Itsy Bitsy Spider (Emma Frost #1) (9 page)

Christmas came
and went
so did New Years Eve for Astrid down in the
bunker. By January her stomach had grown so big, she was out of breath from her
daily exercise walking fifty times up and down the stairs and the little
gymnastics she had taught herself to do on the cold concrete floor.

The radio had become her closest friend and
helped her keep track of the days. Some days she would spent on the bench
crying, others she felt strong and did whatever it took to keep living, to have
some sort of decent life even given the circumstances. She would keep herself
busy with washing her clothes, cleaning the toilet and reading the magazines
given to her over and over again.

But what Astrid loved the most was to simply lie
still on her back and feel the baby growing in her stomach. She would cry with
joy as she felt it kick or move in there. Every now and then she was struck
with fear and almost panic that the baby would never know anything other than
this awful hole in the ground. She speculated a lot about the birth and what
she was supposed to do and as the days passed on she grew increasingly anxious
that something would happen to the baby, that it would die or get hurt while
she was giving birth. Astrid didn't know anything about babies or births, but
she had read a lot in her magazines that had been provided for her, since they
were all about motherhood, pregnancy and giving birth. It calmed her a little
to read the stories from all the women who had gone through it, but she
couldn't help thinking that they all - unlike her - had someone to help them.
Doctors, nurses, midwives. Astrid could wake up at night feeling contractions,
but not knowing what it was, she would fear that the birth had started. She
could even scream for help some nights fearing that she had to go through this
all by herself.

"How?" she would ask into the room and
hear the echo of her own voice as the only answer. "How am I supposed to
do this?"

Astrid had always believed in God and she also
believed he was there with her in that hole in the ground and she had a firm
belief that he was going to help her go through this. If anyone could, it would
be him. But she had her moments of doubts and they knocked her down like a
hollow tree in a storm. There were days she would scream and yell at God for
putting her through this, and those days were the worst. The doubt and the fear
made everything so much worse for her. She had grown up knowing that God
punished people for their sins and she was wondering what she had done to feel
his wrath like this upon her life. Yet on the good days she put her trust in
him and in the fact that he believed she would be able to cope with this trial,
that she could do it.

"It's my punishment for having sex outside
of marriage," she kept telling herself. "You make your bed and you
lie in it. There are no tears that will get you out of this. You have to do it.
It's what God wants you to do. It will cleanse you from your sin," she
repeated over and over to herself. For some reason it helped her and made her
stronger.

By the end of January the woman came again.
Astrid had speculated like crazy about what she would do when she arrived with
the next shipment of food and supplies. Oh how she had gone over it many times
in her head. How she was going to throw herself at her and try to wrest the
rifle out of her hand, or how she would use the flashlight, swing it at the
lady and knock her out. But by the time she heard the sound of steps outside
the door again Astrid was too heavy, too pregnant and way too tired to even get
up from the bench. She heard the door open and cried when she saw the woman's
face appear. She pointed that damn rifle at Astrid again.

"Stop crying, for Christ sake," she
said when she saw Astrid. "No one feels sorry for you. You brought this
upon yourself."

"Please just let me out now, won't
you?" Astrid pleaded. "I'm pregnant and the baby will come any day
now. I need to go to a hospital."

The woman with the rifle snorted. "I can't
help you with that."

"But why? Why do I have to stay down here?
I have learned my lesson.  As God is my witness I have been punished
enough."

"It's not about punishment," the woman
said.

"Then what's it about? Why are you keeping
me here?"

The woman pushed the supplies closer and left it
inside the door for Astrid. "There you can do with it as you please. I
have put diapers in there as well. For the baby, when it comes."

"Do you really expect me to go through
childbirth down here all by myself?" she asked whimpering. "What if
something happens to me or to the baby?"

The woman looked at her but didn't answer.
"You'll find all you need in the supplies," she said instead, then
turned as if to leave.

Astrid got up with much difficulty holding a
hand to her sore back. "Please don't leave me," she said. "Don't
leave so soon."

"I'm sorry. But it's the only way."
The woman took one last look at Astrid, then slammed the door. 

I did it again.
A couple of minutes later I could no longer resist. I had to check and see if
this alleged murder on the Queen of Fitness had anything in common with the
killing of Mrs. Heinrichsen.

It didn't take me long to realize it did. And
not only by one or two things. It was literally everything that was in common.
Like Mrs. Heinrichsen, Irene Justesen had been alive while her organs were
removed. And like Mrs. Heinrichsen it was the lungs, the heart and the liver
that had been cut out. According to the forensics the killer hadn't stuffed the
sweat band into her throat until afterwards. I wondered why that was. Did he
enjoy hearing her scream? It was the only logical explanation. I looked at a
map of Irene Justesen's property and realized she could have screamed at the
top of her lungs all night and still not a soul would have heard her. So that
was probably why he had waited. He wanted her to feel pain. He wanted to hear
her pain. 

I shivered in disgust and tried not to imagine
how much pain she must have been in for those hours while he removed her organs
one buy one, before she finally bled to death.

I scrolled through the document and felt sick to
my stomach as I watched the pictures. All that blood. But one thing kept me
looking. One picture really drew my attention. On the wall of the gym, on one
of the mirrors, the killer had written a number with Irene Justesen's blood. It
was the number three.

I leaned back while my heart was pounding. Why
three? The number on Mrs. Heinrichsen's wall had been four. What did those
numbers mean?

I googled the Queen of Fitness and found that
the story of her being killed had gone viral all over the Internet. All the major
newspapers had it and on my Facebook newsfeed people were all writing about her
and posting old clips from her show. I guess she all of a sudden became some
sort of cult figure.

I read the articles in the papers and recognized
Officer Dan who apparently had been the one they all interviewed. Probably
because he was so handsome, I thought while chuckling. Or maybe more likely
because he had been the first one on the scene of crime after the cleaning lady
called the police. He looked great in the pictures. But what struck me was that
none of the articles seemed to have all the info about the killing. No one
mentioned the fact that her organs had been removed, no one spoke of the number
on the wall and not a single one of them compared it to the killing a few
months ago of Mrs. Heinrichsen on my street.

"That was odd," I said out loud and
closed the computer. I walked downstairs to begin preparing dinner while
speculating how come this information hadn't been anywhere. No one looked at
the two cases and saw the connection. They all talked about her career, her
many times in rehab and the fact that she had lost a child, a daughter who had
run off at sixteen and never come home. They never even suggested that there
could be a connection or that the police might work on the idea that there
could be a connection. It was very strange.

"What are we having for dinner?" Maya
asked as she walked into the kitchen.

I was still peeling potatoes and completely lost
in my own trail of thoughts. "Hmm, what was that sweetheart?"

"I asked what are we having for
dinner," she repeated.

"I'm making pork chops. I am going over to
Sophia's later. Could you keep an eye on Victor?"

Maya make a grimace like she was annoyed. I
tilted my head. "Please?"

She shrugged. "Okay. It's not like I have
anything better to do anyway."

"So how are things at school? Have you
gotten any friends?" I asked hoping to finally be able to take part of her
life again. Victor was playing in the backyard and for once I had time to
actually listen.

She shrugged again. "It's okay, I guess. I
mean people are a little weird out here. Definitely not like they were in
Copenhagen, but I guess I could get used to it ... eventually."

I smiled but tried not to show it. I found
another potato and started peeling it. "Any boys that are of
interest?"

"Actually there is a guy that's kind of
cute ..."

Maya didn't get any further before she was
interrupted by a scream coming from the backyard. I threw my peeler in the sink
and stormed outside. My heart was pounding.

"Victor? Victor? Are you okay, buddy?"

The trees seemed to look at me with their dark
eyes and branches reaching out ready to grab me. I never understood why Victor
found them so fascinating. I thought they were really creepy.

"Victor?" I said again.

"Mommy?" he replied. I detected worry
in his voice. He was afraid. Something had scared him out there.

"Victor? Where are you?"

"I'm down here. I can't get up. Help Mommy.
Help."

Panic spread in my mind and body. My heart was
racing. Where was he? Why couldn't he get up? Was he hurt?

He sounds fine. He's not
crying. Calm down
for
crying out loud
.

"Victor? Where is 'down here'? Are you all
the way down by the water?" I asked thinking if he had gone all the way
down to the end of the yard, he was in big trouble. He knew he wasn't supposed
to go down there on his own.

"No, Mommy, I'm in between the trees. Next
to the big birch."

The big birch, the big birch,
what did a birch look like?

It's long thin branches dangling in the wind
gave it away. I sighed relieved when I found it and ran towards the sound of
Victor's voice. I spotted his face and ran faster. He was on the ground, but
what was he lying on? Some sort of hatch in the ground?

"What happened here?" I asked and came
closer. His foot looked all wrong.

"I fell, Mommy. I fell over this thing in
the ground. My ankle hurts really bad, Mommy."

I looked at it and tried to move it. Victor
moaned in pain. "Looks like a sprained ankle, buddy. We need to get you to
bed, to give it a couple of days rest."

"I can't get up," he said with a
strained face.

I kneeled in front of him. "Victor. I'll
have to pick you up and carry you back in my arms. That means I have to touch
you. Are you okay with that? Can I do that without you screaming?"

Victor thought about it for a few seconds. Then
he nodded.

"Good," I said and reached my arms
out. "I'm going to pick you up now and I want you to stay calm,
alright?"

He nodded again with caution, like he was a
little reluctant. I bent down and put my arms around him. I felt his body
shivering, when I lifted him up. He was stiff as I carried him back towards the
house.

"Sorry, Mommy. I was just running when I
tripped over that thing in the ground."

"It's okay, buddy. Don't worry about
it," I said and carried him inside. I put him on the couch and put a
blanket over him. Then I leaned over and kissed his forehead, something I
hadn't been able to do in a long time. I was surprised to notice that Victor
didn't seem to mind. It was a small step, but felt like a huge one for me.

It filled me with hope.