Rebekka Franck Box Set Page 3

  Your delivery is here, it simply said.

  8

  August 2012

  I slept wonderfully that night in the big bed. Peter woke me up with kisses and touches.

  "Not now," I groaned, hoping desperately to get to sleep just for a little longer. I felt his hand on my thigh and his kisses on my throat. It felt good.

  "Just a quick one," he whispered and put his hand inside my panties.

  "Mmm," I moaned and let him crawl on top of me.

  "Mmm you smell good," he moaned. "You taste even better."

  I chuckled, but stopped as he came inside of me. I held his head between my hands and stared into his blue eyes. I felt so happy to be back with him. I hadn't realized how much I had missed him, how deeply I still loved him. Making love to him again reminded me of how much I liked us, how much we belonged together even if it meant having to fight through bad times.

  I took a shower before breakfast and Peter went down to the kitchen to start cooking for us. Julie was already awake, he told me before he left the bedroom. She was running around in the yard, playing hide and seek with her imaginary friend.

  "She has an imaginary friend?" I asked. Why hadn't I heard about that?

  "I think he arrived the last time she was up here. I guess he lives here or something. Maybe he's just an animal, who knows?"

  "I hope she won't get lost out there," I said.

  "It's an island, Rebekka," Peter said with a grin. "We'll find her if she is lost. Don't you worry."

  I heard her squeal in laughter from the yard and peeked out through the bathroom window. Then I laughed. Julie was running in circles, laughing out loud. I wiped myself with the towel thinking this stay was going to do all of us good.

  I grabbed my toilet bag and started unpacking my stuff in the bathroom, putting things on the shelves in the cabinet above the sink. I pulled out a pack of tampons and looked at them. I was terrible at keeping track of when I was supposed to have my period. When I had been trying to get pregnant with Sune I had tried to be systematic about it. I had written in my calendar when I had my period but always ended up forgetting a month and then it was all messed up. Sune had been really annoyed with that.

  I put the box on the shelf in the bathroom, then walked back into the room. I got dressed while looking at myself in the mirror. Had I gained weight?

  No you're just acting crazy again. You always think you've gained weight. Learn to live with it. Make peace with your thighs.

  I put on my jeans and a shirt and went downstairs. It took awhile for me to find the kitchen and Peter. He smiled when I entered.

  "Right on time," he said.

  "In time for what?" I asked, when the smell of food hit my nostrils and I realized I was starving.

  "Breakfast is on the table."

  He wasn't kidding. On the table was everything I loved. Scrambled eggs, croissants, buns and soft boiled eggs.

  "You didn't make all this?" I asked. In all the many years of us being married he had never cooked for me before. Not even boiled an egg.

  Peter smiled. "Nah," he said. "I have help. Mrs. Holm. She was here early this morning and made it all. She cooked for the entire day, so we only have to warm it up. She'll be back tomorrow morning."

  "Of course you have help," I said with a grin and sank my teeth into a croissant. It was heavenly. "Does she come every day?"

  "Not on weekends. Her husband loves to fish, so he keeps his boat on the dock on the shore that she uses to get here every day."

  "Does she clean the entire place as well?" I asked, feeling suddenly sorry for this poor lady, with all the many rooms and bathrooms.

  Peter chuckled. "No. She puts on new bed sheets and stuff in the rooms we use, but she doesn't clean. I have a cleaning company that I hire to do that."

  "Of course you do." I grabbed another croissant happily, forgetting all about how fat I thought I looked in the mirror less than half an hour ago. I chewed while looking at Peter. He was so handsome. He drank his coffee, holding the cup between his big hands. I loved his big hands. I loved that he was so much man and nothing like … I sighed and looked out the window where I spotted Julie in the yard. I hadn't spoken to Sune in weeks now and I felt really bad about how it had ended. I thought that if I gave him some time to heal, then maybe he would one day be able to forgive me. I didn't expect us to be friends again since he was so angry with me, but part of me still hoped we could … someday. Julie had been asking a lot for Tobias and it was getting harder and harder for me to find reasons why we couldn't see each other, why I couldn't just call Sune and ask him to come over with Tobias like I used to.

  The back door to the kitchen opened and Julie stormed in. Her cheeks were red from the cold wind and fresh air, her eyes sparkling with joy.

  "Are you coming out to play?" she asked us.

  I looked at Peter and shrugged. "Why not?" I asked. "It's not like I have something else to do today. How about you?"

  Peter stretched himself with a long yawn. "I was actually planning on getting some painting done."

  "Painting?" I asked. "Don't you have people to do that for you?"

  Peter grinned. Julie made a disappointed sound.

  "No not painting the walls, but real painting on canvas. I have created a studio for myself in the attic."

  I almost dropped my fork. Peter painting? The idea was so strange to me. Peter the military man who had spend his entire life in war? First as a soldier, then by running his own private military security company that was, in fact, a mercenary company, making money off of war.

  "Why did you start painting all of a sudden?" I asked.

  "It all began some months ago," he said. "It is all a part of my therapy. I paint my emotions, so to speak. It's really soothing for me. Makes me calm and relaxed, I discovered. You know I've never been good at expressing myself and how I feel. This helps me deal with some of the stuff I carry around with me."

  I stared at him thinking I hardly recognized the Peter I had once been married to. Was it really possible for someone to change this much?

  "Surprised?" he asked.

  "To put it mildly, yes."

  Peter laughed again. "What can I say? It makes me happy. Painting makes me a better person."

  "Good for you. I really mean that. I'd love to see them. I'd love to see your paintings."

  Peter exhaled. "And you will. When I'm ready to show you. Right now I'm keeping them to myself, but someday …"

  "No pressure, Peter. It's okay. Just when you're ready for it. I know that kind of thing is sensitive. It's hard to put yourself and your work out there for people to see and criticize. Don't worry. I won't pressure you into showing me."

  "Will you come out and play then, Mom?" Julie asked. "Please?"

  I looked at her. "I'll come out and play in a few moments. I just want to catch up on the news first. I might be on vacation, but I still need to keep up with what’s going on."

  9

  January 1997

  It was Valdemar's second birthday. Anna was preparing the cake in the kitchen, putting whipped cream on top and setting the candles in the middle of it, while Valdemar was sitting on the floor looking up at her with affection in his eyes.

  She smiled and looked down at him. "It's almost done, Valdemar. It's gonna be perfect, absolutely perfect."

  Valdemar grinned, then bent forward and picked up a toy car between his teeth and started playing with it, using his mouth to push it around. Anna felt such great love for him at that instant. He had been finding his own ways to do things ever since he had started moving around on his feet. Crawling had been too much of a challenge without the arms to support him, so he had skipped that step and started walking at the age of seven months. One morning, while Anna and he had been sitting on the floor, he had suddenly bitten onto the bars of the playpen and pulled himself up with help from his mouth. Anna had gasped, thinking at first that something was wrong with him, since that was what Michael kept telling her.

  "Th
e boy is wrong. He is a mistake. He should never have been born. He will never be able to do anything. He'll need help just to eat for the rest of his life. What kind of a life is that for a child? And who will help him when he's a grown up? No one. He'll have to live in a home."

  But at that instant, on the floor with seven month old Valdemar pulling himself up to an upright position using his mouth instead of hands, Anna realized that maybe, just maybe Michael was wrong about the boy. Suddenly, he was standing up next to the playpen with a huge smile and that was when he took his first step towards Anna with a big grin. At that moment, Anna cried and held out her arms and let him walk right into her embrace where she held him tightly for a long time, tickling his tummy, telling him how absolutely wonderful he was, how beautiful he was and how he would be able to do anything in life … anything and no one should ever tell him differently.

  And she had kept telling him that every day of his life ever since. She knew, in her heart, that this boy wasn't normal, and she thanked God every day for it. No, he wasn't normal, he was special. And he was going to do special things in this world. Things no one else would ever do or dare.

  "Mommy?" he said and stood up.

  "Yes sweetie?"

  "Will daddy come home for my birthday?" Anna looked at her boy, then kneeled in front of him. She stroked his light hair between her fingers and looked into his eyes. What she saw in there didn't belong to a two-year old. No, Valdemar had clever eyes, eyes that had seen much, eyes that understood more than what a two-year old normally would. The way he talked told Anna that he was smarter than other kids, even if many people thought he was retarded because of the way he looked and moved. His language was much more developed than any other two-year old’s. The doctor had told her and she heard it every day, how fast it developed and how long the sentences were that he was able to say. He was always using bigger and bigger words, sometimes so big Anna had to look them up to know what he meant.

  "No, sweetie," she said looking into those eyes that seemed like they belonged to someone who was carrying the troubles of the world.

  Just like last year, Michael wasn't going to be there to celebrate Valdemar's birthday. It was too difficult for him since he viewed this day as the darkest day in his life, not as the happiest like Anna. Like last year, he would probably go directly to the local bar in Brabrand after work and drink till he passed out and someone put him in a cab home. But even if Valdemar would understand all that if she explained it to him, she didn't want to. She saw every day how the gap between the boy and his father grew wider, how Valdemar looked at his father with longing eyes in the morning at the breakfast table, desperate for him to just look at him or even speak a few words to him.

  But he never did. Michael ignored the fact that Valdemar even existed. And he had done so ever since they had come home from the hospital. He never picked him up. He never changed a diaper or even spoke to the boy. He simply pretended like he didn't exist and Valdemar didn't have to be as bright as he was to feel it, to sense his dad's resentment towards him. It was so obvious it hurt in every bone of Anna's body and some days she wished Michael would wait to come home from work till Valdemar was in his bed sleeping, to spare the boy from the pain of looking at his father without him looking back, of talking to him, asking him things and the father never answering. It was heartbreaking and she was tired of making excuses for him, yet she still did. Luckily for her and Valdemar, Michael's job as a salesman for a big toy company demanded that he travelled a lot and was often gone for weeks at a time.

  "Daddy had a trip," she said, like she had said so many times before. And, like so many times before, she saw the small light of hope in her son's eyes slowly die out.

  10

  August 2012

  Julie ran back outside and Peter went upstairs to paint while I pulled out my iPad. The national TV Station TV2's web-page was filled with yellow blocks stating Breaking News. I opened the link to watch it online. The anchor looked serious as she spoke.

  "And now we will go live to the hospital in Aarhus where my colleague is with Henrik Fenger," she said.

  Then they clipped to a live interview with some guy in a hospital bed. "Yes," the journalist on the spot said, "… and Henrik Fenger, I can understand you're very angry about what happened to you?"

  "Of course I am," the man in the bed snorted. "Who wouldn't be?"

  "Could you explain to us exactly what happened?" The journalist asked. On the screen the text said Organ thieves stole man's kidney.

  "Well I … I was trying to fall asleep and, when I couldn't, I walked into the bathroom at the hotel where I was staying …"

  "The Hotel Kragen in Brabrand," the journalist interrupted him.

  "Hotel Kragen in Brabrand?" I mumbled. "I think we passed that place on our way here."

  The man looked angry for being interrupted and shot the journalist a look that could kill. "Yes, the Hotel Kragen where I was staying for the night because I had an important meeting in the town the next morning."

  "When did you realize your kidney was gone?" The journalist once again interrupted him.

  "Well if you'd let me tell my story …" the man stopped himself. It was obvious he fought to calm himself down. "I noticed someone was in my room as I went into the bathroom and I think I saw someone holding a syringe in their hand, an injection needle. That's all I remember …"

  "Were you alone?"

  "What?"

  "Were you sleeping alone in the hotel room?"

  The man in the bed went quiet. He stared at the journalist with frozen eyes. "Of course," he said finally, after a long, slightly embarrassing, pause. "Of course I was alone. My wife and family were at home in Roskilde. I was away on a business trip."

  "So when did you realize your kidney was missing?" The journalist asked.

  "The next morning I woke up in the bathtub, covered in ice cubes. On the wall was a note telling me not to move and to call 112 right away. So I did. In the hospital, they told me someone had removed one of my kidneys."

  "What did the police say?"

  "They have no clue what they're doing, if you ask me. They say they have never seen this in Denmark before, but what do you expect me to do with that information? I want those who did this to suffer big-time. I want them put away for the rest of their lives. So if anyone knows anything, have them contact me."

  The journalist turned and looked into the camera. "And there you have it, Lisa. An angry and frustrated man looking to the public for help. Back to you Lisa."

  "Thank you Robert," the anchor took over in the studio. "And Henrik Fenger has put up a reward of 25.000 kroner for anyone who brings him information that can lead to the arrest of the organ thieves."

  I was about to shut off the online broadcast, when suddenly the anchor started a new story that caught my interest.

  "This just in," she said. "Grave thieves have once again struck in a church. This time it is in Odense Cathedral where they have stolen the remains of Knud den Hellige, former king of Denmark from the year 1080 till 1086. The king was murdered by rebels in Odense in a church where he was kneeling before the altar on July 10th 1086. Last month, the remains of the former king, Erik Kippling, were stolen from Viborg Cathedral. Police are looking to the public for help in this case. More to follow on that story later as it develops during the day."

  Then the anchor moved on to another story about the female prime minister who was now in trouble for constantly showing up in public with her expensive Louis Vuitton bag which didn't signal her sympathy for the working class, as she was supposed to, as the leader of the Socialist party.

  I turned off the online broadcast and put the iPad down. Julie was in the doorway looking at me. "Coming Mom?"

  11

  August 2012

  Martin Damsgaard loved being on the road. He loved everything about it. He loved meeting new people, he loved staying in new places, new hotels and eating at new restaurants. But most of all, he loved that he could do whatever he please
d without his wife knowing about it.

  "So do you come here often?" he said to the girl next to him in the bar. She turned her head and smiled. She had a nice smile, he thought to himself. And her hair was gorgeous. How old was she? Twenty-five? Yeah that was about it. Was she a hooker? He never could tell. Discretely he leaned back in the bar stool and glanced at her from behind.

  Nice piece of ass.

  She was wearing a very short, tight dress that showed how well-shaped her body was. Martin liked that a lot. He ordered another whiskey and looked at her. "You want another one?" he asked her.

  She nodded. "Chardonnay," she said.

  "And a Chardonnay for the lovely young lady."

  The bartender brought them their drinks and they sipped them in silence. Martin had picked many women up in bars all over the country, even in Thailand when he went there on business every now and then as well. But this one was better than most he had met. He shook his head and stole a glimpse down her cleavage. Oh how he loved young breasts. Voluptuous and plump. That was the way he preferred them. Martin was a breast man. Lots of his colleagues liked the ass more, but Martin didn't. He liked to take their breasts in his mouth and suck on the nipples, he liked to just feel them between his hands and squeeze them. Oh, he was getting a boner just thinking about it.

  His wife Marie had ugly breasts. They were nice back when they first met, but now after they had the three kids, they were flat and hanging and … well they simply didn't get him excited anymore the way they just dangled there. Martin had told Marie that he would happily pay for her to have them done, but she had refused. Slowly, over the years, the sex had gone from bad to worse to nothing at all. They simply stopped desiring each other. Or at least Martin stopped desiring Marie. He couldn't speak for her or even remotely know what went on in her mind anymore. It seemed that all she did was to yell at him the moment he set foot in the house. So eventually, he did that less and less. He kept coming up with excuses for staying away from the house. Working late, going on a trip, a business meeting downtown that went into a dinner meeting. Stuff like that. And once he finally stepped inside the house, he hurried to the bathroom where he sat for an hour or so reading on his phone or playing Candy Crush, just to avoid Marie and the screaming kids. It had gotten so bad that there were days when he drove into the driveway and stood outside the window of the house looking into the living room, then turned around and decided to go for a drive for a couple of hours, just to avoid them.