Jo Nesbo - The Son

‘You love me,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘That’s what you’re doing here.’

‘And what? What kind of person loves a man who kills people, who is doing everything he can to get himself killed, and who eventually will be. Do you know what they call you on the Internet? The Buddha with the Sword. They’ve interviewed former inmates who portray you as some kind of saint. But do you know something?’ She dried her tears. ‘I think you’re just as mortal as everyone else I’ve seen come and go at the Ila Centre.’

‘We’ll go away.’

‘Then we have to do it now.’

‘There are two more to go, Martha.’

She shook her head, the tears began to flow again and she hammered her fists into his chest with impotent rage. ‘It’s too late — don’t you understand? Everyone is looking for you, everyone .’

‘Only two more left. The man who decided that my father must be killed and made it look as if he was the mole. And the mole. Then we’ll leave.’

‘ Only two left? You only have to kill another two people and then we can escape? Is it that easy for you?’

‘No, Martha. It isn’t easy for me. None of them were easy. And it’s not true what they say, that it gets easier. But I have to do it, there’s no other way.’

‘Do you really think you’ll survive?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘No! But in God’s name, then why are you talking about-’

‘Because you can only plan to survive.’

She fell silent.

He stroked her forehead, her cheek and her throat. And then he started talking. Quietly and slowly, as if he had to be sure that every word he chose was the right one.

She listened. He told her about his childhood. About his father. About his death and about everything that had happened since.

She listened and understood. Listened and didn’t understand.

A ray of sunshine had crept in between the curtains by the time he had finished.

‘Listen to yourself,’ she whispered. ‘You know this is insane, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But it’s the only thing I can do.’

‘The only thing you can do is kill a lot of people?’

He took a deep breath. ‘All I ever wanted was to be like my father. When I read that suicide note, he disappeared. And so did I. But then — in prison — when I heard the true story of how he gave his life for me and my mother, I was born again.’

‘Born again to do. . this?’

‘I wish there was another way.’

‘But why? To fill your father’s shoes? Because the son must. .’ She narrowed her eyes, forcing out the last tears. Promising herself that they would be the last. ‘. . finish what his father couldn’t?’

‘He did what he had to do. I’m doing what I have to do. He died for us. When I’m done with this, I’m done. I promise you. Everything will be all right.’

She looked at him for a long time. ‘I need to think,’ she said at last. ‘You go back to sleep.’

He slept while she lay awake. It wasn’t until the birds started singing outside that she, too, fell asleep. And she was sure of it now.

She was crazy.

She had been so from the moment she saw him.

But she hadn’t realised that she was just as mad as him until she let herself into the yellow house, found Agnete Iversen’s earrings on the kitchen counter and put them on.

Martha was woken by the sound of children playing in the street outside. Cries of joy. Small running feet. She thought of how innocence walks hand-in-hand with ignorance. How insight never clarifies, only complicates. He slept so peacefully next to her that for a moment she thought he was already dead. She stroked his cheek. He muttered something, but didn’t wake up. How could a hunted man sleep so soundly? The sleep of the just. It was said to be good.

She slipped out of bed, got dressed and went down to the kitchen. She found some coffee, but nothing else. The freezer she had been sitting on in the basement, perhaps he had a frozen pizza or something. She walked down the basement steps and grabbed the freezer handle. It was locked. She looked around. Her eyes fell on the nail in the wall and the key with the illegible tag. She took the key and inserted it in the lock. Turned it. Voila . She flipped open the lid, leaned in and felt the chill against her chest and throat, then she let out a short scream and dropped the lid. Turned round and sank down with her back pressed against the freezer.

She remained on her haunches, breathing hard through her nose. Tried to blink away the sight of the body that had been staring up at her with an open, white mouth and ice crystals on the eyelashes. Her pulse was so fast that she felt faint. She listened to her heart. And to the voices. There were two of them.

One of them screamed in her ear that she was mad, that he was mad, a killer, that she had to run up the stairs and get out of the house now!

The other told her that this body was simply a physical manifestation of something she already knew and had accepted. Yes, he had killed people. People who deserved to die.

The screaming voice ordered her to stand up. It drowned out the voice telling her that this was the panic she would inevitably have to experience at some point. She had made a choice last night, hadn’t she?

No, she hadn’t.

She knew it now. That the choice of whether to jump down the hole and follow the rabbit, take the step into his world, or to stay here in the normal world, was being made here and now. This was her last chance to walk away. The next few seconds were the most important in her life. Her last chance to. .

She got up. She was still dizzy, but she knew she could run fast. He would never catch her. She inhaled oxygen into her lungs and the blood transported it to her brain. She leaned against the freezer lid, saw her own reflection in the glossy surface. Saw the earrings.

I love him. That’s why I’m doing this.

Then she opened the lid again.

The body had bled over most of the food. The design on the Frionor boxes seemed rather dated. They must be at least twelve years old, that sounded about right.

She concentrated on her breathing, on her thoughts, forcing away anything that wasn’t helpful. If they were going to eat, she had to go to a shop. She would ask one of the children where the nearest supermarket was. Yes, that was what she was going to do. Eggs and bacon. Fresh bread. Strawberries. Yogurt.

She closed the lid. Pressed her eyes shut. She thought she was going to cry again. But instead she started laughing. The hysterical laughter of a person in free fall down the rabbit hole, she thought. Then she opened her eyes and walked towards the stairs. At the top of the stairs, she realised she was humming a tune.

That you’ve always been her lover and you want to travel with her.

Mad.

. . And you want to travel blind and you know that she will trust you.

Mad, mad.

. . for you’ve touched her perfect body with your mind.

Markus was playing Super Mario Brothers by the open window when he heard a door slam outside. He looked out. It was the pretty lady. Or at least she was pretty today. She walked from the yellow house and down to the gate. Markus remembered how the Son had lit up when he’d told him that she was the one he had seen enter the house. Not that Markus understood much about such things, but he had an inkling that the Son was in love with her.

The woman went over to the little girls who were playing with skipping ropes and asked them a question. They pointed and she smiled, called out something to them and walked quickly in the direction they had indicated. Markus was about to return to his game when he noticed that the curtains in the bedroom were open. He grabbed his binoculars.