THE STRANGER INSIDE ME

by Loes den Hollander

Central Station

Monday

Ted Bundy came again last night.

Ted always comes around midnight on Sundays, every other week for a year now. He says I’m his friend, his best friend. I’m proud of that. It’s great to finally have a friend.

* * *

Mother says I have to take a shower. She says she can smell me, and that other people will say I stink and blame her. Mother’s been nagging me more and more lately. She says I eat too many eggs. Eggs are bad for my cholesterol, according to her. The blood vessels in my brain will get all sludgy. She also wants me to go back to getting my meds by injection, because the pill I’m supposed to take every week is bad for my stomach. I don’t like needles, and the pills never actually get to my stomach. I don’t need them anyway, but try explaining that to someone who believes God knows best and medication can make the negative thoughts in your head disappear.

Mothers. There ought to be a law.

Against mothers and caseworkers.

* * *

I can’t stand anybody who has anything to do with the psychiatric profession. They think they know everything about your mental ability, they label you without any idea who you really are, they ask questions and arrange your answers in their spreadsheets, and—presto!—they slap you with a diagnosis you carry around for the rest of your life. And of course you’re stuck with them for the rest of your life too.

Caseworkers should all be exterminated.

* * *

My mission is scheduled for this Thursday. The woman will be wearing a short brown leather jacket, a tight black skirt, black stockings, and high-heeled black boots. She’ll have long blond hair, and here’s the important thing: it’ll be parted in the middle. Ted really made a point about that middle parting.

The place: Amsterdam’s Central Station, track 13B. The time: Thursday, between 11:30 a.m. and 2:37 p.m. Not one minute sooner, not one minute later.

Ted knows he can count on me.

* * *

The first time he came was the night before my eighteenth birthday. I woke up and saw him standing in a corner of my bedroom.

I wasn’t surprised, and I was aware that I wasn’t. It would have been normal if I’d screamed and run out of the room, because I can really overreact when I’m startled. Instead, though, I just lay there in my bed and folded my hands behind my head and asked him who he was.

“They call me Ted Bundy,” he said.

“Is that your name?” I asked.

“I was born Theodore Robert Cowell, but it was changed to Bundy when my mother married a loser and he adopted me. You can call me Ted.” There was laughter in his voice.

“What’s so funny?” I wanted to know.

“Me, being here. You, letting me in.” He looked at me with an intense expression in his eyes. “Letting me inside you, do you understand?”

I didn’t.

It got very quiet in my room, and I didn’t know what he expected of me.

He came closer. “They stopped me,” he said. “I want you to pick up where I left off.”

At that moment, I heard Mother in the bathroom. I turned my head toward the sound. Water ran out of the tap, then stopped. The toilet flushed.

When I turned back, Ted was gone.

* * *

Anja, the psychiatric caseworker I have to see every month, always asks me if I hear voices or have visitors. She wouldn’t ask that if I’d just ignored Mother always grilling me about who I talk to late at night. But I had to go and tell her someone was coming to see me, someone she couldn’t see. She should have known that was private information, not something she was allowed to pass on to anyone else, but Mother doesn’t understand things like that. It doesn’t surprise me when every man she goes out with winds up dropping her. What does surprise me is that, with all those guys, she’s only had the one child: me.

Mother lives in a world of her own.

I don’t give the caseworker a hard time. I’m polite, I answer her questions, I tell her I take my penfluridol every week. It’s important I stay calm when she asks me trick questions. I know for a fact she’s trying to trap me.

 

Tuesday

Ted told me about track 13B months ago, and today I went to take a look at it.

Mother had a migraine this morning and stayed in bed. She can’t stand the least bit of light or sound when she gets a migraine, so I shut the living room drapes, made sure the windows were latched, and disconnected the doorbell. Then I snuck out of the house.

She didn’t come right out and say so, but she made it clear that the migraine was my fault. In her indirect way, she let me know that I’d disturbed her sleep by making a racket until all hours, not even quieting down when she banged her cane against the wall that separates our rooms.

See, Ted showed up again last night, which was a surprise. When I realized he was there, I tried to make a joke: “Don’t you have days of the week up there in Eternity?” I asked him, but I don’t think he got it. I backed away from his angry reaction and apologized profusely. He raised his voice, and that made me start screaming. When Mother wouldn’t quit banging on the wall, I begged him to calm down. I lowered my voice and began asking him questions. Open-ended questions, full of empathy. That helped.

He was clearly in the mood to talk, and to brag. Full of pride, he told me that, right before his execution, he confessed to more than twenty murders, but in fact his count was much higher. He explained what it had meant to him, the kidnapping, the raping, the killing, and he especially wanted me to understand how much he missed it, and how happy he was to be able to enter into me, and we were going to be a team. An amazing team that would always be there for each other.

I was so touched.

I feel this powerful connection to Ted, because we’re both children of unwed mothers and we never knew who our fathers were. That’s why I don’t think it’s weird that he picked me to be his special friend. And that’s why I’ll do whatever he tells me to. I won’t be surprised if he shows up every night this week, though he didn’t promise that he would.

He’s always welcome.

* * *

I go into the Central Station by the main entrance. The gates from the main hall to the tracks never close, so I can walk right through.

There are two women in front of me, and they keep looking around. I go past them as quickly as I can and hug the right side of the expansive shopping area. First I check to make sure all the stores are in the right order. De Broodzaak: check. Swirls Ice Cream: check. Smullers: check. The Amstel Passage is closed. The Döner Company: check. No changes, so that’s good.

There are two sets of fifteen steps up to track 13B. I have to be sure to remember to count them again when I come down.

* * *

My mission is so exciting! I can feel that it’s all going to go just right for once. The woman I’m supposed to look for will be there. Everything will work out perfectly. I know it, and that sense of certainty makes me happy.

I’ve never been so happy in my life.

* * *

The man is only a few feet away from me, and I can smell his cigarette. “There are special smoking areas,” I say, and I point to the standing ashtray not far off. He inhales deeply and blows a white cloud at my face.

I lower my head and count to ten. Every time Ted gives me a mission, he tells me not to raise my voice and not to argue with anyone. If I say something to this man . . .

I count to twenty.

I feel like Ted is watching me, but I can also feel Anja’s eyes aimed in my direction. Let that frustrated caseworker find herself another victim! A piece of advice: make it somebody who’ll give her a good roll in the hay. Somebody her big boobs will make all horny.

“Watch where you’re going,” a voice beside me snarls.

I’m standing next to a woman whose buttons are practically popping off her blouse. I mumble an apology and walk away.

As I approach the stairs, I see a woman in a short brown leather jacket coming toward me. Black skirt, black stockings, black high-heeled boots. Her long blond hair is parted in the middle. But it’s only Tuesday.

I hurry down the thirty steps.

* * *

Mother has left me a note. She’s gone to the beauty parlor and wants me to do the shopping. There’s a list in the linen bag on the inside of the kitchen door. The money is in an envelope.

The thought hits me the second I touch the bag.

Mother is going to poison me. She’s letting me do the shopping so I won’t be suspicious, but she’s already bought the poison, see? She tells me to get the ingredients she needs to make her endive stew with bacon, that way she figures I’ll never stop to think how easy it’ll be for her to stir the poison into the stew. She’ll serve me a poisoned dinner, a meal I know she doesn’t like and won’t eat.

She wants to get rid of me.

I don’t fit in here.

* * *

I wish Ted would come, wish just once he’d come during the day instead of at night. I could talk with him, explain my suspicions. He would give me good advice. Maybe if I sit very quietly on the sofa and stare straight down at the floor. I listen for his footsteps, not moving a muscle.

The clock in the hall strikes four. He’s not coming. I’d better go do the shopping. But I won’t eat the stew, not one bite. I won’t let myself be poisoned. Not by anyone.

 

Wednesday

The new day is only ten minutes old. I slipped into the kitchen half an hour ago to make two cheese sandwiches. Mother loves cheese, so that’s something she won’t poison. And bread is safe. And butter. And milk. Anything Mother eats, I can eat.

She was insulted I wouldn’t have any of the endive stew. She asked me what was going on with me, if I’m taking my penfluridol. She’s always bitching about those pills. I have to stop myself from kicking a kitchen chair to bits.

I told her I had a stomachache and couldn’t keep anything down. Then I went to my room and watched TV. With the door locked.

I’m positive Ted will come tonight. Maybe he’ll tell me about the city where he was born. He’s done that before, and that’s why I googled Burlington tonight. I found out it’s a city of interesting contradictions: it’s the biggest city in Vermont, but the smallest biggest city in any of the fifty United States. When you think that Ted’s not only a serial killer but also somebody’s best friend, you can understand why he was born in Burlington.

* * *

I have to tell him I saw her in the station yesterday afternoon, a woman who fit the description for tomorrow’s mission. Should I have talked to her? That question weighs on my mind.

He’s told me many times how he approached his victims. If you go up to a woman and you’re friendly but you don’t bug her, most of the time she’ll talk with you. But the best way to get her attention is if there’s obviously something wrong with you: your arm’s in a sling, you’re using a cane and limping, you’ve got a big bandage on your head and you act like you’re dizzy. Then they’ll be all concerned, they’ll ask if they can help you.

When Ted found out I don’t have a car, not even a driver’s license, so I can’t drive women to some remote place and attack them there, he was mad at first. But later he said I was a new kind of challenge for him, and he gave me instructions I had to memorize but not write down. He decided the starting point would be Amsterdam’s Central Station, and he told me which track and what the victim would look like. It wasn’t until he’d come to see me a dozen times that he told me he wanted to concentrate on women who looked like the victims who’d escaped from him his first time around.

I have an old schoolbag that’s just the right size to hold my bat. It has a long shoulder strap, so I can clutch it tight to my stomach when I carry it.

Up to now, my first seven tries were no good, because the women I was supposed to find didn’t show up at the right track when they were supposed to. Ted says I have to pay closer attention, be sharper. Tomorrow is my eighth chance, and this time it’s going to be just fine. I’ve already seen the woman, and I know she’ll turn up right when she’s supposed to. I’ll bandage my left hand in the morning, and I’ll walk with a cane. When the woman gets off her train, I’ll catch her attention by the stairs, and I’ll ask her to help me down. Halfway, I’ll say I’m dizzy and I need some fresh air. Track 13B is close to the station’s back entrance, and that’s where I’ll have the best chance to use my bat.

And to get away without anyone seeing me.

I know it’s risky. But I’ll take my chances. I’m not worried. Ted will protect me.

And if the woman I’m waiting for isn’t arriving on the train but leaving on it, I’ll just climb aboard with her. With my cane and my schoolbag. I’ll sit near her and make sure she notices me.

Then I’ll grab her right before the train pulls into a station. Or maybe it’ll be better to wait until the train comes to a stop, so I can get off right away.

Thinking about the woman on the track, about finally carrying out my mission, is exciting. It’s giving me a boner. I like the way that feels.

I hope Ted’s coming tonight, and that he tells me more about what he did with the bodies. He is so cool!

 

Thursday

Ted didn’t come last night. I’m really disappointed. It would have been helpful to discuss the plans for today one more time. Maybe he didn’t show because he thought it would be too much of a distraction. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll back out at the last minute.

You never know.

My mission begins at eleven thirty, and I’ll be sure to take a tram that’ll get me to the station on time. Better to arrive half an hour early than one minute late. Because what if the woman turns up exactly at eleven thirty and I’m not there?

I have to get this right.

* * *

Mother thinks I look exhausted, and she wants to know why that is. I don’t have a job, and I don’t really do much, so why am I so tired? She thinks I don’t get enough physical exercise but work myself up too much mentally. That needs to change, she says.

I’ll have to find a way to fake her out.

She offers me homemade jam, and I say thanks but no thanks. She wants to know why I’m barely eating anything, do I still have a stomachache? And then of course she gets on my case again about changing my meds from the pill to an injection.

I try to tune her out and concentrate on my cheese sandwich and the glass of milk I made sure to pour for myself.

Track 13B, I think. Woman with long blond hair parted in the middle. Brown leather jacket, tight black skirt, black stockings, black boots with high heels.

The bandage and the bat are in my bag. I hid the cane in the bushes by the garden gate, I’ll fish it out as I pass.

“She’ll be here in half an hour,” I hear Mother say.

I sit up straight. “Who’ll be here in half an hour?”

“Your caseworker, Anja. I called her. You’re not well, you need an extra visit. And a shot.”

I get up. “Tell her I said hi. I have to go.”

A second later, she’s all up in my face: “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve talked with Anja. I’m doing this for your own good, boy. You’ll thank me later.”

I look at her. She means it, she’s not going to let me go.

But I have to go.

Why isn’t Ted here when I need him?

* * *

The front door is locked. Where is the key?

Mother smiles.

I feel myself becoming calmer. Okay, fine, she has the key. It’s obviously in her apron pocket. She always cleans the house after breakfast, and she’s already wearing her apron.

It’s almost ten o’clock, it’s a five-minute walk to the tram stop, I might have to wait another five minutes for a tram, and then the ride takes twenty minutes. That gives me just enough time to get the key, and if she won’t give it to me willingly . . .

I go into the living room and sit in my chair. Mother is puttering around in the hall. She’s probably getting the vacuum cleaner from the closet at the top of the basement stairs.

The basement!

The bag with the bat is still in my bedroom, but the base of the lamp that stands on the armoire in the living room will do just as well.

* * *

I’ve put on a clean shirt and also a clean sweater. The key was indeed in the pocket of Mother’s apron. The vacuum cleaner is back where it belongs, and so is the lamp. The basement door is locked. I can go.

The doorbell rings.

“I rode my bike,” says Anja. “It’s actually quicker than coming by car, so I’m a little early. Is it okay if I leave it outside?”

“You’d better bring it in,” I recommend.

* * *

There’s a detour, because they’re working on the tramline. Signs show you which way to go.

I haven’t ridden a bike in a long time, but I don’t have any trouble. It’s nice, the wind in my hair. I’m careful not to let the wheels drop into the tram rails.

I’ve got my bag on my right side. I bandaged my hand before I left the house. I have to hurry, because it’s already five minutes to eleven. I pedal past de Bijenkorf, and I can see the station up ahead. I know for sure the woman will be there, and the thought gives me wings.

* * *

The big clock in the station’s main hall says 11:15. I’ll leave the cane in my bag until I get to the stairs to track 13B. There’s a strange noise behind me, and as I’m about to turn around to see what it is, a man in an electric wheelchair zooms by.

I’m panting a little.

Calm down, calm down, calm down.

Quickly check the stores.

There’s the stairway. Count carefully, two sets of fifteen steps.

It’s 11:25.

* * *

I’m positive I looked everywhere. I didn’t miss her, she just isn’t here. Didn’t get off the train, didn’t get on. This can’t be happening!

The train that leaves Amsterdam at 2:38 p.m. is slowly pulling into the station. It comes to a stop. The doors open, and people come out. I have a good view from where I’m standing.

It’s 2:37. The time is up. I feel all the energy drain out of my body.

And then I see her.

She walks past me, close enough to touch, and hurries to the train. I follow her without thinking, and the second I step aboard I hear the conductor’s whistle and the doors whoosh closed behind me. She heads for the first-class compartment and holds the connecting door for me.

I lean on my cane.

“You should sit down,” she says.

I obey, and see that she takes a seat in the middle of the car.

* * *

It was one minute later than the end time I was given, but I don’t think Ted will have a problem with that. I found her, and inside my head I’m cheering. She’s sitting there talking on her phone, laughing.

But not for long.

Pretty soon, I’ll be the one who’s laughing.

We’re the only passengers in the compartment. Ted must have arranged it that way.

I’m not happy about that minute.

But I’ve got her!

 

What Day Is It?

I’ve lost track of time, and there’s a gap in my memory. The last thing I remember is the woman on the train, the way she looked. After that, there was a lot of commotion, somebody dragged me away, I was in a cell, people kept asking me questions, someone told me I had to be examined.

I’ve got a room and a bed, but all the doors and windows are locked. The food is good. Everybody here is crazy, but the man who comes to talk with me three times a week is far and away the craziest. He tells me I tried to molest an old lady on the train, though I keep explaining that she was young. When I describe her, he contradicts me. The lady he talks about isn’t blond with a middle part, doesn’t wear a short brown leather jacket, no tight black skirt, no black stockings and high-heeled boots. When I say we must be talking about two different people, he says no, we’re absolutely talking about the same person. So he’s a total nutbag.

Each time he comes, he’s got new idiotic comments. He thinks Mother has been dead for a year, and I haven’t seen my psychiatric caseworker, Anja, since Mother died. He says I’ve been skipping my appointments, and he keeps insisting that, given my condition, isolation is my worst enemy, because if I’m alone I don’t have anyone to correct my behavior and my thoughts.

According to him, when Mother was still alive I used to take medication that kept the weird thoughts at bay. It’s apparently pretty much a miracle I didn’t go off the rails until now. If I go back on my meds, I can learn to think straight again. I’ll have to go to trial, but a good lawyer should be able to convince the judge I wasn’t accountable for my actions when I attacked the lady on the train. The shrink will recommend confinement in a psych ward. The doctor emphasizes that everyone wants what’s best for me.

I’m allergic to people who want what’s best for me.

When I very carefully describe what I did to Mother and Anja, the doctor doesn’t react.

He ought to go take a look in the basement.

They force me to take the pills. When I refuse, I get a shot. The meds make me dull, I sleep away half the day.

Ted doesn’t come to see me. Now that I can’t do anything for him, he’s abandoned me. With friends like him, who needs enemies?

 

What Month Is It?

They’re fed up with my continued insistence that Mother and Anja are in the basement. The doctor thinks it would help me to see Anja. She’s coming this afternoon.

I bet she won’t look too good.

They’ve decided that the meds they’ve put me on are too strong, so now they’re reducing the dosage. But they make darned sure I swallow the pills. I have to put each one on my tongue, and after I swallow it the supervisor looks down my throat, probably all the way down my esophagus. I don’t feel as foggy now, and I don’t drag my feet when I walk.

And Anja’s coming to see me.

Party time!

* * *

I sit beside the shrink and across from the caseworker nobody seems to realize is lying in my cellar. I have to admit she looks pretty healthy, and she doesn’t seem to have had any work done. I probably ought to keep my mouth shut, otherwise before you know it they’ll up my meds again. But I can’t stop myself from telling her that even though she thinks she’s sitting here, she’s actually dead.

She leans a little closer.

I pull back. She stinks like a corpse.

She tells me everything will be okay, and she’ll always be here for me.

Those words rock me, and I have to hold onto the table to keep from falling over.

How could I ever have thought Ted would leave me in the lurch? How could I have doubted his intentions? When I see him again, I’ll beg his forgiveness on bended knee, if that’s what it takes. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize he won’t be mad. If he was truly angry, he wouldn’t have sent Anja to me. The only explanation for her presence is that she’s joined up with Ted. And I’m the only one who knows.

See, this is what friendship is all about.

Now I know for sure Ted’s coming back.

With Anja.

I wonder, what will my next mission be?