the
eyebrow. He wrinkled his nose. He never understood why people wanted rings all
over the place that could get infected.
"Let's go sit in the corner over
there," Rebekka Franck said and pointed at some couches.
"Can I get you anything to drink?"
Henrik asked. He couldn't stop staring at the woman. She was beautiful, not in
a traditional way, but there was just something about her, something alluring
that made him want to screw her.
"No, we just ate," Rebekka said.
"Ah come on," Henrik said. "You
look like someone who would enjoy a Chardonnay."
"As a matter of fact, I'm more of a red
wine person," she said.
"Then let me buy you a glass of red
wine," Henrik insisted. Before she could protest, he ordered one for her.
"I'll just have a beer," the
photographer said.
He was already annoying Henrik and he was
starting to wonder how he was going to get rid of him. Henrik moaned slightly
in pain as he got up from his bar stool and walked towards the black leather
couches in the corner.
"Do you need a hand?" Rebekka Franck
asked.
"No." Henrik said a little too
harshly. "I mean, I'm fine. Just the damn pain that won't go away."
"From the surgery?" Sune the
photographer asked.
No from fucking all night. Yes
of course it's from having my kidney removed you idiot!
"It must have been quite painful?"
Rebekka Franck asked.
Henrik loathed the tone of pity in her voice.
Yes, he was the victim, but no he didn't want to be treated like a cripple. He
wanted her to see how handsome he was, how attractive he was. Henrik always had
a way with the ladies.
"It wasn't so bad," he said, trying
hard to smile.
"Oh my God," Rebekka Franck suddenly
said and pointed at his white shirt.
"What?"
"I think you're bleeding," she said.
"Is that blood on your shirt? There on the right side?"
Henrik looked down. Her had taken a shower after
killing Annabelle and put on new clothes so he hardly thought it could be hers,
but suddenly he feared it was. "It's nothing," he said, and smiled.
"Don't you think we should take you to the
hospital?" Sune the photographer asked.
He shook his head while imagining himself smashing
the boy's face in with a clenched fist. "No it's nothing. I can hardly
feel anything. The doctor said this might happen."
They sat down on the couches and Henrik found a
handkerchief in his pocket that he wiped his forehead with. He was sweating
heavily now.
"You don't look too well," Rebekka
Franck said. "Maybe we should do this another day?"
"No," Henrik said, annoyed with all
the fussing. Yes, the doctor had told him to rest and stay calm, but how could
he? How could he remain at peace with so many IDIOTS in this world?
Henrik wiped his forehead again, then forced a
smile and looked at Rebekka Franck. "Shall we begin?"
30
August
2012
Bill Durgin was
sitting in the bar with an iPad on the counter. The
bartender had served up a beer while Bill was looking for the next lucky
victim. Meanwhile, Bill was in the chat room, talking to one of the other
artists.
I'm sitting in the bar at the
hotel now .
Oh, the thrill of the chase ,
someone named Karl Persson answered. Bill had been chatting with him before. He
was quite the lunatic, but very good at inspiring and giving good advice.
Spotted your next victim yet? He asked.
I have my eyes on several
right now. Bill was looking up into the mirror behind
the bartender, where observing the guests in the hotel without being seen was a
lot easier. A guy at the end of the bar looked promising.
Ah I love this part ,
Karl wrote. Scanning the room, knowing you
hold the power of life and death in your hand, knowing you get to choose who
will live to see tomorrow and who won't.
Bill had to admit, it was enjoyable. Who could
have ever guessed, but Thomas De Quincey had been right. After the first kill,
the thought of the next one was much easier; it was almost thrilling. It
provided the ultimate satisfaction to hurt these people. These people who
deserved nothing better, who had it coming
eyebrow. He wrinkled his nose. He never understood why people wanted rings all
over the place that could get infected.
"Let's go sit in the corner over
there," Rebekka Franck said and pointed at some couches.
"Can I get you anything to drink?"
Henrik asked. He couldn't stop staring at the woman. She was beautiful, not in
a traditional way, but there was just something about her, something alluring
that made him want to screw her.
"No, we just ate," Rebekka said.
"Ah come on," Henrik said. "You
look like someone who would enjoy a Chardonnay."
"As a matter of fact, I'm more of a red
wine person," she said.
"Then let me buy you a glass of red
wine," Henrik insisted. Before she could protest, he ordered one for her.
"I'll just have a beer," the
photographer said.
He was already annoying Henrik and he was
starting to wonder how he was going to get rid of him. Henrik moaned slightly
in pain as he got up from his bar stool and walked towards the black leather
couches in the corner.
"Do you need a hand?" Rebekka Franck
asked.
"No." Henrik said a little too
harshly. "I mean, I'm fine. Just the damn pain that won't go away."
"From the surgery?" Sune the
photographer asked.
No from fucking all night. Yes
of course it's from having my kidney removed you idiot!
"It must have been quite painful?"
Rebekka Franck asked.
Henrik loathed the tone of pity in her voice.
Yes, he was the victim, but no he didn't want to be treated like a cripple. He
wanted her to see how handsome he was, how attractive he was. Henrik always had
a way with the ladies.
"It wasn't so bad," he said, trying
hard to smile.
"Oh my God," Rebekka Franck suddenly
said and pointed at his white shirt.
"What?"
"I think you're bleeding," she said.
"Is that blood on your shirt? There on the right side?"
Henrik looked down. Her had taken a shower after
killing Annabelle and put on new clothes so he hardly thought it could be hers,
but suddenly he feared it was. "It's nothing," he said, and smiled.
"Don't you think we should take you to the
hospital?" Sune the photographer asked.
He shook his head while imagining himself smashing
the boy's face in with a clenched fist. "No it's nothing. I can hardly
feel anything. The doctor said this might happen."
They sat down on the couches and Henrik found a
handkerchief in his pocket that he wiped his forehead with. He was sweating
heavily now.
"You don't look too well," Rebekka
Franck said. "Maybe we should do this another day?"
"No," Henrik said, annoyed with all
the fussing. Yes, the doctor had told him to rest and stay calm, but how could
he? How could he remain at peace with so many IDIOTS in this world?
Henrik wiped his forehead again, then forced a
smile and looked at Rebekka Franck. "Shall we begin?"
30
August
2012
Bill Durgin was
sitting in the bar with an iPad on the counter. The
bartender had served up a beer while Bill was looking for the next lucky
victim. Meanwhile, Bill was in the chat room, talking to one of the other
artists.
I'm sitting in the bar at the
hotel now .
Oh, the thrill of the chase ,
someone named Karl Persson answered. Bill had been chatting with him before. He
was quite the lunatic, but very good at inspiring and giving good advice.
Spotted your next victim yet? He asked.
I have my eyes on several
right now. Bill was looking up into the mirror behind
the bartender, where observing the guests in the hotel without being seen was a
lot easier. A guy at the end of the bar looked promising.
Ah I love this part ,
Karl wrote. Scanning the room, knowing you
hold the power of life and death in your hand, knowing you get to choose who
will live to see tomorrow and who won't.
Bill had to admit, it was enjoyable. Who could
have ever guessed, but Thomas De Quincey had been right. After the first kill,
the thought of the next one was much easier; it was almost thrilling. It
provided the ultimate satisfaction to hurt these people. These people who
deserved nothing better, who had it coming
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