Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

Errki got up from the sofa and sat down on the floor instead, leaning against the wall. He heard the stream strike the dry grass and the cosy sound of Morgan zipping up his trousers. The whisky felt warm in his body. He wanted more.

Morgan came back inside. He could ask for more, but it went against a principle that was impossible to override. To ask for something. No, that was unthinkable. Here came Morgan, with his stubborn stride. He dragged the bag away, and stood with his back turned, fiddling with the radio, twisting the antenna a bit. Errki stared at his sleeveless shirt and down at his muscular calves. Imagine being a man and having all the equipment a man should have, but at the same time looking so discordant, as if he'd been put together using random parts that didn't fit. The room was silent. Errki was about to say a prayer. He couldn't remember when he had last prayed, not in years. He could feel the words balling up into a lump that refused to come out.

Instead he stared at the bag. He concentrated all of his strength in one eye and felt his gaze becoming a ray penetrating the room. It struck the black canvas bag, and the next instant a thin stream of smoke rose up from the black material. He noticed the faint smell of burning. Morgan turned around. A rumbling sound was coming from the cellar, as if great blocks of stone had come loose somewhere and were crashing down. The rumbling grew louder, it was like thunder. Nestor blazed up. A moment later Errki saw something growing out of the filthy floorboards. A river of blood. He stared. It was about an inch from his feet. The bag stood on the other side.

"What's the matter with you?" Morgan said in real alarm. "Are you sick?"

Errki was staring at the bag.

"I think you should have some more whisky. Maybe that would help."

He sounded worried. Errki stayed where he was. He was staring at the blood.

"I said, have some more."

But Errki didn't move. He couldn't reach the bag with his hand, he would have to take a step forward to get it. His feet would slip in the thick, hot blood.

"Why do you make everything so damn difficult! Do I have to put a teat on the bottle and hold you in my arms?"

Morgan grabbed the bag, took out the bottle, and held it out to him. Errki tore it out of his hands and took a drink. The bag stopped burning.

You were lucky. Don't count on being so lucky next time.

"I'm not stingy," Morgan said. "Say what you like about Morgan, but I'm not a stingy person." He scowled at Errki, who was drinking greedily.

Morgan went out to the kitchen. It was true, Morgan was a strange man, but not stingy. He was rummaging through the drawers out there, then Errki heard him open the door to the pantry. While he was out of sight, Errki took several more big gulps. He could hear Morgan cursing softly and things being tossed around. Then a rustling sound that meant that he was fiddling with a candle wrapped in plastic. Next he went into the bedroom. Errki drank some more, listening to him pounding on the walls. Suddenly his voice echoed through the cabin. "What the hell? Take a look at this!"

Errki stood up and tottered forward. "You called, Master?" He was holding the bottle in his hand.

Morgan had put the gun on the windowsill. "Look what I found!"

He held out something to Errki. Dry brown paper, folded together several times. "On the floor under the bed. A map of Finnemarka. Let's work out where we are."

He read aloud, "Map of Finnemarka, National Map Company, 1965. Give me a hand, Errki."

Morgan picked up the gun and went back to the living room. Errki followed.

"Do you know how to read a map? You're going to have to help me. Can you find the location of this cabin?"

He spread out the map, and it just about disintegrated under his fingers. Errki looked at it. Then he put the tip of his finger on a tiny, pale blue spot. "We're here," he said.

"Is it that easy?" Morgan stared. "How can you be so sure?"

"Look at the water outside," Errki said. "See how it's shaped? Then compare it to the map. It's called Himmerik Lake."

"Jesus. You do have your lucid moments."

Morgan went over to the window and looked out. The water had the very same shape as the lake marked on the map. "You're really familiar with this place, aren't you? We haven't gone very far have we," he added. "Tonight I can head over the ridge and come out here," he pointed at the map again. "And just for fun I'm going to trade clothes with you."

He grabbed the whisky bottle. At last he was feeling better. He knew where they were. Everything had a name: the mountains, the lake, and around everything the road network, clearly numbered.

"You'll go back the same way we came while I continue on – I guess it's northwest. You can borrow my shorts. You'll look great in these Hawaiian shorts. I'll let you go then. Around midnight."

He looked pleased. He had a goal.

"The news," he said suddenly. He stumbled over to the radio and turned up the volume. A female broadcaster this time. Errki sat down on the floor again and closed his eyes. His lips felt numb and pleasantly relaxed from the liquor.

Now to the murder in Finnemarka. The savage murder of 76-year-old Halldis Horn is a top priority of the police force, in addition to the robbery at Fokus Bank. The police are following a clue that may lead them to the killer, but haven't yet revealed what the clue is. In the meantime, the police say that they firmly believe the murder will be solved quickly.

Morgan looked at Errki. "Where do you think she lived? Did you know her?" He scratched his head. "I wonder if they're going to search near here? Can you imagine what he must have been thinking to do something so terrible?"

Errki tossed his head involuntarily, making his hair flutter. But he didn't say a word.

"Why was he committed?" Sejer asked. "Can you tell me that? Did he threaten someone?"

Dr Struel shook her head. "He stopped eating. When he came to us he was badly undernourished."

"Why wasn't he eating?"

"He couldn't decide what he wanted to have. He would sit at the lunch table, wavering between two different kinds of meat."

"What did you do?"

"When he gave up and went back to his room I made him a sandwich and took it to him. No milk or coffee, just the sandwich. I put it on his bedside table. The first time, he wouldn't touch it."

"Why not?"

"I made a mistake. I cut the sandwich in half, and then he couldn't decide which part to eat first."

"Are you saying that it's possible to starve to death because it's too hard to make a decision?"

"Yes."

He shook his head as he tried to comprehend how inexpressibly difficult it could be to handle daily life. "And you really believe that the man has supernatural powers?"

She threw out her hands. "I'm just telling you what I saw. Other people will tell you other stories."

"Have you ever asked him how he does it?"

"I asked him, 'Who taught you that?' He smiled and said, 'The magician. The magician in New York.'"

"But surely it's a coincidence."

"I don't think so. Once in a while things happen that we simply can't explain."

"Not for me," he said.

"No?" She was teasing him again. "You're one of those people who understands everything?"

He felt ridiculous. "That's not what I meant. What else was he able to do?"

"One time a group of us were playing cards in the smoking lounge. Errki was there too, but he wasn't playing. He can't stand games. It was late at night and dark outside, and the lights were on. Suddenly Errki said, in his peculiar, quiet way, 'We should have candles on the table.' Yes, I thought, that would be cosy. I asked him to get some from the kitchen, but he refused. No-one else wanted to go either. They said candles would get in the way of the cards. I felt sorry for Errki. For the first time he had made a suggestion, and no-one listened. The next instant the power went out. The lounge was plunged into darkness, and so was the rest of the building. There was a lot of commotion as we stumbled out to find a candle. 'I tried to tell you,' was all Errki said.