John Lindqvist - Little Star

‘Yes.’

‘Oh good! It might…brighten you up a bit.’

‘I hope so.’

Teresa got out of the car and grabbed her rucksack, then stood there with her head lowered. She didn’t close the door. When she looked at Göran a flash of pain passed through her eyes. He leaned over the passenger seat and held out his hand. ‘Sweetheart…’

Teresa backed away from his touch and said, ‘I’m not sure if I’m going to Stockholm. It depends. I’ll ring you if I don’t go.’ Then she slammed the door shut, turned away and walked towards the door of Johannes’ apartment block.

Göran sat there with his hands resting on the wheel. When Teresa had disappeared inside he let out a sob and lowered his head. His forehead hit one of the horn buttons, and the sound made him jump and look around. A man of about his own age with two supermarket carrier bags in his hands was standing looking at him. He waved, started the car and drove off.

Teresa hesitated before ringing the doorbell. This could be very, very painful. She hadn’t even turned around when she left her father, but before she could do anything else she just had to say goodbye to Johannes. Then whatever was going to happen could happen.

Her thumb hovered over the white plastic button as if it was wired to those Cruise missiles that could start a world war. The worst thing was that she didn’t know which action would start the chain of events: to push or not to push.

She pushed the button. No roar of engines going through twelve litres of rocket fuel per second, no terrified screams from the entire population of the world. Just a quiet ding dong, then footsteps in the hallway.

Johannes opened the door looking exactly the same as Teresa thought he had looked ever since his transformation. A pink T-shirt and khaki shorts, and he already had a tan even though the summer had hardly started. His eyes sparkled, and before Teresa could stop him he had flung his arms around her.

‘Teresa! It’s so good to see you!’

‘You too,’ she mumbled into his shoulder.

He took a step back, still holding onto her arms, and looked her up and down.

‘How are you? You don’t look too good, actually.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Oh, you know what I mean. Come in.’

Teresa took her rucksack with her into the living room and sat down in an armchair. The apartment looked like it had been decorated by several different people, all with appalling taste. Nothing matched anything else, and a standard lamp that looked like a valuable antique was standing next to a huge plastic flower on a Perspex box.

Johannes had mentioned how busy his mother was these days, how she didn’t have time to bother about what the apartment looked like.

Teresa looked around and asked, ‘Has Agnes’ mother been here?’

Johannes laughed out loud and told her a long story about how Clara, Agnes’ mother, had reacted the first time she came to dinner, how she had paused in front of a picture of a weeping child and eventually said, ‘Well, that’s certainly…a classic.’

When Teresa didn’t even smile at his anecdotes, he sighed and sat down on the sofa, tucked his hands between his knees and waited. Teresa shuffled forward to the edge of the armchair, as close to him as possible. Then she said, ‘I’ve killed people.’

Johannes grinned. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’ve killed two people. One by myself, and one with other people.’

His smile grew rigid then disappeared as he looked her in the eye. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I am serious. And today I’m going to kill some more.’

Johannes frowned as if she were telling him a joke he just didn’t get, then he snorted. ‘Why are you saying this? Of course you’re not going to kill people. Of course you haven’t already killed people. What’s going on, Teresa?’

She opened her rucksack. On the dark brown coffee table she placed the drill, a hammer, a carving knife and a small pair of bolt cutters. ‘These are the tools we’re going to use. The others have got the same. More or less.’

‘What others?’

‘The others who are going to be with me. My pack.’

Johannes got up and walked around the room, rubbing his scalp. Then he came and stood next to Teresa. He looked at the tools, then at her. ‘What are you talking about? Stop it, Teresa. What’s the matter with you?’

‘I can’t stop it. But I’m scared.’

‘I’m not fucking surprised. What are you scared of?’

‘That I won’t be able to do it. I’m the one that has to go first.’

Johannes stroked her hair, shaking his head at the same time. Then he knelt down in front of her and said, ‘Come on. Come on,’ and put his arms around her again, holding her tight as he whispered, ‘Listen, Teresa. You haven’t killed anyone and you’re not going to kill anyone and you have to stop talking like this. Why would you kill anyone?’

Teresa pushed him away and said, ‘Because I can. Because I want to. Because it makes me alive.’

‘You want to kill people?’

‘Yes. I really, really want to. I long to do it. But I don’t know if I dare. I don’t know if I’m…ready.’

Johannes sighed and raised his eyebrows, then said in a tone which suggested he was prepared to play along a little bit, ‘So how will you know if you’re ready, then?’

‘By killing you.’

‘You’re going to kill me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Er…when?’

‘Now.’

A shadow passed over Johannes’ face as he tired of the game. With a swift movement he picked up the hammer and held it out to Teresa, still kneeling in front of her. ‘Go on then, kill me. Do it.’

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘No.’

Teresa raised the hammer and said, ‘Are you brave enough to close your eyes?’

He looked her in the eyes. For a long time. Then he closed his eyes. His eyelids were thin, delicate and completely relaxed. He wasn’t screwing his eyes up at all, his breathing was calm and even, and there was the hint of a smile on his lips. His cheeks were covered in fine, downy hairs and he was her best friend and the only boy she had perhaps actually loved. She said, ‘Bye then,’ and slammed the hammer into his temple.

She kept on hitting him until only a tiny bit of life remained. Then she picked up the drill and opened him up. The battery was fully charged, and it took her only a couple of seconds to drill through the skull. Johannes’ legs jerked in a series of final cramps, kicking over the plastic flower. Then she bent over him and took what had been the essence of him.

When she got up her path was clearly marked, and she knew she had the strength to follow it. There was nothing left. No further considerations, nothing to return to. She was entirely happy as she closed the door behind her and walked down the stairs, through the odours of frying food, cleaning products and dust warmed by the sun, tickling her nostrils.

In the box outside the railway station she posted the letters addressed to the four main national newspapers: Dagens Nyheter, Svenska Dagbladet, Expressen and Aftonbladet. The letters were all exactly the same, and she had written them because she could.

Hi,

Today at Sing Along at Skansen we are going to kill a lot of people. We might die too. You never know.

You will ask why. Why, why, why. On the news placards. In the papers. Big thick letters. WHY? A sea of lighted candles. Pieces of paper with messages. People weeping. And over and above everything: WHY?

And this is our answer (wait for it now): BECAUSE!!!!

Because the tide of death is rising. Do you realise the tide of death is rising? In our schools. On Idol. In H & M. It is rising. Everyone knows. Everyone feels. No one realises.