Peek A Boo I See You (Emma Frost #5) (11 page)

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

D
AGMAR
M
ADSEN 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 ambiance 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?"

"That's not for me," Dagmar said, and looked down at the carpet again. She knew this point in the conversation very well. The doctors always said the same thing. All she needed was to stay calm. As long as the doctor didn't try and contact her previous doctor, then she was good. All she needed was that small yellow note with the right words on it to give her the drugs she needed. Especially, the Zolpidem was important. Dagmar had gotten addicted to those. She loved the way she dozed off after taking a couple of them. It made her go numb and sometimes even forget everything the next morning.

The psychiatrist wrote on her notepad. She looked up and handed Dagmar the prescription. Dagmar took it and held it tightly in her hands.

Finally. Finally. Oh boy.

"You do know that Zolpidem, taken in too high a dose, can cause amnesia," the doctor said. "It can also be fatal taken with other medications that cause drowsiness…and don't drink alcohol. Never take any more than it says on the bottle, okay? An overdose could kill you."

"Oh, I know," Dagmar said with a smile. Her hands were shaking in withdrawal. She hadn't had anything today at all since all her bottles were empty and her usual doctor refused to prescribe more. Dagmar got up from her chair, then shook the doctor's hand.

"Thank you, thank you," she said, then rushed out the doctor's office.

29

February 2014

I
T WAS LATE IN
the afternoon and getting dark as Dagmar took the ferry back to Fanoe Island and went to the pharmacy, before she hurried home to her small apartment in Nordby that was located in an old building right above a hairdresser.

She opened the door and rushed inside. She took off her jacket and her boots, then pulled out the bottles from the small plastic bag. The lady at the pharmacy had looked at her like she was crazy when she had handed her the prescription.

"Didn't you just get a new dose last week?" she asked.

Sometimes Dagmar really hated living on a small island. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that she had to find doctors on the mainland to help her get her prescriptions, but maybe it was about time she started using their pharmacies as well. She didn't like the way the lady behind the counter had looked at her. No, it was time to change her pharmacy as well.

"Next time," she mumbled, and looked at the many bottles on her kitchen table. There was enough for at least a couple of weeks. It made her feel calm. She would probably have to go all the way to Vejle next time to find a psychiatrist who would give her more medication, but she'd cross that bridge when she got to it.

She didn't understand all their concerns, though. Dagmar knew everything she needed to know about her medicine. She knew exactly how much she could take without it being dangerous. She knew which kind of pills went well with others and which didn't. She was an expert, one that had actually tried it all on her own body. She was very controlled and made sure all she did was to get sedated enough to forget all those thoughts she couldn't get rid of. But she had never taken too much. And she never would. She was way too experienced for that.

Dagmar grabbed a glass and filled it with tap water. Then, she took her bottle of pills and took out three. Yes, it was three times as many as prescribed, but she knew she could take it. If she took four, it would be bad, but she didn't.

Dagmar placed the pills on the table in front of her in a row and sat down with her glass of water. She felt sad for a second, thinking about her twin brother, who had been killed when they were just fourteen. Their stepdad had beaten him to death while Dagmar was watching. The stepdad had done his time, ten years in jail, and now he was out and had started a new family with another woman. Meanwhile, Dagmar's mother had killed herself after her brother's death and now Dagmar had no one left. It saddened her deeply, but the pills helped her to not get too sad. Sometimes, they even made her forget completely. She needed that. She needed to forget. She needed to remain sedated in order to make it through the day. Otherwise, she could only think about her brother and how unfair it all was and how alone she was in this forsaken world.

Dagmar felt the heavy sadness weigh her down and picked up a pill with the intention of taking it, when there was a knock on her door. She put the pill in her mouth and swallowed it. There was another knock. Dagmar didn't know what to do. She never had guests. She had no friends and no family.

Another knock.

This time it sounded urgent. She got up. Someone probably had the wrong address or something. She walked to the door and opened it. Outside stood a man whose face she knew very well.

The man smiled diabolically, then pulled a knife and placed it on her throat while pushing her backwards into the apartment. He slammed the door with his foot behind him. Dagmar was stunned. Perplexed. She had no idea what was going on.

"What…?"

She tried to speak, but he pressed the knife towards her skin.

"Shh," he said.

"I don't understand."

The man smashed his fist into her face and she felt an excruciating pain. Dagmar screamed and fell to the ground. The man hit her again and again, plunging his fist into her face and body, till she was so beaten, she couldn't scream anymore. Then he pulled her by the hair and sat her in a chair. Dagmar moaned and tried to focus, but everything remained a blur.

The man then took all of her pill bottles and placed them on the table in front of her, one after another. She heard the well-known sound of them being opened, then felt how he opened her mouth forcefully and started pouring pills on her tongue. She wanted to protest; she wanted to stop him, but she couldn't. Everything was so unreal and so blurry now, she had no idea how to stop him or for what reason she would. He would only hit her again. Dagmar felt water in her mouth and started to swallow in order to not get suffocated. She gasped for air and coughed. The water stopped and she caught her breath again. She opened her eyes and saw the man empty the bottle of Zolpidem into his hand.

"Please, don't," she mumbled between coughs. "That many pills will kill me."

The man laughed and pulled out a brown bottle of whiskey from his long black coat.

"No, they won't. But this might."

30

February 2014

I
WAS LISTENING TO
my mother getting ready upstairs, playing eighties music and trying to out sing Diana Ross on
Upside Down.
I wasn't angry; I mean, how could I be? It was her life and if she wanted to date my mailman, then there wasn't much I could do about it, was there?