Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

"A cotton cloth," he said.

"Is it big enough for my nose?"

Kannick glanced up at the discoloured stump. "Yes."

Morgan stood up at once and walked over to the case. The cloth was yellow and fuzzy, the kind that was used to polish glasses.

Kannick looked at him. "You'll get lint in it."

"I don't give a shit. I want something to cover it. I can feel air in the wound every time I move my head, and I don't like it. I see you've got tape here, so I'll use that too. Give me a hand!" he said, waving the cotton cloth.

Kannick struggled a bit, but he did the best he could with his thick fingers, laying the cloth over Morgan's nose, and biting off a piece of tape with his teeth. It was on good and tight.

"That's attractive," he said.

"So let's party!" Morgan said hoarsely, grabbing the bottle. "With a bottle and a girl, you lose track of all time!" He winked at Kannick.

Errki was asleep. Morgan looked odd with the yellow cloth on his nose. It's like the one my mother wore on the first sunny days of spring, Kannick thought, to stop her nose from getting burned when she sunbathed behind the house. She had lain there with her legs apart so the sun could reach every inch of skin. Sometimes he would spy on her. He could see a little bit of the dark curly hair up there. That's where the Polish man had been, and that's where he had been created. It wasn't something his mother had told him in so many words, but he knew it. He tried to remember the exact moment when this fact became apparent to him, but it was no good.

He thought about Karsten and Philip, and wondered whether they were out looking for him. What if they showed up here at the house? Maybe they would storm straight in! Every once in a while he looked at the two men, wondering what they had talked about. He couldn't really see that Errki was a hostage, since he was the one with the gun, and it didn't seem as if that bothered Morgan. He reached for the bottle and took a gulp, then handed it back. The whisky no longer burned his throat. He was almost anaesthetised. His body was numb and felt strangely oddly sluggish. He had to get away before he fell asleep.

"Can I go now?" he begged in a humble voice, addressing Errki in the corner.

"Errki will decide," Morgan said curtly. "He's the one in charge in this house, and right now he's asleep. You'll just have to keep me company. A meatball like you can keep me going for a long time." He snorted.

They were both beginning to feel very drunk. Morgan could no longer remember what he was doing here or what his plans were. He liked the quiet room, which was surprisingly dark compared to the dazzling light outside, and he liked listening to Errki breathing over by the wardrobe. People shouldn't have plans at all. Or appointments to keep. They should just sit still and let their thoughts drift. The fat boy sitting near him had slumped a little on the floor. There wasn't a sound from outside, no birds, not even a tree rustling. The whisky was going fast. That worried him a bit. In a few hours he would be sober again. Sooner or later he would have to pull his heavy, lethargic body up off the floor and do something. But he had no idea what that would be. He had money, but no energy to leave the house and go back to the road or try to escape. He had no friends, except for the one who was in jail for robbing a post office and would soon be paroled. Morgan had driven the getaway car. They barely managed to escape and had parted company as soon as they reached safety. Two days later his friend was caught, arrested because of the pictures from the robbery that were shown on TV. The idiot had debts, and someone got their revenge. He had hidden the gun, somewhere in the woods he'd said, but they found the money in his flat. He hadn't told the police about Morgan. It was so amazing, really incredible, that he had withstood the pressure and taken the punishment all alone. No-one had ever done anything like that for Morgan before! Only afterwards did it come creeping over him, the feeling of being eternally indebted. And later, the little hint in the visitors' room.

"When I get out, I won't have anything. Can you do something about that?"

Robbing Fokus Bank was only the beginning. A hundred thousand kroner, half for each of them, wouldn't last long. He knew his friend, knew his habits and his thirst. As soon as the money was gone, he'd be back. Perhaps it would have been better if the police had caught him too, Morgan thought. There was a low buzzing in his brain. Maybe he was going mad, just like Errki. This was the first voice: an insect flying in circles inside, trying to get out.

Morgan woke up, rubbed his eyes in confusion. Kannick was asleep next to him, his head tilted forward, pressing his double chin down and making it spread out against his chest in an indescribable mass of skin and fat. He stretched out his stiff legs and put his hand to his head. His nose wasn't aching as much; it felt almost completely numb. Maybe it was dead already. Soon it would come loose and fall off like a piece of rotten fruit.

Kannick opened his eyes. He noticed the bluish light outside.

"It's evening," Morgan whispered.

"I have to go home," Kannick said alarmed. "They'll be looking for me!"

Morgan glanced over at Errki, hoping to catch sight of the gun. It was stuck inside the waistband of his trousers. He stood up slowly, swaying a bit to get his balance, and then he walked over to the wardrobe. He stood there a moment, thinking, and bent down. It was dark in the corner. He put one leg on either side of the sleeping body and hesitantly placed a fumbling hand at Errki's waist. Suddenly he slipped in something wet and sticky and toppled over. In two seconds he was back on his feet, with a puzzled look on his face.

"Fucking hell!"

Kannick gave a start and blinked. "What's going on?"

"There's blood everywhere! He's bleeding like anything!"

Kannick felt a cold terror creep across his shoulders.

"Errki!" Morgan screamed, lurching back. "He's bled to death. He's cold!"

"No!" The scream was shrill and hoarse. Kannick clambered to his feet but immediately had to lean against the wall.

"He's dead!"

As if in a nightmare Kannick watched Morgan slowly turn around and stare at him. "Do you realise what you've done? You killed Errki with your bow. Damn it all, Kannick!"

Kannick shook his head. A sound came from his lips, like a shriek that dissolved before it was fully formed.

"I only hit him in the leg."

"You must have hit a vein in his groin. Maybe an artery."

Morgan moved back further, keeping his eyes fixed on Kannick. "I've had enough of this. I'm getting out of this madhouse!"

He swayed violently. He needed the gun, but to get it he would have to touch the cold body, maybe even get blood on his hands.

"You've got to help me!"

Kannick was clinging to the wooden wall. He started to cry. "I didn't mean to! He opened the door, and I couldn't help it. You have to tell them what happened. Nobody else saw it!"

Morgan paused, moved by the sight of the fat, desperate boy. He swallowed hard, cast another glance at Errki's body, and sank down on to the floor. "Things were bad enough for me without this. I robbed a bank and took a hostage. I'll get a stiff sentence."

"We could dump the body in the lake. We can say that he escaped!" Kannick was wringing his hands. "I didn't mean to do it. It was an accident! Let's dump him in the lake!"

"All you have to do is tell the truth to the police. But I've got to get out of here."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. He was trying to pull himself together sufficiently to think of a way out.

Sobs bubbled out of Kannick, a river of tears, his face the picture of despair.

"If won't help to dump him in the lake," Morgan said urgently. "There's blood all over the place in here. A whole pool of it."