Antti Tuomainen - The Healer

I saw coarse gravel, railroad ties, and the rails, shining in the night. When I raised my eyes higher I saw a tall fence, and beyond that a taller wall of rock glistening with rain. I looked to the side at the retreating rear of the train, and then that, too, was gone. All that was left were the tracks, reaching into infinity.

I looked in the other direction and saw the rail yard, the tracks like a vast steel web, and the brightly lit station on the horizon, shining like the world’s largest campfire, burning steadily even through the veil of rain. No trace of Pasi Tarkiainen.

I turned around several more times. All I got was freezing rain in my eyes. The cold took its numbing hold on my body again. Finally, I shoved the gun in my coat pocket and walked back toward the station.

Someone was jumping from the platform onto the tracks and coming toward me with quick steps, every third or fourth step ending in a treacherous stumble. I recognized the walk—eager, decisive. The grayish-blue coat, which was hanging slightly crooked, and the baggy black pants were familiar. There was something strange about the hands though, held straight out in front like that, not swinging from side to side for balance. When I could make out the hair and face, I was sure. The hair was dirty and tangled, the face pale and wet. From closer up, I could see a bloody scratch on the right cheek and a dark blotch on the chin. Lips dry and cracked. I could see the plastic tie around the wrists now and the feverish light of complete exhaustion—but also persistence and strength—in the eyes as they fastened on me again and again.

Johanna stumbled against me. I kissed her hair, held her head against my chest. She clung to my chest, my face, and finally my hands. I could see in her eyes that she’d been drugged, and it was hard for her to speak through her dry lips, stiff tongue, and hoarse throat. The words came out short and rough, and I couldn’t understand her. It didn’t matter. I held her in my arms and murmured soothing words in her ear. I told her I loved her a thousand times.

I could see Jaatinen behind her. He had climbed, or been lifted, onto a baggage cart and driven it to the end of the platform. Sitting there in the rain, he looked like a ship’s captain on lookout. He spread his arms, and I knew he was asking about Tarkiainen. I shook my head.

His arms fell to his sides and he sat looking at me and Johanna. His expression may have been one of bafflement or disappointment. I couldn’t worry about that. I closed my eyes to better feel what was in my arms.

I walked Johanna back to the station. Her steps were short and unsteady, but they were headed in the right direction.

The slightest creaking of the house, scratch of bird’s feet on the tin-covered windowsill, or strong wind in the crowns of the pine trees that bend over the bedroom window, and Johanna will flinch. But then she falls asleep again almost immediately.

It’s a brightening spring morning at the end of April. The sun comes up early and shines buttercup yellow as soon as it rises, bright and strong.

I’m careful not to touch Johanna. The slightest touch can wake her. The blanket is wrapped around her like a bandage. Her cheek presses deep into the pillow, and I can hear a quiet, steady sniffling from her nose.

I get out of bed without making a sound, close the bedroom door behind me, and walk into the kitchen. I make coffee and stand in front of the window. The surface of the bay at Vanhakaupunki is dazzling blue and ragged from the wind. Here and there around the bay you can already see the various shades of the coming spring, from pale buds to the deepest green.

There’s almost nothing to remind me of the past Christmas. Johanna recovered physically a long time ago, of course. She still has nightmares and a wariness—a feeling of fear in certain places and at certain times—that she finds hard to admit, even to herself.

I pour some coffee, sit down at the table, turn on my e-reader, and read the news. For some reason it doesn’t depress me anymore, although it gets steadily worse as time goes by. When I saw Jaatinen yesterday, he said it was because I look at life the same way that he does now—realistically, without baseless expectations, without looking backward. He seemed to be saying that I’m living life one day at a time. I didn’t contradict him.

The purpose of his visit was not just to check up on my attitude. He told me the investigation was complete—they had verified that Väntinen had killed dozens of people and that Gromov had conspired with him and blackmailed Lassi Uutela.

I tried to tell Jaatinen that I already knew all that, but he didn’t seem to want to hear what I was saying. So I let him go through the whole thing one more time. We also went through those minutes in the rail yard, without learning anything new. When he finally left, he had the same disappointed look on his face that he’d had at Christmas.

I don’t know why I’m turning all this over in my mind when my eye falls on the instant message icon, which I click without thinking. It’s Good Friday, and I’m not expecting anyone to get in touch with me.

The subject alone says a lot: THE BATTLE FOR GOOD CONTINUES.

I read the message. It’s well written, clearly argued, and completely unnerving.

I get up and walk to my office. I get out the backpack that I shoved to the very back of the closet at Christmas. Inside, I find what I’m looking for.

Just as I’m opening the bedroom door, I remember the frantic thoughts I had when Johanna disappeared. I remember wondering which was worse, complete certainty that the worst has happened, or fear, building up moment by moment. A sudden collapse, or slow, crumbling disintegration.

Maybe I should be satisfied now that I know the answer.

Johanna’s eyelids flutter, the spring sunshine is relentless. It pierces through the fabric of the blinds and soon conquers the entire room. Johanna doesn’t waken as I lie down beside her. She presses her head deeper into her pillow.

I can’t resist touching her fingers. As I brush them lightly, they withdraw a bit at first, but then they let me intertwine my own fingers with them. Something happens when I touch Johanna. Something in my heart stirs, something says this is right—this is good.

And it is good. I’m a part of her, and she’s a part of me. We’re as happy as two people can be in this world. Whatever happens, I will love Johanna.

I wait patiently, and when she wakes up, I tell her why I have a gun in my hand.

ANTTI TUOMAINEN (b. 1971) was an award-winning copywriter in the advertising industry before he made his literary debut in 2007 as a suspense author. The critically acclaimed Veljeni vartija ( My Brother’s Keeper ) was published two years later. In 2011 Tuomainen’s third novel, Parantaja ( The Healer ), was awarded the Clue Award for “Best Finnish Crime Novel 2011” and is being translated into 23 languages. He lives in Helsinki, Finland.

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THE HEALER. Copyright © 2010 by Antti Tuomainen.