Pasi Jääskeläinen - Secret Passages in a Hillside Town

Karri’s profile has a few status updates, though not many comments. But then he only has five Facebook friends: Olli, Aino and the Blomrooses. The most recent post is from a week ago, written at night:

Karri Kultanen just woke up and is trying not to wake the man beside him and his little nymph.

Underneath it says:

Anne Blomroos likes this.

The next most recent post is from more than a year earlier, in the spring:

Karri Kultanen took two jacks out of the game, but spared the blonde Queen of Spades.

Under that one it says:

Anne Blomroos and 2 others like this.

The two others are Riku and Leo Blomroos.

There’s also a comment from Anne:

I don’t think my dear brothers would mind my bringing them along on this little cinematic project of ours (which I think of as a romantic comedy, although it does perhaps have hints of black). It’ll make them look a little less small-minded than they really were, in at least one person’s eyes.

Olli’s cigarette has fallen on the table. He picks it up, brushes the ashes onto the floor and takes a long drag, trying to comprehend it all.

Now a little chat window with a tiny image of the sleeping Hermaphroditus and Karri Kultanen’s name opens up at the bottom of the screen; Olli is so frightened that he shouts a curse.

Of course, he’s aware that it’s possible to chat through Facebook. He’s just never had any reason to try it. Email is modern enough for him.

The message in the box says: Hello, friend.

Olli feels like screaming. And turning off the computer. But instead he writes: Karri?

Answer: Yes. We should talk.

Olli shakes his head. No, no, no, he really doesn’t want to talk; he doesn’t want to know anything about Karri. With trembling fingers, however, he writes: Where are you?

Then, answering his own question, he mutters aloud, “Where do you think, Sherlock?”

Without waiting for an answer, he gets up from the computer, runs up the stairs and bursts into the bedroom.

Greta is sitting on the edge of the bed, in the dark. She’s naked. The laptop is open on the bedside table. The screen illuminates her pale face.

She looks at Olli and says, “My dear old friend, it’s just about time for the closing scene.”

The voice doesn’t sound like Greta. The posture and gaze are wrong, too. There is something in the eyes that is both strange and distantly familiar.

Olli feels sick.

OLLI FLINGS A ROBE into Karri’s lap and tells him he could at least cover the woman’s body that he’s had the nerve to hijack. Then he ushers him downstairs—he doesn’t want to spend any more time in this room.

Karri has difficulty walking on Greta’s feet; they’re still stiff and numb. Olli has to help him down the stairs. It feels awkward. He’s grateful for the powerful M-particles in the house that make the situation feel at least slightly less insane than it really is.

They sit across from each other at one of the downstairs tables. The room is dim; just one small light shines on the wall. Wind blasts the rain against the black window. Olli lights a cigarette and offers one to Karri.

He shakes his head and says, “Thanks, but I don’t smoke. That’s Greta’s vice, not mine.”

Olli blows smoke across the table.

“I guess it doesn’t matter any more,” he says quietly. “Greta’s sick. The woman I love will live for maybe a few more days, then she’s going to die. I wish I could say I’m glad to see you, Karri, but you’re a ghost. We left you behind thirty years ago in the secret passages, me and Greta. What are you doing here now? Couldn’t you show just a little respect and let us say goodbye in peace?”

“I’m sorry,” Karri says in a conciliatory tone, with Greta’s mouth. “Greta really is dying. She’s dying tomorrow at sunrise, to be precise. She’ll take her last breath in your arms and die completely happy, because she’ll no longer have to fear living her whole life without you. A beautiful cinematic ending. It’s my gift to her.”

“How magnanimous of you,” Olli whispers, horrified. “Were you planning to give something to me, too?”

The golden-haired creature across from him smiles diffidently, seeming not to notice his hostility.

Olli tries to see Karri through Greta, and when he can’t, averts his eyes.

“Yes, I was,” Karri says. “For the sake of our old friendship, and because I respect you, I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen. I’m sure it will help you bear the sad ending more easily. There’s no reason to deceive you any longer. It was only for Greta’s sake that this whole performance was written and produced.”

Olli must not look terribly appreciative, because Karri’s eyes grow moist.

“Oh, Olli,” he sighs, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. “You make me feel like the villain in this movie, revealing his dastardly plan to the hero just before he carries it out. Greta is very important to me. I created her, after all, from myself, for you. Luckily there was still something left of me, whispering in the background. Greta thought I was her deep cinematic self. If it weren’t for me, she would have remained just a plaything in Rio de Janeiro and eventually died on the operating table. And when she went to Anne Blomroos’s villa, I had no choice but to step out and rescue her from her impossible revenge plan.”

“Greta isn’t a murderer,” Olli says.

Karri is quiet for a moment, then turns serious. “Actually, your innocent little Greta would have shot Anne Blomroos without batting an eyelid. And she would have spared those foolish brothers, so she would have got caught. She would have been convicted of murder and sent to prison for the rest of her life. I couldn’t allow that. So I pushed her aside, shot Riku and Leo, and made a deal with Anne.”

“A deal?”

Karri nods. His eyes brighten. “For a long time I wanted to somehow make Greta’s greatest dream come true. And I saw that I had the opportunity to do it. Anne and I agreed that she would use the power she had to arrange things so that Greta could spend the end of her life with you and experience complete happiness and love. And after the beautiful cinematic ending—”

Olli doesn’t want to hear any more. “Well, thank you, Karri, for coming to prepare me for the death of the one I love,” he snarls, shaking his head, “but I’m sure you understand that right now I really want to—”

Karri leans towards him, touches his hand, and says, “Olli, you can call me Karri—I don’t mind—but Karri is no more real than Greta is. Greta was created in the secret passages to be a talented, wonderful girl that you could love. Karri, on the other hand, was the inhibited, shy boy Anna Kultanen raised for herself. Each of them is less than half of the whole truth that they both have to make way for.”

Olli looks at Karri, not able to really listen to what he’s saying. There is still some of this night left, but the morning is a bright front rolling towards them from the east. He lights another cigarette and wipes the tears from his cheeks as Karri whispers what is to come.

“So. Greta’s condition will collapse sometime in the morning, and when you’ve said your goodbyes, she’ll release her hold on life and pass away. Dr Oksanen will arrive, pronounce her dead and cover her with a sheet, like in the movies—we both know that Greta would appreciate that. Then the doctor will say his lines. They’re sentimental and corny, but let him have them. For a respected chemist he’s a surprisingly enthusiastic amateur actor, and working for Anne Blomroos, he rarely gets a shot at drama. Then you’ll leave the house, and your part of the story will be over. And while the credits are rolling—if you’ll pardon the expression—our doctor will give the patient the antidote, and—”