THE CHOSEN GIRL: a paranormal thriller (A Regitze Jensen paranormal thriller) by Mie Kjærgaard

Author:Mie Kjærgaard [Kjærgaard, Mie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: T.K. LOUIS Aps
Published: 2020-12-22T05:00:00+00:00

C H A P T E R 9

WEDNESDAY MORNING, I sleep late.

Dorte arrived yesterday, having seen it on the news. She brought bags of groceries, so we can hunker down. That’s what friends are for. She made lasagna, and we talked until late. About what? This and that, I don’t remember, funny, I hardly ever do.

But it’s comforting to have her here, and I’m glad to see my friend has warmed towards Bat. I think it’s the first time they have really spoken. They went to her room together while I set the table. Bat wanted to show her the figurines in her little exhibition.

She stayed the night in the spare room. I’ve never used it for much, we’ve never had any guests before. In the late afternoon, a new mattress and duvet arrived. Dorte really does think of everything. And delivery that quick? It was as if she’d ordered it in advance.

Lying in bed, I wonder if Martin and Goldilocks have arrived yet outside. They told us yesterday they would take the day shift, guarding the house. They’ve moved the reporters to the end of the street, so they can’t bother us. The police are even guarding the back yard.

Judith’s dad, Donald, was on the news again last evening. Why can’t he mind his own business? Judith sat next to him in the studio, they tried to make her talk, but each time they put a question to her, to her credit, she just shook her head.

It seems he is their primary source of news, besides the hospital staff, who were astounded to find the empty beds. The two boys and the seven patients don’t remember much, zilch actually. They just smile and tell the camera how good they feel. And the other parents, of Bat’s friends? No comment is their standard reply. I’m grateful to them.

I climb out of bed, scratch a rib, and don my robe. The house smells of bacon and coffee. In the kitchen, Dorte is hard at work. Dorte, my one and only friend. She’s a big girl, with beautiful blond hair, and always perfect make up and nails. She’s funny, comforting and genuine, perfect in every way.

Bat scurries back and forth to the dining table carrying platters as they are made ready. Greek yogurt with honey, melon, strawberries, cheeses and jams, freshly baked bread, scrambled eggs, and lox. Heavenly.

“What a couple of angels,” I say.

Dorte, her back to me, jolts. It seems I startled her, she must have been deep in thought. She turns towards me and brightens with a smile as she studies my face,

“Did you sleep well, dear?”

I have to admit, I did.

“Why don’t you get ready for breakfast while we finish up. You’ve time for a shower.”

In the bathroom, I smell an armpit. I look in the mirror, I’m a bit pale, I understand the look Dorte gave me. Fifteen minutes later, refreshed, in jeans, my best silk shirt (company is in the house and Martin is outside), mascara, eyeliner, a brush of rouge, and I’m ready.

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