Marked For Revenge. Emelie Schepp
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Название: Marked For Revenge
Автор: Emelie Schepp
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика
Серия: MIRA
isbn: 9781474050937
isbn:
He pointed toward the river, his hand trembling.
The woman tried to shake her head.
“Ffff...ffeh...ehlll,” she tried to say, her voice thick.
“No,” he said. “You didn’t fall. You were attacked. We have to call the police.”
He got up and dug around in his cargo pockets, looking for his cell phone.
“Nuuuh...” she said.
“Shit, you’re bleeding really bad,” he said. “You need an ambulance or something.”
He paced back and forth, unable to stand still.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he repeated.
The woman moved a little, coughing.
“Don’t...call,” she whispered.
He found his phone and typed in the passcode to unlock it.
The woman coughed again.
“Don’t call,” she said again, clearer this time.
He didn’t hear her as he typed in the emergency number. Just as he was about to hit the green call button, his phone disappeared from his hand.
“What the...”
It took a few seconds before he understood what had happened.
She had gotten up and now stood before him with his cell in her hand. Blood was dripping down from her head over her left ear.
“I said you shouldn’t call.”
For a moment, he thought it was a joke. But when he saw her threatening look, he understood that she was serious. He saw how she was examining him and despite being fully dressed, he felt almost naked.
Her eyes swept quickly over him, noting his black hat, heavily lined eyes, tattoo of eight small stars on his temple, pierced lower lip, lined denim jacket and worn-out military boots.
“What’s your name?” she asked, more a command than a question.
“R-Robin Stenberg,” he stammered.
“Okay, Robin,” she said. “Just so we understand each other, I fell and hit my head. Nothing more.”
In shock, he nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
“Good. Take this now and go.”
The woman tossed his cell to him. He caught it clumsily, stumbling backward a few steps and began to run.
It wasn’t until he was inside his apartment on Spelmansgatan and had locked the door behind him that the magnitude of what he had just witnessed sunk in.
THE INTERNATIONAL TERMINAL at Suvarnabhumi Airport in Bangkok was swarming with people. Long lines wound around from every desk, and from time to time the clerks yelled out names of people who were requested to contact the information desk. The sound of suitcases arriving on the conveyor belt at baggage claim thundered through the hall.
Large groups were chattering noisily, babies were crying and couples were arguing about their travel plans.
“Passport, please.”
The woman behind the check-in desk put her hand out.
Pim held her passport with both hands to hide the fact that they were trembling. She had been told not to panic, to relax, to try to look happy. But as the line in front of her got shorter, her anxiety grew.
She had fiddled so continuously with her ticket that it was now missing a bit of the paper in the corner.
Her stomach hurt.
The nausea came in waves, and she wished she could just stick her finger down her throat. She wanted to spit—the amount of saliva in her mouth increased with every wave of nausea—but she knew she couldn’t. So she swallowed, again and again.
Two lines away, Noi stood obsessively flicking her backpack strap. They avoided looking at each other, pretended they were strangers.
For now, it was as if they had never met.
Those were the rules.
The woman behind the counter tapped on her computer keyboard. Her hair was dark and pulled into a tight ponytail. The airline emblem was embroidered on the left pocket of her black jacket, underneath which she was wearing a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar.
Pim stood with one arm on the counter. She leaned slightly forward in an attempt to reduce the pain in her swollen belly.
“You can put your bag on the belt,” the woman said, examining Pim’s face. Taking a deep breath, Pim swung her suitcase onto the conveyor belt.
Nausea ran through her like an electric shock.
She grimaced.
“Is it your first time?”
The woman looked at her questioningly.
“Going to Copenhagen, I mean?”
Pim nodded.
“You don’t need to worry. Flying isn’t dangerous.”
Pim didn’t answer. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say. She kept her eyes on her shoes.
“Here you go.”
Pim took her boarding pass and immediately left the counter.
She wanted to get out of there, away from the woman, away from her wondering gaze.
She didn’t want to talk to anyone.
No one.
“Hey! Wait!” The woman behind the counter called to her.
Pim turned around.
“Your passport,” she said. “You forgot your passport.”
Pim went back and mumbled thanks. Clutching her passport to her chest with both hands, she walked slowly toward security.
* * *
Alone again, Jana Berzelius sank slowly to her knees. The pain was excruciating.
She just wanted to close her eyes. Carefully, she touched the back of her head, feeling the wound. Her fingers were immediately covered in blood. She wiped them on her jacket and looked around. Her maroon hat lay fifteen feet to her left, next to her briefcase. She carefully crawled to it, feeling the hard СКАЧАТЬ