Peek A Boo I See You (Emma Frost #5) (3 page)

The tantrum at his four-year birthday party hadn't been his last. But Alexandra knew he didn't mean to be bad. After trashing his entire room and breaking everything inside of it that was breakable, he had been so remorseful it almost hurt Alexandra. He had told her how sorry he was and held her tightly, crying. Weeks had passed where he had been the most delightful child, helping Alexandra out with almost everything and always telling her how much he loved her and that she was the best mother in the entire world. He had been the angel that Alexandra always knew he was, up until two months later when Alexandra had told him to clean up his Legos from the living room floor. That was when he had lost it again. And this time, his tantrum seemed even stronger than the first time. Alexandra had been alone with him at the time and had not known what to do. So, she had left him alone and run up the stairs and closed the door to her bedroom while the boy destroyed their living room. The rage ended with him punching a hole in the wall, then he went quiet. When Alexandra came down, she found him sitting on the floor crying, his hand bleeding.

So, she took him to the doctor. She told the doctor about the tantrum and rage and the doctor explained to her that Samuel was a very passionate boy and maybe a little more intense and that he probably needed a lot more attention from his mother than other children.

"Tantrums are normal in a five-year old. He'll grow out of it, don't worry."

But it still hadn't gotten any better. In his preschool, they complained that Samuel pulled the girls' hair and threw stuff around when he got angry. Alexandra made all kinds of excuses and told them she would get the boy under control, but so far, she still didn't know how to handle him once he got into that zone. It was like he was unreachable. Poul didn't want to talk about it. He had enough trouble at work, he would say.

"You're his mother. You figure it out."

So now, Alexandra had decided to spend the entire summer doing nothing but giving her boy a lot of attention. She planned activities for them to do every day and, so far, she had avoided any bad confrontations and tantrums.

She exhaled deeply and closed the basket containing the sandwiches, hoping and praying that this was going to be one of the good days as well.

"Samuel?" she called. "Are you ready? I put your swim shorts out for you. Did you put them on?"

There was no answer, so Alexandra put the basket down and walked up the stairs. The door to Samuel's room was ajar and she pushed it open. She found him sitting on the carpet inside with the swim pants in his hand.

Alexandra exhaled, relieved. "Do you need help?" she asked and kneeled next to him.

He didn't react. He stared into the air without moving.

"Samuel?"

Samuel turned his head and stared at his mother with pitch-black eyes. Alexandra gasped and drew backwards.

"I told you…I…don't…like…these…SHORTS!"

Alexandra shook her head. "You never said that…but…you don't have to wear them, Samuel. We can find another pair." Alexandra got up and opened a drawer, then frantically searched for another pair and found them. She pulled them out. "See. You have these as well. They're nice, right?"

But it was too late. Samuel had that look in his eyes that Alexandra had come to know frighteningly well.

"I don't want to wear those either," he said. "I HATE swim shorts. I HATE the beach."

"No you don't, sweetie. You love the beach, remember? We’ll get to build a sandcastle and maybe play soccer?"

Samuel was breathing heavily now and Alexandra had a feeling it was too late. No words were able to calm him down now. She had seen that look in his eyes before. But to her surprise, Samuel remained calm. He didn't throw anything at her or even scream. Instead, he simply looked at her with his pitch-black eyes and said:

"Mom, I love you, and I don't want to hurt you, but some days, I have to."

With utter terror in her eyes, Alexandra drew backwards, then stormed out of the room and into her own bedroom where she stayed until Poul came home.

5

February 2014

M
Y MOTHER STAYED AT
the house while I drove towards City Hall with my heart pounding in my throat. Morten hadn't told me much on the phone and, to be frank, I was completely freaked out by the whole thing.

Why did he need me to come down? They found a body, but what did that have to do with me?

I turned into the parking lot in front of City Hall where the island's police car was parked. I parked mine next to it. I spotted Morten and another officer on the other side of the police tape. A small flock of people had gathered to watch. I walked past them and Morten spotted me. He ran to greet me. I followed him closer to the scene, my eyes fixated on the body on the tiles that was covered with a white blanket.

Is it someone I know since they want me down here? It couldn't be any of my children since he would have told me, wouldn't he? Or is he bracing himself right now to tell me? Is he? Oh God, don't let him be!

"You're scaring me here," I said. "Tell me right away. Is it any of my children? Is it my dad? I tried to call him all the way down here, but he didn't answer his phone."

"Sorry," Morten answered. "How insensitive of me. It's no one from your family. As a matter of fact, we haven't quite figured out who she is yet, so don't worry about that."

I exhaled, relieved, and my heart calmed slightly. "Oh good," I said. "But why am I here, then?"

"I have to show you this. That's why I couldn't tell you on the phone," Morten said and grabbed the blanket. He pulled it and I braced myself for what I was about to see.

"This woman was found here this morning when the clerk came to open up City Hall at eight. She was lying just the way you see her here in front of the main entrance, blocking it so no one could enter without seeing her."

I looked down at the body and felt nauseated.

"Her head has been decapitated," Morten continued, "and the back of her head suffered a trauma of some sort. Looks like a blow from a fall. I've seen something similar before in another case, but the forensics will clear that up for us when they arrive from Copenhagen."

"I see all that," I said, feeling confused. "But why…What does this have to do with me?"

Morten nodded slowly. He reached down and grabbed the body and turned it around, while the head remained in its place.

"We didn't know it had anything to do with you until we started examining her and found this," he said, and turned her naked body all the way around to show me the back of it.

I gasped. Carved into the skin was a series of letters spelling a message:

PEEK-A-BOO, EMMA FROST

Startled, I pulled backwards, covering my mouth with my hand. "What…what the hell is that?"

Morten shrugged with a sigh. "I don't know. It looks like someone wants your attention."

I shook my head in distrust. "But…but…What is this? I mean who would do such a horrible thing?"

Morten covered the body with the blanket, then put a hand on my shoulder. "I don't know, Emma. But it looks like you’re going to be a part of figuring that out, whether you like it or not. We're going to need your help. It might just be some psycho who likes your books or something. I mean you have become quite the name in this country and with fame comes a whole lot of stuff that you never asked for."

"I know…I know. I'm just…I don't understand. I don't know this woman. I’ve never seen her before in my life."

"Good, at least we’ve established that. That was kind of the reason I brought you down here. I thought you might know her."

"I really don't."

"Okay," Morten said. "Then you're free to go back home. I have to wait for the forensic team to come and then secure the area for anything we can use. We found a couple of shoeprints over there that I hope will give us a clue."

I was about to leave when something struck me. "Didn't the body strike you as odd," I said.

"What do you mean? She's been decapitated and a message has been carved into her back, so yes, but other than that?"

"Yes," I said and walked closer. I swallowed hard before grabbing the blanket and pulling it away again. "Look," I said and pointed.

"What am I looking at?"

"The head doesn't seem to quite fit the body, does it?"

"What do you mean?"

"The body is very slim and fit, but her face is quite round and somehow seems way too big for that tiny body."

Morten nodded and touched his face. "I believe you're right," he said pensively. "It does look strange."

"If you ask me, it’s been put together like this. I think you have
two
dead women. The question is…where is the rest of them?"

6

February 2014

P
EEK-A-BOO
E
MMA
F
ROST?

I kept repeating the message to myself in the car on my way back. Part of me wondered if this was all some stupid dream. This entire morning had been so surreal, I had no idea how to grasp it. It was all a little too much. I understood what Morten said with me being a name and all and it was true. I had written four books by now and was trying to finish my fifth about the crazy stay at Hotel Brinkloev, but it kept giving me problems because I wanted to leave all the stuff out about my daughter. I wondered if I should just kill the book and start something new, since I was tired of the story and it kept nagging me with what I had discovered up there. After all, not everything I experienced had to be a book. That was what Maya always told me, but I couldn't help it. It was my way of dealing with all that had happened to me during the last couple of years. Plus, I made a lot of money on the books, now that I had sold the rights to several other European countries. I was making enough for me to take a few years off if I wanted to.

But I didn't like the idea that this killing had something to do with me. Why me, of all people?

I parked the car in the driveway in front of my grandmother's old house and looked at the facade before I went in. It really needed a renovation.

Maybe that should be your spring project instead of writing another book?

I walked into the kitchen and found my mother sitting where I’d left her with a laptop on the table.

"Hi, honey," she said, and looked up. "Oh my, you look terrible. I never noticed how pale you are. You need to get out more in the fresh air or travel places. Get some sun and vitamin D."

I had no idea what to say to this woman. I felt exhausted and couldn't cope with her and her sudden pretended interest in me.

"I…I think I'll go upstairs for a little while," I said.

"Do that, sweetheart. I have a lot of e-mails to answer anyway. Take a nap. Maybe you're just tired."

"Maybe."

I walked up the stairs and went into my bedroom where I threw myself on the bed. I felt like crying, but no tears came. I think I was in some state of shock. I didn't know what to call it. I just felt so incredibly tired.

So naturally, I feel asleep and didn't wake up until it was almost dark outside. I gasped and looked out the window at the dusk. Then, I opened my eyes wide and jumped out of the bed.

"The kids!"

I rushed down the stairs, feeling horrible for not being there when they got home. I was always there to greet them. I almost always baked something for them. They had to be so sad.

At least I thought so until I heard Maya's laughter coming from the kitchen. I walked in and found her sitting at the table with a cup in her hand. Next to her sat my mother. They looked chummy and, somehow, that annoyed me more than anything.

"Hi, Mom," Maya said.

"Where is your brother?"

"He’s in the yard playing," my mother said. "He didn't say much, but went straight out there after he came home. Maya here tells me he likes to play out there. That's good. Gets a lot of fresh air and exercise."

"He's all right, Mom," Maya said. "I checked on him not long ago. He's wearing his warm snowsuit and everything. I made sure of that."

I inhaled sharply. "Well, that's good. But I better get him inside now. It's getting dark."

"Can't he tell it’s getting dark and figure out to come inside on his own?" My mother asked with a scoff. "I mean, he is eight years old now, right? He should know when it’s time to come back in."

I closed my eyes and calmed myself down to not answer her too harshly. "No, Mom, he doesn't know when it’s time to come back inside. When he’s in a world of his own, he doesn't sense his surroundings. If I don't get him inside, he'll stay out there all night. He’s not like other kids; he doesn't think of consequences."

"That sounds like nonsense to me," she said. "You're just being overprotective. No good has ever come from that."

I drew in a deep breath, then walked out of the kitchen without answering her. I found Victor in the middle of the yard talking to the tallest of the birch trees.

"Victor! It's time to come back in, buddy. It's getting dark."

He didn't answer. I was used to that. "Victor? Buddy?"

He nodded and looked at the tree. "I'll make sure to ask her," he said, right before he came towards me and walked right past me.

I caught up with him. "Hi, buddy. How was your day at school?"

"Bad," he said. "You know it was. It always is. Why do I have to say the same thing every day? Why do you ask the same thing every day? It doesn't make any sense. People spend way too much time talking about stuff that doesn't matter."

"But it matters to me, Victor. I really want to know how your day was. Maybe I secretly hope that it will be good one of these days."

Victor didn't say anything. He kept walking towards the porch.

"So, what did you have to ask whom?" I said.

"What?" he asked, as we reached the porch and I told him to take his muddy shoes off.

"You told the tree you would ask someone something, what was that? Who was it?"