Glenda

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Glenda
Margarita Reznik

If on the eve of Halloween or on another fine day you want to truly plunge into the limitless possibilities of the mind and be thrilled with its incredible abilities, then this book is for you. "Glenda" was written not for an idle feeling of fear, but for a deep awareness of existence. Perhaps the reader will not agree with the author, but it is up to the reader to judge.

Margarita Reznik

Glenda

Chapter 1

She took out a wide notebook, bought from Smithson's for five pounds from her laptop bag, and a Christian Lacroix ballpoint pen and began to write.

A connoisseur of expensive branded items, she cursed herself for not having a simple wool sweater right now.

The cold air on board the Norwegian irritated their already frozen body. She sat all day at Heathrow Airport, didn’t eat anything, warmed herself with tea and cried, drying up only during phone calls to say goodbye and warn that she had flown to Denmark, forever, so that they would no longer look for her, but only write letters and come to visit. .

– Bring me a cup of tea with lemon, please. – With thin fingers with peeling varnish, she grabbed the flight attendant running like a hare by the hard textile sleeve so that she almost broke her nails.

She turned around with bulging eyes at the frightening-looking passenger. It was as if she couldn’t come to her senses, but not because of Glenda’s appearance that stopped her, but because of something more serious.

After pausing for a second, a middle-aged flight attendant with a very thin waist muttered something incomprehensible towards the nearly broken nails of the girl with the notebook and ran away.

– What a nightmare, there is no such service even on Ryanair, the cheapest airline at this time of year. They even give out blankets there, unlike this fabulously expensive business class on the damn Norwegian.

The indignant Glenda turned to her neighbor, who was sleeping nearby, hoping for a sympathetic cry, but he only shuddered from the unpleasant sounds and continued to snore.

Sighing with hopelessness, a disgruntled girl with long black hair and a face pale from almost a day of sobbing, buried herself in a clean lined sheet of paper.

The nib of an expensive pen wrote by itself. She did not have to make an effort to draw out the history of the last days on the notebook that had so kindly accepted her; everything went like clockwork.

The first lines of her worthless life, suffering and self-pity appeared on the white canvas.

“Beautiful and young, I sold myself like the last prostitute from King's Cross. On October seventh, two thousand and seventeen, Glenda Miller, rich and lonely, moves to live in Denmark to forget and start life anew.

I have nothing to lose. No apartment, no car, no family, no relatives.

My father died two years ago, and the guy is a thing of the past.

I miss you so much, dad.

You know, right after you died, I got a job at the Guardian. Only this helped me forget and start coping with everything alone.”

Warm streams flowed down my cheeks, numb from the cold and burning. An involuntary shudder ran through the body huddled in the chair.

“And a month ago I caught a really serious case for the first time. I finally grabbed the opportunity to become a great reporter. I could have saved England, I was on the trail of the criminal, but I still don’t know his face. And a week ago he left me an anonymous note giving me the choice to shut up or die.”

Here she interrupted and, mercilessly pressing the button to call the waiter, grumbled loudly:

– Will someone finally bring me tea today?

A moment later, the dark red business class curtain moved aside, and the same out-of-breath stewardess appeared in the aisle. White curls were hanging down on her forehead, and her mascara was running a little in the corners of her eyes. This happens when at the end of the day a girl corrects her makeup, but it no longer stays elastic, but treacherously spreads over her skin.

– Your tea, madam. I'm sorry for the delay.

Mentally complaining about the imperfection of the service staff, their appearance, forgetfulness and terrible service, Glenda was silent for a while, but then grabbed the paper cup with rapture. A moment later, she noticed that the woman’s hands were shaking and there was perspiration on her face and neck.

– Something happened, um… – she read the badge on the bright scarlet jacket – Anna?

– No, miss. – the flight attendant said, clearing her throat. – Just buckle up, please, there's a little turbulence.

Anna quickly ran away to the economy class cabin, and closed the short curtain behind her.

Glenda looked under her, since her seat was next to her, but saw only the legs of the flight attendant running away.

Then she looked out the porthole. Rain flooded the sky, and a thunderstorm broke it into small fragments. It is not surprising that in this cold and thoughts about fate, she had no time for the weather outside the window. Oddly enough, my hands still reached for the strap. Click, and now she is safe.

The tea turned out to be barely warm, as it happens in a roadside cafe, where water is still heated in a kettle, and electricity needs to be saved.

“And how much the hell is she getting paid?” – Glenda cursed to herself, but then stopped short.

The plane shook quite a bit.

“Okay, let’s say God punishes me for misplaced anger. Anna is not to blame for anything… Except for the cold, belated tea.”

Glenda calmed herself by swallowing a lemon with a crust. “Vitamin C is a very useful thing. At least I won’t get sick from the Norwegian winds.”

Christiane Lacroix again merged with her thin hand and the girl continued to write.

“Father, I sold my soul to the devil: I was so close to unearthing the dirtiest case in London, but they offered me money to leave me behind. It was a note from a criminal with an offer for a million pounds, just a minute.

And I would refuse, I’m not a corrupt bitch. Oh, sorry.

You never liked me to swear.

So, it’s all Gerard’s fault – my future husband. Can you imagine, that evening I returned home, and he was licking between the bitch’s legs. Do you remember Linda, my childhood friend?”

Glenda was seething with anger.

“Understand, I had no choice but to take this money to get out of damn London. I loved him.”

The disposable paper handkerchief was already completely wet and turned into a sticky lump, but a new series of tears required help. Luckily, a napkin was provided with the tea.

Glenda blew her nose and began to write further.

Suddenly the ink completely spilled onto the paper.

Suddenly the light in the cabin went out treacherously. People's faces were illuminated only by flashes of lightning. The pale yellow highlights were reminiscent of a post-mortem photograph. For a moment it seemed to her that the passengers were covered in blood. The wild horror of what she saw shook her being.

The plane took a giant leap. For a matter of seconds, Glenda lost consciousness. When I woke up, the light in the cabin was on again, and the morning sun was already shining outside the window. The storm front was successfully passed. Fortunately, the impact on the shelf was barely noticeable.

– Apparently, there is something wrong with the neck vessels. I read in a medical encyclopedia that this happens. You can lose consciousness and even fall asleep if the carotid and vertebral arteries are compressed. – she turned with relief to her seatmate who had woken up. To Glenda's surprise, he answered.

– Yes, miss. You could have sprained your neck here. I read it too, albeit in other sources. – he straightened up, as happens when you suddenly remember that this is an important person in front of you, or you just want to show off in front of a young woman. – Iver Larsen from Copenhagen. Nice to meet you. – a man of about forty-five with a beautiful Greek nose extended his right hand as if he had only dreamed of doing this the entire flight. Surprisingly, he wasn’t so kind when landing, he didn’t even help her carry her bags upstairs.

– Glenda Miller from London, now from Copenhagen. I'm planning to buy a house there.

“Why am I telling him everything? Maybe I miss communication so much that I’m ready to pour out my soul even to strangers? Well, he is handsome, strong build, light brown, somewhere ashy hair, gray-blue eyes. Typical Scandinavian, but very attractive. A little old, but there is something so familiar about it. I think he can be trusted. Fortunately, there is no ring on my finger.”

While all this heap of thoughts ran through her naturally beautiful, but tired from sobbing, head, Glenda drank the juice that that same inattentive flight attendant Anna had so kindly served.

Iver also slowly sipped a Coca-Cola and looked over the seats towards the pilot’s cabin.

“Something happened there five minutes ago, as if we were in a dangerous zone, something like the center of a thundercloud, into which the plane is forbidden to fly.”

– You were asleep, weren't you?

– Yes, but I have good hearing. Coming out of the cockpit, the flight attendant forgot to close it for a moment, and I heard a couple of remarks.

– And what did you hear? – Glenda asked almost with delight. Her body pulled closer to the speaker, her face burned with interest, and goosebumps ran across her skin. This happens to children when, on a late autumn evening, their grandmother tells creepy stories in an armchair by the fireplace. You seem to be scared, but you feel so comfortable, because there is someone nearby who will save you from all the monsters of the world.

– “Branch of Hell.” We can't get around. We are walking straight into the face of death…

– What, that’s what they said?

– Yes. I reproduced it exactly.

– What a nightmare. What else have you heard? – No matter how hard she tried, the bloody faces could not leave Glenda’s head. Still, she managed to overcome herself and push away the terrible memories for a while.

– Nothing, then the light went out, and then everything cleared up.

– Marvelous. So does this mean we have passed death?

– One hundred percent.

– Lucky ones. I think this is a sign! – A sign? Which one?

– Today I was in such a decline that life was not nice to me. And now, having almost lost her, I understand that no guys in the world can deprive me of my thirst for life.

– So that's what it's all about! Love story. “Larsen’s face changed; he peered into Glenda’s brown eyes to see in them the answer to his silent question. “Are you still in love with that bastard who made you think about death?”

– You're right, but it's over. My life begins again. – she tore out the previously covered sheet of notebook and, without any regret, crumbled it into small pieces.

– If you drive along Vesterbrogade, you will see a small street called Helgolandskeid, where a nice two-story apartment with a private entrance from the street is for sale. I know the owner, I can tell you his number.

Glenda was a little taken aback by such a sudden transition back to the topic of her migration. This man is interested in her, one hundred percent. How else can you explain all this?

– Certainly! I would be grateful. – Glenda suddenly pulled herself up for her naivety and stupidity. What if he specifically sells her a house, which he will visit without invitation and rape her. – Are you by any chance a maniac?

A roar of laughter shook all of Mr. Larsen's muscles. He couldn’t stop for a long time, and people from the neighboring seats began to turn to look at him. It was so strange for her, Glenda, to feel alarmed and safe at the same time.

“He seems very social, but these are the people who end up in the dock as the most dangerous criminals. And also this look, cold and with a grin, saying, “I’m still smarter and stronger than you, stupid. I am a wolf, and you are a sheep. You can't figure me out." Although, he looks more like a cop than a killer. OK. Let him give me the number. At least I can look at this house, and I don’t necessarily like it.”

Kastrup greeted passengers with European style and long, exhausting corridors.

Luckily, Glenda was flying business class and she and her new acquaintance were taken in a minivan straight to the luggage compartment.

– Well, I was glad to meet you. I hope you will call my friend and consider this lucrative offer. – the northern accent betrayed a true Dane, although he spoke good English. Iver held out a piece of paper and, as if involuntarily, touched Glenda’s hand.

– Me too. Thank you. And how much is he asking for the house? – she did not allow herself to pay attention to this sly gesture.

– It seems like a hundred thousand euros. I can’t afford such a house, but I think it’s just right for you.

– Why do you think so? Didn't we fly business class together?

– Well, I flew for work, the bosses paid all the expenses. And you are going to move for a personal matter, therefore the wind is not blowing in your pocket.

“The wind isn’t blowing in your pocket? What kind of stupid phrase is this? What a boor. It's time for me to leave, I started chatting a lot with this stranger. Although if you think about it, the apartment is really inexpensive. A truly attractive offer."

Glenda smiled tightly, but her gaze remained hawk-like. Distrust oozed from her entire nature.

– Well, all the best, miss. Take care of yourself. – Patting the taxi cab, Iver sent Glenda on her way. Like a husband or father, or just a doorman, putting heavy bags in the trunk, he agreed with the taxi driver about the safety of the passenger right up to the hotel.

She saw him off in expressive silence, smiling as much as she could. This happens when you suspect someone, but don’t want to show it.

“Very strange guy. And what do I like about it? It’s like being so familiar, but at the same time dangerous.”

The unpleasant Danish language with a rough pronunciation now seemed very nice against the backdrop of all this splendor: European houses and streets, cyclists everywhere, men and women with naturally white hair and blue eyes like angels. The taxi driver was talking to the dispatcher, the radio was squealing incessantly, and Glenda was humming a new mantra to herself: “I’m starting my life again, Copenhagen is my love. I’m starting my life again, Copenhagen is my love…”

The Petri Hotel on Crystalgade turned out to be not far from the street where she was going to go today to look at a house, beautiful, expensive, and in status just right for her budget.

His pomp was expressed in conservatism and was a little reminiscent of old England. The interior is designed in an attractive Bavarian style, with textures complemented by shades of green from malachite to forest green, so reminiscent of her home in Sussex. The mother also loved to upholster everything in green; she even preferred to see her daughter in such colors. The beautiful emerald prom dress was her last gift before her death.

From such memories Glenda shivered in her chair, waiting for the registration.

Fifteen minutes later, the prompt doorman had already carried her things into a spacious room with a view of the Town Hall, as well as parquet floors, a huge bed in the middle of the bedroom and a dark azure leather sofa

She booked three days for a thousand euros, hoping to buy ready-made housing during this period, complete all the documents and move.

Chapter 2

Glenda had already had time to rest from the overnight flight and, full of energy in western jeans and a Ralph Lauren T-shirt, headed to watch the first version.

Summer in Denmark is as hot as in England. The lunch haze wiped out half of the capital's population. They hid in their air-conditioned apartments, and the most persistent wore hats.

Unfortunately, Glenda did not buy herself a hat or cap, although there was something to match her polo style. Relying on her newly curled curls, she walked boldly along the sunny side of the street.

Half an hour ago, tormented by unbearable doubts, she nevertheless called that number from the hands of a terrible and wonderful stranger. Much to her disappointment, he immediately answered the phone, and to make matters worse, he was right there. Mr. Holstein had just received the customers, and was ready to wait a little for her too. “You are incredibly lucky, Miss Miller, that the house has not yet been sold. This is a wonderful place in the very center of Copenhagen, next to the artificial lake St. Jorgen Se, shops, restaurants, cinema, clubs, and it’s like you’re taking it for nothing.”

The two-story wooden apartment building with its peeling blue paint looked clean and well-kept, just a little worn from time to time. Glenda liked the facade, although old, but cozy, it reminded her so much of home that thoughts of buying it were obsessively spinning in her head.