John Lindqvist - Let The Right One In aka Let Me In

his pocket, squeezing his hand around it. Not because he thought it would help against what he had seen but the stone's weight and cold offered a bit of comfort.

His asking around in the various apartment courtyards had not yielded any results other than guarded, suspicious looks from parents who were out building snowmen with their youngsters. Dirty old man.

It was only when he opened his mouth to talk to a woman who was beating rugs that he realized how unnatural his behavior must appear. The woman had paused in her task, turned to him with the stick in her hand like a weapon.

"Excuse me," Lacke said,"… yes, I was wondering… I'm looking for a child."

"Really?"

He heard himself how it sounded, and it made him even more unsure of himself. "Yes, she has… disappeared. I was wondering if someone had seen her around here."

"Is it your child?"

"No, but…"

Apart from a couple of teenagers, he had given up talking to people he didn't know. Or at least recognized. He bumped into some acquaintances, but they hadn't seen anything. Seek and thou shalt find, sure. But then you probably also had to know exactly what you were looking for.

He came down the path through the park leading to the school and glanced over at Jocke's underpass.

The news had made quite a splash in the papers yesterday, mostly because of the macabre way in which the body had been discovered. A murdered alcoholic was normally nothing noteworthy but there had been salacious interest in the children watching, the fire department who had to saw into the ice, etc. Next to the text there was a passport photo of Jocke in which he looked like a mass murderer, at the very least.

Lacke continued on past the Blackeberg school's dour brick facade, the wide high steps, like the entrance to the National Courts, or to hell. On the wall next to the lowest step someone had spray painted the words "Iron Maiden," whatever that meant. Maybe some group.

He walked past the parking lot, out onto Bjornsonsgatan. Normally he would have taken a short cut across the back of the school but there it was… dark. He could very easily imagine that creature curled up in the shadows. He looked up into the tops of the tall pine trees that bordered the path. A few dark clumps in among the branches. Probably bird nests.

It wasn't just what the creature looked like, it was also the way in which it attacked. He would maybe, maybe, have been able to accept the idea that the teeth and claws had some natural explanation, if it hadn't been for the jump from the tree. Before carrying Virginia back he had looked up at the tree. The branch that the creature had jumped from was maybe five meters above the ground.

To fall five meters onto someone's back-if you added "circus artist" to the other things to arrive at a "natural explanation," then maybe. But all things considered it was as improbable as what he had said to Virginia, which he now regretted.

Damn it…

He pulled the box of chocolates from his pants. Maybe his body heat had already melted the chocolates? He shook the box gently. No. It made a rattling sound. The chocolates had not run together. He continued along Bjornsonsgatan, past the ICA store.

CRUSHED TOMATOES. THREE CANS 5 KRONOR.

Six days ago.

Lacke's hand was still wrapped around the stone. He looked at the sign, could imagine Virginia's concentration in order to make the even, straight letters. Wouldn't she have stayed home to rest today? It would be just like her to stumble in to work before the blood even had a chance to congeal.

When he reached the front door of her building he looked up at her window. No light. Maybe she was with her daughter? Well, he had to at least go up and leave the chocolates on her door handle if she wasn't home. It was pitch black inside the stairwell. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

The child is here.

He stood frozen in place, then threw himself on the shining red button of the light switch, pushing it in with the back of the hand carrying the box of chocolates. The other hand squeezed tightly around the stone in his pocket.

A soft clonking from the relay in the cellar as the light was turned on. Nothing. Virginia's stairwell. Yellow vomit-patterned concrete stairs. Wood doors. He breathed deeply a few times and started up the steps.

Only now did he realize how tired he was. Virginia lived all the way up on the third floor, and his legs were dragging him up there, two lifeless planks attached to his hips. He was hoping Virginia was home, that she was feeling good, that he could sink down into her armchair and simply rest in the place he most wanted to be. He let go of the rock in his pocket and rang the bell. Waited a while. Rang it again.

He had started trying to balance the box of chocolates on the door handle when he heard creeping steps from within the apartment. He backed away from the door. On the inside, the steps came to a halt. She was standing next to the door, on the other side.

"Who is it?"

Never, ever had she asked this question before. You rang the bell, you heard her steps, swish swish, and then the door opened. Come in, come in. He cleared his throat. It s me.

Pause. Could he hear her breath or was it his imagination?

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to see how you were doing, that's all."

Another pause.

"I'm not feeling so good."

"Can I come in?"

He waited. Held the box of chocolates in front of him in both hands, feeling silly. A bang as she turned the first lock, the rustle of keys as she unlocked the dead bolt. Another rustle as she took the chain off the door. The door handle was pushed down and the door opened.

He involuntarily took half a step back, the small of his back hitting against the stair railing. Virginia was standing in the doorway. She looked like she was dying.

Besides the swollen cheek, her face was covered with tiny little boils and her eyes looked like she had the hangover of the century: a network of red lines in the whites and the pupils so tightly contracted they had almost disappeared. She nodded. "I look like hell."

"No, no. I only… I thought maybe… can I come in?"

"No. I don't have the energy."

"Have you been to the doctor?"

"I will. Tomorrow."

"Good. Well, I…"

He handed her the box of chocolates that he had been holding in

front of him the whole time like a shield. Virginia accepted it. "Thank

„ you.

"Virginia. Is there anything I can-?"

"No. It'll be alright. I just need some rest. Can't stand here any longer. We'll be in touch."

"Yes, I'll come by…"

Virginia closed the door.

"… tomorrow."

The rustling of locks and chains again. He stood there outside her door with his arms hanging by his sides. Walked up to the door and put his ear to it. He heard a cabinet opened, slow steps inside the apartment.

What should I do?

It was not his place to force her to do something she didn't want, but he would have preferred to bring her to the hospital now. Well. He would come back here tomorrow morning. If there was no improvement he would bring her in to the hospital whether she wanted to or not.

Lacke walked down the stairs, one step at a time. So tired. When he reached the last flight of stairs before the door to the outside, he sat down on the highest step and leaned his head in his hands.

/ am… responsible.

The light went off. The tendons in his neck tensed; he drew a ragged breath. Only the relay. On a timer. He sat on the steps in the dark, carefully taking the rock out of his pocket, resting it in both hands and staring out into the dark.

Come on, then, he thought. Come on.