Christian Jungersen - The Exception

Zigic returns to the sitting room and walks around testing Malene’s chairs, lifting them and shaking them. He slams several of the chairs against the floor, selects one, places it in the middle of the floor and then turns to Iben. ‘Do you have any string?’

‘There might be some in the fourth drawer down next to the kitchen sink.’ Iben has no intention of telling him that there’s some in Malene’s desk.

When he goes to fetch it, she’ll be alone with Nenad for a few seconds, her last chance before they tie her down and start torturing her. She has to run for the front door. Losing them in the hallway and the stairwell is going to be nearly impossible, but she forces herself to remember Warsaw. And Sobibor.

Her whole body tenses. She hides her face behind the magazine. They mustn’t notice. Now she leans forward. Her heels against the floor.

Only Zigic does not go to the kitchen. Nenad goes instead. ‘I’ll fix some coffee as well.’

Zigic and Iben listen to Nenad opening and closing drawers in the kitchen.

‘There’s nothing here!’

Zigic suddenly remembers seeing a ball of string. He shuffles through the desk contents scattered on the floor and finds it under the radiator. He walks to the chair and turns to Iben.

‘Malene, come over here. We’ve got to leave you alone for a moment. We won’t be long. But I’m afraid I will have to tie you to a chair.’

It doesn’t matter whether he’s lying or not, and he knows it. What can she do except hope that her common sense, all her instincts, are mistaken?

While Zigic ties her arms behind her back, Nenad pops his head around the kitchen door. The scene doesn’t bother him at all — it must be routine. ‘Hey, where’s your coffee?’

Iben finds it hard to speak, her vocal cords seem coated with thick glue. ‘In the jar … by the window sill.’

Nenad seems to have another idea. He looks pleased with himself and cocks an eyebrow. ‘You have any cakes or biscuits?’

‘No.’

Zigic tightens the string. It cuts into her wrists and hurts badly — nothing compared to the pain to come. Soon he’ll discover her knife.

‘You know, there are some biscuits. Only three left. He’s probably eating them all right now.’

Zigic seems to find that funny. He yanks hard at the string to make sure she can’t move and wanders off to the kitchen.

Iben kicks her right leg up under the chair as far as it can go, reaches for the knife and grabs it. It’s something she has practised many times. She nicks herself as she jabs the tip of the knife under the string but suddenly her arms are free and she can stand up.

At lightning speed she slips soundlessly into the hallway. She’s able to reach the door without being discovered.

Denim Suit, however, is guarding the door downstairs. The moment she turns the dead bolt to the flat they’ll hear it in the kitchen. A couple of deep breaths. Someone in the kitchen throws something; she hears them run.

She turns the lock and almost flies down Malene’s stairwell, her feet barely touching the steps. They’re only a few metres behind her. As she throws herself around a turn in the staircase, she hits the handrail and almost tumbles into an endless fall. She grabs the handrail with her bloodied hands to stop her body from crashing down the steps and the knife clatters to the ground. This near-fall speeds her descent, but she has to stoop to pick up her knife.

The men behind her call out in Serbian to their guard below.

He shouts back: ‘OK!’

She’s already on the first-floor landing when he comes into view, walking slowly up towards her. He’s a big man.

She remembers exactly what the yard looked like.

If, like Rasmus, you’re on your way down the stairs and shoot out through the window, your body will take off to the right and become skewered on the fence posts, but if you’re on your way up, the angle of the fall should be different. It should be possible to miss the wide steel railings and land on the tarmac, clear of the fence.

Iben takes a few more steps down. Denim Suit is getting closer. She turns around, facing up towards the landing. With her hands, she grasps the rails on both sides of the stairs and pushes off with her arms and legs for maximum speed. Her body flies upward and forward. Back on the landing she doesn’t turn the corner but puts one foot on the guardrail and throws herself at the old stained-glass panes. Protecting her face with her arms against the shards of many-coloured glass, she falls less awkwardly than she did that night in Anne-Lise’s garden. She is on her feet at once, unaware of how badly she is cut. She runs along the wall to the entrance leading to the communal bicycle storage in the basement. She hears no steps. The far end leads to the street behind Malene’s house.

She keeps running. The air is much colder now. Normally, taking in lungfuls of icy air would hurt, but it doesn’t. She is becoming conscious of the pain in her hands and feet.

At last, she reaches Gunnar’s street.

She throws herself into his arms. Her nose is running and her wrist is bleeding, making large, dark stains on his shirt.

Gunnar carries her inside. ‘Iben, what on earth …?’

He dries her face gently with his shirt and asks where the blood is coming from. She is crying so much he cannot make sense of what she’s trying to say.

He examines her hands and starts picking fragments of glass from her blouse.

‘Iben, listen. You need to get out of your blouse and take a bath so we can see where your wounds are …’

‘I want to lie down.’

‘Of course. You will. But first we need to find out where you’re bleeding.’

‘ I want to lie down! ’

‘Yes, yes. Of course.’ He helps her to the sofa.

The light is too strong. She closes her eyes, but the brightness won’t go away. It seems to make dancing patterns against her lids. She asks for a cushion to cover her eyes. With her face partly hidden, she tries to pull herself together.

‘We have to get hold of Malene and warn her. It is very important.’

She tries to explain what happened, but hears how garbled she sounds.

‘Iben, let’s phone the police right now.’

Iben doesn’t reply.

‘Are you absolutely sure that no one saw you coming here?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Yes, we definitely have to phone the police.’

‘Wait. Just a little.’

‘But Iben, it’s essential …’

‘Just wait.’ Her whole body is shaking.

Gunnar gets up.

‘Don’t go.’

‘I was going to phone a doctor.’

‘I’ve only got a few cuts on my hands. That’s all. It looks worse than it is.’

‘Sure, but …’

‘Gunnar, please stay. You’re not to phone anyone.’

She hears him sit down in a chair next to her.

‘I need to get some paper towels and a bowl of water. I can clean your cuts while you lie here. That’s all right, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. I’d like that.’

‘Tell you what … I won’t phone anyone until tomorrow morning.’

‘That’s very good of you. I’m just so …’

When Iben takes the cushion away, the first thing she sees is that the room is full of books, just like her own. The flat is large with ample space between the pieces of furniture. The effect is somehow unfinished, as if he had been allowed half of the family home after his divorce and let the years pass without buying anything new.

She looks at Gunnar. She wants him to hold her close again, like the moment she arrived. She tries to recall what his warm body felt like. She has found a safe place where Zigic won’t find her and where she will be taken care of. She touches Gunnar’s thigh with her hand and relaxes. She suddenly burps. They both burst out laughing. She begins to feel well enough to feel self-conscious in front of him.