Ane Riel - Resin

Roald carefully pulled out the file. ‘To Liv’, it said in cursive writing on the cover. He opened it, only for a moment, but long enough to see that it contained both handwritten letters and several smaller notes, some apparently stuffed randomly into the file. A single scrap of paper from a notebook seemed to have escaped and was still trapped between the mattress and the bedframe. He could barely make out what it said because it was written with clumsy capitals on top of one another.

He didn’t have time to think about why he did it. Quick as lightning, he stuffed the loose scrap into the file with the other notes, then slipped the file under his shirt. He could feel his heart pounding furiously.

He continued to squat behind the bathtub for a few more seconds while he tried to calm his nerves. Then he got up and pushed the tub close to the bed, just like he had been told to. Jens Horder was still facing away from him. The knife was tucked into his belt at the back.

If only he could slip past him, but how? He looked at the woman in the bed for a moment and then he said:

‘I think your wife is trying to say something.’

Jens Horder spun around and stared at Maria. Seconds later, he was back by the headboard.

Roald stepped aside to make way for him.

‘She was trying to say something just now,’ he lied again.

Horder stroked the dead woman’s hand and moved his face close to her.

‘My darling,’ he whispered. ‘Are you still awake?’

And that was when Roald ran. He jumped past the bathtub on his way to the door. The box which Horder had struggled with was still close to the edge of the pile it was resting on, and with his newly acquired strength Roald managed to pull it down behind him. It hit the floor with a crash and something shattered. Out in the passage, he knocked down everything he could in order to block Jens Horder’s path. Some big clip frames landed cooperatively across the floor of the corridor. A standard lamp keeled over, dragging rolls of fabric with it. A flower-pot stand was knocked over and bumped down the stairs, along with engine parts and tinned food, petrol cans and toys. Something hit a crumbling sack, which responded by spewing its foul-smelling contents over the landing.

Roald made it down the stairs and out through the hall. He didn’t look back. He tore open the heavy front door, just as he had done earlier but experiencing a different fear this time. The fear of death was chasing him, as were the smell, the noises and the darkness. As soon as he was outside he slammed the door shut behind him.

The light was overwhelming, but not blinding. The sun threw itself into the farmyard from the south-west. It was on his side. And a sunbeam revealed a kneeling archer who was aiming her bow at him.

Roald ran down the steps, towards the child and the bow. ‘Don’t shoot, Liv!’ he called out. ‘I promised your mum to help you, and I’ve got something—’

He slowed his pace when the child suddenly stood up and pointed. ‘ Stop! ’ she screamed. ‘Go the other way around the cooker.’

Roald reacted instinctively. He screeched to a halt and took a step back to run the other way around the pile with the old cooker on the top. A second later the cooker crashed on to the path with a mighty bang.

The girl tossed aside her bow and clutched her head with both hands.

Roald’s heart was in his throat as he ran towards her. That poor child , was the only thought going through his mind. That poor, poor child .

She slumped to her knees as he came closer. And that was when he realized that she wasn’t staring at him. But at something behind him.

Roald turned around to see what Liv was looking at. It wasn’t, as he had initially feared, Jens Horder emerging from the front door, brandishing a knife.

It was Jens Horder’s house giving up.

First the roof ridge sunk down, as if the house were taking its last breath. Then the entire building exhaled in a deafening sigh. It crumbled. Everything seemed to fall inwards – with the exception of the front door, which was flung across the farmyard.

Roald held the child in a tight grip when he saw a red glow through the first-floor window. The flames were quick to follow. Soon the ground floor was also engulfed in fire.

The child wept quietly but pitifully amidst the noise. Roald squatted down behind her with his arms around her sobbing body and his head on her frail shoulders. The soft feathers on the arrows tickled his throat.

‘My mum,’ he heard her say. ‘And my dad.’

‘Your mum was already dead when we got up there,’ he said, as gently as possible. ‘She died in her sleep. She didn’t feel a thing. And your dad was with her. The last thing I saw was him kissing her.’

Roald briefly considered whether he had a duty to try to rescue Jens Horder from the burning house, however small the chance, but it was an inferno of flames and smoke. No one would get out of there alive.

‘It all happened so quickly,’ he said then. ‘Your dad didn’t feel a thing either.’

‘Good,’ the girl sobbed.

Roald carefully but firmly turned her around so that she was facing him, and then lifted her to standing. He placed his hands on her shoulders.

‘You and I are going to go now,’ he said. ‘I’ll take care of you, but we have to leave now. The fire will spread soon.’

The girl nodded again and picked up her bow. As she stood there with the quiver of arrows on her back and the bow in her hand, she resembled a small, brave soldier.

She looked up at him. Roald didn’t know what to say next. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she was subjecting him to the most intense scrutiny he had ever experienced. She examined his eyes, searching for something. He wasn’t even aware that he was also crying until he felt the tears roll down his cheek.

Then she looked like she had come to some sort of conclusion, because she put down the bow, resolutely lifted the strap of the quiver over her head and chucked her ammunition down beside her weapon without giving it a second glance. The soldier’s acceptance that the war was over.

‘Good, then let’s—’ Roald said, but he was interrupted.

‘There are traps, so don’t follow me,’ the girl ordered him, with admirable resolve in her little voice. ‘I’ll be back in two secs. Stay here.’

Before Roald had time to protest, the brown-and-orange sweater disappeared through the piles, using God knows what route, but she was heading for the barn.

He sized up the house again. They probably had some time, but not much. The heat pressed against him and his eyes began to sting.

He spotted Jens Horder’s coat thrown over a barrel in a nearby pile. Roald picked it up. It was heavy and falling apart. The suede had been worn shiny and the lining was fraying in several places. In one of the big front pockets was a thick buff-coloured envelope. Roald stuffed it into his own front pocket and quickly examined the rest of Horder’s coat, while looking out anxiously for Liv.

In the inside pocket was a folded letter.

Roald hesitated. He had always respected the confidentiality of other people’s letters and had never read as much as a postcard which wasn’t addressed to him. But then again, this situation was rather…

He unfolded the letter and started to read.

Dear Jens

There’s no denying it has been a long time, and that’s entirely my fault. For that reason, writing this letter isn’t easy…

When at that very second Liv came running from the barn, he quickly folded the letter and stuffed it into his inside pocket. Behind the girl he saw the clapped-out dapple-grey horse and some smaller shadows disappear in the direction of the forest.