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  Besides, Ellen-Marie was a slut. I found her a few weeks later with another guy at a party and something inside me broke, something… I haven’t been thinking about for years.

  “Next station Femoren.”

  Once again, I have been so caught up in thoughts that I didn’t even notice the train stopping at Kastrup station. I am tired now. I could sleep right here in the train, but there is hardly going to be that much sleep for me tonight. I need to contact the police. Or maybe I ought to go home first, get some sleep—just a couple of hours—and then call my attorney early in the morning to get things fixed.

  Through the window I see the suburbs on the island of Amager rushing by. The streets seem deserted in the dull lights from the street lamps. The houses are dark blocks with only the occasionally warm glow of a window to be seen. This part of Copenhagen is sleeping.

  There is a single man standing at the platform at Femoren waiting for the train. His shoulders pulled up around his ears, he looks like he is freezing. It is always cold on the elevated stations with nothing to provide shelter from the wind. It is much better at the stations on the part of the Metro line where the tracks are underground.

  The man is well inside the train before the dreadful truth occurs to me. He is the man from the newspaper. The rapist. My doppelganger. My mirrored doppelganger.

  The train is still as good as empty. Nobody here, but the three of us. Still, he doesn’t sit. He stands by the doors where he came in. Right between me and the young woman. The girl! The girl! She is just a girl. My eyes flicker from the man to the girl. She is sitting as before, her eyes closed, listening to the music. The man, on the other hand, slowly turns his head until his glance meets mine in the reflection of the front window and we lock on to each other. I can’t move my eyes. I feel ice crystals forming deep inside my soul. I try to swallow and feel myself shrink on the seat as if I am actually getting smaller and smaller.

  Please, get off the train at the next station, I silently pray, please, get off.

  He sends me a smile, salutes me with a slight nod of his head, and finally I manage to break free of his glance. I am trembling. How can he be on the same train as I am? That is too much of a coincidence to be…a coincidence. I catch the newspaper to hide behind, opening it to a random page.

  “Next station Amager Strand.”

  My eyes are glued to the newspaper, but I am not reading. I can feel his eyes stinging my neck like needles. I am certain he is still looking at me, but I can’t find the nerve to look for myself. Get off, get off, get off, I continue to pray, while a drop of sweat runs down my nose to drip at the newspaper, darkening the paper where it lands.

  Get off.

  The train stops at the deserted platform and stays there for a minute. Then the doors close and the train starts to move. I risk one quick glance over the newspaper at the reflection in the front window. He is not there. A wave of relief washes through my body. He is not there. He got off the train at Amager Strand! He must have sensed that he was recognized. I close my eyes, slowly releasing my breath. I gently shake my head before I open my eyes.

  I realize that I am still holding the newspaper, and even opening to a random page, I am looking at articles about the rapes. There have been five cases of rape in the last month. The rapes are extremely violent. The rapist mutilates the victims in a savage manner, as it reads. There are more pictures of my mirrored doppelganger. Should I call the police now? Tell them that the suspect has just got off the Metro at Amager Strand station? That he has a striking resemblance to my own reflection…that I am not him, of course, but…

  I touch my forehead, trying to massage it. I can’t decide. I can’t think coherently, can’t make a decision.

  Outside, the tracks are now lowered into an open trench with tall concrete walls at each side. I put the newspaper aside. I have to call the police immediately. I finally conclude that my case will be so much weaker if I don’t contact them right now. How am I to explain not calling immediately? I have to deal with them soon no matter what. And this could turn out to be my lucky night; the surveillance recordings from this very train must show the two of us riding the same train. That will be my proof of innocence.

  I grab the phone. Do I just call 112—the Danish emergency number? I can’t remember the direct number for the police. All Danish police stations have phone numbers ending on 14 48, I know of course, but the four digits in front of those numbers? And which station should I call? I have no idea. I press 112, letting them guide me.

  “Emergency Central.”

  “Hello, my name is William Wilson. I am sitting in the Metr—” and then I see him.

  He didn’t get off the train‚ he is standing exactly like he did before, looking at me with that ominous smile on his face. I can’t comprehend how this is possible. He must have been hiding somewhere, maybe he went down on his hands and knees. What do I know? It is impossible to say. However, now he stands at the doors, smiling at me like we understand each other, slowly shaking his head.

  I turn off my cell phone and reluctantly slide it down my pocket. My hands are shaking. A large knife appears in his hand. He lifts the hand holding the knife, making damn sure I see the weapon, before he slowly turns his head to look at the young woman—the girl!—still listening to the music with her eyes closed. Lost in her own world. I want to shout “No!” Make him stop. Do something to protect her…but I can’t. My throat is locked, I am hardly able to breath; my body is paralyzed.

  My mirrored doppelganger is looking at me again, raising the left eyebrow as he continues to smile. Only now, the smile is so wide, I see his teeth sparkle between his lips. His glance locks on to mine for what feels like an eternity, and I swear I try to shake my head, tell him to leave the girl alone, but I am unable to do anything. A harsh croaking sound deep in my throat is all I manage.

  Inside I scream, yelling from the top of my lounges that he has to stop, I howl warnings to the girl, shouting Run! Run! Run! But on the outside I am silent as the grave, paralyzed by a force unknown to me. I am sidelined…degraded to play the role of a spectator.

  And now he has turned towards the girl. He walks over to sit next to her. Sensing him near, the girl opens her eyes. At first she seems more amazed than scared, but that changes the moment she spots the knife. She stirs, pushing away from him, pressing herself up against the train window.

  I can hear his voice, but not the words. He is talking to her. She nods her head as tears run down her face, turning her cheeks black with mascara.

  I shut my eyes, trying to regain control over my body. I need to do something, I need to stop this. Maybe I can rush out of the train at the next station, raising the alarm. That is the least I can do, I tell myself, and I can do that. I must. I am no hero; I have never been brave or even cunning. I am a cautious man, a nerd of numbers, but I do know how to run. I can at least get help. I have to. I move my legs, getting ready to sprint for the doors as soon as the train arrives at the next station. A mixture of relief and hope fills me at being able to move my legs. I can do this, I am ready. I know what to do.

  Through the front window I spot the lights from the station closing in. I inhale, preparing myself, feeling every muscle in my body as I risk a quick glance at the girl and my doppelganger. Her jacket is open now, and her shirt is pulled up to show her tiny, firm breasts. He pinches the nipples, making her moan with pain.

  As the train slows down and stops at the platform, I am on my feet, ready to sprint for the doors as they open, but they don’t. Instead, the train starts moving again and I collapse to my seat, feeling low, as the girl’s skirt is being pushed up, her panties torn to pieces, the knife pressed hard against her throat. He spits at his other hand, needing the spit to make her wet.

  I look away. In shock. What now? Next station? Or do I jump him, take my chances as he approaches his climax and hit him hard with my suitcase?

  The train halts for no reason at a dark spot of the tracks at the exact second he enters her. Hi
s voice is a constant hum as he keeps talking to her, holding her hair, licking her tears as his tongue dances down the side of her face towards her ear.

  “The train is waiting in line at the moment. An alarm has been activated at Norreport station making all trains stop between Christianshavn and Norreport.”

  I realize that I am crying. Big, heavy tears roll down my face. Forceful, but silent sobs form inside my chest, making my body tremble. I finally get it—there is nothing I can do. I am trapped inside this train with my destiny, my mirrored doppelganger. I am lost, stuck here, no longer capable of even turning my eyes away from the rape happening only a few meters away, unable to intervene.

  I am paralyzed for good, frozen in time and place—and so I have been all along. I finally understand. I am controlled by forces so much bigger and stronger than me, and it was never meant for me to get the opportunity to run for the station to raise the alarm. Neither would I have been able to use my cell phone. Not here, not anywhere. I was allowed to believe I could do it only so I would turn around to face the abuse instead of merely glimpsing it in the blurred reflection in the front window. Destiny wanted me to watch.

  I understand this now.

  I, who never used to believe in destiny, God, or anything at all greater than man, I understand this now. And I watch. I see everything. I look as the girl is forced on her knees, her face shoved up against the glass wall between our separate compartments. I see the terror in her eyes, the begging for help, but I am caught up in this nightmare as much as she is. Believe me, I would stop it if I could.

  I would.

  That poor girl, that poor, poor Ellen-Marie.

  He is taking her from behind, hard, her head banging the glass wall. Soon blood from her nose and mouth mix with the smeared mascara, transforming her face to a mask of black and red, leaving long, greasy tracks on the glass.

  Above her, I see my doppelganger smiling at me like he just gave me a present. I see his face through the features of my own dim reflection in the glass between us, like he must see my face through his reflection on his side of the glass, like we are merging into one person at that moment. Us. The reflections. The mirrored doppelgangers. Pushing up inside her, slowly gaining speed as the train starts to move. It is almost like those hard thrusts inside the poor girl’s vagina are pushing the train forward like some kind of enchanted handcar. Shoving it in—faster, harder, faster, harder. The train is gaining speed; a station passes like a blurry sea of light in the dark oblivion; the train is not stopping. The speed increases and so does the ferocity. We are a long way down the tunnel by now, deep under the city of Copenhagen.

  He finally concludes it all with one last slamming thrust as he reaches his climax, the sound of his howling voice echoing through the empty train. He pulls out and zips his trousers with a satisfied smile as the girl collapses against the glass wall, dragging a glob of snot, blood, and mascara down the glass.

  I almost fall from my seat when the train suddenly slows down; I have to grab the back of the seat to avoid tumbling to the floor.

  The deceleration doesn’t seem to affect my doppelganger. He is standing firmly on the floor, looking relaxed. He tilts his head to me and smiles. I see his big knife flickering in the cold light as he grabs the girl by her long hair, pulling her head back. There is even something affectionate in the way he lets the knife find its way through her hair to the large, round earring dangling from her tiny, beautiful ear. He pulls her hair, forcing her head to the side, making sure I see it all as he swiftly cuts off her ear.

  “NO!” I scream, and to my own surprise, the word actually comes out of my mouth, breaking the trance in the exact moment the train finally stops at the station and the automatic doors open to another deserted station.

  My doppelganger wraps the ear in a handkerchief and shoves it into his pocket as he leaves the train with a nod of his head in my direction.

  I am instantly on my feet, rushing for the girl, pulling her into my arms, mumbling comforting words, but she pushes me away, shoves me, even kicks me.

  “I want to help,” I say, trying to stop the bleeding from the side of her head where the ear used to be, using my own handkerchief.

  “Beat it! Leave me alone!” She yells so hard that spit and blood sprinkles my face.

  I need to call an ambulance.

  I spot my doppelganger. He is standing on the other side of the platform, looking all relaxed as he waits for the train in the opposite direction. I must stop him. Suddenly I understand the meaning of it all. This has happened because there is only one person who can stop him, and that person is me, his doppelganger. Me, the good half, the white part. I must stop him.

  The girl’s pink suitcase is lying on the floor. Unlike my own soft canvas suitcase, this one is made of hard plastic. I grab it, feeling the weight. Holding the suitcase in both hands, I rush out off the train to the platform as I lift the suitcase high above my head.

  My doppelganger neither sees nor hears me coming, and I smash the suitcase down on the back of his head using everything I have got. He collapses at my feet as I once again lift the suitcase over my head. Then something hard hits me from behind, making me fall on top of him, slamming my face down the platform. I feel the shocking pain of a broken tooth. Blood fills my mouth. Another blow hits my head as I fight to get back on my feet. I stumble, lose my footing and fall to my back. I see Ellen-Marie coming at me with her pink suitcase.

  “Ellen-Marie,” I whisper, blood and pieces of teeth spraying out of my mouth. “Why, Ellen-Marie? I was trying to help.”

  ***

  “I have questioned Maja,” the detective says with a stern frown on his face.

  I am lying in the hospital bed where I awoke a few hours ago. I am told that I have been in a coma for three days. This is the third time the detective has been around. I still can’t seem to remember his name, though. What I do remember is repeating to him every last painful detail from that night of horror over and over again.

  “That’s good,” I say, touching my forehead. I have this terrible headache. Pain flashes through my skull as I speak. “Maja is in control of my calendar. She can confirm that I wasn’t even in Denmark Monday night. She—”

  “She says she hasn’t spoken to you for more than a year,” the detective tells me as he pulls a small screen from his pocket. “She explained to me that you were fired two months before your divorce. You haven’t been working for the company ever since.”

  “But…that can’t be…”

  “We have been checking up on your cell phone. You haven’t received any calls in the last five days. So neither Maja nor anybody else called you on the night in question.”

  I don’t even bother looking at him. Why is he saying such nonsense? I know this is not true. I have been working around the clock the last year. Maja knows this as she…

  “You don’t think that I—”

  “Your hands, face, and clothes were covered in the victim’s blood. You had it everywhere. So yes, we do think—”

  “But I got it on me trying to help her!”

  “We found her ear inside your pocket…wrapped in a handkerchief. This morning, we found five other severed ears searching the rented room you have been living in since your divorce.”

  I stare at him. Speechless. “That’s not true. I would never harm Ellen-Marie.”

  “Ellen-Marie?”

  I don’t answer. I lean back against the pillow. After a few silent minutes, I recall something. “The surveillance camera in the Metro! Get the recordings and you’ll see for yourself. Everything’s as I’ve said.”

  “That’s exactly what I wanted to show you,” the detective says, handing me the small screen. He uses his index finger to press play. The screen lights up to show a blurry black and white recording of the rape. Everything happens as I have been telling him.

  Only with one small difference.

  I am not sitting at my seat by the front window of the Metro.

  I am not there
at all.

  My suitcase is where it should be. It is like I have been erased from the recordings.

  “Then he finally got me,” I mumble, pushing the screen away.

  Steen Langstrup

  Award winning Danish author of more than 15 books so far.

  Steen Langstrup lives in Copenhagen, Denmark, with his wife and two kids. He has had several works translated and published in foreign languages. His books have been filmed and made into radio plays.

  ...

  I enjoy my readers as much as they enjoy my writing. Stop by my blog, www.langstrup.com or email me at [email protected], I answer all emails.

  Other ebooks in English by Steen Langstrup:

  The Informer, World War II Crime Noir Novel

  In the Shadow of Sadd, Crime Noir Novel co-written with Sara Blaedel, Gretelise Holm and Lars Kjaedegaard

  More titles coming soon ...

  Colophon

  METRO

  Copyright © Steen Langstrup, 2009, 2012

  The English translation copyright © Steen Langstrup, 2012

  First published in Danish under the title Metro as part of the Edgar Allan Poe tribute antology POE by 2 Feet Entertainment, 2009

  1. English edition, ebook, 2012

  ISBN 978-87-7994-202-8

  2 Feet Entertainment

  Dalgas Have 14, 4. tv

  DK-2000 Frederiksberg

  Denmark

  [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Metro

  Colophon