Glenda

Thoughts made me toss and turn and did not allow me to close my eyes. Tears appeared and then stopped little by little, and the body ached from hunger and nausea at the same time. Only now did she remember that she had forgotten to have dinner. “So what, no piece will get into your throat anyway.”

The cool bed pleasantly cooled the body that had been hot from the swim, sleep gradually began to take its toll, and Glenda dozed off for a while.

Ting, ding.

The girl, exhausted by sleep and a cozy bed, opened her eyes.

Tzyyn.

She lifted her head from the pillow.

"Jornas is back!"

Ding, ding, ding, ding.

— I'm running!

Joyful, wrapping her robe around her, she rushed downstairs to quickly open the door to her beloved.

Going down the stairs through the windows curtained with transparent tulle, she did not see anyone on the porch. “Has he really left? I've been running for so long." But before she could begin to reproach herself, the doorbell rang again. She glanced at the porch again.

Right there on the stairs, goosebumps ran across her skin.

There's no one at the door.

“Maybe these are the tricks of the neighbor’s kids? Is there a twig glued to the button or is someone short hiding behind the wall?”

Glenda overcame her fear and continued to descend.

— Darling, call the police. It seems that some prankster is asking for a serious fine. — she shouted to someone in the bedroom.

“Let them think that I’m not alone. At school, this is exactly what we were taught to do to scare criminals.”

Ring. Ring.

— Well, it's not funny anymore.

Glenda furiously unlocked all the locks and swung the door open. There is no one behind her. She looked out onto the porch and looked around. There is no one below, nor above, nor along the edges of the porch, nor on the entire street. Deserted like a village.

She looked at the doorbell button. There was no twig or other devices on it. And there was such a deep silence that she couldn’t believe it was a metropolis. Cars, bicycles, even homeless people should have created noise, even if it was far away. But here it’s as if everyone has died out.

"Strange. This only happens in the creepiest movies."

Glenda entered the house again, trembling with unpleasant excitement.

And as soon as she slammed it, she became numb with horror.

A scream as if from fiery hell itself, the cry of a person or people dying a hellish death was heard right in the middle of the hall, one might say, a meter from her face.

But there is no one in the house.

The light from the windows perfectly illuminated the space of her new home. There's no one in it. It's just her screaming.

Horror shook Glenda's entire being, she suddenly realized that she needed to run, that she hated this damned house. That Mr. Holstein is an old scoundrel who should not have sold his property, but burned it.

Whoever it is, a ghost or someone else, she doesn't want to share four walls with him. It's time to get out of here and quickly.

The scream stopped, and like a hare, escaping a predator in one leap, she ran away along Helgolandsgade.

My legs carried my body, wet with fear, and before my eyes stood an empty but alive room.

Suddenly, out of breath, Glenda noticed that the lights behind her were slowly going out one by one.

She turned around and saw blackness. The street became dark without artificial light, and the stars and the moon were not visible because of the bright lamps directly above it.

“These don’t go out. Strange".

Was it possible to surprise her with something else now? It turned out that yes.

Barefoot, she took another step forward. Nothing. A couple more steps, again nothing, then another, until she was halfway to the lamppost in front.

Well, this one went out too.

Aware that the darkness was pursuing her, but somehow wildly and feignedly softly, a cold, all-pervading fear again took over her. She ran, accelerating more and more, until she was exhausted after four blocks, and was about to give in to the face of death or the horror that was chasing her so frantically, when suddenly she saw people, and again the noise of cars, the lights behind her turned on, as if in no way what never happened. Life said: “everything is fine, everything seemed to you,” ironically and even mockingly.

“What the hell was that! Is it really all a dream, and this is my sick fantasy?”

She rested her palms on her knees and tried to keep her breathing even. After catching her breath for a couple of minutes, Glenda noticed someone’s legs sticking out from under the bushes on the evenly trimmed lawn. She looked closely and saw they were wearing boots exactly like Jornas.

“Someone probably got drunk and didn’t make it to his apartment.”

Curiosity still got the better of her and the girl came closer. The pants turned out to be the same as her boyfriend's. She parted the branches of the bushes and screamed out loud.

Jornas lay dead with a small hole in his forehead, along which small splashes of blood were scattered, lifeless and with a sad expression on his face.

The wild cry of horror turned into silent sobs, she covered her mouth with her palm so as not to attract much attention to herself. One of the passers-by called an ambulance and the police.

Glenda stood in only a cotton robe and with bare legs on the wet asphalt, not understanding what to do next.

The sounds of sirens, the roar of people crowding around were heard only in the background, the hearing was still there, in the house where the scream was heard.

Only now did she realize that the scream was very familiar, and even without knowing for sure, she dared to assume that it belonged to Jornas. It is unclear how and why, through the distance, he ended up in the middle of her hall, but the thought crept into his head that something was wrong with her.

“Have I gone crazy? Stress at work, depression after betrayal, sunstroke and liters of alcohol did their dirty work. And I went crazy against the backdrop of all these factors?” Her face frowned, but immediately brightened. “Well, no, I’m not crazy. There’s just some kind of mysticism going on in this city. And I’ll find out what’s going on.”

She looked again at Jornas lying limply, and could not believe that he was no longer there. The barely dry face became wet again. Just recently they were lying in the same bathroom, and before that, her dreams carried her thoughts into the future with this man. I also remembered nights in clubs, wild sex in Petra, heart-to-heart conversations and tender hugs.

He didn’t cheat on her, didn’t hurt her, she could only tell him when she touched on an unnecessary and unpleasant topic, but there was no betrayal, as in the case of Gerard. “Oh, it would be better if someone killed Gerard.” From such conclusions, Glenda became scared, she shut her mouth again, as if since she did not control the terrible thoughts, she might accidentally express them.

— Hello, miss. — a familiar voice made her relax. Glenda turned around.

— Iver Larsen?

— Miss Miller? I didn't expect to see you here. — the gaze of sky-blue eyes slid over the thin, almost transparent robe down to his feet. Glenda forgot for a moment what she was doing here, feeling awkward because of her appearance in front of this handsome man, whom she did not expect to see here at all, but she was glad, because he seemed so close to her.

— I love you too. — wrapping her modest clothes tighter, the girl with her hair still wet from the bath continued. — So you are an investigator, judging by your form?

— Criminalist. I am mainly involved in trace science, but I am proficient in all methods of collecting data from crime scenes. — then he suddenly seemed to remember something. — Wait a second, I'll be right back.

Standing on the cold and wet asphalt, only now she felt cold and damp, the first shock passed, reality began to return little by little.

A tall, muscular Scandinavian was returning with his arms full of things. Glenda's eyes widened in surprise, this is what happens when someone cares about you more than you do.

— My colleague’s jacket and sneakers, she forgot them in the patrol car, and hot tea from a thermos. — a strong man’s hand extended all this to the girl, chilled to the bone. Wrapped in a wide jacket that did not fit her, Glenda attacked her savior with hugs and sobs like a girl.

A little embarrassed, Iver Larsen nevertheless responded in kind, his hands lay on the fragile shoulders of the girl who grabbed his waist. Almost one and a half times taller, Iver was like her father or older brother.

— That's it, that's it, calm down, don't cry. After all, what will people think? At a crime scene, a cop hugs a witness.

— Fine. — Glenda walked away shyly, wiping her tears on her sleeve. Hot tea quickly brought her to her senses and she raised her head. — Tell me, Iver, is this murder?

— I wouldn't think so. A Colt.45 with a silencer was found in the victim's hand. He shot himself.

— Head-on? Doesn't this seem strange? Why not in the temple or mouth, as professional suicides do?

“Professional suicides, does this happen?” he grinned, but immediately realized that it was inappropriate.

— You understand perfectly what I'm talking about. — Glenda continued with greater seriousness. — Someone could have killed Jornas.

— Jornas? Do you know his name?

— Yes, this is my boyfriend actually.

— Boy? The one you ran away from in London?

— No, this is my new Danish boyfriend. We met after buying that damn house.

— Wow. — he grinned again, but not as much as before. Now it was more like admiration. This is what happens when your child suddenly starts riding a bike on his own, and it doesn’t turn out bad at all. — What do you mean, damned house?

“Well, in it…” Glenda stopped short. You should not tell anyone about your speculations about ghosts, so that no one considers them hallucinations. — we had a fight in it.

— Yes, I understand. I need to go away.

The black jacket with green shoulder straps and inserts fit Larsen perfectly. The real ideal of a man, the girl thought to herself.

Standing there near the fence of a residential building and spirea bushes in the middle of night Copenhagen, Glenda tried to understand what had been happening to her for the last few days.

Perhaps God is punishing her for the bribe, for this million pounds sterling, which should not have been taken from the hands of a secret agent. Or is she so frivolous and eccentric that life has finally shown her its true face. “This is not heaven, baby, this is the jungle. Live or die."

The forensic policeman approached her again.

— I learned something about the victim. Are you ready?

— Yes. Nothing can surprise me anymore.

— Jornas Kronwood, student at the University of Copenhagen at Rigshospitalet. A call boy from the red light district, he began to play a dangerous game with some rich entrepreneur. He paid for his studies, and in return received intimate services.

Glenda was not one of the people intolerant of homosexuality, but nausea involuntarily rose in her throat, and she vomited right onto the lawn. Fortunately, they had long since moved away from the crime scene so that it would not be attributed to evidence.

— But he didn't look gay? I slept with him.

— We do not know the name of the businessman. There is only the testimony of his colleague. The investigator called the number in the victim's phone book and spoke with him. All kinds of notes and gifts from a person whose name is not shown anywhere. It could also be a woman.

— Clear. But you can call the hospital where this guy arranged for Jornas. They should know who is transferring money to their account. — Now Glenda’s cheeks were already pink, she no longer looked like a grief-stricken friend. Iver Larsen looked at her with admiration again. This happens when only men are present at a political evening, and suddenly someone’s wife, who knows absolutely nothing about politics, begins to say smart and very useful things. — Take me with you.

— Do you want to participate in the investigation?

— Yes. They killed my boyfriend. Besides, I definitely don’t want to go home. Please, please, please. — A girl with the figure of a fashion model and long, slightly tangled black hair folded her brushes into a prayer lock, and her eyes looked pitiful, so Iver, after hesitating for a few seconds, finally gave up.

— Okay, you will go with me to the station, give your testimony, and then I will take you to my place. I'll go ahead and collect evidence myself.

“Okay.” Glenda agreed, but not to everything. He doesn't need to know now that she's not going to sleep tonight.

The spacious, bright floor with glass-enclosed offices looked very European. The metropolitan police were luxurious with taxpayers' money, although if you look closely, you could see here and there shabby walls, furniture, burnt-out lamps here and there, and the smell of decay.

"What?" Glenda didn't believe herself. There was a disgusting smell of carrion in my nose.

— God! Do you have a morgue here or something? Are you bringing the corpses here right away? — indignant, she plugged her nose with two fingers and looked questioningly at Iver.

— Um. No. — the criminologist was embarrassed. — No one has ever complained about the smell in the room.

“It can’t be, it stinks like…” Glenda stopped and looked in horror at her hand that was holding her nose. From the terminal phalanges right up to the elbow, the arm was like a dried piece of meat: flayed skin, dried blood spreading from torn vessels, tendons cracked and hanging like strings on an out-of-tune guitar. Pale gray bone was visible here and there.

Glenda fainted.

Chapter 4