with the phone in his hand. He looked at it like he needed time to find the courage. Then, he handed it to Alexandra.
"Here. You do it."
She took it. "Okay." She felt the heavy phone in her hand and got ready to dial the number, when suddenly the phone rang. She looked up at Poul.
"It's the school."
"I'll take it," Poul said, and grabbed the phone from her hand.
Alexandra felt her heart beat faster as she looked how Poul's expression changed drastically during the conversation. She could see in his eyes that it was bad. A thousand fearful thoughts ran through her mind.
Oh, Samuel. What did you do now?
"We'll be right there," Poul said, and hung up.
Alexandra stared into his eyes.
"It was the headmaster," he said, his voice heavy with sadness. "Samuel is in the hospital. He tried to kill himself."
27
February 2014
SO, ACCORDING TO MORTEN, it was all over, right? That was what I kept telling myself, as I slowly returned to my everyday life, getting the kids to school, working on my book, and baking. A couple more days had passed since I pulled Anders Samuelsen out of the ground and I was told he had now been discharged from the hospital. The local newspaper and the TV station were all over him and I had seen and read more than one interview with the guy who beat death.
This morning, he was on the front cover of Fanoe Xpress again. This time in a picture of him skydiving from an airplane over the island. I chuckled and picked up the paper from the table. In a smaller picture underneath - taken after he had landed - Anders Samuelsen was smiling widely.
"Dying was the best thing that ever happened to me," he stated. "I have never felt more alive."
I laughed and read the article where he told about how dying and seeing the light had made him realize that he hadn't been living at all. That dying wasn't something we should be afraid of. It had been wonderful, so warm and peaceful and he was actually looking forward to going back once his time was up.
"But apparently, that isn't yet," he said to end the interview.
My mom walked into the kitchen just as I finished the article. "Can you believe this guy?" I said, and showed her the picture. "Since he was discharged from the hospital two days ago, he has been skydiving, bungee-jumping and started doing motocross. It's insane. I mean, before all this happened, the guy suffered from anxiety so bad that he was declared unfit to work."
"Well, I guess the county will have to reevaluate him soon and then he'll lose his benefits," my mom said.
"Then he can go get a job like the rest of us," I said, and pushed the button on the coffeemaker.
My mother looked at me. "You don't have a real job."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You know what I mean," she said, and found some of her gluten-free bread that she put in the toaster.
"I'm afraid I really don't," I said. "The last time I checked, I wrote books, which takes a lot of time and effort."
My mother scoffed. "Well in the time I've been here, you haven't been working many hours."
I shook my head. I hated the fact that what she said got to me like this. I felt so aggravated. If it had been anyone else besides my own mother, I wouldn't have cared what they thought, but with her, I did. She could really get to me with her words. I closed my eyes and swallowed my pride, reminding myself that she was only here for a short period of time, and I would soon have my house to myself again.
Her bread was done and my mother picked it up from the toaster. She put cheese on both pieces of bread and put them on two plates. She saw me staring.
"I promised Maya to make one for her as well," she said. "So you don't have to prepare anything for her. I'm making one of my healthy smoothies for her as well. She likes them."
My mother took her laptop and sat at the table with a cup of white tea. I poured myself some coffee and sipped it. I thought about Morten and wondered if today was going to be the day they caught the killer. I hated that they didn't have him yet. They’d tried to trace his e-mails and the link to the video of Anders Samuelsen in the box, but had no success yet. Furthermore, they had a sketch made from Anders Samuelsen's description, but it wasn't very good. The guy had long hair and glasses, but other than that, Anders hadn't been able to describe many details. Not even the color of the eyes. It was really disappointing to me. Morten had told me they would find him, but I had my serious doubts. This guy was way too intelligent to get caught. He knew there was a possibility that Anders was going to survive and that he would be able to tell us what the killer looked like. He wasn't going to risk being recognized so, of course, he had changed his looks somehow…maybe even worn a disguise when kidnapping Anders Samuelsen.
My mom was chuckling, then tapping on her keyboard.
"What's so funny?" I asked.
"Oh it's just Arne. He's really funny."
I sat next to my mother and looked at the screen. "You're Facebook friends with my mailman?"
"Yes," she said, laughing again at something he had written to her in a private message. "Oh, is that going to be weird for you?"
"I guess not," I lied. I thought it was weird already.
"Good. He really makes me laugh, you know. I like him."
I sipped my coffee. "As in like him because he's funny or as in like-like him?" I asked, slightly terrified.
"Well, I don't quite know yet. But we're going out tonight so, after that, I'll be able to tell you."
I almost choked on my coffee. "You're going out with the mailman?"
"Don't call him that. That's patronizing. His name is Arne and he's a very nice man who knows how to treat a woman right."
28
February 2014
DAGMAR MADSEN BIT HER nails. She looked at the carpet in the waiting room while feeling anxious. Not because she was about to see a new doctor, she had done that so many times before, but because she was afraid he might find out about her.
Dagmar had been diagnosed with many kinds of mental illnesses over the years: bipolar disorder, anxiety, depression, schizophrenia, eating disorders, you name it. She knew everything there was to know about mental illnesses and was a walking encyclopedia when it came to medicine. She knew all of the symptoms and knew exactly what to say to the doctor to make him give her the drugs she wanted.
A door opened and a friendly face appeared. "Dagmar Madsen?" The woman approached her and shook her hand.
Dagmar got up, her eyes still avoiding the doctor's. Not because she was nervous, no, Dagmar made her eyes wander to be convincing.
"Come on in."
Dagmar followed the doctor into her office. Just like all the other doctors' offices, it was nicely decorated with nature paintings and plants in the corners. It had a nice and calm am
biance meant to make the patient feel calm and peaceful. The doctor asked Dagmar to sit on the couch. She looked through the papers that Dagmar had filled out in the waiting room and flipped a couple of pages while Dagmar continued to bite her nails until one of them started bleeding.
"Have you been to a psychiatrist before?"
Dagmar cleared her throat and nodded.
"Well, good. I see that you've been diagnosed with bipolar disorder?"
"Yes. That's why I'm here. I need to renew my prescription."
"Okay, well let's talk a little first. So why did you leave your old psychiatrist?"
Dagmar's eyes flickered. She was well-prepared for this question. They all asked the same. The truth was that she hadn't left her old psychiatrist. She hadn't left any of them. For the time being, she was seeing six different psychiatrists.
Unlike many other psychiatric patients, Dagmar didn't mind taking her medicine. As a matter of fact, she loved it so much, she took twice, sometimes triple the dose she was supposed to. It helped her calm down and sometimes drugged her just enough to get through the day. But, of course, the doctors could never know that. Once they refused to prescribe more to her than what she was supposed to have, she found another to give her more.
"I need lithium," she said, while the fingers on her right hand drummed on her thigh. One of them was still bleeding. It made the act more believable.
"So, that is what you used to get?" the psychiatrist asked.
"Yes. If I could get some antidepressant too, then that would be good. It helps with the restlessness that I get from the Lithium. And maybe a nonbenzodiazepine, like Zolpidem, to take care of the insomnia."
The psychiatrist looked at Dagmar. "You seem to know a lot about medicine?" she asked.
"I've been sick for many years," Dagmar said.
"Have you ever considered combining the medicine with therapy?"