Slenderman (Emma Frost Book 9) Page 2

  4

  November 2014

  I was completely swallowed up by the letters, and kept reading until my children came home from school. The construction workers were still working on my façade and had put a ladder up in front of my kitchen window. I heard Victor throw his bike, then his steps on the stairs and the front door opening. Victor ran to his seat at the kitchen table and sat down.

  “Where is my food?”

  I put the letters back in the box, and then sprang up. The memories of Helle Larsen’s life lingering with me still as I buttered some toasted bread for him and topped it with strawberry jelly. I served the bread, then made some chocolate milk for him.

  “So, how was your day?” I asked.

  “You asked me that yesterday.”

  Of course. That was always his answer. I had to try something new. “Did you learn anything new?”

  “I never learn anything new,” he responded.

  I buttered a piece of toasted bread for myself and thought about Helle Larsen preparing afternoon-tea for her family back in ’59. Things were really different back then, but a lot remained the same. They had eaten toasted bread with butter and marmalade back then as well.

  The door opened again and Maya entered. I smiled. She looked tired. “Rough day, honey?”

  She grumbled and threw her backpack on the floor. Things were becoming more and more normal with her lately. Since Dr. Sonnichsen had started working with her, she was gradually improving with every day that passed. She was becoming more and more herself. Even the grumbling and rolling of the eyes was back. I started to regret ever having missed it, but it was a healthy sign, and that made me happy.

  “I hate school!” she said, as I placed her toast in front of her. She looked up. “I’m not gonna eat that. How old do you think I am?”

  I shrugged and sat down. I took a bite of my own toast. It tasted wonderful.

  “It’s filled with carbs,” she said.

  I chuckled. Yup, she was definitely back to normal again. Well, almost. She still had some huge gaps in her memory that I sincerely hoped she would regain. It was frustrating for her from time to time, especially when talking to friends, that she couldn’t remember things they had done together. Her short-term memory worked perfectly, but her childhood, and especially the time up until the car-accident, she had almost no recollection of. She remembered her father losing control and hitting both Maya and his new wife. That was why she had run away. But other than that, she remembered nothing. I was unsure if she was ever going to. Dr. Sonnichsen had told me she might block it all out because of how traumatic it had been for her, and that it would come back to her if she ever let it, if she felt like she was ready to deal with it. For some, it never came back.

  “You want me to make something else for you?” I asked.

  “You have jelly on your teeth, Mom,” she snarled. “It looks gross.”

  I smiled widely to show it to her better. She made a grimace and I laughed.

  “That is so disgusting, Mom.” Maya got up. “I’m going to my room.”

  “You’re not eating?” I asked, finally licking the jelly off of my teeth. I was worried about Maya. She was hardly eating lately. “I can make you something else. Maybe some yogurt? Or a banana?”

  She shook her head. “I’m good. Dr. Sonnichsen is going to be here in an hour, and I want to go on the computer before she gets here.”

  “So now the computer is more important than eating?” I asked. “What about spending time with your family?”

  She scoffed. “What family? You’re always with Morten. And my dad? Well, I don’t even really know who he is, do I?”

  “You have a father. Michael is your father,” I argued, but wasn’t convincing.

  “We both know that isn’t true,” she said. “I don’t even want to see him anymore. There’s no reason to.”

  I couldn’t argue against that. He wasn’t her real father, and after what he had done to her, I wasn’t going to let him into her life anytime soon anyway. Michael was desperately trying to get custody of Victor, even though he hadn’t shown much interest in the boy over the last several years. So far, he didn’t have much of a case, and I wasn’t giving him one.

  “Well, you need to eat at some point. You didn’t have any breakfast either. Did you eat anything at school at all?”

  Maya didn’t answer. She grabbed her backpack and stormed out of the kitchen. Seconds later, I heard her slam the door to her room. She had been on the computer a lot lately, and I hadn’t decided whether I thought it was a good idea or not. She seemed to be shutting out the world and everyone who loved her.

  5

  November 2014

  Her bags were heavy. At the age of sixty-nine, Jonna Frederiksen wasn’t as strong as she used to be. Carrying her grocery bags to her bike alone was getting more and more difficult, but she did it. Jonna refused to let her age define her. She was still strong; she rode her bike downtown every day, where she went shopping or ran errands. She cooked for herself, and never had any outside help. She was in great health for her age, Dr. Williamsen told her every year at her yearly check-up. Her eyes weren’t what they used to be, so she could no longer drive her car, but that didn’t bother Jonna much. She loved riding her bike across Nordby and greeting her neighbors, as well as the tourists she met on her way. She loved the strong sea breeze and the smell of seaweed.

  She walked out of the sliding doors of SuperBrugsen and put her grocery bag and purse in the basket on her bike. Then, she counted on her fingers. Six items. She knew she had to get six items today.

  “Milk, coffee, a Swiss roll, lamb chops, green beans and potatoes.” Yes she had everything she needed. Jonna never made a list before going to the store. That way, she was forced to remember what she needed. She just counted the items she needed to get, then forced herself to remember what they were. It was her way of keeping dementia as far away as possible. That was the only thing Jonna ever feared…losing her mind and not be able to remember her loved ones. Her mother had suffered from dementia for years before she died. Jonna was determined to never let it happen to her.

  Jonna found the key and unlocked the chain on her bike. As she was about to pull the bike out onto the sidewalk, a car suddenly drove past her, then stopped and backed up. A woman jumped out of the car and approached Jonna. She was tall and had broad shoulders. Jonna hadn’t seen her before in the area and believed her to be a tourist. The woman had a map in her hand and started speaking in bad Danish.

  “Please help me,” she said. She put the map on the front of the car and asked Jonna to come closer and look at the map with her. “Please. Could you help? I need to find Mindevej.”

  Jonna scoffed. She looked skeptically at the woman. “There is no such thing as Mindevej here on the island,” she said.

  “Yes, yes,” the woman kept saying. “Mindevej.”

  Jonna shook her head. She didn’t move any closer to the woman, even though she kept asking her to come and look at the map.

  I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.

  She glared at her purse in the basket, just as a man stepped out of the car as well. He spoke to her in a language she didn’t understand. It sounded Eastern European. Jonna held on to her bike and started walking. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re saying. I have to go…”

  “Stop!” the man said.

  There wasn’t a soul on the street outside the store. No one to help if they tried anything. Maren, the cashier inside the store wouldn’t be able to hear her if she screamed. A car drove by, but they didn’t notice anything. Jonna didn’t know them either. Probably tourists. Why people came to Fanoe Island at this time of year, she didn’t understand. It was cold and clammy, and only someone who grew up here would fully be able to appreciate the cold wind biting the cheeks and the moist foggy air that came in from the North Sea. Still, she was always happy to see tourists. There hadn’t been many this year.

  “What do you want?” Jonna asked harshl
y. She had heard about these Eastern Europeans coming to Denmark since the borders were opened and robbing elderly people. She had heard the stories and read about them in the papers. But never had she heard about them coming to her wonderful small island.

  The woman tried to talk and distract Jonna, while the man tried to put his hand inside her basket and grab her wallet. Jonna saw it and grabbed his arm holding the purse. She looked into his eyes while twisting his arm. Then, she grabbed his ear with the other hand and twisted it. She hadn’t raised four grubby boys without learning a trick or two. The big man squirmed and crouched.

  “Ouch!”

  “So, you’re trying to steal from an old woman, huh? Is that how your mother raised you? I bet she’s very disappointed in you, young man. I know I would be. No son of mine would get away with attacking a skinny old woman on the street like this. How pathetic. Pick someone your own size next time. Now, let go of the purse, young man.”

  He did as he was told with a small whimper.

  “Now I suggest you and that tramp of a woman you’re holding on to, I suggest you get the hell out of here before I get really angry.”

  Jonna let go of the man and watched him sprint for the car. Seconds later, he and the woman and the gray station wagon were out of sight. Left on the sidewalk was Jonna with her purse in her hand and heart pounding heavily in her chest. She held on to her bike for a little while, catching her breath. Then she snorted and got on her bike. She started riding it down the street, shaking her head, and waving at her neighbors as she passed them.

  “Attacking a poor old woman in broad daylight, is that what we’ve come to? Is that where this world is going? Someone ought to do something.”

  6

  November 2014

  “There was an old lady who was assaulted outside of SuperBrugsen today.”

  Morten and I were sitting in front of the TV watching a program about border patrol in Australia. Morten had come directly from work and told me he was staying the night. When I asked him how Jytte felt about that, he simply said she’ll live. Morten had certainly changed in his approach to his daughter, and I was glad to feel she was no longer running the show. She was less fond of me than ever. To be frank, she hated my guts, but at least I had my boyfriend back. I had thought about asking him to move in, but knew we had to wait till Jytte moved away from home in a year or so. I still felt like he was spoiling her too much by giving her everything she pointed at, but had decided it was none of my business. Lord knows, my daughter wasn’t the best behaved among girls either. They were just being teenagers. It was going to pass eventually, like everything else. Meanwhile, I was going to enjoy our life together, even if I couldn’t take the relationship to the next level yet.

  The officers on TV were searching a young backpacker for drugs. Dogs were sniffing his belongings. They were my favorite part of the show.

  “I always wanted a dog,” I said.

  “Were you even listening?” Morten asked.

  I was leaning against his shoulder on the couch. “Yes, sorry. I heard you. A woman was assaulted?”

  “A sixty-nine year old woman. She described the attackers as Eastern European. They tried to steal her purse. They’ve had a lot of trouble with these types on the mainland the last couple of years. I hope this doesn’t mean they’ve found their way here. I really don’t want this kind of stuff on our little island. It’s bad for tourism and really bad news for us. Especially now that they’re talking about cutting back on the police force.”

  “When will you know more about that?” I asked.

  “Next week, I think. I tell you, I’m not looking forward to it.”

  “Is the woman alright?” I asked, as the dog found something and sniffed it closely. The officer pulled the dog back and started searching the pocket of the backpack. I loved the dogs. They always found something.

  “Yes, apparently she chased them off.”

  “Who was it? Was she a tourist?”

  “No, it was Jonna Frederiksen. She lives on the North side of Nordby. She was very shaken when I spoke to her, but not so badly she couldn’t give me a very detailed description of the couple that assaulted her.”

  “I don’t think I know her,” I said.

  “She’s one of the real locals. You know, one of those that grew up here. Not moved here like you and me.”

  “I know. We’ll never be real locals, not even if we live here for the rest of our lives,” I said, laughing. There really was a distinction between those that had lived on the island for generations and those that had moved here. Even if it was your parent’s generation that had moved here, you still weren’t considered a local. That was just the way it was.

  “Look at that dog. Look how smart he is,” I said. “And adorable.”

  “He is very cute. I used to have a German shepherd once.”

  “For work?” I asked. “Was he a police dog?”

  “Yes. I lost him to cancer. I loved that dog.”

  “Did you ever consider getting another one?” I asked.

  Morten shook his head. “No. When you buy a dog, you also buy yourself some sorrow. They don’t live long. It was rough on Jytte as well when he died. I don’t want to put her through that again. You should get one, though. It would be good for Victor.”

  My eyes left the screen, and I looked at Morten. “Why, I think you might be on to something there, Detective. I’ve read about how being close to animals, especially dogs, can help kids with autism. I am looking to do something a little more radical. I’ve been looking into doing more about his diet. There are a lot of studies out there about how a gluten-free and casein-free diet can help his symptoms. Maybe this would be even better. I think I’ll take him to the shelter tomorrow. Wow, I can’t believe I hadn’t thought about this before. He loves animals. Thanks.”

  Morten chuckled. “You’re welcome.” He leaned over and grabbed a cookie. The officer on TV was now pulling out bags of cocaine from the guy’s bag, and he was starting to make excuses. I felt happy. In this moment, everything was just perfect. Well, maybe not perfect, but good. Real good.

  7

  March 1959

  Being the oldest, Ulrik Larsen was always a little concerned about awakening his father’s wrath. It was easier for his two year younger brother Peter. Ulrik had, from a very early age, learned that he was responsible for both his and Peter’s actions. That was just the way it was. So, if Peter got himself in trouble, Ulrik took the fall. It wasn’t fair, but that’s how life was, his father always said.

  It seemed to Ulrik that life had been getting increasingly unfair ever since the baby had arrived. At thirteen, Ulrik was expected to be a grown-up. And act like one. So, when his father told him to go to old Hansen’s house and ask if he need help, that’s what Ulrik did. There was no room for complaining like Peter while they rode their bikes all the way across the dirt road and entered old Hansen’s farm.

  Old Mr. Hansen had fallen and broken his hip. That’s all they had told Ulrik. And now, he couldn’t work on his farm, so it was falling apart. He needed an extra pair of hands, Ulrik’s father had said.

  “Out here we take care of each other.”

  Ulrik loathed working with his hands. He knew it was his fate. He knew his father expected him to take over once he could no longer work. He was to run the farm. He had no choice.

  Ulrik looked at his baby brother, who laughed and raced him to get there first. It was so unfair. Peter got to do whatever he wanted with his life. He could even go to college if he liked. Once he was done with high-school, Ulrik would come and work for his father. That was what was expected of him. It didn’t matter that he hated working there. It didn’t matter that the smell of pigs made him want to throw up, or that he loved to read books. Farmers didn’t have time to read books. Farmers didn’t go to college. Everything Ulrik was supposed to learn, his dad could teach him.

  “I got here first!” Peter exclaimed, and made a skid mark in the gravel with his bike as he stopped. He
threw Ulrik one of his bright and handsome smiles. It annoyed Ulrik how Peter had everything. Peter was going places. He would go see the world, visit museums, and read all the books he wanted, while surrounded by beautiful women all of his life. Meanwhile, Ulrik would be shoveling manure and smelling of pig. No wonder his dad was such a grumpy old man.

  “Now, behave yourself,” Ulrik said, as they parked their bikes, leaning them up against the wall of the white main building of the farm. A cold wind hit his face. Ulrik breathed in the breeze coming from the ocean not far away. He loved the sea breeze and dreamt of sailing away to exotic places.

  Somewhere far far away from this island.

  Ulrik didn’t like Fanoe Island much. It was too desolate, he thought, and often dreamt of visiting big cities around the world. He dreamt of being surrounded by people, educated people who would discuss philosophy with him or art. He loved art. He wanted to visit museums and libraries all over the world. There was no culture out here in the countryside of the small island. Nothing but pigs and more pigs.