Rebekka Franck Box Set Read online

  Once back on the mainland, we drove to town in Peter's Land Rover. I was looking forward to seeing the small town. The castle on the island was nice and all, but it felt really isolated, like it was very far away from everything.

  "I say we grab that ice cream first, before we fill up the car with groceries," Peter said.

  "Yay!" Julie shrieked from the backseat.

  "Fine with me," I said. I could always eat ice cream, even if it was still morning.

  Peter drove the car through a small street with old houses on each side, then past a small movie theater, a couple of stores selling clothes and the grocery store that we were going back to later. He parked the car right in front of the ice cream store. I turned my head to look at Julie, when I spotted Hotel Kragen out the back window. I froze for a second, thinking about the story, then pushed it out of my mind again.

  "Come on. Let's go," I said.

  Julie jumped out and stormed inside the shop. I grabbed Peter's hand as we followed her inside. The smell was intoxicating. I loved small ice cream shops like this and ordered three scoops in a cone for both Julie and I. Peter only wanted one. Julie and I had whipped cream and chocolate sauce on ours as well. We sat outside at the store's tables and ate greedily, Julie and I getting it smeared all over our faces. Peter looked at me like I was crazy. As usual, he never had anything on his face. Always the perfectionist.

  "Rebekka," he said. "You've got it all over. Can't you wipe it off or something?"

  "Sorry," I said, found a napkin, and wiped it off.

  "There is more. Over here," he said and pointed.

  I wiped some more and finally got it all off. I ate the rest of the ice cream working really hard on not getting anything on my face and, if I did, I wiped it off right away.

  While Julie finished hers, I caught myself staring at the Hotel across the road. I saw photographers outside taking pictures of the facade and journalists with notepads next to them. Even a camera crew from the twenty-four hour news channel TV2News was there. The journalist was interviewing someone outside the building. Peter saw me staring at them and I looked away.

  We drove to the grocery store and walked inside. Two women were talking behind the counter. They stopped talking and nodded when we entered, then continued. We took a cart and started filling it. Peter found some wine and steaks, I tried to be good and found a pack of granola.

  "You know you're never gonna eat that, Mommy," Julie said. "You always buy granola and then never eat it."

  I chuckled. "You're right. Maybe some fresh fruit … Bananas?"

  "I like bananas," Julie said and went to get some.

  I couldn't help but eavesdrop on the two women's conversation. It was about what had happened at the Hotel.

  "Terrible to wake up like that," one of them said. "Could you imagine? Someone taking your kidney?"

  "I heard he had a girlfriend with him," the other said. "A hooker, Arne who works in the bar at the hotel told me she was."

  The first woman scoffed. "Well he put it upon himself then didn't he? He had it coming. I heard he had a wife and child."

  "Maybe she did it," the second one laughed. "Maybe it was the wife?"

  The first one laughed as well. "You bet you that's what I'd do if Hans ever pulled a trick like that on me."

  "I bet you would."

  Peter approached me with the full cart. "Wow that was fast," I said.

  We walked to the counter. The women stopped talking. The one on the right stepped forward and took care of our groceries. She looked at Julie and smiled.

  "What a beautiful daughter you have. Are you visiting town?" She asked.

  "Yes," I answered.

  "You don't live down at the hotel now do you?" She asked, terrified.

  I shook my head. "No. No. We live on Dragonsholm. You know, down on the island in the lake."

  The woman froze and stared at me. "You're down on the island?"

  I nodded. "Yes."

  The woman then shook her head and started packing our groceries with fast movements.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  Peter shook his head. "Nothing but superstition," he said. "The locals have always been afraid of the place."

  I looked at the woman again. "But why?"

  "Nothing good ever came out of that place," the woman said.

  "Gerda," the other woman said. "You're scaring the people." She nodded in the direction of Julie as she spoke. Gerda tilted her head and looked at Julie like she felt sorry for her. "Such a beautiful daughter. Such a pretty face."

  "Okay," Peter said and took our bags. "I think it's about time we leave now."

  In the car on our way back, I couldn't stop thinking about what the women had said. Peter saw it on my face. "Nothing but superstition," he said.

  "I know. But … well, you know me. I really wanted to know the story. It sounded like they knew a good story."

  Peter rolled his eyes. "You're impossible. It's nothing but rumors and old wives’ tales. An old castle like this one will always have its share of ghost stories, like the one with the carriage that you hear at night that is supposed to be the carriage taking the Earl's body away."

  "I think I heard it," Julie said. "One night I heard it."

  Peter looked in the rearview mirror. "Nonsense," he said. "It's just your mind playing tricks on you, making you think you hear it because I told you the story. See that's how stories like this work. You believe them and then you think you hear or see it and then you're scared. It's all in your mind like all other superstitions."

  "Do you know them?" I asked. "Do you know the stories?"

  Peter exhaled. "I know some of them, parts of them, yes. But do you really want to scare your daughter further? I could also go online and find some scary ghost stories to give her nightmares. Is it really worth it?"

  I shrugged and looked out the window. "No. You're probably right. I was just curious."

  "Oh come on Daddy, tell us just one of them, please? I promise I won't get nightmares," Julie said.

  "Well, all I know is that they say some doctor once went amok back when it was a mental institution. Apparently he killed some patients or something. Okay, not just some, but a lot of patients, according to the story."

  "How?" Julie asked. "How did he kill them?"

  "He performed operations as experiments. One of them being him removing their organs one at a time, thinking sickness in the organs caused them to be deranged. In the end, the patients naturally died. That's all. Nothing but a crazy doctor. Now I think we should find something nice to talk about. How about that ice cream, huh? It was truly something."

  16

  July 1999

  Valdemar was growing so fast now, Anna could hardly keep up. Every day he seemed to have new victories and to conquer the impossible. Only four years old and he was talking like a ten year old, the doctor had told her. His mind seemed to be a masterpiece of its own. He had taught himself to do many things that Anna never thought he would be able to do. And, often, the solution was among the simplest. He got by doing a lot of things with his toes and feet. One day when Anna was in the living room, Valdemar called her from the kitchen and asked her to come and see something. As she entered, she was stunned to realize that her little boy had managed to tie one of his father's ties around the refrigerator handle and fasten it with a knot using his toes. Then, he put the end of it on his shoulder and, using his mouth, started pulling till the door opened.

  "There," he said. "Now I can get my own food."

  Anna laughed and picked him up. Then she danced while holding him tight. Valdemar laughed and laughed. After that day, he didn't stop amazing his mother with his accomplishments. He used his chin to hold his plate between the chin and the shoulder and carry it to the table when it was dinnertime. He pressed buttons on the microwave with his nose and he played videogames by simply using his toes.

  Anna was thrilled to see how many things he was capable of and, as the days went by, her hopes rose that he would one
day be able to take care of himself.

  But what broke her heart was seeing him making all this progress and then looking at his dad for acknowledgement and never receiving it. Every day, Anna told Michael about what Valdemar did now and how clever he was, but every day he would answer the same: "The kid is a loser. He will never be able to do anything."

  And every time he said that, he broke Anna's heart a little. Especially when Michael would look at Valdemar with resentment at the dinner table when he ate either by simply sticking his face into the plate or when Anna fed him with the spoon.

  "See?" he said. "He still can't even eat on his own."

  Every day, Anna saw how the hurt grew in Valdemar's eyes and she cursed her husband for not seeing the progress, for not hoping and dreaming of a future for their son like she did. Then one day, when Valdemar was four, he was occupied in the garage for a long time and Anna was worried. Valdemar loved hanging out in there, using his dad's tools when he wasn't at home, with nothing but his feet. Anna was wondering what he was up to when he suddenly stormed into the kitchen holding something between his chin and shoulder. He placed it on the table, but still Anna couldn't see what it was. It looked like a small iron pipe that he had welded onto a small round slice of metal that could turn. Anna couldn't really see what it was, but Valdemar soon showed her. He smiled like this was the proudest moment of his life. Anna didn't understand.

  "How did you make this?"

  "I welded it."

  "You used your dad's welder? Are you insane? You could get hurt!" Anna was furious. Just the thought of him alone with that dangerous instrument made her heart race. Didn't he understand that he wasn't like other kids? Didn't he know he was handicapped? It was like he refused to accept the fact that everything was harder for him than for other kids.

  "I put on dad's helmet. Don't worry, Mommy. Let me show you what this is for. Just wait and see. You'll love it. Grab a spoon," he said.

  Anna handed him a spoon.

  "And a bowl of cereal."

  "But it's almost time for dinner," she argued. "I don't want you filling up on all kinds of food before we eat. Daddy will be home any minute now."

  "Mommy. Just help me, will you please?"

  Anna sighed and poured some cornflakes into a bowl and poured milk on top of them. Then, she placed it in front of Valdemar.

  Valdemar picked up the spoon using his mouth, put it in the bowl, and dug up a spoonful of cereal. Still using his mouth, he placed it on top of the iron pipe that had a small submersion through the center where the handle of the spoon fitted perfectly. Then using his nose, Valdemar pushed the spoon around till he could reach the food on the end of it and ate it.

  Valdemar looked up with a big smile. Anna burst into tears just as the door opened and Michael stepped in.

  "What's going on here?" he asked. "Why are you crying?"

  "Oh Michael. You've got to see this," Anna said and ran to him. "Our boy has taught himself how to eat with a spoon. Come and see."

  Anna noticed Valdemar's body was shaking as he picked up the spoon with his mouth again. He managed to get cereal on it, then placed it in the submersion again and turned it with his nose. Then he opened his mouth to eat the food from the end of the spoon, when his nose accidentally tipped the spoon off the iron pipe and it fell down on the table spreading cereal and milk on the newspaper lying next to his bowl.

  Valdemar looked up at his dad who growled and picked up the paper and started to walk away.

  "It worked just fine before," Anna said. "It really did Michael. He was eating on his own. I tell you it's a miracle."

  Michael turned around and looked at Anna. "A miracle? You call that a miracle? I call it a failure. A pathetic failure. So what if he can learn how to eat on his own? Most kids can do that when they're less than a year. How is he ever going to ride a bike?"

  17

  August 2012

  At the hospital, the piggy-doctor told Henrik that he was fine and ready to be discharged.

  "We would like for you to come back for a check-up to make sure your remaining kidney is working properly in about two weeks. Until then you must rest, give your body time to heal. And for God's sake, try not to get yourself too agitated."

  Henrik growled and gathered his belongings. He looked at the display on the cellphone while waiting for the taxi in the hospital lobby. No one had tried to call him. Henrik's stomach hurt and he found the pills the doctor had given him for the pain. He swallowed one without water and stared once again at the phone.

  Why hadn't she called? Why hadn't Janni answered her phone when he had tried to call her? She was, after all, his wife. She had to know that he was in the hospital for Pete's sake. The police said they had informed her. Where was she?

  The taxi drove up in front of the entrance and Henrik got up from the chair and walked towards it, taking slow steps to ease the pain. He was sweating heavily. The taxi driver held the door for him and took his suitcase. Henrik growled when he noticed how the taxi-driver handled his suitcase, banging it around, not caring that he was making scratches and bumps in it. Henrik shook his head and took in a deep breath.

  Probably Pakistani with that turban on his head. Probably a terrorist in training. Just like the rest of them. Nothing but trouble.

  Henrik shook his head while the man smiled at him, showing a row of pearly white teeth in his brown face.

  Why does the Danish population refuse to see that all those people only come here to destroy our nation from the inside? First they will be elected for parliament, then they will build their ugly, noisy mosques and make us stop having Christmas because it is offensive to them and soon no one will eat pork anymore and the brown-skinned will be in charge. That is what is going to happen and it has already started, hasn't it? They are already complaining about the Christmas trees and the pork served in schools. And the Danes are stupid enough to listen and then they change it in order to not offend the growing Muslim community. Meanwhile, they have their meetings where they declare death to the Danish population behind our backs. It should be illegal to be this freaking stupid!

  "So where are we going?" the brown-skinned man with the turban asked. The taxi didn't smell as bad as Henrik had expected it to.

  Henrik looked at his phone and felt the anger rise inside of him again. He wanted to crush the phone between his fingers.

  Home? Are you going home? Back to Roskilde and a woman who doesn't care about you?

  "Where to?" the taxi-driver asked again.

  His calmness irritated Henrik. Probably Buddhist or something stupid. Henrik felt like screaming. He restrained himself and made a decision.

  "Take me back to Brabrand. To Hotel Kragen. I have some unfinished business there."

  "As you wish," the taxi driver said and started the car.

  Henrik found his wife in the contact information on his phone and looked at it. Should he text her? Let her know he was out of the hospital? Nah, she didn't even care that he was in there in the first place, did she? No she would have visited or at least called. Henrik looked at the photo on his phone showing his wife and son. Didn't he mean anything to them?

  As the taxi drove out of Aarhus and into the countryside, Henrik opened Facebook. There were a ton of messages for him on his wall from colleagues and acquaintances wishing him well and telling him they saw him on TV and how awful it was what had happened to him. Most of them told him to let them know if there was anything they could do for him.

  "Bah," Henrik said out loud. It was so easy to show sympathy on Facebook without meaning anything by it.

  Henrik found his wife's Facebook page and scrolled on her wall, reading all the messages and updates. On the day he had been admitted to the hospital, she had changed her status from married to single. Her status today was a quote from one of her favorite TV shows, Sex and the City. “Men cheat for the same reason that dogs lick their balls … because they can.”

  Henrik felt infuriated and threw the phone on the seat next to him
with a groan. The taxi driver looked at him in the rearview mirror.

  "Everything all right?" He said with his stupid foreign accent that made Henrik even angrier.

  "Yes, everything is all right," he said imitating him rolling on the r like he had done.

  So she had guessed that he was with a woman that night. Big deal.

  The taxi came to a stop and Henrik paid the man and got out. With much discomfort, he walked inside the lobby. Luckily, there were no journalists there. Henrik had feared they would still be there, but they had probably moved on. The man behind the counter gasped when he recognized Henrik's face.

  "Let me get the owner on the phone," he said.

  "No. No. I'm not here to talk to the owner. I need to talk to someone in the bar. Could you help me find who the bartender was that night?"

  "S … ssure," the clerk stuttered. "That would be Arne. Let me find him for you. One moment, please."

  Henrik nodded and held on to the counter. At the hospital, they had told him he would experience pain for the next couple of days, but it was perfectly normal. There was nothing about this pain that seemed normal to Henrik. He sighed and looked around. Eyes were watching him, scrutinizing him, and when he turned to look at them, they looked away. So I'm the freak now, huh? I'm the freaking talk of this small town?

  "Here is the gentleman who wishes to speak to you."

  Henrik heard the voice behind him and turned around. A man, whom he recognized as the bartender who had waited on them that night, looked back at him. He reached out his hand. "I'm so sorry, sir. For what happened that night."

  "Good," Henrik said. He closed his eyes as a wave of pain rolled in over him.

  "Are you alright sir? Should we call for help?"

  "No. No. No help please. I'm fine. The doctor at the hospital said it was perfectly normal to have some pain. Besides, I don't care. I just want to find whoever did this to me."