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.