Konstantin sat back in the chair and watched Stefan Tronstad, naked body swinging back and forth in front of him. One end of the rope was tied around his ankles, which were clasped together, tightly bound. The other end of the rope hung from the ceiling fan above. An old-style, almost ornate ceiling fan – the type used decades before air-conditioning became the norm. The fixture seemed an oddity here, in this northerly part of the world. Did it really ever see use? He couldn’t imagine the summers were so warm as to require it.
He smiled to himself as a thought hit him. Childish, really, but it amused him. He imagined turning the fan on, watching the rotors build up speed, poor Stefan spinning around and around, faster and faster, his body lifting through the centrifugal force until he was nothing but a blur. Like a cartoon caper.
No. Konstantin wouldn’t try that.
Tronstad groaned, though his eyes remained closed. A drop of blood pooled on his brow and dropped from his skin and to the floor a couple of feet below, joining the ever-growing small puddle there. Not much blood really, not yet. Tronstad had only been given a gentle introduction so far. Unfortunately, the guy didn’t seem to have much stomach for ill treatment. A couple of simple body blows, and a couple of slaps around the face, which had caused his nose and lip to bleed, and he’d passed out. From sheer fear, Konstantin could only presume.
With the captive out of it, Konstantin had taken the opportunity to look around the place. Just a small place, it hadn’t taken long. This room, the kitchen, the toilet. An office, given the functional fittings, and about as basic as they came, and sparsely furnished like it wasn’t yet in full use. He saw plenty of paperwork, mostly boxed up. Plus a computer, which Konstantin would look through if he got bored. For now he sat quietly, waiting.
The guy was definitely stirring. Perhaps he was even already awake, and only pretending to be unconscious, as though doing so would help him now.
Konstantin got up and moved forward. He grabbed the water glass from the desk and crouched low in front of his prisoner. He tipped the glass up against Tronstad’s swollen lips.
‘Drink,’ he said, even though he knew it was impossible to properly drink in the poor guy’s position.
Tronstad did a lousy job of lapping at the cool liquid, but at least it was clear now that he definitely was awake. Konstantin put the glass down and pulled the knife from the sheath attached to his side. Tronstad stared at Konstantin’s chest – at the scars? – but then his eyes rested on the blade. He whimpered.
‘You’re wondering about my body?’ Konstantin said, twisting the knife in his hands. ‘That’s my story. But, how about this? You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine?’
Nothing from Tronstad except for some simple begging.
‘Do you know what it’s like to skin a person?’ Konstantin asked. ‘Dead or alive?’
‘N-no. P-please.’ Was that no, he didn’t know, or no, don’t skin me?
‘I think a lot of people imagine it’s very difficult. We’re human. We think we’re superior to other beasts. We think our bodies are temples, that we’re strong and capable and durable. But you know what? Have you ever bought a whole, raw chicken?’
No answer now. Just an incoherent mumble.
‘You get a chicken from your shop, it still has skin on it. It’s not hard to remove, is it? It peels right off. It’s the same for almost any animal. Rabbit, chicken, dog, pig. The skin is an organ, it’s strong, it stays together, but that doesn’t make it harder to take off, it makes it easier. You can pull it right off like a sheet. All you need is…’
He wafted the blade past Tronstad’s face, pushed the tip onto his skin and drew it as lightly as he could up his torso, over his waist, along his thigh to just above his knee.
‘All you need is a little cut to start…’
He quickly drew the knife across the surface, skin deep, three inches across. A tiny incision really, probably not as much pain as banging his leg on a table. Except Tronstad screamed and bucked like his limb was severed.
‘Please, come on. That’s nothing. But you see, just a little cut is needed. Then you take the edges…’
Konstantin applied pressure to the skin.
‘And you yank down.’
He drew his hand down at speed…
For effect. He hadn’t taken hold of the sides. But it took Tronstad a couple of seconds of writhing and screaming to realize that.
Konstantin laughed. ‘So easy. You’d be amazed how few cuts are needed to entirely peel a person’s skin. Sometimes I try to do it with the least I can, just for the challenge.’
Konstantin’s manner turned deadly serious.
‘It’s easy, but I’m very sorry to say for you, that it isn’t painless. No, really, it’s probably the worst pain you could imagine.’
Tronstad’s phone, on the floor by Konstantin’s feet, vibrated with an incoming call. Konstantin didn’t show his frustration at the interruption but moved over to look at the screen. He laughed. Tronstad’s eyes flickered.
‘It’s her,’ Konstantin said.
‘Isabell,’ Tronstad mumbled, as though in plea. To her, or to Konstantin?
The call ended.
‘I’m glad she called,’ Konstantin said. ‘We have a lot to talk about, you and me. And a lot of it is to do with her.’
Tronstad shook his head. ‘Why?’ he said, panting, as though he’d already suffered. He really hadn’t.
‘My friend, that’s exactly why I’m here. To find out.’
‘He sent you.’
‘He?’
‘Sigurd.’
Konstantin smiled. This man was a lawyer, apparently. He was supposed to be clever. He didn’t seem it to Konstantin.
‘No. Mr Berg didn’t send me here. But I am interested to know why you and his wife are so friendly with each other.’
The phone vibrated again. Another glance at the screen. Her again.
‘She’s c-coming here,’ Tronstad said. ‘We have a m-meeting. If I don’t answer she’ll know there’s a p-problem. She’ll call the police.’
Konstantin turned and moved back over and crouched down in front of Tronstad. He lifted the bound man’s head a little so they were eye to eye.
‘Seems unlikely to me. Woman has meeting with lawyer. Woman calls lawyer twice. He doesn’t answer, so she calls the police? Please try harder.’
‘P-please.’
A loud knock on the front door echoed. Tronstad squeezed his eyes shut.
‘That’s her, isn’t it?’ Konstantin said.
No answer. Konstantin’s brain whirred.
Another knock. Louder this time. The phone vibrated once more.
‘She’s very keen.’
Then.
‘Isabell!’ Tronstad shouted out, at the top of his voice. He sucked in a deep lungful of air. Opened his mouth, ready to bellow again…
Konstantin’s fist to the belly put paid to that idea. Another fist to the face. Konstantin’s knuckles crunched onto the bridge of Tronstad’s nose and his head flopped. A fresh wave of blood trickled down his forehead. Konstantin sighed.
The phone stopped vibrating. Then immediately restarted with yet another call. Had she heard the call for help?
Only one way to find out.
‘Let’s go and welcome our new arrival,’ Konstantin said, straightening up. ‘We wouldn’t want her to miss out on all the fun.’
He pulled the Taser from his coat pocket and moved for the front door.