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

Virginia nodded almost imperceptibly. "Have you called Lena?"

"No. I can-"

"Good."

"Do you want me to?…"

"No."

A silence fell between them. The kind of silence that is particular to hospitals and that stems from the fact that the very situation-one person in the bed, sick or injured, and a healthy person at her side-says it all. Words become small, superfluous. Only the most important can be said. They looked at each other for a long time. Said what could be said, without words. Then Virginia turned her head in line with her body, stared at the ceiling.

"You have to help me."

"I'll do anything."

Virginia licked her lips, breathed in, and let out the air with a sigh so deep and long that it seemed to draw on hidden reserves of air in her body. Then she let her gaze slide up Lacke's body. Searching, as if she were taking a last good-bye of the body of a loved one and wanted to imprint his image in her mind. She rubbed her lips against each other and finally got out the words.

"I am a vampire."

The corners of Lacke's mouth wanted to pull up into a silly grin, his mouth say something soothing, perhaps funny. But the corners of his mouth didn't move and the comment took a wrong turn somewhere, never got anywhere near his lips. Instead all he got out was a: "No!"

He massaged his neck in order to change the atmosphere, to break the stillness that made all words the truth. Virginia spoke in a low voice, controlled.

"I went to Gosta. To kill him. If it hadn't happened. What happened. I

would have killed him. And then… drunk his blood. I would have done that. It was my intention. With it all. Do you understand?"

Lacke's gaze wandered over the walls of the room as if it were searching for the mosquito, the source of the insufferable, buzzing sound that in the silence was tickling his brain, making it impossible to think. Finally stopped at one of the overhead lights.

"That damned sound."

Virginia looked up at the light, said: "I can't stand light. I can't eat. I have horrible thoughts. I'm going to hurt people. You. I don't want to live."

Finally something more concrete, something he could respond to.

"You can't say things like that," Lacke said. "Ginja, you are not allowed to talk like that, you hear? Do you?"

"You don't understand."

"No, I probably don't. But you are not going to die, damn it. Here you are, you're talking, you are… it's OK."

Lacke got up out of the chair, took a few aimless steps over the floor, held his arm out.

"You're not allowed to… you're not allowed to say those things."

"Lacke. Lacke?"

"Yes!"

"You know. That it's true. Don't you?"

"What?"

"What I'm talking about."

Lacke snorted, shook his head while his hands patted his chest, his pockets. "Need a smoke. That…"

He found the crumpled cigarette packet, the lighter. Managed to get out the last cigarette, put it into his mouth. Then he remembered where he was. Took the cigarette out.

"Damn, they'll have me out on my behind if I…"

"Open the window."

"Now you're telling me to jump, too?"

Virginia smiled. Lacke walked over to the window, opened it all the way, and leaned out as far as he could.

The nurse he had talked to could probably catch the whiff of a cigarette a mile away. He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, making an effort

to exhale the smoke so it didn't blow back in the window. Looked up at the stars. Behind him, Virginia started to talk again.

"It was that child. I've been infected. And then… it has grown. I know where it's centered. In my heart. The whole heart. Like cancer. I can't control it."

Lacke blew out a column of smoke. His voice echoed between the tall buildings around them.

"Nonsense. You seem… normal."

"I'm making an effort. And they've given me blood. But if I let go. At any moment I could let go. And then it would take over. I know it. I feel it." Virginia took a few deep breaths, continued, "You are standing there. I'm looking at you. And I want to… eat you."

Lacke didn't know if it was the kink in his neck or something else that sent a shiver down his spine. He suddenly felt vulnerable. He quickly stubbed out the cigarette against the wall, flicked the butt away in an arc. Turned back into the room.

"This is complete utter insanity."

"Yes, but that's how it is."

Lacke crossed his arms over his chest. With a forced laugh he asked: "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to… destroy my heart."

"What? How?"

"However you want."

Lacke rolled his eyes.

"Can you hear yourself? How this sounds? It's crazy. Like I should… drive a stake into you or something."

"Yes."

"No, no, no. You can forget about it in that case. Have to think of something better." Lacke laughed, shaking his head. Virginia looked at him as he walked to and fro across the room, with his arms still folded across his chest. Then she nodded gently.

"OK."

He walked over to her, took her hand. It felt unnatural that it was… restrained. He didn't even have enough room to put both his hands around it. But her hand was the warm one, squeezed his. With his free hand he stroked her cheek.

"Are you sure I shouldn't undo these things?"

"No. It can… come back."

"You're going to get well. It'll work out. I only have you. Do you want to know a secret?"

Without letting go of her hand he sat down in the armchair and started to tell her. Told her everything. About the stamps, the lion, Norway, the money. The little cottage they were going to buy. Red Falu paint. Spun out a long fantasy about what the garden was going to look like, what flowers they would have, and how you could put out a small table, make a little shady patio where you could sit…

Somewhere in all of this the tears started to flow from Virginia's eyes. Quiet, translucent pearls that found their way down her cheeks, wet her pillowcase. No sobs, just tears that streamed down, jewels of sadness… or joy?

Lacke grew silent. Virginia squeezed his hand, hard.

Then Lacke walked out into the corridor and managed to half-convince, half-plead his way to an extra cot. Lacke positioned it so it was exactly next to Virginia's. Turned out the light, took off his clothes, and crawled down into the stiff sheets, fumbled for and found her hand.

They lay like that for a long time. Then came the words. "Lacke. I love you."

And Lacke did not reply. Simply let the words hang in the air. Become encapsulated and grow until they were a large red blanket that floated around the room, that lowered itself onto him and kept him warm all night.

4:23, Monday morning, Iceland sqUare:

A number of people in the vicinity of Bjornsonsgatan are awakened by loud screams. One person who calls into the police believes it is an infant crying. When the police arrive on the scene ten minutes later the screams have stopped. They search the area and find a number of dead cats. On some the extremities have become separated from the body. The police find contact information on the cats with collars and make a note of names and telephone numbers with the intention of notifying the owners. Street services are contacted for clean up.

Half an hour until sunrise.

Eli is reclining in the armchair in the living room. He has been here all night, morning. Packed up what there is to pack.

Tomorrow evening, as soon as it gets dark, Eli will go to a telephone booth and ring a taxi. He doesn't know which number to call, but it's probably something that everybody knows. Just have to ask. When the taxi comes he'll load his three boxes into the trunk and ask the taxi driver to take him…

Where?

Eli shuts his eyes, tries to imagine a place he would like to be.