Karin Fossum - Broken

Her voice was brimming with pain and disdain.

He wrung his hands in desperation.

'What are we going to do?' he asked sheepishly. 'You can't lie here like this.'

She brushed her damp hair away from her face.

'I can't do this any more,' she said weakly. 'I haven't got the energy to live this life any longer.'

Alvar tore himself away and went over to the window. He stared down at the light-bulb factory and at the dome, which glowed. It competed with the grey November light.

'There's got to be someone who can help you,' he said.

'There are not enough places,' she replied from the sofa. 'I've tried lots of times. Not enough places, I don't get methadone, or subutex. Nothing. I haven't been using long enough.'

Alvar closed his eyes. Then she had another seizure and she howled into the sofa to cope with the pain. Every single fibre in Alvar's body tensed up.

'No one should have to feel like this!' he screamed into the glass. 'It's not right!'

He looked over at her thin body.

'Do you want me to go down to Bragernes Square?' he asked. 'Do you want me to try to get something for you?'

She was silent for a long time. Her breathing was irregular, he thought, her whole body fighting a huge battle.

'Do you think you could get me a fix?' she whispered. 'I'm shaking so badly that I don't think I can manage to go myself.'

Get her a fix? Was she asking him to inject her? He gasped at the thought.

'It's easy,' she whispered. 'I'll tell you what to do.'

He instinctively shook his head. There was no way he would inject drugs into another human being. Especially not a tiny girl, no matter how ill she might be. She had another fit, her voice was close to breaking point.

'Go find Roger,' she asked him, 'he usually hangs out by the quay at Skutebrygga. Long hair, green parka. Go now, please, Alvar, please! I'm begging you!'

Alvar clenched his fists. He felt a sudden urge to slap his own cheeks; he seemed unable to think straight. He ran out into the hall, driven by a mixture of desperation and determination. Put on his coat, snatched his keys from the key cupboard and left. Started the Mazda, drove down the hill and into Engene. Turned left at the fire station and then took another left so he had the river on his right. Pulled into a car park, locked the car and ran out. His eyes flashed in all directions, but there was no one on the quay, no dealer in a green parka. He checked the cars and the people in town, kids, old people, the cooing pigeons. The taxis lined up on Bragernes Square. But he could not see any drug dealers; it was as if they had all gone with the autumn wind. Helplessly he stood there looking around. He became aware that others were watching him. He probably had a look of panic in his eyes, a madness clear for all to see and everyone was wondering about him.

He began walking across the cobbled square, all the way to St Hallvard's fountain. There were some benches there; they were empty. He stared down the side streets, to see if there were any dealers there. But today, the eighteenth of November, only respectable people were out and about, the town's down-and-outs were nowhere to be seen. Exhausted, he let himself fall down on a bench. He rested his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his hands, hunched up to avoid the freezing wind. He had never in all his life felt as lost as he did now. He could see no way out of this mess, he could not return to her without something that would relieve her pain. Then he heard low voices. Someone had approached the bench, he was being watched.

'Having a bad day, mate?' a rusty male voice asked him. Alvar looked up. He saw a group of three people. Two men and a woman, dressed a little shabbily, were watching him.

'Are you Roger?' Alvar asked him hopefully, looking at the gangly man, who had long hair and was wearing a green parka.

'Who wants to know?' he replied, giving Alvar a doubtful look.

'Philippa needs heroin. She needs it now!'

They looked at him doubtfully, exchanged glances.

'We don't know anyone called Philippa.'

'She's blonde,' he said, touching his own bald head. 'She's very thin, her hair's almost white, she's ill, she's lying on my sofa and it's awful!'

They continued looking at him in a doubtful way.

'You mean Blondie?'

'Yes,' Alvar said swiftly. Of course she would tell them her name was Blondie, he was sure of that.

'I don't have any heroin,' the man said, 'but I've got something else.'

Alvar's heart sank.

'Will it help?' he asked anxiously.

The three people started to giggle as they sent each other telling glances. Roger dug his hand down into the parka's pocket.

'This works for everything,' he said, nodding. 'You got any money?'

Alvar fumbled to get his wallet out and showed them his money.

'All right,' Roger said. 'Come on, we're going down under the bridge.'

Together they walked across Bragernes Square. Alvar felt strange in such scruffy company; he trailed behind them like a little lost child, eyes fixed on the street, hands deep in his pockets. They gathered under the bridge, there was a walkway there, it was covered with syringes and other rubbish. A small sachet was shoved in Alvar's hand, he paid and thanked them. How easy it is, he thought, how easy it is to throw your life away if that's what you want. He put the small sachet in his pocket, followed the group with his eyes as they disappeared across the walkway. He ran back to the car park, all the time checking that the small sachet was safe in his pocket. He started the car and drove back to his flat. He had only one thing on his mind: getting her to a place of peace. He let himself in and went over to the sofa. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

'Find my gear,' she ordered him, 'it's in my pocket.'

Alvar bent over her and rummaged through the pockets of her grey jacket. In a leather purse he found a syringe and a rubber tube. Then he opened the small sachet and made a discovery. It contained a handful of tiny white pills. He put them on the table. She got up on her elbow and stared at them in surprise.

'What did he give you?'

'I don't know,' he cried, 'they didn't have anything else, but they said these work for everything. Perhaps you can take two?'

She shook her head in disbelief, sent him a wounded look and picked up the pills with trembling fingers. He thought he could hear her bones rattle, he thought he could see the red muscle of her heart force its way through her ribs. Before he had time to do anything, she had tipped all the pills into her mouth and was reaching for the glass of water.

'Oh no,' he exclaimed, 'you mustn't take them all at once! They might be strong and we don't know what they are!'

She had already swallowed them. She half fell back onto the sofa and stayed there without moving. Her mouth was half open, her face contorted. She finally closed her eyes. Alvar collapsed in his armchair from exhaustion, he watched the enormous transformation which slowly began to take place before his very eyes. After one minute she stopped moving, after two her breathing became more regular. It was as if her frail body sank into the sofa. A faint smile spread across her face. The smiled lasted, it was a beautiful smile and he saw clearly how lovely she was, fragile like an angel, he thought, and waves of relief washed over him, it was over now, for the time being anyway. And he hoped that wherever she had gone she would be there for a long time. The cat came creeping towards them and snuggled down next to her. Alvar let his head fall back onto the headrest and closed his eyes. He pushed aside anything the future might bring. At this very moment in time all he did was enjoy the silence, relieved that she was feeling fine, that her breathing was steady. There was something very reassuring about that, something that made him feel sleepy. Just a quick nap, he told himself. I'm exhausted.