The sandwiches did her good. Both Ernesto Madsen and the charger were forgotten in favour of a quiet evening alone in front of the TV. A rerun of Pretty Woman was exactly what she needed. She took her glass and empty plate and went out to the kitchen. After putting the dishes in the dishwasher she carefully wiped off the kitchen table, although it had barely been used. Then she found a can of cat food in the kitchen cabinet, opened it, took a spoon from a drawer and crouched down while she scooped half the contents into the cat’s bowl. Then it was as if she stalled. A desire to keep sitting there on the floor came over her. As if she had found completely the right place to be, however irrational that might seem. She tried to laugh off her own behaviour but remained sitting for a while, gathering the strength to stand up. Once upright again she put a plastic lid on the cat food can and set it in the refrigerator, while she repressed the urge to sit down again.
Pauline Berg enjoyed the film. Although she had seen it many times, it was just as good every time. Then suddenly a text crawl broke in over Julia Roberts and announced an extra TV news broadcast in ten minutes. Pauline shuddered. News that was important enough to interrupt programming was seldom good. A brief channel surf to text-TV was uninformative, so there was nothing to do but wait. The film no longer captivated her. She used up the next few minutes calling for Gorm, around the house and out on the terrace, without the animal making an appearance. He usually showed up at mealtimes, but on the other hand he had become considerably more independent since they’d moved, now that he had a game preserve that had to be tended. Sometimes she heard vicious cat fights at night, and some mornings he came home scratched, tired, and proud as a peacock. No doubt he had benefited from the change of scene.
She sat back in her chair just in time for the extra broadcast, activated the sound, which she had put on mute before so she could listen for the cat better, and barely glimpsed an image of the TV studio with two serious announcers before the TV went off with a little pop. Not only the picture and sound disappeared, the standby lamp went out too. She tried to use the remote control to switch off and start again, but with no effect. The same procedure on the buttons of the TV was no use either. Her first thought was that with her immediate financial crisis this might mean several months without a television, but then she remembered that she had bought the set no more than five months ago, so it was still covered by the warranty.
Irritated, she went into her study and turned on the computer. Outside rain was striking the window, and the irregular percussion of the drops and the wind howling around the sides of the house made her feel exposed, so she drew the curtains. As soon as the computer was functional, she opened the web browser and connected to the Dagbladet news portal, but experienced disbelief when instead she was directed to a website for the Louvre museum in Paris, even though the address field quite correctly showed dbnews.dk, which she had also typed. She tried dr.dk and got the same result. The next three addresses ended up in a similar situation. She had experienced many strange things with her computer, but never anything this peculiar. She considered restarting, but first she activated her Windows Messenger, eager to get in contact with the outside world, which with the cell phone, TV and now the computer seemed to be withdrawing. For that reason she was very relieved when the program window popped up as usual, and she could put aside her paranoid thoughts. Three friends were on-line, and she chose an old schoolmate, whom she normally avoided because he almost worshipped her, but a little adoration was just what she needed on an evening like this, where everything was messed up.
Princess Pauline says:
Hi Mads, have you seen the news?
My TV is dead.
Mads from Rødovre says:
Pauline, great to talk with you!!! News OK, what do you want to know?
Princess Pauline says:
Extra broadcast on TV about what?
Mads from Rødovre says:
You ought to know that, aren’t you still a cop?:-)
Princess Pauline says:
Still a cop, home sick today, what news???
Mads from Rødovre says:
Why do you write that, I haven’t bothered you:-(
Princess Pauline says:
What do you mean???
Mads from Rødovre says:
1/3 2/3 1/8 3/8 5/8 7/8 7/8 5/8 3/8 1/8 2/3 1/3
Princess Pauline says:
That was complete gibberish, try again.
Mads from Rødovre says:
Old witch with the coal-black hair, the clock is striking, the clock is striking
Pauline all alone says:
Don’t you mean yellow-green?
Mads from Rødovre says:
No, it’s coal-black, disgusting whore.
Mads from Rødovre says:
Send news, start news, enjoy news.
She looked nervously over her shoulder towards the door to the study, while the Windows Messenger screen disappeared and an hourglass told her that the computer was working on an unknown job she had not requested. Suddenly a face appeared, a weeping, horror-stricken face that she recognised immediately. The sound of Jeanette Hvidt’s pleading voice, punctuated with sobs, streamed out of the speakers, while the girl on-screen threw her head back and forth in a vain attempt to avoid her fate.
“I don’t want to, don’t do it, won’t you please stop?”
“He is angry at her, she is impolite, she must have another blow with the staff.”
“No, no, I’ll do anything you say, whatever you ask for.”
“Everything that he says, everything that he asks me to. That’s what she will say.”
“I’ll do anything he says, anything he asks me to.”
“Then she will tell about the song.”
“This song is for you, Pauline.”
“She must not cry when she says it. Otherwise she’ll get something to cry about.”
“Excuse me, I will, don’t do that. I will.”
“Then she will say it again, with a smile on her ugly face.”
Pauline watched, paralysed, how Jeanette Hvidt tried to smile while the tears rolled down her cheeks. The video continued:
“This song is for you, Pauline.”
“Then she will sing the song.”
“Can you guess where he is, can you guess where he is, because I put the mask on, misk mask mask on… ”
“No, she is singing it wrong. Because he has put the mask on… that’s what’s fun. How stupid she is. Then she will sing again, the right way, or else she’ll get the staff.”
Jeanette Hvidt sang again, though scared out of her wits. It sounded awful, crazy and heart-rending, but that was not the reason Pauline Berg put her hands over her ears.
“Can you guess where he is, can you guess where he is… ”
Suddenly the song stopped, the camera zoomed in a little, then the picture froze and immediately dissolved in ten thousand asynchronous washed-out pixels only to materialise again a moment later. This time Jeanette Hvidt was not crying. Instead she sat anxiously covering her ears while the Belphégor demon cautiously approached her from behind. Pauline clenched her fists, Jeanette Hvidt clenched her fists. The demon behind her grew bigger and bigger, until finally she could see the watchful eyes in the loathsome mask. Only then did she understand: the little camera that was attached to the upper edge of her screen no longer showed Jeanette Hvidt at all.
Pauline Berg whirled around on a wave of adrenaline that surprised them both. The man behind her took a step backwards. She grabbed the first thing she could lay her hands on, a solid ceramic mug that stood next to the keyboard, and at the same time heard herself scream while her brain vainly bombarded her with warnings that this was the dumbest thing she could do. His instinctive retreat when she turned around gave her just enough time to put herself in a defensive position with legs slightly spread, side turned and the coffee mug poised ready to strike. They stood like that, facing each other for what seemed like an eternity. Behind her a woman started howling like a tormented animal, but Pauline ignored that and concentrated on her opponent, aware that with every split second that passed her odds improved.