Rebekka Franck - 03 - Five, Six ... Grab Your Crucifix (7 page)

 Isabella Dubois went quiet for a few seconds before she continued. “He was getting professional help. There is no one mightier than the Lord, the creator of the entire universe.”

The officer sighed. “I meant an ambulance. Why didn’t you call for an ambulance?”

“Because he didn’t need it,” she said.

“You don’t think he could have gotten the help he needed in a hospital?” the officer said.

“No. You’re focusing on the wrong thing here. This is a very strong demon and it had taken possession of his body, killing him from the inside. No doctor, no science could ever cure that.”

I stopped the audio file and looked at Sune. “She really believes that,” I said. “Completely brainwashed. It’s insane.”

He nodded. “I can’t believe how anyone can think like that. Let a man die on the floor without getting help. It’s way beyond cruel.”

“I know,” I said leaning back in my chair. I sipped my wine while scrolling through the rest of the statement. In the end Isabella kept repeating that we should all consider ourselves warned. This was just the beginning of our downfall. This demon would take possession of this entire land, this town and kill all of us. I scoffed and continued reading. The officer ended the interview by letting her know that she and others who were present in the room when the Priest died should be prepared for possibly being prosecuted for not having helped the deceased in his dying moments. This was an offense that was punishable by prison. Isabella Dubois apparently didn’t care much about it since she ended the interview by telling the officer that they wouldn’t have the time to prosecute her.

“This is the beginning of the end for all of us,” she said.

I scoffed again and read it out loud to Sune. He shook his head slowly. “I have heard about religious fanatics but this woman is just plain crazy.”

I laughed and finished my glass of wine.

“More?” Sune asked.

I looked at the clock. It was only eleven. It was after all vacation. “Just one glass,” I said.

Sune got up and went to the kitchen to get more wine for both of us. He found some dark assorted chocolates that he brought back to the table. I swallowed one in a hurry like I thought it wouldn’t make me fat if I hurried up and swallowed it. Sune filled our glasses again while I opened a new statement. This time the officer was talking to a man named Hans Christian Bille.

Chapter 12

It didn’t feel like a dream, Hans Christian thought to himself as he walked closer to the weird green substance in front of him. Somehow he knew it was anyway, maybe because the green stuff was pulsating as if it were somehow alive. It reminded him of the Jell-O that his maid used to serve him when he was a child. Green, wobbly Jell-O when all he wanted was a hug from his mother and her presence.

Hans Christian had been lonely as a child and the solitude was a feeling he hadn’t been able to escape even as an adult, even when he met Anders and started the church. It lingered with him and he would never get rid of it. It was a part of him. Now standing in front of this weird mass he felt the lonesomeness stronger than he had in years. It felt almost like it was sucking all hope and happiness out of him. It grew steadily in front of him while he slowly shrank. It sucked life out of him. He was left with nothing but despair and the old familiar feeling of loneliness, the sense of never having been properly loved.  The feeling was so overwhelming it forced Hans Christian to bend over in agony like had he been punched. He gasped for air as the green mass grew bigger and bigger in front of him. He reached out his hand towards it still feeling suffocated. As his hand touched it he spotted his own reflection in the green mass. He didn’t recognize himself at first but the eyes were familiar. It was a boy, himself as just a young boy.

“Why do you look so sad?” Hans Christian said to the boy.

But the boy never answered. He started to cry. Not like children normally cry, but in a quiet way. He stared at Hans Christian while tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” Hans Christian said and reached out his hand and touched the green mass. It felt sticky. He put his palm on it and pressed through into the wobbly mass. It felt cold and clammy and the shock made him pull his hand back. But he couldn’t. The mass had closed around his arm and it felt like it was trying to suck him inside of it. Slowly he watched as his arm became smaller. Then he panicked. But it was like quick-sand. The more he pulled the deeper in the arm went. The green mass was still growing bigger and made smacking sounds like someone eating soup. Hans Christian moaned and tried to pull his arm back again but he couldn’t. Soon his entire arm was sucked into the mass and his shoulder as well. Then he screamed. He screamed from the top of his lungs.

“Stop! Stop! Please don’t hurt me. Help!”

But he was alone. Just like he had been as a child whenever he heard those footsteps in the hallway of the mansion he grew up in. The footsteps of his father coming to his room in the middle of the night. The smacking sound from the green mass made Hans Christian want to throw up. It was the same sound his father used to make when he put Hans Christian’s sex into his mouth and began doing things to him he never could forgive himself for. It was the same sound his father made at the dinner table while they ate in silence. The same sound haunted Hans Christian for years making him feel uncomfortable eating with other people who smacked their lips, causing his anger to rise. Anger that could kill if he didn’t restrain it. Hans Christian restrained it all he could. Over the years he had learned how to. Whenever anyone was smacking his or her lips at the dinner table in the dining hall at the camp, Hans Christian would leave immediately, go to his room and take out a whip from the closet. He would take off his shirt and whip his own back for hours until the pain was completely gone and he could hear the sound of the smacking lips no more.

Frantically Hans Christian was now pulling his arm trying to get it out of this weird green growing mass in front of him, crying in despair. Pictures of his father touching him, making him feel things he didn’t want to, the forbidden feeling of pleasure, pleasure from being with his father who never looked at him or even talked to him, who always seemed to be disappointed in him, except at night when he climbed under his covers. Hans Christian was screaming and crying while fighting the green mass in the way he knew he should have fought his father but never had the guts to do. Because he wanted it. Didn’t he? He wanted it to happen. He wanted to be close to his father, he wanted to feel his presence, the love, the affection. Even if it was in that way, a way he knew was wrong. At least it was something. It was the closest Hans Christian had ever come to being loved.

While Hans Christian was screaming out years and years of pain and repressed feelings he suddenly saw something in the green mass. His reflection was changing; it was no longer the young boy he had tried so hard to forget staring back at him from inside the green mass. Slowly the eyes changed, and soon the face changed. Out grew something much much worse than facing his long concealed pain. It was a girl, the girl. She was staring back at Hans Christian with her green glowing eyes in her crooked face.

Hans Christian gasped for air and froze. Then the girl laughed.

Hans Christian woke up screaming. Realizing it was just a dream calmed him down immediately, but the sense of inner peace didn’t last for long. Barely had he put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, hearing nothing but his own rapid heartbeat, when suddenly another sound caused him to open his eyes again.

The sound of smacking lips.

Chapter 13

Hans Christian Bille’s statement didn’t add much new to the story except he clearly told the officer that he wanted to call for the ambulance right away but Isabella Dubois had told him not to. He was the only one of the people present who clearly had conscience enough to want to do something according to the statements that - except for Hans Christian’s - were scarily alike. The officer kept asking him why he didn’t just do it anyway, why he - and the others in the room - hadn’t refused to obey the orders coming from Isabella Dubois? Hans Christian hadn’t been able to provide a satisfying answer for that.

“That is just the way it is,” he answered.

I noted that statement on my notepad, thinking that it was probably a very fitting answer. These were people who were used to being led by a strong leader and used to being told what to do, what to think and what not to. They obeyed orders or they risked losing everything. I had once written a story about a similar sect in Jutland a couple of years ago. A young woman had managed to break free and told me in an interview how it worked. It was appalling. Especially how they exploited her weaknesses, her fear of being alone. They told her she would lose everything if she left the sect, if she turned her back on them. No one would take care of her, and she was weak as a person, they told her, and not able to take care of herself. She needed them and she believed them.

For several years she let them exploit her. She had to work for them, cook, clean and be available sexually for the leader as should the rest of the women in the sect. Her mistake was to fall in love with the leader and follow him into this as just a very young woman. He had brainwashed her and over a couple of months changed her way of thinking. I was appalled by the way he had filled her with guilt and basically told her she couldn’t do anything on her own, that she was evil by nature and a sinner and without him she would fall back to her old sinful lifestyle. Her parents had tried to contact her and help her get out, she later learned but she was kept away from them and everybody else. She was told her family and old friends weren’t good for her. She was told to turn her back at them, on her old ways, and so she did. Ten years later she finally managed to escape but she found it hard to live a normal life, she was constantly afraid and suffered from severe anxiety attacks. All of her friends were gone and her mother had died.

Now she lived with her father who was all she had left. Members of the sect still came to her house several times a week to talk to her and tell her to come back. First they would tell her that they loved her and knew she loved them. Then they would tell her she was living wrong, filling her again with guilt and condemnation, telling her she couldn’t do it on her own. That she was living sinfully. It was hard for her to resist them, since there really wasn’t much left for her on the outside anymore. She had never had a good relationship with her father and it hadn’t improved.

As I sat in the living room of the vacation rental and stared at all the statements made by the members of “The Way” I felt a chill run down my back. I thought about the young woman and where she was now, if she had managed to get her life back or if she had gone back to what she knew, what had become familiar to her? I remembered asking her if she ever considered going back. I will never forget that look she gave me. It scared me. She didn’t have to answer and she never did. I could tell by simply looking into her eyes, that she thought about it constantly.

Sune leaned over in the couch and kissed me. “Where did you go?” he asked.

I smiled and touched his cheek gently. “Nowhere. Was just thinking about a story I once did.”

“Ah. More work.”

“I want to write this story,” I said scrolling on the laptop.

Sune sighed and looked at me. “Can’t say I blame you,” he said. “It is a great story. I can’t believe they wouldn’t call for an ambulance.”

I nodded pensively. “It’s an important story.”

“I think so too.”

I picked up my cell phone. It wasn’t too late to call my editor Jens-Ole. I found him under recent calls.

“I have another story for you,” I said. “A spin-off from the death of the Priest.”

Jens-Ole laughed. “I knew it. I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

Jens-Ole was shocked after I had told him the details of the story. He told me I could get the front cover. Then he hung up. I took the laptop to the dinner table and started writing. Sune turned on the TV and watched the late news. The story of the Priest was still there, but it had moved to the bottom of the run down and was just a small story stating he had died from what was believed to be food poisoning. So far people shouldn’t be alarmed since none of the other church members seemed to have been made ill and they all shared the same food.

I got up from my chair and went to the kitchen to make myself some coffee. When I returned Sune had fallen asleep on the couch. I found a blanket and put it over him, then I turned the volume down on the TV and went back to the computer to write my story.

Chapter 14

The smacking sound just wouldn’t go away. At first Hans Christian thought it was all in his head. It was a leftover from his dream. So he decided to ignore it. Forget it, think about something else. Happy thoughts. He thought about Anders and the first years they spent together building up the church and the camp. Those had been the best years of Hans Christian’s life. They had talked for hours and hours, even sometimes staying up all night discussing their beliefs and why God had put them on this earth. They had a mission they both agreed. Anders had been amazing. So beautiful, so powerful and so anointed. There was no doubt in Hans Christian’s mind that Anders was created for greatness. And he worshipped him for it. God had chosen Anders to be the leader, to be the Priest. He had shown him things in visions and when Anders spoke about it, it was like he was on fire. His passion was big and soon Hans Christian’s was just as big. They wanted to save people from the evil lurking inside of them, that was their mission. They were going to cleanse them and free them from what possessed them and made them do evil things. It was an honorable mission and just like Peter was to Jesus in the Bible, Hans Christian had been Anders’ faithful servant and disciple. He had followed him in everything, worshipped his every movement and word he spoke.

Until that night in 1998, he thought while the emotions flushed in over him. How many nights he had regretted what had happened. But mostly he regretted not having done anything until afterwards when it was all too late. Not until the day after had he told Anders how he felt about what they were doing, what they had done. Not until then had he told him that he didn’t want to be a part of it anymore.