Miss Polly had a Dolly (Emma Frost #2) (10 page)

Patrick felt
like Zorro or
maybe Batman in his cape and disguise as
he rushed through town to get away from people, to get away from the screaming
fans. He didn't run since that would make him look suspicious, but he
speed-walked and avoided people by crossing the street whenever he saw someone.
Soon the streets were empty and he was all alone.

Patrick breathed in and enjoyed the silence for
a second. Usually he wasn't very fond of silence, or being alone for that
matter since it always gave him room to think too much, and Patrick did not
like to think. He liked to be on the go, always going somewhere, always the
center of the action and attention. But when he turned into his alter ego at
night and went out to do his thing, then he enjoyed being left alone, then he
enjoyed the silence surrounding him.

Because he knew the silence would soon be broken
by the sound of him taking yet another life.

Patrick spotted a small light coming from a
kiosk on the corner of a building. The sign outside stated that it was open
till ten pm. It was five to now.

"Perfect timing," Patrick mumbled and
peeked in through the glass door. A young girl was standing behind the counter,
reading in a magazine, constantly looking at her watch, probably anxious to go
home. She was perfect. No more than fifteen, pretty with long hair.

"Exquisite," Patrick told himself.
"Just the way you prefer them: Young, beautiful, and innocent."

He braced himself for what was about to happen
next, felt the thrilling rush in his stomach, the chill on his spine.  He
put his gloved hand on the door handle and opened the door. The small bell
above it rang and the girl looked up from her magazine. As her eyes met his,
she froze.

"Oh my god," she exclaimed. She looked
down at the cover of her magazine where Patrick's eyes looked back at her.
"You're… You're…"

Patrick smiled mischievously. "Indeed I
am."

The girl blushed. "Wow. And you're in
my
shop?"

"So it appears," Patrick answered and
walked closer.

"Can I have your autograph?" The girl
giggled and Patrick's blood froze at the sound.

Then he pulled out his famous smile. "Well,
of course!"

Her eyes became wide and she dove down under the
counter to find a notepad. When she lifted her head again she was holding the
pad and a pen. She handed it towards him. "Here. If you could just sign
here…"

Patrick grabbed it and pretended he was about to
sign it when he paused and looked up. "Now what am I thinking?" he
said.

The girl looked confused at him.

"A pretty girl like you should have a
special autograph, shouldn't she?"

The girl's eyes lit up. "A special
one?"

"Yes. Of course. All the girls want me to
sign their arm or some even on their breasts—those are the NAUGHTY
ones."

Patrick had screamed the word out and the girl
jumped at the sound. Patrick laughed out loud manically. He loved this moment.
"I bet you're feeling just a little bit afraid now, aren't you? Because I
yelled like THIS!"

The girl jumped again. Then nodded.

"But you still refuse to believe that
feeling, don't you? You're fighting it inside of you. Because you are after all
standing in front of a real CELEBRITY, aren't you? And they're not dangerous?
They don't mean any harm? They never hurt anyone, especially not a NICE and
PRETTY girl like you."

Patrick ended his sentence with his famous
smile. The girl stared at him and he could almost hear how her many thoughts
were racing through her mind.

"So now I give you my special autograph,
right?"

The girl had backed up and was now standing with
her back against the row of cigarettes behind her. "I…I'm not…"

"SURE YOU ARE!" Patrick leaned over
the counter. "You want this. You want my autograph on your body." He
pulled out his knife. The girl gasped. He walked around the counter and
cornered her inside of it poking the knife at her for fun. Then he ripped her
blouse with it and parts of her stomach appeared. She had nice skin, too. A
little pale after a long winter, but nice nonetheless.

"Maybe I should write my name right here.
Right there on the skin of your stomach, huh? You think I should leave my
autograph there, do you? I could carve the letters in with this knife. Leave
you with a memory of me for the rest of your life, huh?"

The girl shook her head. "Please
don't—"

"
Please
don't, please don't
," Patrick said imitating the girl, or any
other obnoxious schoolgirl who thought the world was all about her, for that
matter.

The girl started crying. Patrick rolled his
eyes. "Oh come on," he said. "Why do all the girls do the same
thing? They always cry? Do you really think anyone cares that you start to cry?
Huh? Do you?"

The girl was shaking and shook her head. Patrick
waved his had at her in disgust. "And now you're just trying to please me,
to say what I want to hear so I won't hurt you, right? That's what everybody
does. Well, I've got a news flash for you, baby girl. Try something a little
more original for a change. Don't just imitate everybody else, alright? Cause
there is a world out there and it'll eat you alive if you are not careful, if
you don't learn how to survive. You need to stand out in the crowd. Don't just
be mediocre. Don't just be like everybody else."

Now the girl was nodding. Her hands were in
front of her face, shaking violently, almost like she was having a seizure.
Patrick sighed his annoyance. She was beginning to bore him.

"Please don't hurt me," she said.

"
Please
don't hurt me
, " Patrick repeated with a grimace and while
making a girly voice once again.

"What do you want from me? Take the money
if you like. I don't care. I only work here."

Patrick smiled again. "Now that's more like
it. More feisty, fighting a little for your life. I like that."

"Please, just tell me what you want,"
she pleaded crying.

"And now we're back to being boring again.
Desperate is boring, sister. Try another approach."

The girl sulked and sobbed. "I don't know
what to do."

Patrick laughed and leaned over. "Well you
better come up with something soon, cause once I get too bored with
you—SNAP—you're dead," he said and snapped his fingers with
the other hand. Then he smiled again. "Isn't this FUN?"

The girl whimpered and covered her face with her
hands.

"Ah, now you're doing that. The
I better keep quiet so I don't say anything wrong
again and make him mad
approach. Well… It's not quite working for me
here. See, I get my kick out of keeping you alive as long as you are worth it,
as long as you fight for it. But if you don't. Then I might as well finish you
off."

The girl removed her hands and looked at
Patrick. Then she picked up a magazine and threw it at him while screaming and
yelling at him.

"Like this, huh? You want me to fight like
THIS?"

Patrick grabbed the magazine in mid-air, then
threw it down on the floor. Then he grinned from ear to ear. "Yes. Exactly
like that." Patrick burst into a loud laughter and put the knife back in
the pocket. He kept laughing as he pulled backwards away from the girl. He
picked up the magazine from the floor, then put it in the pile on the counter.
"Nah, I'm just messing with you. Kind of got you there, huh?"

The girl shook her head and slowly her body
relaxed. "You… You…you were just kidding? The magazines do always say you
like to act crazy…"

Patrick shrugged and walked further away from
her, he could sense she came closer. She was right behind him now. He paused
and waited till she was close enough.

"…it was just a joke?"

Patrick gave her one more second before he
turned around in one swift movement, pulling out the knife once again, and
stabbed her. As she bent over holding her hands to the blade of the knife, he
leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"Yes, sweetie. It's all a joke."

Just before he
left, Jack
and I agreed that we would go and see
Helle's store the next day. He thanked me for a wonderful dinner, then leaned
over and kissed me gently on the cheek. I giggled like a schoolgirl, not
because of the kiss, but because of his sweet ways which reminded me of a young
boy's.

My dad and Helle sat in the living room,
chatting like an old couple, laughing at each other's comments and just acting
like they really enjoyed each other's company. I stood for a little while and
watched them, thinking it was great for my dad that he had found someone to
share his life with. Then I looked out the window and saw the lights in Jack's
house, and started thinking that so could I if I really wanted it. Jack was a nice
guy and I had been waiting for him to ask me out, but so far he hadn't made his
move. I didn't know if it was just because he was shy or if he maybe didn't
want to. Tonight made me think he was just warming up, but I could be wrong.

Victor suddenly came out on top of the stairs
looking at me. "Victor, sweetie. Why aren't you in bed? I thought you were
sound asleep. It's late, buddy, and you have school tomorrow," I said
storming up the stairs to him. "Is something wrong? Did you have a bad
dream? Are we being too loud?"

Victor seemed to be half asleep when he suddenly
spoke. "The bowtie is red, Mommy. The bowtie is red."

"Is that what you came out here to tell me?
Did you dream about a bowtie?" I asked, helping him back into his bed. I
put the covers over him and sat on the edge of the bed. "It's okay,
Victor. It doesn't matter what color the bowtie is. I'll keep an eye out for
it. I promise you."

Victor grabbed my arm and held on to it tightly.
"No MOMMY," he yelled. "The bowtie is red because there is blood
on it."

His yelling startled me. I felt my heart race
faster and faster. What did it mean? Why was he telling me this?

"Go back to sleep now, buddy. We can talk
about it in the morning."

Victor seemed to calm down and I left his room
after a few minutes of just sitting there and watching him fall asleep. I was
worried about him. He kept drifting back and forth between his imaginary world
and the real world. I never knew which one he was in or referred to when he
told me things like this.

I walked down the stairs and heard my dad and
Helle laugh again. I walked in there and sat down to join them, when all of a
sudden my cellphone rang. I jumped up and found it on the kitchen table. The
display told me it was Maya. My heart started racing again. Had something
happened to her?

"Sweetheart?"

Maya was panting in the other end. Something was
really wrong. I could hear it even before she spoke. "Mom you need to come
now. Something has happened. I need your help."

"What's going on, Maya? Are you hurt?"

Maya was crying into the phone.

"Maya speak to me. Are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes. I'm alright, but something bad
has happened. Annika and I wanted to get a soda on our way home, so we walked
into this kiosk on the way…" The hitch in Maya's voice made it almost
impossible for me to hear what she was saying. My dad entered the kitchen now
followed by Helle.

"Is everything alright with Maya?" he
asked.

I signaled that they should keep quiet. It was
hard to hear what Maya was trying to tell me.

"…this girl…this girl…in the kiosk…she
was…Mom, I think she is dead. There is blood all over the place…I…"

"I'll be right there."