Karin Fossum - Bad Intentions

‘Yes,’ Reilly said.

‘I think Jon reneged on his obligations,’ Axel said.

‘We’ll never know,’ Reilly said.

‘The letter,’ Axel said.

‘The business with the letter is totally bizarre,’ Reilly said, ‘but we can’t blame Jon because we can’t be certain.’

They looked at each other across the table.

‘It’s noble of you to think well of Jon, but being naive is dangerous.’ Suddenly he smiled a warm and broad smile. ‘A toast to humanity,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘A toast to God and His mysterious ways. And a toast to women who spread their legs for us. At least if we ask them nicely.’

After dinner they walked down to Dead Water.

From the shore they studied the surface of the lake, and they were mesmerised by its black sheen for a long time.

‘Dare we go out there?’ Axel said.

‘In the boat, you mean?’

‘No, on foot.’

Reilly snorted.

‘Everyone can walk on water,’ Axel claimed. ‘It’s merely a matter of weight distribution.’

Reilly picked a rush and started chewing it. He moved a couple of steps to the side. He did not like Axel being too close; you never knew what was on his mind. But Axel copied his movements.

‘Don’t let them get you,’ he said. ‘Don’t let them put you in a cell. It’ll kill you.’

Reilly stared at the point where Jon had let himself fall into the water. ‘I’m going to die sooner or later,’ he said. ‘It’s just a matter of time. I thought we agreed on that.’

‘Listen to me,’ Axel said. ‘This is serious. You will go mad. You won’t be able to take drugs either, not regularly, anyway. You’ll be sitting on your bunk, your teeth chattering, and no one will care about you. The prison service doesn’t waste resources on someone like you. They can’t be bothered to rehabilitate a scabby old drug addict. No one will visit you either. Who would come, Reilly? Do you think Nader will turn up and read aloud to you from the Koran?’

Reilly started walking back towards the cabin. He wanted to be with the kitten. He needed to get high. He wanted to curl up in a chair in front of the fire. Axel’s words were starting to get to him.

‘Putting someone in a prison cell is a form of assault,’ Axel said.

Reilly carried on walking.

‘And no one will want you when you get out, either,’ Axel shouted after him. ‘No one will give you a job or a place to live. Do you think that’s what you deserve?’

Reilly ran the last bit of the way and tore open the door.

‘That’s exactly what I deserve,’ he said. ‘And so do you.’

The fire had died down. Only a few red embers remained.

Axel rose from his chair and started clearing up. He was signalling that the evening had come to an end, like someone shutting a café.

Time, gentlemen.

Time for bed.

Reilly stood up. He was a little unsteady. The high which had lifted him for the last hour was leaving his body. It slithered away like a snake and took its sweet poison. He carried bottles and glasses out into the kitchen. He quickly checked the cutlery drawer to see if the carving knife with the rubber handle was back in its place. It was missing.

Axel entered with two sleeping bags.

‘Blue or green?’ he wanted to know.

‘Blue,’ Reilly replied.

The sleeping bag was rolled up tightly inside a nylon bag. Reilly went to his bedroom and tossed it on the bed, where it bounced and rolled back and forth on the foam mattress.

Axel leaned lazily against the doorframe.

‘Do you remember what we used to call Jon when we were kids?’ Reilly asked.

Axel did. ‘We called him Toten Transport. That was what it said on his dad’s truck. It was the name of the company he worked for. Jon had a cap with their logo. Sometimes we just called him Toten. Why do you ask about that now?’

‘Don’t know,’ Reilly mumbled.

‘You think too much,’ Axel said.

Reilly fetched the kitten.

‘I’ll make breakfast tomorrow,’ Axel said. ‘Is that kitten going in the sleeping bag with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Before I go to bed there’s something important that I want to say to you,’ Axel said. ‘I understand people.’

‘Right.’

‘I see straight through them and I know their motives. And their intentions. I’m always one step ahead. If you get my drift.’

‘Stop bothering me.’

‘Pleasant dreams,’ Axel said.

Reilly closed the door. Axel washed up after dinner, he thought, and I dried. I don’t recall drying the carving knife. What the hell has he done with it? He dug the revolver out of the bag and crept inside his sleeping bag, still fully dressed. Now that the door was closed he was surrounded by dense, cool darkness. The kitten curled up against the wall. Reilly lay very still with the revolver in his hand. He focused all his energy on listening, and the sounds amplified: something was being pushed or pulled across the living room floor. Sharp cracks he could not identify. And there was the sound of heavy breathing, but perhaps that was coming from him. Mustn’t fall asleep, he told himself, mustn’t doze off; suddenly he’ll be looming over me with the knife and it’ll go right in between my ribs. Afterwards he’ll throw me in Dead Water and I’ll end up under the mud like a rotting log. Then the secret will be safe. That’s what he wants. That’s why he dragged me up here. I’ve known it all the time, but I’m ready for him.

He placed his hand on the kitten. Its vertebrae felt like tiny bumps under its fur. No one knows I’m here, he remembered. No one would know where to look. He was sure he could hear footsteps in the living room. He was also convinced he could hear noises coming from the room that lay furthest away and which used to be Jon’s. As if Jon had been sleeping in there all along and was now waking up, and the whole thing had been a nightmare. Of course he hadn’t drowned himself. It all seemed incomprehensible to Reilly. Jon sank to the bottom, he thought, and we just watched. We rowed away. We went to bed. We lied to Ingerid. We’re second-class citizens.

Suddenly his door opened. Light from the living room poured in. Axel was standing in the doorway. Reilly clutched the revolver inside his sleeping bag.

‘I was just wondering,’ Axel said. ‘If someone were to give you a million. Would you bite the head off a viper?’

‘A live viper?’

‘Very much alive.’

‘Of course not. Why do you ask? Have you completely lost the plot?’

‘Just wanted to know if you had balls. You don’t,’ he declared.

Then he left. Floorboards creaked as he walked away. Reilly noticed that Axel hadn’t shut the door completely so he carefully shifted the kitten and wriggled out of the sleeping bag to close it. Axel had planted an image in his head, and it was unbearable. He had a taste of rot in his mouth and a feeling of nausea in his throat and stomach, as though a headless snake was squirming down there. He crept back inside the sleeping bag. He deliberately did not zip it up but lay there alert, waiting. It was getting stormy outside, the wind went through the wooden cabin with a violent, compelling force. The door opened a second time. Axel entered.

‘I forgot something,’ he said. ‘That bloody tooth of mine has started to hurt again. You don’t happen to have some paracetamol?’

Reilly hoisted himself up on one elbow.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Or some Pinex? Ibuprofen? Paralgin?’

Reilly shook his head. He did not understand where Axel was going with this. He’s summoning up his courage, he thought. The third time he’ll strike. He’ll wait until dawn, and then he’ll come. But I can wait, I can stay awake, and I have six bullets in the chambers.