Christmas Eve, Thursday, December 24, and Christmas Day, Friday, December 25, 2020
Sisle Park and her hard-hitting henchman had stayed the night before until Maurits van Bierbek began breathing more normally again. They had wished both their captives a merry Christmas and promised that one of them would return the following day. They would go back to Adam’s house and celebrate Christmas, and Sisle would remain there until it was all over.
“Your colleagues in Department Q are probably going to be bored, but at least they can entertain themselves with the lights going on and off in the different sections of my house. I can control them with this app.” She held up her phone and pressed one of the buttons. “There we go,” she said. “That’s the lights activated on the second floor. They must be wondering who’s sneaking around the house. And no doubt they’re also wondering what’s happened to you. Why don’t we give them a clue?”
Gordon did not reply but merely stared at her in hatred as she took a photo of them first from the front and then from the back.
She’s playing with fire, he thought. Perhaps she had no idea how much you could enlarge a photo taken with a good camera phone. She’ll give them more of a clue than she bargained for.
He felt less optimistic when Sisle Park and Adam returned the following morning. He had had to empty his bowels during the night, and over the last few hours his skin had begun to sting. Van Bierbek had grunted a few times earlier that morning, but there had been no communication between them.
Gordon’s two captors greeted him coldly, walked around him to avoid the smell, and gave the drip to his cellmate again. There was no doubt that there was more than just sugar and salt in the drip because, only a minute later, van Bierbek began coughing and tried to sit up straight.
Gordon turned around and saw that van Bierbek had now regained some of the color in his cheeks. His eyes were moving behind his eyelids and his breathing had become more staccato. He tried to say something a couple of times that sounded like “oh no, oh no.”
He slowly opened his eyes and squinted at the light from the ceiling. Now he clearly exclaimed, “Oh no!” as if he was once again aware of his hopeless situation.
Then he saw Gordon sitting in front of him, twisting in the seat to try to catch his eye. Van Bierbek did not react immediately—perhaps he could not fathom what he saw—but then his eyes moved down to Gordon’s hands fastened to the chair. His expression turned even darker, a pain seemed to jolt down his neck, his lips quivered, and he started sobbing. There were no tears in his eyes, but that only made the sight even more agonizing. He had just realized that the presence of this person in front of him did not improve anything about his own situation. On the contrary, he seemed overwhelmed by the questions Gordon’s presence presented.
He stared fearfully at the drip hanging next to him. Perhaps he was expecting the poison to penetrate his veins in the next moment. That this was his final hour.
Or perhaps he actually knew what Gordon knew—that he was not destined to die until the following day.
He was clearly trying to control his crying and gasping for breath. Apparently he was not one for displaying his fear and desperation. He switched his focus to the two people walking back and forth at the table down by the far wall. Gordon looked in the same direction and tried to figure out what they were doing. A couple of glass flasks were lined up and arranged as if being displayed. Then they cut open two plastic bags and produced two large syringes from them.
Two syringes!
Gordon was sweating now. Sisle Park’s two previous executions had been carried out with an injection of potassium chloride. Was that what they were preparing for just now, injecting the lethal substance directly into their hearts? Yes, Sisle Park had said that she would let him live on after Maurits van Bierbek was killed. But could she be trusted? Was this callous woman so evil and sadistic that she might decide to kill Gordon first so Maurits van Bierbek could see what awaited him?
Now it looked like they were removing full plastic bags from a cardboard box. Adam took a pair of scissors and started cutting them open. He emptied the contents one by one into a large plastic container. When he had finished, he poured a large amount of clear liquid into the container—perhaps water—and started to shake it while Sisle Park placed a large funnel on the tabletop.
Oh god! he thought. They’re preparing a saline solution. Was this the primitive method they used to preserve Franco Svendsen’s and Birger von Brandstrup’s bodies? A funnel in the mouth and then just pour until the emaciated body could not hold any more?
Gordon no longer felt the infernal stinging from his anus, but he did notice that he was wetting himself again.
“Whoopsie-daisy,” said Adam when he walked past him seconds later to check on van Bierbek’s drip.
Gordon writhed in his seat, but the cable ties around his wrists only dug in deeper.
Will I end up with the same indentations on my wrists that Palle Rasmussen got when he was fastened to the wheel of the car as he slowly lost consciousness? he thought, and the idea of having anything in common with that man sent a shiver down his spine.
“I’ll just give you another shot, Maurits,” said Adam behind him. “We need to get you in good shape so you’re ready to receive your sentence while you’re still fully conscious.”
“It won’t happen, Maurits,” Gordon heard himself say aloud.
He could hear Sisle Park laughing from down at the far end of the room.
“We’ll see, Gordon Taylor! We’ll see!” she shouted. “You have to remember that Maurits van Bierbek is too good a catch to let go. This is a man who deserves to be wiped from the face of the earth.”
“It would be better if it was you!” he burst out.
She walked up to him. “Really, do you think so? We both know that you’re wrong, don’t we? The man behind you is an amoral, selfish, greedy bastard who infects other people with his low standards. He brings out the worst in people, robs them of whatever iota of intelligence they might have had. There’s nothing good to say about Maurits van Bierbek. We’re going to put a stop to his crimes against humanity, so don’t feel sorry for him. You probably know when it’s going to happen, so why don’t you tell this monster once we’ve gone.”
Gordon heaved a sigh of relief. So they were not going to make an example of him and kill him here and now. But his relief was short-lived. He still did not know what was going to happen after midnight.
“Right, then, Maurits,” said Adam, still behind him. “You’re ready now. You’ll feel better in half an hour. I’ve given you a good pick-me-up cocktail, and it’ll soon have your heart pumping stronger and faster. I’ve also given you liquid and minerals to stimulate your circulation. How does that sound?”
“Can I please speak with my children?” asked Maurits, voice still weak.
Would a monster ask something like that? Gordon was well aware that the person behind him was cynical. But was there more to the man? Or was it just the situation making him emotional?
“What are you talking about, Maurits?” asked Sisle Park. “Do you suggest we bring them here? Or do you want us to set up a Skype call? Or maybe you’d rather contact them via WhatsApp or Zoom? What do you suggest? That we simply call them?”
“Yes,” he moaned. “Please.”
She laughed. “That’s not going to happen, Maurits. You’ll leave this life without any comfort or love. And we’ll make sure that not even your new roommate’s colleagues will be able to find you when we’re done. That’s a guarantee.”
“I hope you burn in hell!” he said hoarsely.
“Not likely. I have God on my side. God is not without fault, so sometimes he creates freaks like you. But then he makes up for his mistake and gives the sword of revenge to someone who can take care of people like you. No, hell is reserved for you and your sort.”
Gordon began laughing. “Don’t listen, Maurits! She’s insane. Does she look like a messenger of God? Look at her. Look at the madness in her eyes.”
She came down on him in seconds, slapped him, and spat in his face. “You know nothing about me, Gordon Taylor!” she shouted. “NOTHING! Got it?”
“I know more than you care to think. You’re the serial killer striking every second year on the birthdays of the worst tyrants in human history. You think that you’re God’s avenging angel, a guardian of morals who justifies her deadly actions in reference to Sodom and Gomorrah by using salt as her trademark.”
She used her nails when she hit him again. Gordon jerked to the side and felt the warm blood trickling down his cheek.
Then he straightened up and lowered his voice. “You’re also the woman who killed a small child when you started your sick crusade. Ove Wilder’s repair shop, remember? And you killed the boy’s mother with the unbearable grief you left her to cope with for the rest of her wretched life.”
“SHUT UP!” she screamed and hit him again. This time with her fist clenched.
Gordon shook his head, and the crazy expression in her eyes told him intuitively that he should obey, but he could not help himself. He just had to twist the knife in her heart one more time.
“Maybe it was God’s biggest mistake that you didn’t die in the explosion. But I guess that was the same with Satan, the fallen angel. God didn’t manage to strike him down either. As you can hear, Sisle, I know everything about you worth knowing. And my advice to you is to take the consequences of your fall and stop this nightmare here and now. Turn yourself in and take your idiot of a sidekick down with you. It’s the only way you can make the world a better place, and I’m sure God agrees.”
It was not the first time he had experienced a powerful blow to the neck from the man behind him. But this time he did not pass out. He only pretended.