Thomas Enger: Scarred

Remi hadn’t spoken to Markus since sixth form when one day they bumped into each other in the Storgata branch of Spaceworld where Remi had gone to buy a computer. They got talking and it was actually quite amusing to hear what had become of the old Romeo: absolutely nothing. No girlfriend, no children. A hefty spare tyre had formed around his waist and most of his wavy, blond hair had been replaced with a shiny, bald circle at the top of his head. Nor had he been very successful at finding work.

But as neither of them had that many friends, they started hanging out together. It was awkward to begin with. Remi wasn’t over Emilie and Markus made a point of never mentioning her name. Not voluntarily. They had to drink a whole bottle of Vargtass before Remi could ask Markus if he was still in touch with Emilie, a question that inevitably stirred up the past.

And if Remi’s father has taught him anything, it is that apologies come in many forms. It wasn’t until Markus’s body was practically anaesthetised with alcohol that he produced a feeble, miserable apology. But saying sorry means only that you sympathise, not that you take responsibility for what you did. That was the night Remi made up his mind.

Markus must be made to take responsibility.

Remi knew that Markus had dated Johanne at some point. He had also discovered that Erna Pedersen lived at Grünerhjemmet and that the Volunteer Service would visit from time to time to sing and play to the residents. And even though Markus might have lapsed over the years, he came from a family where Christian values mattered. So when Remi suggested that the two of them did something other than play computer games and get drunk, Markus was surprisingly easy to persuade.

It was well over twenty years since Erna Pedersen taught them and time had made her grey and lined. There was nothing to suggest that Markus recognised her when he saw her again. Remi knew that the police would check who had visited Grünerhjemmet on that day. If they were to discover that Johanne Klingenberg was another one of Erna Pedersen’s former’s pupils, they would start looking for a killer with a similar background. If they then tried to find out if any of Pedersen’s former pupils had been present at Grünerhjemmet on the day in question, they would finally get a hit with Markus Gjerløw. Remi Gulliksen, as he had signed himself in the visitors’ log, had never been one of Pedersen’s pupils. Remi Winsnes, however, was the name he had been known by until he turned eighteen.

The laptop arrangement was also straightforward. Markus, who always had to have the latest thing, didn’t mind selling his old laptop to Remi, a laptop Remi made sure to load with photos of Johanne and pictures taken in Erna Pedersen’s room. If the police checked if the laptop really belonged to Markus, then they would find his name registered against the computer’s serial number. All the evidence would point them to a man who, about to be exposed, had swallowed a blister pack of morphine capsules. Once again Remi saw the light extinguished in the eyes of someone he hated. And, as the perfect finish, Remi posted an apology on Markus’s Facebook profile, a status that remained unexplained.

It was perfect, wasn’t it?

So why are the police outside now?

Johanne’s murder , Remi thinks. Could Markus have had an alibi? Remi shakes his head. Halo 3 had just come out and Markus would have done nothing but play the game and play it 24/7. When Killzone 2 came out, he didn’t sleep for two days. Remi doesn’t know for sure, but he thinks it was even worse with Crysis . It was a risk, obviously, but Remi sent a text to Markus just before he went to Johanne’s flat to ask what he was doing. The reply was as he expected: Markus was playing on the computer. ‘ Hate the graphics, but love the sound. ’ Everything was as it should be.

So what had he got wrong?

Not that it really matters now. There are only two ways out of this situation: either with his hands above his head or staring up at the inside of a body bag.

So what do you choose?

He picks up the phone from the worktop, presses the green button and puts it to his ear. He hears white noise and senses tension. It takes a few seconds before someone says:

‘Hi.’

The voice sounds different, but he knows who it is.

‘This is Trine Juul-Osmundsen, Justice Secretary.’

It feels weird to hear the voice of a public figure he has never met in real life. But everyone in Jessheim knows who she is as she comes from Kløfta and would often be seen in Jessheim when she was young. The local newspapers have followed her political career from the start. Somehow Remi feels that he knows her and right now he doesn’t want to talk to a total stranger.

‘You wanted me to come,’ Trine says in a slightly harsh tone of voice that startles him. ‘And here I am. It’s my understanding that you haven’t met the demand I made. If you want something, Remi, then you have to give something. This means that if we’re to continue with this, talking, I mean, you and me, then you have to show good faith. You have to give me something in return.’

Remi snorts, but takes care that no sound escapes his nostrils. In view of the mess Trine Juul-Osmundsen has got herself into, he might have expected her to understand. But no. Instead, he has to give her something.

He knows what will happen if he does. The moment he opens the door, the police will storm the house and overpower him.

There is no way he will give her anything.

‘How many people are inside with you?’

Too many , Remi thinks to himself while he shakes his head.

‘I want you to release one of the hostages, Remi. No more, no less.’

Remi snorts again.

This was a mistake , he thinks. The day has been full of mistakes. And he knows what the rest of his life will be like. First he will be remanded in custody, then there will be mass vilification in the media and meetings with his lawyers in prison, and finally the trial. Even if they let him out in twenty years, everyone will know who he is and what he did. That’s no kind of life.

So what do you choose?

He looks at the gun. Then he gets up.

‘No,’ he says, picking up the gun. He looks at Emilie.

‘What did you say?’ Trine asks.

‘I won’t be releasing anyone.’

‘You have to,’ she protests.

I don’t have to do anything, Remi thinks as he squeezes the gunstock.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says quietly.

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s all over now.’

‘No, Remi, it isn’t.’

‘Yes,’ he says, cocking the gun. ‘It’s over. And now I’m going to kill us all.’

If anyone were to ask Trine to recount what happened next, she wouldn’t have been able to. Not in detail. She saw Simen Krogh make a thrusting movement with his hand and then she screamed. She doesn’t remember what came out of her mouth, but whatever it was, it must have worked because he stopped and looked at her. And God knows what the hostage negotiator did. But the gunshot never rang out. Nor did the hostage taker hang up.

The hissing down the other end of the phone feels like piercing, high-frequency pain. Trine blinks, tries to focus and it helps, her vision improves, but she keeps staring at a point in front of her. The hostage negotiator says something to her, but Trine ignores her.

She filters out all noises and tries to imagine Remi Gulliksen and the terrified hostages who are with him inside the house. What they must be going through. Pressing Remi to release a hostage was a mistake.

‘Remi,’ she says quietly. ‘I think I know why you wanted me to come.’