Seven, eight ... Gonna stay up late (Rebekka Franck #4) by Willow Rose Read Free Book Online

the
tongue on the l's.
    Then he hung up. I looked at the display with
the text call ended . My heart was
beating fast in my chest. Who was that on the other end? Frantically I touched
the display and tried to call back. No answer. The phone went directly on
Amalie's voice mail. He had shut it off. I put the phone in my pocket. I could
still hear the voice in my head. Something was really wrong here, I thought to
myself. This man, who was he? And why did he call from Amalie's phone? Suddenly
it struck me like a punch in the stomach.
    It had sounded like he was in a car. He was
coming here. He was coming for Camilla .

Chapter 11
    The package
arrived just before midnight. The man who called
himself Thomas De Quincey opened the big gate himself and let the black hearse
into his property. As the car passed he carefully closed the gates and
carefully scanned the area to see if there had been any cars on the road to see
the black hearse arrive. But the road was empty. Nothing but fields stretching
as far as the eye could see. It wasn't completely dark, since it never got dark
at this time of year and he spotted light in the horizon almost like bluish
waves across the sky. It was beautiful, he thought to himself. But nothing
compared to what was in that package he was about to unwrap. Truly a
masterpiece to complete his collection.
    Thomas De Quincey ran across the gravel to catch
up with the hearse, butterflies in his stomach, and butterflies of expectation
very like the ones he had experienced as a child and again as an adult just
before his next kill. There was nothing like the joy of expectation, just like
Kierkegaard had put it. Even if he wasn't the first to say it, like many Danes
believed, he was a wise man, Thomas De Quincey thought to himself.
    A man Thomas De Quincey knew as Alex Andreyer
stepped out of the black hearse with the drapes shut in the back. The two men
greeted each other silently. Alex Andreyer opened the trunk. In the back of the
car lay a big rectangular box covered with a heavy black blanket.
    Thomas De Quincey couldn't help clapping his
hands in joy. He was so excited he could almost burst.
    "Where do you want it?" Alex Andreyer
asked.
    "Let's put it in the cellar with the
others," Thomas De Quincey said.
    "As you wish."
    Alex Andreyer pulled the box out and the two men
grabbed it on each side and carried it towards the main building. Carefully
they lifted it down the stairs and into the big room where a sea of boxes just
like it stood covered with white sheets. Most of them were rectangular like the
one they now placed on the stone floor in the center of the dark room, but some
were tall and cylindrical-shaped. Thomas De Quincey saw the curious look in the
eyes of his helper and grabbed him by the shoulder.
    "Soon my dear friend," he whispered.
"Soon it will be complete and ready for you to see. But not yet. It has to
be perfect."
    "Naturally," Alex Andreyer answered.
"Patience is after all the finest virtue of them all."
    Thomas De Quincey smiled widely while turning
his helper around and escorting him up the stairs. "I do believe you're
right," he said with a smirk.
    As they reached the top of the stairs, Thomas De
Quincey sensed that the good Mr. Andreyer had a hard time pulling away, letting
go of his huge curiosity. It thrilled Thomas De Quincey and it worried him at
the same time. Because no one, and that meant no
one was to see it all until it was ready, until his work was done.
    "Now, you hurry up and get me the rest of
the packages that I asked for, alright?" Thomas De Quincey said and pushed
Alex Andreyer towards the hearse.
    "They are not that easy to provide,"
he said.
    Thomas De Quincey patted him on the shoulder.
"That's why I have asked you to do it, right? Cause you are the man for
the job, aren't you? Or should I have to ask someone else?"
    Alex Andreyer shook his head fast. "No. No.
Oh please don't. I can do this. I'm the best. Please Master allow me to do this."
    Thomas De Quincey