Emelie Schepp - Slowly We Die

“You’re referring to National Police Commissioner Anders Wester,” Jana said. “But we don’t have the whole story yet, and not all of the suspects have been questioned...”

“That’s true, but you can’t deny that harsh sentences are needed in such a unique circumstance, to set a precedent for how seriously our society views this type of crime, can you? This is about our trust in the police force.”

“I can’t comment on that case,” Jana said.

“But don’t you agree that the penal system is a way for society to see how seriously different offenses are taken?” Hansen said.

“Yes, but as I said, there is no proof that harsher sentences result in fewer crimes, in the short term at least.”

“If I understand you correctly, you think that, instead, we should invest more resources in policies that focus on prevention, and this is the only way to lower crime?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“And what has led you to this conclusion?”

Jana looked him straight in the eye.

“Experience.”

* * *

Nurse Mattias Bohed was walking through Ward 11 at Vrinnevi Hospital with his colleague Sofia Olsson. Outside Room 38 sat a high-security guard named Andreas Hedberg, his back straight and hands folded. As the two nurses approached, Hedberg smiled shyly in Sofia’s direction and stood to unlock the door.

Once they had entered the room, Hedberg closed the door behind them and locked them in.

Murder suspect Danilo Peña had been receiving care in this private room, with a security guard stationed outside the door around the clock. Mattias didn’t know much more about the patient than what he had read online—that the guy was a criminal who had been mixed up in what had come to be called Policegate. He was suspected of having killed several Thai girls caught up in drug trafficking. The nursing staff that had been handpicked to take care of him had received a strict warning: absolutely no one was allowed to be alone with the patient in the room.

“Did someone forget to turn off the light?” Sofia asked when she saw that the lamp near the bed was on.

“No,” Mattias said. “I don’t think so.”

The private room was small and, aside from the usual medical equipment and monitors, contained only a bed, a nightstand and a chair.

Sofia took out a small glass bottle and swirled it carefully before drawing the fluid into a syringe.

“Oh, by the way, you heard that the patient woke up yesterday, right?” she asked.

“You’re kidding.”

“Yes, I am,” she said, smiling.

“Are you trying to scare me?”

“No, I just want you to be careful.”

The patient lay quietly in the bed, except for the rhythmic motion of his chest as it rose and fell with every breath. He was flat on his back with his eyes closed, a heart monitor attached to his chest and arms tucked under the blanket.

Mattias kept his distance even though he knew that the patient was in a drug-induced sleep.

“What’s up with you? I was just joking,” Sofia said, noticing Mattias’s nervousness. “He’s never shown the slightest sign of waking up when I’ve been here. He’s hardly even moved—he’s been lying just like this every single time I’ve come in.”

“But theoretically he could wake up if the medicine isn’t strong enough.”

“Oh, just relax,” she said.

“But, really, what would happen if he did?”

“He’s not going to wake up,” she said. She walked over to the bed and spoke to the patient in a calm voice telling him that it was time for his shot.

“Why are you talking to him if he can’t hear you?”

“Force of habit, maybe?”

She held the syringe full of sedative in her left hand and lifted the blanket up with her right.

“Could you give me a hand?” she asked.

Mattias went over and stood beside her, then reached over and wiped the skin of the patient’s upper arm with an alcohol swab. Danilo Peña’s body looked thin, he thought. He had probably lost a lot of muscle mass while lying in that hospital bed.

Mattias walked around the bed and tossed the swab into the wastebasket as he watched Sofia move the syringe closer to Peña’s upper arm.

“Sweet dreams,” she said.

Just then, Peña’s hand twitched and his eyes opened. Sofia jumped back and dropped the syringe on the floor. It rolled under the bed.

“Is he awake?” asked Mattias, who had backed up several steps toward the door.

“No. Look, his eyes are cloudy, unfocused. He’s still unconscious. But I wasn’t prepared for him to... I mean, I was just so surprised.”

She leaned over to pick up the syringe, stretching her arm under the bed, but it had rolled out of reach.

“It’s on your side. Could you pick it up while I prepare a new one?”

Mattias looked nervously at the patient before kneeling down on the floor. He could see Sofia’s feet and legs as he searched under the bed.

The syringe lay far back against the wall; his name tag and the pens in his chest pocket scraped against his chest as he wriggled in to reach it.

Just then, he heard a thud above him. He looked around but couldn’t see Sofia’s legs anymore.

“Sofia?” he said, getting up quickly, his hand gripping the syringe.

His body flooded with adrenaline when he saw that the blanket had been cast off and the bed was now empty.

Draped across the chair next to the bed was Sofia, her arms hanging limply and her eyes closed.

Mattias stared at her, his heart pounding so hard that it thundered in his ears. Not until then did he realize that he should press the alarm button and call for help, or call for the guard. But his body refused to obey him.

He took a step back, turned slowly and discovered the patient standing completely still behind him, just two steps away, his fists clenched and his eyes dark.

Mattias gripped the syringe harder and raised it, as if to defend himself.

“Don’t even think about it,” Peña said hoarsely, stepping toward the nurse.

Mattias tried to jab the syringe into Peña, but his arm movement was too predictable. Peña caught his arm instead and twisted it, causing a sharp pain to shoot through Mattias’s body.

“What do you want?” Mattias whimpered. “Just tell me what you want, I can help you...”

The pain in his arm rendered him unable to say anything more. He couldn’t stand it any longer, and the syringe slipped from his hand and fell to the floor.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?”

“Take off your clothes. Now!”

“Okay, okay,” Mattias said, but remained standing. He felt paralyzed, as if he were completely incapable of moving.

Only when Peña repeated the words a third time did he finally understand. As he pulled his white shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor, he noticed Peña’s monitor wires came loose and dropped to the floor.

“Pants, too.”

Mattias glanced toward the door.

“Are you stupid? Hurry up.”

The blow to his face came so quickly, Mattias didn’t have time to react. He touched his mouth gingerly and felt warm blood between his fingers.

Peña leaned over and picked up the syringe.

“Please,” Mattias said, “I’ll do whatever you want...”

“Your pants.”

Mattias quickly undid the drawstring on his white pants, pulling them down past his knees. He tried to pull one leg out, but his white gym shoe got caught in the fabric. He lost his balance and fell sideways. He felt a sharp pain in his hip as he landed on the floor but continued tugging on his pants leg.

He finally got his shoes and pants off and noticed the goose bumps covering his skin. He thought about his son, Vincent, who always got undressed so slowly. He always had to nag the boy when it was time to take a bath or go to bed. Now he promised himself that he would never nag him again. Never again, he thought, feeling a lump forming in his throat.