Seven, eight ... gonna stay up late (Rebekka Franck #4) Read online

  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."

  Chapter 55

  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 wr
itten, some were financial statements and records for Allan and some of them were for Christopher III, Prince of Denmark.

  Chapter 56

  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."

  Chapter 57

  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.