Towards White

by Zena Shapter

  “Pastel blue with gold,” Ólaf mutters with such practised dismay even I want to believe him. “He…he’s telling the truth. Ari is Jón’s partner! But that’s not possible.” He squints at the Sannlitró-Völva’s screen. “It can’t be.”

  “What a performance!” Jón stares at Ólaf with such fake adoration it looks like he’s going to start clapping in sarcasm.

  This time, Ólaf taps a command into the machine without hesitation. It powers down.

  Slowly Anna stands, her eyes focused on a void of air before her, her lips tight, her breathing shallow.

  “Sit down, Anna,” I whisper into her ear. “It’s not Ari. It’s a trick.”

  “I’m afraid the Sannlitró-Völva cannot be tricked, my dear,” Ólaf says.

  He heard me?

  “Unless,” Jón pauses for emphasis, “you want it to trick an old schoolmate who made it good,” he raises his eyebrows at Ólaf, “so good you couldn’t resist taking it all away from him the second you had the chance, to show that bastard he should never have called you ‘Freak’ in the playground.”

  “That’s enough, Jón.” Ólaf unlocks the gun’s safety.

  “Why, Freak? Don’t you think they’d like to know how it all started, how your mates at school used to call you Dustman because of that bastard? You hated him for what he did, even though that’s what you are of course—a freak!”

  “I’m warning you, Jón.”

  “The doctors knew it. Your wife knew it. That’s why she left you.” He laughs. “It wasn’t because of the years you spent specialising so you could prove your schoolmates wrong. It wasn’t because you worked too hard, all those long hours. No. It was because you’re a freak. A short—balding—Freak!”

  “Shut up!” Ólaf yells.

  “Was the look on his face worth it, Ólaf, when you sent him off to the Cooperative? I’m guessing it was, because that’s why you got me to help more often, wasn’t it?” Jón laughs. “Every time you noticed some rich prick’s energy was more navy than it should have been, you attacked their guilt like a shark smelling blood. Freak!”

  Ólaf shudders. “Shut up. No one laughs at me anymore.”

  I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as I turn to Anna. This is it. This is what Ólaf has kept buried inside him. I swallow to relax the tightening in my throat. “Anna,” I whisper, though I know now there’s little point given the room’s apparent acoustics, “I think Jón’s telling the truth. Ólaf is his partner.”

  Anna shakes her head as if pitying my ignorance.

  “Think about it, Anna, what does he do for a living?”

  “Becky,” she closes her eyes and whispers in English, “I know you don’t want it to be Ari. But do you really think Ólaf would be so stupid as to perform this examination himself if he were in any way involved? Nei. You said it yourself, it’s always the one you least expect. Who do you least expect, Becky?”

  “Anna, you’re not thinking this through.”

  “Neither are you! How do you think Ari rescued Mark’s body if the silt at that boulder was so fragile you fell in yourself? And he said he saw Jón at the glacier earlier, but did you see Jón? Did you even see Ari fall in?” She resumes an audible volume. “I’m sorry, Ólaf. I think Becky’s having trouble believing it’s Ari…for obvious reasons.”

  Ólaf nods his head. “It’s okay. She doesn’t know me well enough to trust me.”

  “Anna,” I pull her closer, “Ólaf told me Mark went to Jötunnsjökull because of a girl. You know as well as I do Mark would never have been interested in any girl, and he certainly wouldn’t have gone hiking to impress one. Why would Ólaf make something like that up unless it was to distract me?”

  “Maybe he was trying to help,” she says, more as a statement than a question. “He remembered wrong, that’s all.”

  “I understand, Anna, I really do.” I keep my tone placatory. “He’s your cousin, Ari’s close friend. It’s illogical someone like that would hurt—”

  “That’s enough, Becky,” she urges softly, “you’ve got it wrong. Ólaf is the most honourable, respectable man I know, and I’ve known him all my life. You remember my family came to Höfkállur every year? We came to see my father’s family—Ólaf’s parents. I played with Ólaf when we were kids. He’s been helping me. Don’t embarrass him because you can’t admit it’s Ari.”

  “Why don’t we call Ari?” Jón leans forward. “He’ll tell us where he is and we can tell him to hurry back,” he raises his voice, “because Ólaf is my partner and he has a gun on me!”

  “Why are you saying all this, Jón?” Ólaf lowers the gun. “Is it so Ari can escape with the money? Did you plan this together?”

  “Escape? Oh no,” Anna struggles to her feet. “Ólaf, stay here and guard Jón.” She hobbles towards the door.

  “Anna, sweetheart, don’t leave.” Jón retrieves his phone from a pocket. “We can call Ari.”

  “Put the phone down, Jón.” Ólaf raises the gun again, pushes his glasses up his nose with his spare hand. “We all know Ari won’t pick up. You’re delaying us so he can escape with the money and share it with you later.”

  “He mustn’t escape!” Anna mutters.

  “Anna!” I plead, heading after her. “Wait! This is exactly what he—” I bang my thigh as I slide out of the bench. “Argh!” Anna’s phone clangs to the floor. Blood drips down my thigh. The Leukostrips have snapped. But Anna’s already loping into the corridor. So I scurry after her, clinging onto bench backs and doorframes as I go. My leg smarts with each footstep but I have to reach her. “Wait!”

  She doesn’t. As I enter the corridor, she’s limping away from the Dómstóll as fast as she can.

  “Wait Anna! You’re wrong. It’s not Ari! We need to get back inside before—”

  It’s too late. The paralysing sound of a single gunshot explodes through the air. Stunned, we survey each other for an explanation. There is only one.

  We throw ourselves back down the corridor, spiralling into the Dómstóll to hear the shot still tolling around the room.

  Chapter 27

  My eyes flash to the blood-spitting entity at my feet. Anna collapses to kneel beside it.

  “Jón,” she whispers, easing his head into her lap, “what happened?”

  “He tried to escape!” Ólaf says in English, waggling his head. He drops Jón’s gun onto the machine’s controls, one hand on its grip. “I’ve never used a gun before. I was aiming for his leg.” He peers over the machine to inspect the perfect cherry circle he’s inflicted on Jón’s torso. “Reykjavík still needs to examine him. Can he talk?”

  Jón coughs a colony of ruby droplets into the air as he tries to speak. His bronzed face is lined with agony as he struggles to communicate.

  “Shh, Jón, shh,” Anna murmurs. “Don’t even try, love. Save your strength.”

  Jón shakes his head, determined. He’s going to say something but I won’t understand him because my earpiece has disconnected from Anna’s phone.

  Shit.

  I search under the benches for her phone, then realise I could also use it to call for help. It’s near where we were sitting. I inch towards it while Ólaf talks.

  “He threatened me,” he says. “He said he and Ari killed Mark because he threatened to expose them, and now they would to do the same to me. He…he went for the gun.”

  I look at Jón. He’s fallen right in front of the Sannlitró-Völva. There’s blood over the back of the examination chair. A round splatter sits at chest height. Jón was in the chair when Ólaf shot him, in cold blood.

  I pretend to slump onto the bench, then shuffle my foot sideways until it finds the phone. As I scrape it towards me, Ólaf hears and snatches up the gun. I throw myself to the floor, grab the phone and start dialling.

  “You really want to do that, Ms Dales?”

 
; I glance up.

  He’s changed his aim to Anna, not that she’s noticed. She’s intent on stroking Jón’s hair to discourage him from speaking, fanning the sleek black strands of his ponytail over her lap, stroking the fine sides of his goatee. “Not a word, Becky.” Ólaf warns me, his mouth twitching. “Move in front of the Sannlitró-Völva now please. You shouldn’t have come back.” He sounds disappointed. “Now I have no choice. I thought you’d have realised that. Anna,” he continues in Icelandic, “Jón keyrði Mark…”

  I reconnect my earpiece, only catch the last two of Ólaf’s words.

  “…Friday morning.”

  “Doctor Emil said the same thing,” replies Anna. “But I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s true. Now Becky,” Ólaf says to me. “Move over there please, next to your brother’s killer.”

  I step over to the examination chair, squinting again at the man in Anna’s lap—if only looks could kill. Blood oozes from his chest, making my stomach flip and a burning bile creep up to snag my tonsils. Even so, I take only satisfaction from the sight. He deserves everything hell might bring.

  “But,” Ólaf grins as he continues, “here’s something Doctor Emil wouldn’t have been able to tell you, Anna, about Pàll.” Jón shakes his head so vigorously he splutters on the blood filling his throat. Droplets speckle his goatee. “There in your lap is also the driver who killed your husband.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Ólaf.” Anna glances at me. “Jón wasn’t even living here when Pàll died. We met shortly after he arrived, months after Pàll, I remember.” She looks to Jón for confirmation, switches into Icelandic. “You moved here how long after Pàll died?”

  His arm trembling, Jón reaches up to hold Anna’s hand, keeps his eyes locked on hers. “It…was…dark.” He pushes the words out with such force his body judders with each syllable. “He came…from nowhere. Didn’t…see…ice…”

  “Who told you this sweetheart?” Anna whispers.

  “I’m telling you.” Jón pants, exhausted.

  “Jón.” Anna gulps as if trying to swallow the realisation swelling inside her. “What did you do? You’d only just arrived. ‘Only just’ means days, not months, right?” Then it clicks. Her lips quiver. “That’s why you wouldn’t help me? Not because of resources or because you were protecting someone, but because it was you? You?”

  He creases his eyes to avoid witnessing her disillusionment.

  “For all these years it’s been all I needed to know,” her tone becomes wistful, “and it was you?”

  “I wanted…” His mouth opens to say more but he doesn’t have the strength. His eyes roll back and his head tilts to one side.

  “I…I’ve dreamt of this moment. What I would say, what I would do.” Anna stares into space, then turns back to notice Jón’s lack of response. “Jón…Jón!” She paws at his shoulders, then throws herself across his torso. “He’s still breathing. Ólaf, call an ambulance! Quick!”

  “Sorry it had to come to this, my dear,” Ólaf says, not looking up from the machine. He’s busy programming it.

  “I don’t understand. Call an ambulance!” She looks at me, notices the phone in my hand. “Becky, ambulance!” When I don’t move, she pounces at the phone.

  “Anna, stop!” Ólaf yells.

  Finally Anna sees the gun pointing at her and freezes. “Ólaf?”

  “Go and stand next to her,” he narrows his eyes at me, “by the examination chair. Now please!” He watches her step towards me, tilting his head back and gazing at her with a lust he needn’t hide anymore. “I was trying so hard. Of course as soon as Ari called me tonight I knew—I knew this would happen.” He refastens his grip on the gun. “Why couldn’t you forget about Pàll and move on? Things could have been so different between us…”

  When Anna reaches me she seeks out my hand. “But…you’re my cousin…you’ve been helping me.”

  Ólaf shudders as if banishing some irritation. “Anna, my dear, the only good thing about helping you was that it kept you close. You told me every property you found. I knew where you kept your diary, how long I had left to make Jón responsible for it all and be on my way. You served a purpose.”

  “You’re lying.” I goad him to bide time. “You’re her cousin. You care about her and what she’s gone throu—”

  “Oh don’t get me started on the poor widow. What about me? My wife left me, took my son with her to Norway, and now they’re living with her bastard lover.”

  “She married that bastard, Ólaf.” Anna searches his eyes. “Years ago.”

  “So time heals all wounds, does it?”

  “Does money?” I ask him.

  “I think you’ll find I have a scientific obligation to keep myself cheery, keep my energy as positive as I can after all my years of suffering. A beach house in Canada will help. National gratitude for my unrecognised gifts will help too. My plan, originally, was for you to go with me, Anna, to Canada. That’s not possible now of course.” He glances at the Sannlitró-Völva controls. “The trauma from today will probably force me to retire early, next week I think. Now if you don’t mind I should go before the others return.” Keeping the gun steady, he uses his spare hand to tap further commands into the machine.

  “But,” I say, trying to think of something to keep him here longer, “that wasn’t your only plan, was it? You planned for something much bigger.” He used the words ‘national gratitude’. “You wanted the whole country to be thankful.”

  He waves the gun in the air. “Of course! I’m sorry Anna but Jón was always going to have to die. If it makes you feel any better it was for a good cause: Iceland doesn’t need another philosophy to get fanatical about, no country does. People deserve to know the Heimspeki’s inherent flaws. No matter what life after death promises, some people will always believe they’re entitled to take what others have—circumstances simply make it the right thing for them to do! Nothing should encourage that way of thinking, don’t you agree?”

  “So you didn’t want the Sannlitró-Völva to be sold to other countries? I thought you were helping promote it?”

  “The Sannlitró-Völva is different to the Heimspeki, my dear. Once people see the machine in action, of course everyone will want one. Unlike philosophy, criminal detection and deterrents do actually work. They’ll need a good technician, though, one with the litagjöf who can ensure the machine functions properly, without interference.”

  “And you’ll be the one for the job?”

  “As I am here today.”

  “There I was thinking Jón was the mastermind.”

  “Him? Ha! When he came up here, all he cared about was impressing his mama. He ran over Pàll his first week here. I saw his energy change straight away. It was an accident, that’s true, but he couldn’t stuff up his big break now could he? So I helped him keep his secrets, as long as he did what I told him. Ah, now you cry.”

  Tears cascade down Anna’s cheeks.

  “Gott.” Ólaf says, seeing her. “That’s how I’ve felt every night for the last ten years. You know, Anna, I went to Jötunnsjökull when she left me, but no love glowed to me! I lost everything, same as you. No one came to make it better.”

  “And you think this will help?” I ask. “What about your energy? A beach house in Canada can’t make up for killing people!”

  “Well, some people in this world have to be more negative than positive, Becky, otherwise surely there’d be an imbalance of energy?” He smirks as if he believes no such thing, then bends forward to open the glass case of the Sannlitró-Völva’s generator. Prying it off at the hinges, he slams it across the floor. It doesn’t shatter but it does glide out of reach. “Okay, gott. All ready. You’ve got ten seconds. As you know, Becky, that’s how long it takes this thing to charge, and that’s how long it’ll take me to reach the door. Now don’t move. Though, it would look more like an
accident if you did.” Pressing the last onscreen button, he dashes for the door.

  We’re out of time.

  “Still think beauty makes you untouchable, my dear?” he says to Anna, pulling the door behind him.

  Chapter 28

  Ólaf keeps the gun on Anna and I, closes the Dómstóll’s reinforced glass door, pulls his yellow keycard from his pocket and locks the door pad. He waits until the Sannlitró-Völva’s generator sparks into life, then mouths ‘bless’ and strides away, tucking the gun into his belt and pushing up his glasses. Anna and I are speechless. The machine’s power source is about to be unleashed and there’s nothing we can do.

  The top doors.

  I grab Anna’s arm to pull her towards the administrators’ exit at the back of the room, but she yanks me to the ground. As I collide with the floor, a flash of searing light blazes past me to bite a galvanic black hole in the wall behind us. It’s already too late to reach the top doors. We’re trapped.

  “Quick!” I shout over the crackle of electricity building. “Over there!”

  We crawl towards a table as a second electric spindle flashes across the room. We dive behind the examination chair, though it won’t give much cover, there are too many slats—so many that we can see Ólaf hurrying away.

  “No!” Anna yells, so lost in her cousin’s escape she stands.

  “Keep down, Anna!” I pull her down. The smell of scorched wood darkens the air and there’s no telling when the next zap of electricity will come.

  But then something happens to Ólaf that distracts me too. He stops a metre before the Dómstóll’s glass windows meet the wall, and the smug expression on his face drains as fast as storm water down a gutter. His mouth twitches as he talks with someone. He gesticulates emphatically and points towards us with a look of panic on his face. As he moves back, the person he’s addressing eases into view.

  Ari.

  His body rigid, Ari takes one look inside the Dómstóll, sees us behind the chair, then lunges at the gun threaded through Ólaf’s waistband. Ólaf is too slow to react and Ari aims the gun at him before Ólaf even realises his lies haven’t worked. Ari pulls his phone from his pocket and shoves its display in Ólaf’s face. He’s read my notes. He waves the gun at the door, shouting until Ólaf retrieves his keycard from his pocket.