Free Dead Men (Marie and Lotte Book 1) by Mette Glargaard Page A

father’s half full pack of cigarettes and a lighter and ran back to the bedroom. She just stared at him for a few moments and then she poured the alcohol over the bed linen, his hair and the carpet. She pressed the empty glass into one of his hands then she lit a cigarette. The smoke almost made her puke, but once it was burning properly she put the cigarette between two fingers of the other hand so it would reach a wet spot on the linen just a few minutes later. She had no idea if it would work so, just in case, she also put a lit cigarette on the carpet, placed so that it would creep up to the brandy she’d spilled. Then she stood and studied the scene for a few seconds until the hint of a smile touched her young face.

8
    The Christmas season snuck into the city, which always began quite innocently, with a few gnomes in a supermarket at the end of October. But by November it was clear that there was a massive plague, and the radio was inundated with Christmas songs. Every shop had seasonal decorations and parents across the country went into permanent stress mode to live up to the expectations nobody had actually pronounced, but they lay like a deep coding in the majority of the population. It came out as a commandment from all the commercials, which overflowed with tinkling and expectations of joy whilst seeking to pry hard-earned money from purses and wallets.
    There were lots of seasonal parties with beer and schnapps and the somewhat forced Christmas cheer. But all the false togetherness was a pleasure for me, since Christmas is a time when I investigate and gather information, nothing more. Or so it was once. I have been doing this for so long now that I rarely come across something new, so in a way Christmas shopping followed by a mulled wine in a cafe, is almost like visiting an old aunt. Well-known and slightly smelling of death yet at the same time, a little cozy, somewhat boring but still a must. I particularly cannot resist the smell of the stress and there’s only myself to buy presents for.
    I sit by the window in a cafe in the city, the air heavy with the scent of cinnamon, melted butter and chocolate. To the strains of ‘Last Christmas’ I study the crowds, consider all those who have been indoctrinated and faithfully follow the orders given out by the TV commercials.
    As small ants they run hither and thither; they know they have a goal, but cannot quite remember what it is or where they are supposed to be going. I can see the stress in their bodies and eyes, and the dangerous preoccupation with what they think is pleasure and joy, deceived as they are by advertising tools. I look at them with disdain; they have little or no insight into what causes them to behave as they do.
    Basically, you have to remove yourself from the swarms of people, take a step back to see the big picture. If you are part of it then it’s hard to get that overview; I discovered that quite a long time ago. To get the true insight I needed to create the life I wanted, I had to step out of the picture and become an observer and hunter instead of being part of the tableau. I could not just be one more product of society like the others. I could have my cake and eat it, as my mother would have said. I choose to keep myself watching on the sidelines.
    As a teenager, I could sit for hours and work on a painting or read a book while I considered and analyzed other people’s behavior down to the smallest detail. While I was moving around in different environments, I was aware of their reactions and learned from them, structuring my observations for future use. I put the actions and reactions to actions into a mental database, so that I can quickly find the appropriate reaction to something that happens - or anticipate my victims’ reactions.
    I went on to practice different strategies I had devised. I was busy seeing which buttons to press with different types of people, learning how I triggered the positive and negative reactions.