THE RINGMASTER

Steen Langstrup

Copyright Steen Langstrup, 2020

Published by 2 Feet Entertainment at Smashwords

 

 

 

 

 

EYES WIDE OPEN, SEEING NOTHING

 

The smell hit her nostrils instantly as consciousness returned. It was the smell of an empty summerhouse or and old basement. A sour, moldy smell.

First the smell and then the pain. In her head, her legs, her arms, her feet, her torso, her hands, her mouth, her stomach…

Her first thought was…Traffic accident? Have I been run over by a car?

Lying in a bed, the darkness was opaque. Eyes wide open, seeing nothing. Black. Black. Black. Carefully touching her eyes. They were sore and seemed a little swollen but they didn’t feel…ruined.

Shouting, “Hello!” The sound echoed through the dark room.

Gasping for air. Searching the sides of the bed with frantic hands. The rough feel of fingernails scraping on concrete. This is not a bed. It’s a thin mattress on a raw concrete floor! This is no hospital.

Shouting again, “Anybody here?”

Finding a wall at the other side of the mattress. Bricks. Feeling the grout between the bricks. Uneven. Done by someone lacking skills. Something’s alive, scuttling. A spider? Recoiling her hands. Pulling her legs toward her body, wrapping her arms around them. Now feeling the cold, a damp, creeping cold.

And then in flashes, like those from cameras, memories returned in a mixed-up blur of images; helter-skelter, unconnected, yet clear enough to confirm that this wasn’t a dream. This nightmare was real. A nightmare you might not survive.

With trembling hands, she gently searched her body. Still dressed. The clothes seem to be intact. No wounds to be found, only abrasions on the knees and elbows. No bones appeared to be broken. Some swelling to the face, especially around the mouth, a couple of bumps on the head. A loose tooth. Nothing too serious, but there must be bruises everywhere, judging by the pain. Nothing too serious.

Yet.

A sound came from somewhere in the darkness. Heart pounding inside her chest, she turned toward the sound and hastily crawled backwards, away from it. What was that? Something moving? An animal? A rat? Something rustling about.

There it was again!

Legs starting to shudder. Pressing shoulders and back up against the rough brick wall.

A new sound. Faint grunts. Breathing. There was someone else somewhere in the dark.

A man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

IT’S NOT THE SAME IF IT’S NOT LIVE

 

“When I get the position at the state hospital,” Benjamin said, killing the bike engine, “you won’t have to work here anymore.”

Agnes released the helmet and winked at him from the sidecar, “If you get the job.”

“You don’t think I’ll get it?” He smiled, but Agnes sensed hurt flickering in the corner of his eyes.

“Of course I do,” she replied, getting out of the sidecar. “You know me, I don’t like to take anything for granted before it actually happens.”

“Little Miss Prudence.”

“Maybe, but I’m your Miss Prudence,” she said, stretching her back. The motorcycle was an old, army green BSA from 1963. Benjamin loved the bike, but it always left Agnes aching from every joint after riding in the sidecar. “By the way, what makes you think that I’ll quit my job here at the petrol station if you do get a job? I’m not the grand doctor’s little wifey, right?”

He pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his messy dark hair. “I’m just not that into you working alone in the evening in a remote place like this. There are so many robberies at petrol stations. You could get another job.”

She kissed him. “Stop it. Please baby, usually you’re the one claiming that there would be far less crime if only people stopped being so scared of each other. It’s not like this part of the country is flooded with jobs for students anymore. Besides, I’m not working evenings alone here. We always work in pairs.”

“Hmm.” He looked at his watch. “The final is about to start. I need to get home.”

“You could record it. We could see it together when I get off.”

He laughed, “Yeah, right,” and pulled her close to kiss her again. “All I meant was, when I get the position, you won't need a student job anymore. You could focus on studying. We might even move away from here, find a nice place to live in the city.”

“And all I meant, was that we could watch the final together when I’m finished here.”

“It’s not the same if it’s not live. You know that.” He looked at his watch again. “I need to go, or I’ll miss the beginning.”

“Then you’d better hurry.” She kissed him quickly one last time. “Are you coming to pick me up later?”

“‘Course, I am.” The helmet back on his head, he winked and fired up the engine.

She waved as he turned the bike around and rode away from her, out onto the highway, eager to get home. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned to walk between the petrol pumps, heading toward the station.

 

 

 

 

 

 

IT’S GOING TO BE A QUIET NIGHT

 

Belinda squatted down in front of the first row, refilling the shelves with bags of potato chips from a box on the floor next to her. She worked her hands fast, shoving the bags on to the shelves. Smack. Smack. Smack. Next row. She rose with the empty box, to squeeze it flat, as the automatic doors slid open and Agnes entered the shop.

“Hi, Belinda.”

“You’re late,” Belinda said, not looking at her.

“Am I?”

Belinda pushed her bleached hair back behind an ear with a solarium tanned hand. “It’s ten minutes past.”

Agnes went behind the counter to put her bag on the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Belinda left her standing there without a word, exiting the shop through the backdoor and throwing the flat cardboard box into the cardboard recycling container. Slamming the lid down, she turned away and just stood there, trying to get a hold of herself. She looked at the area around the petrol station: Wheat fields, some trees in the distance, a few farms scattered about. The old highway, usually rather heavy trafficked. But not tonight.

Fishing her cell phone from her pocket, she texted Christoffer.

U there?

She waited ten seconds. Then texted him again.

Chris, answer me!

Ten seconds more, so she texted him a third message.

On duty with Agnes. Fuck that. Boring Agnes. I might die. Will U stop by?

No answer. Of course not. He had probably turned off his cell phone even though she told him not to. She bet he was watching the final. Livid, she slid her phone back into her pocket and returned to the shop to find Agnes in the back room, connecting her laptop. “I’m going to try to get some work done on my thesis tonight, if it’s okay with you?”

“I don’t care,” Belinda said. “We’ll have hardly any customers anyway so long as they’re playing the final. We could close the shop and nobody would notice.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty wild Denmark being in the final. It’s okay if you want to watch it while I’m sitting here messing with my thesis.”

“I don’t wanna watch it.”

Agnes looked at her. “You don’t?”

“Nope.”

“Is something wrong? You seem a little…”

The tiny back room had shelves on the walls. A white table surrounded by three chairs. The window faced the back of the petrol station where the cars exit the car wash. A small TV was bolted to the wall just below the ceiling. There were also a refrigerator and a coffeemaker. Belinda crashed out on one of the chairs. “Was that your boyfriend who dropped you off? The guy on the motorcycle?”

“Yes.” Agnes pushed back her chair and returned her stare. “His name’s Benjamin. Why?”

“Doesn’t he ever just piss you off?”

“No.” Agnes held her stare. “You got trouble with your own boyfriend?”

“Not besides his being an asshole from time to time.” She shook her head and laughed. “It’s okay. It’s just me I guess. Maybe my period’s due or something. I’m in such a bad mood today.”

Agnes nodded. “If you need to talk, I’m right here.”

Belinda counted the cracks in the ceiling. “It’s going to be one boring evening, you know that? Not a damned thing’s going to happen. If we get five customers, I’ll fucking buy you an ice cream.”

“Deal,” Agnes said, glancing at the computer screen. “Less than five customers and I’ll buy us both an ice cream, more and you buy.”

“Start counting your money.” Belinda pulled out her cell phone again and texted Christoffer.

Answer me.

“What are you studying?” she asked Agnes at the same time, even though she didn’t give a shit.

“Anthropology.”

“Nice.” She nodded.

“My thesis explores Bushmen in Botswana. I try to explain how their culture and religion has emerged as a natural consequence of, and in interaction with, the ecosystem in which the tribes live.”

“Oh?” she yawned, her eyes still glued to her cell phone. “He could like, fucking answer me. Don’t you think so? Wouldn’t it piss you off if your boyfriend didn’t answer when you texted him?”

Agnes shrugged. “Maybe he’ll answer later?”

“Yeah.” Belinda sprang to her feet and went back into the shop to check the goods on the shelves, and the soft drinks in the refrigerator. I might as well pass the time refilling the shelves, she thought to herself, finding a pen and some paper in a drawer behind the counter. She’d die of boredom if she didn’t.

She quickly glanced at the black and white images from the four surveillance cameras on the flickering screen above the counter. The petrol station was just as deserted as it was going to be for the next however many hours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOBODY FORCES THEM TO DO IT

 

Agnes stared out of the back window. Her eyes locked on a farm atop a small hill about 500 meters away from the petrol station. However, she didn’t really see it. In front of her, her thesis filled the laptop screen.

There had been one customer so far. A German driving a motor home. Benjamin had called about fifteen minutes before, to tell her that the final had been delayed due to some riots outside the stadium.

She moved her eyes back to the laptop screen and corrected an erroneous comma. She was having difficulties getting the different parts of her thesis to merge together. She reckoned she was missing some natural transitions between the chapters and couldn’t make up her mind if it was true or not. She drummed her fingers on the table.

Through the open door, she could hear Belinda laughing and shortly after Belinda came back in. “Here! You gotta see this one! It’s so funny. Christoffer just sent the link to me.”

“Oh, so he did answer?”

Belinda frowned. “Of course he did! Didn’t you think he would?”

“Sure.” Agnes clicked to save her thesis. “You just seemed a little annoyed he didn’t answer earlier on.”

“Nope. I knew he would answer.”

Agnes glanced at her. “Okay,” she replied and tried to smile. “What was it you wanted to show me?”

“This one, it’s so funny!” She handed her phone to Agnes who hesitantly received it. “You have to push the screen like this to start the clip.”

Agnes nodded even though she didn’t need instructions to play a YouTube clip. What else could she do?

The clip showed a young man skateboarding toward some stairs. He tries to jump onto the stair railing with his skateboard, aiming to slide down it. He fails, slamming his crotch on the railing and tumbling down the stairs. Agnes can almost feel the pain the guy must have experienced, but Belinda, looking over Agnes’ shoulder, just laughed out loud.

The clip cut to another guy riding a BMX bike.

“Oh, you have to see this one!” Belinda yells, still laughing. “This sad fuck is just too lame!”

The young man rides the bike up a ramp hoping to jump a fence but he’s lacking speed and instead his front wheel gets caught in the fence, sending him flying with flailing arms into the air, before smashing his head straight into the ground.

Agnes handed the phone back to Belinda. “I don’t find this funny.”

Belinda stared at her in disbelief. “Why not? It’s awesome. Look at this guy, he falls head first down a basement shaft and totally ruins his nose!”

Agnes grimaced. “I just don't think it’s funny watching people getting hurt. Some of those guys must have been hurt so bad they needed to go to the hospital afterwards.”

Belinda stopped the YouTube clip, slid her phone down into her pocket and shrugged. “They do it to themselves, right? Nobody forces them to do it.”

Agnes shuffled her feet under the table. “Yeah,” she said. “Maybe.”

Belinda stayed right behind her. She filled her lungs with air and slowly released it through her nose, shaking her head at the same time. “You don’t have to take everything so fucking seriously, you know?”

“It’s just not my kind of thing.”

“Okay,” Belinda said, nodding her head like she finally understood the true meaning of life. “Then I don’t think I want to show you the clip with the car crash.”

Agnes blinked her eyes in shock.

Belinda laughed. “I got you there, didn’t I? For a moment you thought I had a clip with a car accident! You did! Admit it!”

“Okay, you got me.” Agnes returned her laugh, but somewhere underneath it all she wasn’t that sure it really was a joke. “You got me.”

When their laughter died down, Agnes turned toward her laptop and started scrolling through the text in the chapter that depicted the bushmen’s pact with nature.

Belinda stayed put, staring at her face. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Would you let you boyfriend film while you were giving him a blow job?”

“What?” Agnes started laughing.

“It’s just Christoffer wants…”

Agnes bit her lip to stop laughing. “How would you feel if something like that ended up on the internet?”

“It’s just for his own use.”

“Would you be asking me if this was something you really wanted to do?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

IS THIS CANDID CAMERA OR WHAT?

 

Belinda let her finger trace the edge of the freezer filled with all kinds of ice cream as she looked around the inside of the shop. All the shelves were packed with goods. She looked at the clock on the wall; there were still many hours until closing time. She could hear the clicking sounds of Agnes typing on her laptop in the back room, she could hear the humming of the freezers and fridges, she could hear her own footsteps on the worn linoleum floor.

She picked up a magazine from a shelf and started browsing through the pages, not really caring to read them. Instead, she read the words on a bar of chocolate telling her how to win a trip to Euro Disney with the whole family, just by visiting their webpage and answering some questions.

She slipped in behind the counter to have another look at the screens showing black and white images from the surveillance cameras. They showed a deserted petrol station. She turned to look out on the highway. Just as deserted. She wondered if she’d ever experienced that road this empty. She knew she hadn’t. That had clearly never happened before. Then, Denmark had never ever made it to the final before. It was a very special night. She almost wished she could find the wherewithal to get excited over it. But she just couldn’t. She wondered what would happen if Denmark actually did win the final tonight. Utter mayhem. People would run out in to the streets in every city all over the nation, partying all night long. Still, not out here. Nothing ever happens here. And even if it did, she wouldn’t want to participate in that kind of party.

The air pump caught her eye. It was standing out in the middle of everything on the pathway between the petrol pumps. It wasn’t a moment ago. Was it? She frowned. The German in the mobile home, their sole customer so far, did he use it to adjust the air pressure in his tires? She sensed a weird tickling down her back. He’d parked on the other side of Pump 5. Had he used the air pump, it would’ve been standing on the other side of Petrol Pump 5. Still, it wasn’t there a moment ago.

Exiting the shop and stopping right outside the automatic doors, she looked around in all directions before returning to look at the air pump. Who could have put it there?

“Is this candid camera or what?” she mumbled to herself as she picked up the air pump and put it back where it belonged, next to the other air pump. Hanging on the air pipe, it hissed and whistled from the valve as air refilled the container.

 

 

 

 

 

 

SUNSET HIT THE WINDOW

 

Agnes pushed off her shoes to move her toes freely. She clicked away from her thesis and logged on to Facebook to see what everybody else was doing.

Everybody else was telling the world that they were watching the final. The games appeared to finally have begun. She returned to her thesis. She drank the last of the water from her glass.

Belinda’s voice trailed through the open door. She was speaking to someone on her cell phone out in the shop. She laughed. It was something about some creepy guy from some disco. Agnes didn’t like to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to when Belinda was shouting like that.

It was also hard to focus on her thesis. She drummed her fingers on the table. Irritation was growing inside her, but she refused to acknowledge the feeling. The hue of the sunset hit the window in a warm orange glow that wasn’t really that pleasant as it tired her eyes and made the screen mirror her face.

Belinda was laughing loudly again, almost yelling, “You didn’t! You just didn’t!”

Agnes rose to refill her glass with water from the faucet and hesitated briefly before carefully closing the door to the shop. She slid back into the chair in front of her thesis.

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHE’S SO OUT OF LINE

 

The door to the back room swung open and Belinda entered, only to stand just inside the room.

Agnes lifted her gaze from her thesis and was shocked to see Belinda crying her eyes out. Cheeks black from washed-out mascara, lips trembling.

“What happened?” Agnes rushed to Belinda, hesitating momentarily before putting her arms around her. “What happened?”

“It’s just, my mum. She’s so out of line.”

Agnes squeezed her tight and let her go. It felt odd holding Belinda in her arms, so instead she helped her into one of the chairs, handing her a roll of paper towels. “Here, take this.”

Belinda grabbed the roll and tore off a few sheets. There were drops of mascara-tinged tears down her clothes. She shook her head as she briefly met Agnes’s stare. She mumbled, “Oh my god.” Another wave of tears streaming down her face. Shaking her head, she bent over and cried in silence.

“I thought I heard you laughing just a minute ago.” Agnes pulled a chair over next to Belinda and sat down. She gently nudged Belinda’s arm. “What’s going on with your mother?”

“She kicked me out of the house.”

“As in right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“But why?”

Belinda fiercely wiped her eyes, smudging the mascara all over her cheeks. She inhaled slowly and finally lifted her eyes to meet Agnes’s stare. “She wants me to stop seeing Christoffer. It’s her way, or the highway.”

Agnes stood up and poured Belinda a glass of water. “Here, drink this.”

Belinda frowned. “I don’t need water. I need a fucking shot of vodka.”

Agnes set the glass on the table.

“She’s just so jealous that I’m young and attractive and she’s such an old hag. Men don’t desire saggy old women, you know? She should stay out of my love life. I’m an adult, a grown woman now. I don't need her sticking her nose into who I do and don’t date. It’s my business who I’m dating, right?”

“I guess.” Agnes wiped a spilled drop of water from the table, using her forefinger. “I’m not sure I get the point here.”

“What’s there not to get? My mother just called to say that if I continue seeing Christoffer, I need to find myself somewhere else to stay.” Tears started rolling from her eyes again. Belinda threw the paper towels on the floor. “Shit! Shitshitshit! I don’t wanna be sitting here whining and crying like a baby!”

“You’re not whining, Belinda. It’s okay.”

Belinda just shook her head.

Agnes looked out the window, trying to gather her thoughts. Being twenty-one years old, it might be good for Belinda to move away from home, learn to stand on her own two feet. “It might not be the end of the world. It could be for the best. One of the few good things about living in this part of the country, is that it’s not hard to find somewhere inexpensive to live. It’s going to be okay.”

Belinda nodded. “I know.”

“What’s the matter with Christoffer? Why does your mother want you to stop seeing him?”

“It’s so lame,” Belinda mumbled. “She…”

Agnes turned her head to the sound of a car stopping outside. “We’ve got a customer.” The sound of a car door slamming and then the humming of the petrol pump.

Laying a hand on Belinda’s shoulder, Agnes stood up. “I’m on it,” she said softly. “Just stay here.”

Belinda tried to smile, her face a mask of tears, snot, and mascara.

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAS THE FINAL STARTED YET?

 

“Agnes Birkemose,” the customer said, smiling disarmingly. The customer was a man in his forties wearing a dark suit and tie. Although, there was still something rural about him. Maybe it was the slightly ill-fitting suit or the plumpness in his face. Agnes had never seen him before.

“How do you know my name?” she asked, as she checked the consumption figures: Petrol Pump 3, Unleaded, transferring the expense to the cash register. His metallic blue Toyota was still parked next to Pump 3.

“Your name tag.” He pointed at the name tag on the left side of her chest.

“Oh,” she smiled. “Well.” A glance at the cash register. “That’ll be three hundred and fifty-five kroner.”

“By the way!” He raised his forefinger, “I need one of those smelly trees to hang from the rearview mirror.”

“A Wunderbaum?”

“Exactly. Oh, where did I put my wallet?” Searching the pockets in his jacket and trousers. “I’m sure I just had it in my hand a moment ago. I’m so sorry. I’m a little stressed out today. Oh, here it is! In my back pocket. I never put my wallet in my back pocket. Why would it be there?” He shook his head, pulling the credit card from his wallet. “Charge the exact amount.”

“Did you want a Wunderbaum?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I almost forgot.”

“What color? What smell?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, then it’s 380 kroner.”

“The exact amount, please.” He slid the credit card into the machine, typed in his pin code, and accepted the amount to be charged on his credit card. The machine rejected the sale.

“Wrong pin code, it says.”

“I’ll be damned.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “Someday, I’ll manage to forget myself.” He laughed helplessly, retyping the pin code. This time the machine accepted it, and the cash register printed the receipt.

“You want the receipt?”

“No, just keep it.” He was already turning away to leave the shop.

“Don’t forget your Wunderbaum!” She picked it up from the counter and waved it in the air. “I think, you might need to wind down a little.” She smiled to him as he took the Wunderbaum from her hand.

“Yeah, so everybody keeps telling me.” He smiled, sliding the Wunderbaum down his pocket. “Thank you so much, Agnes.”

She smiled, but it was a fake smile. She disliked customers getting too personal.

“Thanks.” He turned around and walked away. Stopping curtly as the automatic door slid to both sides to let him out of the shop, he asked, “Has the final started yet?”

“I believe so.”

“Do you know the score?”

“No.”

“You’re not watching the game out in the back?”

“No.”

“I see.” He nodded a goodbye then rushed to his Toyota, clapping his pockets as he searched for the car keys.

Agnes remained standing behind the counter to gather some strength before going back to Belinda. She watched as the blue Toyota drove off, and a new car turned into the petrol station, stopping next to Petrol Pump 2.

 

 

 

 

 

 

THIS IS GOING ON YOUTUBE

 

It was an old BMW. White. Rusty. One headlight not working.

Both front doors opened and two young men exited the car. The one driving the car was tall and very muscular. He placed his hands behind his neck and stretched his back, showing off the curves of his chest muscles pressing against the fabric of his t-shirt as he turned his eyes toward the shop.

Agnes looked away, unconsciously stepping back. For one short second, it felt like he was looking straight at her, like his inquiring look was searching to find her standing behind the counter.

A wave of discomfort, maybe even shame, washed over her. Like she’d been caught peeping.

When she found the nerve to look again, he had begun to fill the car, using Petrol Pump 2. The other guy was filming him. She detected the camera in his hand, the strap around his wrist, the flap with the screen on the side of the camera open.

The big guy tried to wave off the other one, reaching for the camera to stop him filming. No luck. The other one laughed, still shooting. The big guy gave up, his large shoulders slumping, he just stood there, filling the car, as the other zoomed in on his face. With the tank full, the petrol pump shut off. He put the hose back in its place by the pump, fastened the fuel cap and moved inside to pay for the gas, while the guy followed, still filming.

The automatic doors opened and they both entered the shop.

“We want something to drink?” the big guy asked.

The other just laughed as he turned around, filming the shop, the rows, the shelves, the candy, the maps, the fridge, the sodas. Agnes behind the counter. And there he stopped to focus the lens on Agnes.

“Stop it, Frederik!” the big guy laughed. “She doesn’t like it.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

Frederik raised his eyes from the camera screen to Agnes’ face, smiling innocently. “We are just fooling around. You don’t mind, do you?” But he was still focusing the camera straight at her face.

Agnes hesitated. “You friend’s right. I’d rather you didn’t.”

“My friend? Who? Oscar?” He turned the camera to film the big guy, who was searching the fridge. “Oscar, are we friends?”

“Stop it. You want anything to drink? Yes or no?” He grabbed himself a cola.

Zooming the camera in, Frederik didn’t answer until Oscar had closed the refrigerator door. “Oh, I would like a cola.”

“Then why didn’t you say so?”

He laughed and turned back to Agnes. She could see the zoom working, his thumb adjusting the switch on top of the camera. He was zooming in on her. Way too much. She didn’t like it at all. What was he focusing on? Her lips? Her neck? Her breasts? No. She believed the camera was pointed at her face.

“Please, stop filming me,” she said, trying to speak with as much authority as she could muster. Which wasn’t much, not enough at least. “Stop filming me!”

“The lady told you to stop, Frederik.” Oscar stepped in front of the camera, blocking it, as he placed the two colas on the counter. “And the gas from Pump 2, of course.”

Agnes turned mechanically to the cash register and typed up the cost of the gas before scanning in the barcodes of the colas.

Oscar drew a 500 kroner note from his pocket as Frederik moved around him, the camera still rolling.

“And here we see our hero paying the picture-perfect shop assistant for gas and cola.” He spoke in the voice of a radio announcer from 1942.

“I apologize, I truly do,” Oscar said to her. “He just got that camera today and he’s been filming every second since he charged the batteries. And I do mean every second. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I’ve been trying to make him stop all day.”

He lowered his eyes as she tried to catch a glimpse of them. Shy? She turned to Frederik. He was zooming in again, though this time there was no doubt about the focus. The camera was aimed squarely at her breast.

“Agnes Birkemose,” he cried, laughing. He must have zoomed in on her name tag. “The beauty of the local petrol station in…Where the fuck are we, Oscar?”

“I’ve no idea. Come on, Frederik. Stop doing that. We’ve got our gas and our colas. We need to head on.”

“The beauty of the petrol station…Agnes, my beauty, can you inform us two visitors to this flat part of the country exactly where we are?”

“I’ve asked you to stop filming me,” she stated, clenching her hands. “So, I expect you to stop filming!”

“The beauty of the petrol station in Redneck, Denmark!” he exclaimed, laughing stupidly. “She’s a true beauty, but these farm girls are known to possess a fearsome temper. Stay alert ladies and gentlemen, as inside this attractive body dwells a dangerous lioness.”

“Please!” she demanded, yet failed to kill the smile forming on her lips. “Just, leave now, okay?”

“Come on, Frederik. We need to go!” Oscar grabbed the change and the two colas, and sent Agnes one last apologetic look. He turned around and exited the shop.

Frederik stayed put, camera still aimed at her. “We’re just fooling around, right? No harm intended. I didn’t mean to offend you. It was just for the fun of it.”

“Just go. Now! Or I will call the cops.”

“Oh my,” he laughed, holding a hand in front of him. “I’ll go. I promise. Just let me have your phone number. I’d really like to get to know you. You seem like a nice person.”

She inhaled very slowly. Feeling the muscles in her back tighten. “Goodbye.”

“I do need your phone number to let you know when this is going on YouTube.”

“Frederik! Come on!” Oscar was yelling out the car window. “I’m leaving right now!”

Frederik shook his head in disbelief. “Agnes,” he said, turning off the camera, “I’m just kidding. I apologize for crossing the line there. Okay?”

“No, it’s not okay. I asked you to stop filming me.” She replied, pointing a finger at him. Already the anger had lost its edge. “And you should have stopped filming me. It’s as simple as that.”

He bowed his head in what looked like some sort of acknowledgment of fault. “Surely I’m not the only one filming someone without consent here, am I? How many cameras have been filming Oscar and me while we’ve been at this petrol station?”

“Goodbye.”

Out by Pump 2, Oscar had started the engine. He honked the horn twice in rapid succession.

 

 

 

 

 

 

THEY HAD A WOMAN IN THE BACKSEAT

 

“Did you see the woman?” Belinda stood in the doorway to the back room. She’d wiped the black traces of mascara from her face. However, her eyes were still red and swollen from crying.

“What? What woman?”

“They had a woman in the backseat of the car. She was tied up. She must have been. She didn’t move at all. She just sat there. Her mouth covered with duct tape.”

“Duct tape? Those two guys that just left? The ones in the BMW?”

“Yes. They just raced off, tires screeching. They had a woman in the backseat. I think they’d kidnapped her.”

“Oh, no.” Agnes scanned the area next to gas pump two where the BMW was parked moments before. “Oh no, I don’t think so. I would have noticed a woman on the backseat. They weren’t kidnappers, they were just young and stupid.”

“I’m telling you, they had a woman with duct tape covering her mouth sitting on the backseat of the car. I saw her!”

“But how did you manage to see her? The window in the back room faces the other direction. You couldn’t see the car from there.”

“I came out here to help. Judging by what I heard, I figured you needed some backup.”

Agnes stared at her. “You did?”

She nodded.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Belinda nodded again. A nervous tick in the corner of her mouth. “They scare me. Fucking psychos! Don’t you realize what guys like them might do?”

Agnes looked away. “I honestly believe I would have noticed if there were anybody else inside that car.”

“So there was no woman in the backseat, because you didn’t see her?”

Agnes arched her eyebrows.

“But I did see her! She sat there, very erect, almost stiff. Maybe they’d doped her. She had duct tape covering her mouth.”

“Okay. I didn’t see her. Still, she could have been there, I accept that. Shall we leave it there?”

“I can’t stop thinking about what they are going to do to her. Fucking psychos! I once saw a movie where this psycho guy had a bunch of women locked up down in his basement. He tortured them. It was like, sick and vile.”

Agnes sighed, biting her lip. Maybe, you shouldn’t watch so many movies, Belinda? “Do you want to call the police? If there was a woman tied up in the backseat of that car, we should be able to see it on the recordings from the surveillance cameras. They’re being recorded on a hard disk somewhere I believe.”

Belinda shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back again. “No, fuck it. We don’t want the cops all over the place.” And with that, she turned around and returned to the back room.

Agnes stayed put, looking at the clock on the wall. Closing time was still hours away. She imagined what Benjamin was doing right now. Glued to the TV-set, watching the final no doubt. She was already feeling so tired.

“I hope they were the last customers of the evening,” Belinda said when Agnes entered the back room moments later.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t want to lose our bet. There’s already been three customers, right?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE BLOOD FELT STICKY ON HER FINGERS

 

“Baby is that you?” Trying to open her eyes even wider in the complete darkness, she carefully stretched a hand toward the sound of a man’s breath somewhere in front of her. “Baby?”

There came no answer but a faint grunt of pain somewhere in the inky blackness ahead.

She got on her hands and knees, grinding her teeth as a wave of pain flashed through her body. Sweat dripped from her chin. Her heart beat faster, and faster, and faster. She groped ahead, trying to feel her way to the moaning man. Only, he wasn’t moaning anymore, the sound had gone. She couldn’t hear anything but her own breathing, her own heartbeat.

“Baby?” She rolled on her side to take the weight off her knees. The raw concrete floor had torn abrasions on her knees. She fought her heavy breathing, trying to force it into a slower and less noisy rhythm. She fought the terror raging through her insides, quivering her soul, the rush of adrenaline, and the hammering of her heart. She needed to be quiet. Her body needed to be silent.

She could feel the concrete crumble under her hands, the smell of fungus and humid air, the sense of damp cold. She could hear steps from somewhere in the building, another room, a hallway maybe. Voices; muffled, unintelligible. Unrecognizable.

“Baby?” she whispered. Hoping that it was him. Hoping that it wasn’t him. Hoping he got away. Hoping he was out there somewhere getting help. Hoping he was coming to save her. Hoping it was him, so he could hold her, so she wouldn’t be alone in this terrible darkness, so they could fight their way out of here together.

But he was silent now. The man that moaned in pain before was silent. She didn’t know if it was him or not.

Above her, the water pipes started singing. The sound reminding her of her mother. The pipes made the same noise in her childhood home when her mother opened the tap in the morning to make coffee and now she was pretending to be asleep in the darkness of her childhood room.

She touched her knees, carefully feeling the abrasions. The blood felt sticky on her fingers.

“Ouch.”

The sound made her jump. She turned in the direction of the sound and started to crawl on her stomach. Advancing slowly, she could feel the concrete floor crumble beneath her shaking hands. She had never experienced a darkness like this inky blackness. She had no sense whatsoever of the size or shape of the room she had found herself in. There was some reverb to the sounds which didn’t tell her much else, other than the room was empty. Or might be empty. Or mostly empty. Or maybe it told her nothing at all.

And then her hand touched something soft. Skin. She heard a male voice moaning as she again felt the sticky sensation of blood on her fingers. She rushed closer, sliding her hands over the body in search of the head, trying to feel the shape of the face to tell if it was really him, but it was hopeless. He grunted as she touched his nose. It felt big, swollen, broken into an unnatural angle.

“Is it you?” she whispered. He must be able to hear her, he must be conscious if he’s reacting to the pain from her touch…mustn’t he? Mustn’t he?

“What have they done to you?” she whispered, her swollen lips blurring the pronunciation. He might not even have been able to recognize her voice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

IT’S NOT LIKE HE’S STILL DOING IT, YOU KNOW

 

Staring into a pocket mirror, Belinda refreshed her makeup, using a vast amount of mascara. “It’s so fucked up with my mother. It’s like, I don’t even know where to spend the night.”

Agnes was looking at the laptop screen, letting her tongue trace the rows of teeth in her mouth. No chance of getting much work done on the thesis for the rest of the evening. “What about your boyfriend’s place?”

“What about it?”

“Can’t you spend the night at his place?”

She shook her head but said, “Maybe.” Waving the mascara wand. “There’s not much room there. And I’m not sure I’d want to stay there.”

Agnes reckoned the right thing to do would be to offer Belinda a night on the couch, but she didn’t. Instead, she went over to the coffee maker to make them each a cup of coffee.

“My mother would kill me if I spent the night at his place.” Belinda laughed. Satisfied with the result on her left eye, she started applying mascara to the lashes of the right eye. “She’s a maniac.”

Agnes replaced the coffee filter and spooned ground coffee into it. The smell of coffee was pleasant. She glanced at the clock. It was still not even two hours into her shift. Would it be extremely insensitive of her to ask for some peace and quiet to work on her thesis?

“Ever since he got that conditional sentence, she’s been freaking out. Like he’s some kind of psycho or something. I don’t know what’s getting to her. It’s not like he’s Ted Bundy, you know.”

Agnes turned on the coffee machine and soon it started to fizzle. “What did he do?”

“Happy slapping.”

Agnes turned to look at Belinda, who by now had finished reapplying her mascara. The white of her eyes were still reddish, though. Not even the heaviest application of mascara could conceal that. “Happy slapping?”

“Nothing special. You know, just for the fun of it.”

“The fun of it? What are you talking about? It’s violence, Belinda. Do you think the victims find it funny?”

She smiled. “No. But it wasn’t that violent. They just pushed people over and Christoffer didn’t really participate.”

Agnes felt a sudden chill in the air. “How did he not participate? He wouldn’t have been convicted if he didn’t participate.”

Belinda sighed deeply and dramatically. “He was the one filming it. On his cell phone. He didn’t push or hurt anybody. That was the others.”

“Then he did participate!” The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the room, but Agnes didn’t gain any pleasure from it. “Belinda. What if you were the victim?”

“I never ride my bicycle when I’m drunk.”

Agnes slowly sat down on the chair by her laptop, staring down at the keyboard.

“That’s what they did. They pushed a drunk off his bicycle up by the village hall. It is kind of lame riding a bicycle drunk as a skunk. Don’t you think so?”

Agnes shrugged. “How did they get caught?”

“The police drove by, by coincidence. Of course, they told the police it was an accident but then the police found all the other happy slapping films they’d recorded on Christoffer’s cell phone.”

“All the other films?”

“Oh, well, it was just for laughs. Nobody really got hurt, you know.”

Agnes’s mind wandered to Benjamin, she already missed his company. She longed for him, longed for him to get that position at the state hospital so they could move far away from this hole, so she wouldn’t need to work here any longer, so she could find something to do in a place where she’d be surrounded by sensible coworkers.

“It’s not like he’s still doing it, you know!” Belinda cried, searching Agnes’s face for any trace of emotion. “I tried to make him stop doing it once, but he was all caught up in it, Agnes. I told him that I didn’t want to have anything to do with it, and he wouldn’t either if he…What?”

“I don’t get it. What are you doing hanging out with a guy like that?”

“So, you think my mother’s right?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t understand why you want to be with someone like him.”

“He’s really a nice guy when we’re alone. He’s the kindest most loving man you’ll ever imagine. Not that he’s gay or anything, of course. He’s still macho. But he’s got a sensitive side to him as well. That’s the real Christoffer. All that other shit, that’s not really him, not really, you know, it’s just…He has trouble controlling himself from time to time.”

The coffee was ready so Agnes rose to pour them both a cup.

“It’s not like he’s hurting me or anything,” Belinda said to her back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DON’T YOU FIND THAT WEIRD?

 

“Agnes! Come out here!” Belinda shouted a little later from the shop.

“What is it?” Agnes stared at the ceiling with a tired and cumbersome feeling inside her chest. She pushed the chair back and stood, sending her thesis a long last look.

“There’s something you need to see!”

Please, not another YouTube clip, Agnes muttered to herself, as she went to her. “What?”

“The air pump.” She pointed a finger at something outside the shop’s large windows.

“What about it?”

“It’s standing in the middle of everything.”

“So what? One of the customers must have forgotten to put it back in place.”

“What customers? The guy with the Wunderbaum or the other two with the woman in the backseat?”

“I don’t know. Surely, it didn’t get there by itself. It didn’t walk out there.” Agnes exited the shop, walked straight to the air pump standing in the driveway between the two rows of petrol pumps, and picked it up.

Belinda followed her. “I’ve already put it back once before. It was in exactly the same place an hour ago. Don’t you find that weird?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

BELINDA-BABE, YOU’RE NOT MAD AT ME, ARE YOU?

 

Agnes was once again studying in the back room, leaving Belinda bored. Belinda yawned, texted her friend Clara who didn’t answer. She opened the cash register, closed the cash register, opened the cash register once more, closed the cash register once more. She juggled three packets of cigarettes but kept dropping one of them. She whistled the theme song from Paradise Hotel while walking around the shop moving stuff. All to no avail at all.

A car drove by out on the highway. The first in a long time. Maybe the final is over, she thought. There might be a few customers when it’s over. There might.

She could hear the little soft clicks from the keyboard of Agnes writing up her divine thesis. Actually, it’s rather irritating her studying on the job, leaving little ol’ Belinda to handle the shop and everything. She’s not being paid to study, now is she?

Not there’s a hell of a lot to do here, but still. Had it been one of the others working this shift, Kenny, Valdemar or Melanie, it wouldn’t have to be so fucking boring.

She grabbed her cell phone and texted Christoffer.

So what?

He didn’t answer either, so she texted Clara again.

Can I spend the night at your place? Mum’s insane.

If Clara didn’t get back to her before closing time, she’d have to call her granny and ask her if she could spend the night there. She’d done that before. Her mother had a habit of going nuts on a regular basis. However, she wasn’t keen on dragging granny into this mess. Granny also wanted her to dump Christoffer and she wasn’t in the mood for that tonight. She’d heard it all before.

For a while, she sat in silence staring at her cell phone, thoughts racing around inside her head. She was silently discussing life with her mother and grandmother, shouting at them, explaining to them that they needed to stay out of her life—she could decide for herself who to be with. If they were so fucking smart when it came to men, then why had they both been single parents? They should take a firm look in the mirror before picking on her!

She bit her lip, clutching the cell phone so hard her knuckles turned white, tense all over. Even so, she didn’t feel any of it, she was lost inside her own world.

Until the sound of a scooter brought her back to reality. She lifted her head drowsily to look out the windows at Christoffer riding the scooter all the way up to the automatic doors, so close they glided open even before he stopped and kicked down the outriggers. He waved to her, smiling, and got off the scooter.

“Why’re you not wearing your helmet?”

“You think I should?” He laughed. “I forgot, okay mum?”

She hated it when he called her mum.

“Are you mad at me?” He took a cola from the fridge and unscrewed the lid. “Belinda-babe, you’re not mad at me, are you?”

“No, it’s just some shit with my mother.”

“Fuck her!” He took a swig of the cola and burped loudly.

“She’s thrown me out on the street.”

“Why?”

“You.”

“Bummer.”

She walked to him. Let her fingers caress the trimmed patterns of hair on the back of his head. “I’m not allowing her to split us up.”

“Cool.”

“Have you been smoking?”

“What?”

“Are you on something?”

“No, I’m broke. I can’t afford that shit.” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her butt. “That’s kinda the reason I came.”

“Hm.” She kissed his neck below his ear. “Then who’s going to pay for that cola you’re drinking?”

He laughed. “I don’t know. I guess there must be a little shrinkage in a shop like this.”

She closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest. “You’re standing right under one of the surveillance cameras. You’re busted.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to lend me the money. Anyway, that’s why I came. I need a grand.”

She stepped away from him. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, I just really need a grand right now. You’ll get it back soon enough, you know you will.”

“I don’t have that kind of money on me. What are you thinking?”

“Your credit card. You could charge it on the cash register, give me the money in cash.”

“I can’t spare a thousand kroner.”

“Fuck it, Belinda. Do you have to be so fucking selfish? I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t need the money, now would I? Come on, give me the money.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head.

“Fuck, you!” he said slowly. “If your girlfriend won’t help you out when you really need it, then…”

“I thought you were watching the final?”

“Fuck the final. I got other things on my mind.”

She slid around the counter and picked up her purse. “What do you need the money for?”

“Someone I owe, okay?”

“Who?”

“Someone who likes getting his money.”

She hesitated, purse in hand. She’d like to help him out, but still…

“I’ve got two hundred. You can have it.”

“Two hundred?” He sneered.

“It’s all I’ve got.”

“Can’t you charge your credit card?”

“There’s nothing in the account.”

“Can’t you just make an overdraft?”

“No.”

She handed him the two hundred kroner bill and he snatched it from her fingers, spun around, and left. On his way to the automatic doors, he said something she didn’t quite catch. It could’ve been ‘bitch’. But then it could have been a lot of other words, like: ‘Thanks for helping me out, baby’ or ‘I love you so much right now’ — but it did sound an awful lot like ‘bitch’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

THAT’S NOT HOW HE REALLY IS

 

Agnes hurried to Belinda as soon as she heard the scooter leaving. “Are you okay?”

Belinda nodded but didn’t meet her eyes.

“I don’t think that was acceptable behavior, Belinda. Why do you put up with it?”

Belinda returned her purse to the shelf beneath the counter. “Maybe that’s none of your business?”

“It isn’t.” Agnes sighed. “However, you came to me earlier, so I figured…”

“That’s,” Belinda said, looking at Christoffer, who was by now nothing but a tiny silhouette far off on the highway. “That’s not how he really is. You have to know him better to see the other side of him. That…that’s…Everybody can have a bad day, you know?”

Agnes stared at Belinda for a long time. She saw the bleached hair, the thick layer of mascara, the dark solarium-tanned skin. Belinda and Agnes were coming from two very different worlds, two very different cultures, even if they were both born in Denmark to Danish parents. “Everybody can have a bad day,” she agreed and returned to her thesis in the back room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE PROBLEM WAS THAT HE WAS NOT ALONE

 

Benjamin called twenty minutes later, making Agnes’s phone play a happy little tune, letting her know who was calling. She didn’t need to look at the phone to know it was him, but still did out of habit.

“Hi, baby. What’s up? Did we win the final?”

“No, it’s complete madness.” His laughter sounding both happy and sad at the same time. “They had all but started the game, delayed from the riots outside the stadium, then some fool ran onto the field butt naked. Now, the game’s on hiatus, has been so for almost an hour.”

“For real? All because of one streaker?”

“The problem was he wasn’t alone. They’d only just caught him when a horde of naked people swarmed the field. Twenty-seven in all. It was chaos.”

Trying to imagine the scene, Agnes couldn’t help smiling.

“There’re police everywhere. Nobody knows, if or when the match will continue. Still, it’s hard to believe they’ll dare to cancel it at this point, fearing the riots it might set off.”

“Hold on one minute, baby. I’m not sure I get this? My thoughts are still wrapped around my thesis here. Did you say twenty-seven streakers all at the same game? How can something like that happen?”

“Nobody knows, I guess. It must have been a planned flash mob. It’s hard to imagine twenty-seven individuals spontaneously choosing the same match to ruin with their sick need for attention.”

Hearing the anger boiling in Benjamin’s voice, Agnes stayed mute. Like so many others, he’d been looking forward to the final, and she understood and respected that. On the other hand, I was just a game. She’d never been one for taking sports too seriously.

“Oh, now they’re saying something on the TV, about some weird group of performance artists that might have been trying to make some kind of scene to draw attention to their art or some shit. A German viewer seems to have recognized one of the naked women, it appears.”

“I see,” she says. “Was the event itself their artwork?”

“Meaning what?”

“Them rushing the field naked. It could have been some kind of art-performance.”

Benjamin laughed. “You never know. It could be. Or they could have teamed up with one of the press photographers, making his photos of them their work of art…Still, I think, they just wanted to get on fucking worldwide television.”

“I miss you.” She gazed out the window. The sun was setting. “There’s not a living soul here. We’ve had three customers so far.”

“You won’t get many more before the final is over. They’re using the delays to show pictures from different Danish cities. All the streets are deserted. Except for the larger squares where there are giant screens showing the final. Trains and busses are driving around empty. Even the airports appear abandoned.”

“That’s crazy.”

“It’s national history, man.”

“No, it’s not. It’s sport.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

THEY HAVE RETURNED

 

“Belinda! You’re not going to believe this!” Agnes rushed into the shop to tell Belinda about the twenty-seven streakers running onto the field at the final. However, upon seeing the look on Belinda’s face, she halted abruptly. Belinda was scared. Fear radiated from her. Despite her overly-tanned skin, she appeared pale. Petrified.

“What?” Agnes asked with a sudden stab of cold inside her chest. “What’s happening?”

“They have returned.”

“Who?”

“The two guys in the old BMW. The ones with the tied-up woman in the backseat.”

Agnes walked over to the shop window to have a better look at the perimeter of the petrol station. Petrol Pumps 1 through 6. Everything was as deserted as ever. “I don’t see them.”

“They’re parked some way up the highway. I think they’re watching us.” Belinda nodded in their direction. Still, Agnes needed to go all the way over next to her to spot the white BMW. Or a white BMW. Dusk was setting in now, and the car was so far away she couldn’t be sure it was the same car.

“There’s a lot of Beemers in this world,” she said in a dim voice. No, actually, she was whispering. She didn’t know, why she was whispering, but she did. “It doesn’t have to be the same car.”

“One headlight’s out. It’s the same car.”

Agnes tried to remember. Was one of the headlights broken on the BMW the two fools were driving? She couldn’t recall. She remembered the two young men, the camera, the old rusty BMW…but whether or not one of the headlights was out…she just couldn’t recall anymore.

“It’s them alright, I can feel it,” Belinda maintained in a firm voice, as if that settled it.

At that moment, the car started moving toward the petrol station.

 

 

 

 

 

 

IT’S NOT THAT STRANGE TAKING THE SAME WAY BACK

 

“Fuck,” Belinda gasped. “What do we do? What do we do?”

“Stay calm,” Agnes said, even though she could feel her neck muscles tighten. “It’s no use freaking out.”

The BMW had turned off the highway and into the petrol station. However, instead of driving up to one of the petrol pumps, it had stopped out by the big sign with the gas prices. Engine still running, white exhaust drifting over the tarmac behind the car. It was the same BMW. Despite being kept away from the bright light under the petrol station’s canopy, it was still being illuminated by the dim light from the price sign. There was no doubt. It was the same car.

“I was in a robbery once,” Belinda whispered. “I was working at the big Shell station on the other side of town back then. By two junkies. They parked close to the station in the same manner for a real long time before they came in and held us up, with box cutters.”

Agnes shifted her gaze from the car to Belinda’s face. “What happened?”

“We gave them the money and called the police when they were gone. One of them was shaking like crazy. I almost considered taking him down, hitting him with something heavy, you know, but of course, we’re not allowed to do that. Same rules as here. Give them the money. Close the petrol station. Call the police.”

“I’m so scared of being robbed. I don’t know if I could handle something like that. I mean afterwards, the trauma.”

Belinda shot her a hard stare. “You will sooner or later, working a place like this.”

The car was still out there. A sudden dagger of cold filled Agnes’s insides. “How did you handle the trauma afterwards? Did you get counseling?”

“Nothing really happened, you know. No need for any of that.”

“You kidding? You can get PTSD from that kind of a trauma. You need counseling to get through it.”

Belinda raised her eyebrows as her attention returned to the BMW. “Can you see what they’re doing?”

Agnes squinted. Still, she only managed to spot the two guys as unmoving silhouettes behind the windscreen. “No,” she says.

“What about the woman in the backseat. You see her?”

“Where?”

“In the backseat, behind the creep driving the car.”

Agnes shook her head. “Maybe, it’s the headrest…”

“What?!”

“Maybe we should calm down a bit. There could a thousand reasons for them parking out there.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Agnes looked down at her worn All-Stars. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re on their way home. It’s not that strange taking the same way back. Maybe, they’re counting their coins to see if they have enough to buy…I don’t know. Everything’s possible. Let’s not jump to conclusions here. Let’s wait and see what they’re up to, okay?”

“They are sitting there, watching us. We’re completely illuminated in here. I bet they could even see the two of us when they were parked up on the hill before. They know we have spotted them. They know we are scared, and I think, they like it that way.”

“Belinda…”

“You know what I think? I think they have been around all the petrol stations in the area with their stupid video camera, searching for the most vulnerable among them. That’s us. Two girls alone in a petrol station far away from everything, no neighbors or shit. Now, they’re back, and we’re f…”

“Stop it!” Agnes grabbed Belinda by the arm. “Stop it right now! Or we’ll both freak out. You’re not thinking straight.”

“I’m not? They have a woman in the backseat with duct tape covering her mouth.”

“Well, I didn’t see her, remember? And even if there was a woman, Belinda god damn it, it doesn’t make sense! Could you imagine a couple of petrol station robbers driving around with a kidnapped woman in the backseat, searching for the right place to rob?”

Belinda unhanded herself from Agnes and stepped away from her. “I don’t really think they’re planning on robbing us, you know.”

Agnes frowned. “Then what?”

“I think we’re the target. You and me. They’re psychos, Agnes. I told you.”

Scanning the cigarette packets on the shelves on the wall behind the counter, searching for the right words, it hit Agnes that Belinda might have had some serious benefits had she seen a counselor after the robbery. “I can handle them if that makes you feel better,” she finally says. “If they decide to come in that is.” She stretched her back, pretending to be far more self-assured than she felt, then turned her back to the shop window and the car parked outside. “You are free to stay in the back room while I handle them. No problem.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

BREATHING HISSED INSIDE HIS THROAT

 

He moaned again as she examined his face, her fingers scrambling over the broken nose.

“Ouch!” he snapped.

“Benjamin! Can you hear me?” Cupping her hands around his cheeks, she leaned in close. “Benjamin?” She could feel the stubble on his cheeks scratching the skin on her own cheek, still she was unable to see him in the complete darkness.

“Agnes?” His voice nothing but a coarse whisper.

She started crying.

“Agnes,” he repeated. Now she could feel his hand searching her, his arm going around her back to hold her. Breathing hissed inside his throat.

“Where are we?” she whispered.

“No idea.” His arm slid off her back. “This guy’s a mad man, Agnes. He’s going to kill us.”

Staying close to him, she found some comfort in the warmth of his body.

“You need to have a look at…my leg,” he whispered after a while. “I think, I’m bleeding rather badly.”

“Where?”

Finding her hand in the dark, he directed it to his own thigh, grunting with pain as her fingers touched the wound through a rip in his trousers. She felt blood running. The fabric of his trousers around the wound was heavy with blood.

“What happened?” she gasped as the cold of the basement floor crept into her body. “Oh my god, what has he done to you?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

HE HAD SOMETHING IN HIS HAND

 

However, Belinda didn’t have time to go to the back room, even if she wanted to. In that same moment, the driver’s side door of the BMW swung open, and a large man climbed out of the car. Agnes could only see him in silhouette, illuminated by the price sign behind the car, but his size left no doubt. It was the shy one, Oscar, the one not filming her.

Belinda gasped in terror next to her as he turned to face the shop, and in that instant it felt like he was looking directly at them. Goosebumps formed on both her arms, Agnes fought the urge to ride along with Belinda’s mindset by moving her focus away from the big guy, to the price sign behind him.

“The five has fallen down,” she said in a thin voice.

“What?” Belinda snapped next to her.

“The five on the price on unleaded. It says 10,_3 kroner per liter—not 10,53 as it is supposed to.”

Belinda whimpered as Oscar started to move. He crossed the tarmac and walked between the petrol pumps, heading straight at the shop. “Here he comes,” Belinda said.

“Yeah.”

Walking fast, almost jogging, his face was grim. He had something in his hand…

 

 

 

 

 

 

PAIN MADE BENJAMIN’S BODY TENSE

 

“We have to stop the bleeding,” she said. “Are you wearing a belt?” She already knew the answer: Benjamin hardly ever wore a belt. Neither did she.

“No,” he grunted.

She was pressing her fingers into the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Still, she felt blood flowing out between them.

“Is it possible to make a tourniquet using a pair of trousers? If I tie them real tight around your leg?”

“Maybe.” He gulped for breath. “I’m not sure there’s room for that. The wound is not that far down my thigh, I don’t think.”

Using her other hand, Agnes tried to judge by touch exactly how far down his thigh the stab wound was. She had to change hands, now pressing the fingers of her left hand into the wound to get a good feel of the thigh. The pain made Benjamin’s body tense as she changed over, and she had to fight the urge to pull her fingers away. She hated causing him pain, even if she was trying to save his life.

“I think there might be room for a tourniquet. We need to stop the bleeding, before I can search for a way out of here.”

He caught her free hand in the darkness and held it tight. “Maybe, it would be better if you just…”

“No!” Briefly releasing the pressure on his wound, she pulled her other hand from his grip and took off her T-shirt. “Here, can you hold this against your wound as I strip off my trousers?”

She felt him taking hold of the T-shirt and moving it to his thigh. Naked to her waist, the cold air made her start to shiver. Her nipples turned hard. She rolled over on to her back and unbuttoned her jeans. The concrete floor ripped into the skin on her back, making pain flash through her injured body.

The moment she’d finished unbuttoning her jeans, light switched on in an explosion of white. She screamed, covering her eyes with her hands, as she rolled on to her side. The lights were so bright, and in such contrast to the total darkness the minute before. It felt like needles being pushed into her eyeballs.

She felt nothing else. Didn’t hear Benjamin screaming in pain next to her, or the sound of footsteps closing in. She sensed nothing but the shock of light.

Until a hand grabbed hold of her hair and dragged her along the concrete floor, flailing about like a fish on land, lost in a firework of agony.

 

 

 

 

 

 

THERE’S ONLY BEEN A FEW CUSTOMERS TONIGHT

 

Agnes met Belinda’s eyes the second the automatic doors slid open to let Oscar inside. He had his wallet in his hand and a confused expression on his face. He looked from Agnes to Belinda and back again.

“Is something the matter here?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“No,” Agnes hurried to answer. “What can I do for you?”

“We were in here earlier this evening,” he continued, moving up to the counter. “We bought a couple of colas and some gas. You were the one attending the shop back then.”

“I remember. Your friend with the video camera is not one you’ll forget that easily.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I guess he isn’t.”

“What do you want?” Belinda snapped. “Why have you come back?”

He looked at her in surprise, lifting both hands in submission. “Easy now! I lost my credit card somewhere tonight. I just figured I’d stop by to see if it was here.”

Agnes could feel the muscles in the back of her neck relax. “Your credit card?” She must have been more caught up in Belinda’s fantasies about psychopathic maniacs than she’d believed herself to be. “I’m sorry,” she answered. “We haven’t found any lost credit cards.”

“No lost credit cards,” Belinda repeats with relief in her voice. “There’s only been a few customers tonight, so…”

“Besides!” Agnes suddenly remembered. “You paid cash. I handed you the change, remember?”

“I might have,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…You both seemed a little upset when I walked in…I sure hope I didn’t…”

“Oh no!” Agnes laughed. “No, no, no, that wasn’t you. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay. Right. Thank you for your help. I’d better call in to have that credit card blocked then.” He shrugged and turned to leave.

“Hey!” Belinda yelled quickly. “Wait a minute!”

“What?”

“Who was that woman in the backseat of your car?”

Agnes cringed. “Belinda…!”

“In the backseat?”

“Yeah, there was a woman sitting in the backseat of your car when you were here earlier on. She had duct tape around her mouth.”

His mouth fell slowly open as he shifted his eyes from Belinda to Agnes. His larynx moving up and down as though he were trying to swallow something. “Oh my,” he said, looking embarrassed. “That wasn’t a real woman.”

Agnes was amazed to see him even blush.

“Then what the fuck was it?” Belinda stepped in front of Agnes, pushing her aside. “I saw her!”

“It was a love doll. Frederik, my friend out in the car, the one with camera.” Seeking Agnes’s eyes for support, but not finding any, he blushed even more. “It was his idea. Alexander, a friend of ours, has his thirtieth birthday today. He’s sort of a kinky guy, so Frederik wanted to do a little trolling with him, giving him a handcuffed love doll with duct tape covering its open mouth. I know, it’s too far out.” He laughed disarmingly. “And then, Alexander wasn’t even home when we arrived with the doll and all. So, we had to leave it outside his front door.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

THEY WERE JUST SOME MORONS

 

The taillights of the white Beemer lit up as Oscar briefly touched the brakes, leaving the petrol station to drive off, tires screaming.

Inside the brightly lit shop, Agnes and Belinda couldn’t stop laughing. Eyes watering, they stopped to catch air, then broke down laughing again as their eyes meet. All the tension having built between them during the night grew wings and flew away.

“A love doll?” Belinda choked the words out between waves of laugher. “A fucking love doll?”

And then more laughter.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a good laugh,” Agnes declared as the laughter finally wore off. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her t-shirt and shook her head.

“Me too,” Belinda agreed in disbelief. “You were right. They were just some morons.”

Agnes laughed again, but not as before. It was a quiet, dry laughter. “You were right as well. There was a woman in the backseat with duct tape over her mouth.”

“Yeah.”

“Your mascara is a mess again.”

“Fuck me.” Belinda found her pocket mirror and, at the sight of her own reflection, started laughing all over again.

Agnes looked out at the lighted area of the petrol pumps in front of the shop. The darkness surrounding the place seemed darker now. A truck rushed by out on the highway, and she let her eyes follow it along, until she turned her back to the window.

Belinda was working on her mascara, “It’s incredible how fast you can wind yourself up like that,” she said, not taking her eyes off the mirror. “Some people just don’t realize this. Then they end up living their lives in fear and anxiety from imaginary threats that are not even there at all. You know I feel sorry for those who do that. Still, I don’t think they can control it.”

Agnes started to laugh again, but a confused and even hurt look from Belinda stopped her. “Just thinking of that love doll,” Agnes said, feeling lonely deep inside. Surveying the rows of colas in the fridge, she was thinking of Benjamin—how she longed to talk to him, to get this weird evening off her chest. She needed him, needed to disappear into his strong arms, his warmth, and a glass of that Cuban rum he kept for special occasions in the back of the cabinet.

“Fuck!” Belinda’s voice cut through her thoughts, erasing the image of Benjamin and the Cuban rum. “Fuckfuckfuck!”

“What?”

“The air pump!”

Agnes turns around once again to look out on the lighted area. And there it was, the air pump, right there in the middle of it all. It was as if an icy cold hand had reached down deep inside her, jabbing at her heart.

“It wasn’t like that a minute ago,” she whispered. “I would have noticed.”

Belinda moved over to her side. “It sure wasn’t the love doll morons who put it there.”

Agnes swallowed as her eyes took in the deserted petrol station.

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE BRIGHTLY LIT PETROL STATION MADE THE SURROUNDING DUSK SEEM EVEN DARKER

 

Belinda was humming the new tune by the Danish artist Medina—a little too loudly—as she quickly stepped out between the rows of petrol pumps to get the air pump. She instantly got the feeling that someone was watching her. Mid verse she halted abruptly, squinting her eyes as she scoured the encroaching darkness surrounding the petrol station. It was difficult to pinpoint anything other than the black silhouettes of trees and distant farms against the blue darkness. A couple of times, she almost believed she spotted something moving. However, when she got a closer look, it turned out to be nothing at all, or just the trees swaying gently in the wind. She could see lights on in the windows of a few farms, far off in the distance.

Finally, she bent over to pick up the air pump. Lifting it up, she hesitated briefly then resumed humming the Medina tune again as she carried the air pump back to its place. There were two air pumps at the petrol station. Both were now hanging from a two-piece pipe that automatically refilled them with compressed air. It hissed and whined for a few seconds until the air pump stopped lashing about from side to side and settled in its place at the valve. The sound gave her the creeps, but she stubbornly continued humming the Medina tune.

Her skin was prickling as she stood there, eyes trying to penetrate the dusk, goose bumps forming on her arms, as she felt the eyes of someone watching her.

“Belinda!” Agnes was standing just two steps outside the automatic doors, glaring at her wide eyed, eyes electric, her lips pressed tight. There was pleading in her eyes, in the way her lips trembled. She stumbled to the side, arms crossed, like she was trying to comfort herself. “Hurry inside! Now! Something’s happened!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE OUTER WALL WAS MADE OF AERATED CONCRETE