by Piotr Ryczko
It was Pål.
* * *
Magda knew she had come to terms with her own lies, voice her hypocrisy. And the impossible choice became her only option. It made the act she was about to carry out possible.
He was still unconscious and would probably remain so until she had finished. She stroked the few hairs he still had left, his hair loss caused by the chemos she had forced on him in an attempt to halt the inevitable, but had instead ravaged his body.
She would be sixty in two years’ time, if she lived that long. All her life had been one incessant flurry of movement forward, an energy that couldn’t be contained, channelled into this place. It had taken her thirty years to come this far, to reach this point. Yet, it would only take the next two minutes to tear down everything. Including his life.
All it took was a few silly buttons on the life support machine, the only thing that separated him from here and somewhere else. A place she wished existed, if only for his sake.
She pressed down on them, turning off the two ventilators that pushed oxygenated and humidified air into his lungs. As they powered down, their rhythmic pumping faded away into silence. And with the newfound quiet, she could feel some part of her disappearing into a dark crevice.
She knew she wasn’t finished, though. She proceeded to pull out his thoracotomy tube, which protruded from his chest, the only thing that made sure his lung was constantly drained after it had collapsed a few months ago. As she did this, it felt as if she had pierced her own stomach with a dull knife, grated it and twisted it inside.
Despite this choking pain, she focused her mind on the only comfort she could have at this moment. She was sure he couldn’t feel a thing, that he slid gently over the threshold without sharing her pain.
So, she kept on.
One cable at a time, one button press after the other, she separated him from this world. While stroking his hair, making sure that if he was still present in some way, the only thing he would feel would be her love.
* * *
Pål still didn’t know why he had waited this long. On several occasions, during the last three days, he had fired up the car and driven away. Each time, he had made it past a block. Maybe even two. Then he stopped.
Shortly afterwards, he came hurtling back like a dog on an elastic leash, whipped back into obedience by his master.
And as he stood there again, time flew by, his temporary parking spot turned into a camping site. And his stay became an unintended vacation in hell.
He didn’t know what to think. Was she ignoring him and just needed to hitch a ride to the clinic? Was all that talk just some empty words, thrown at an emotionally starved old geezer who was willing to do anything for something resembling a whiff of compassion? Or maybe he had it all wrong. Maybe she had done this for him out of pity. Maybe he was simply insignificant. And along the way, she had simply forgotten about him. After all, she was saving the world.
At this point, after a mind avalanche like this, his breath felt like a steel scraper against his throat, grating his nervous system to shreds.
He knew exactly where these kinds of situation led. The doctors warned him about it. He had to restrain himself. He knew he was harmless towards others. Not that he wanted to harm anyone.
Still, it didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt himself. And that felt good. It was at least some illusion of freedom. And any way would do, as long as the physical pain numbed out the real pain. The one that really hurt. The moments with his family that he still remembered.
So, he punched at anything in the vicinity, anything hard enough to matter. During the arduous wait for Viola, it was mostly the steering wheel or the dashboard. Sometimes he broke a few bones, yet this time, it was only bruises.
After a bout like that, he had blasted away from the vicinity of the clinic, but again had screeched the car to a halt, further down the street. Then he had returned again, and parked just outside.
The obedient dog.
But then he had seen the women climbing out.
And now, as he helped each one down the gutter, his doubts left him, his anger dissipated. Replaced by an energy he didn’t know he had in himself anymore. The same one that made him into one of the hardest-working cops in his career.
One after the other, the women made their way down the wall. Slippers, patient gowns, children and babies draped across their chests, everyone shivering from the cold. None of them prepared for what waited outside.
As he ran his eyes along the crowd, he failed to locate Viola amongst them.
“And Viola? She here?” He threw out the question and the women immediately sensed his concern, then one by one they shook their heads in dismay.
“She disappeared right after you started helping us down,” someone cried out from behind.
“Can’t wait. Gotta go. Now!” Pål screamed and pushed everybody towards his car.
* * *
The Chief Inspector felt a sigh pass through him as he eyed the axes ripping the door apart. Everything, including breaking open this simple door, had taken an inordinate amount of time.
This whole investigation had been one long streak of wild cards. But the last one, his squad entering this clinic on a Sunday, without a green light from his boss, this was the point of no return.
He heard the maligning voices at the station, the ones behind his back. He was just about done for, almost buried for good. He had the wits to face this fact, he knew it to be true, yet he gambled everything on nothing more than a hunch.
And unless he came out of this with something akin to total success, this stunt would bury him and his career. The simple fact was that he couldn’t return empty-handed, not after today.
But then everything had gone wrong. His men had entered the premises half an hour ago, and the only thing they had managed was to blunder their way through the almost empty clinic. They had set off all the alarms that could be triggered and seized the suspects he had no use for. Amateurs would fare better.
They had arrested a couple of oblivious young women, whom he would have to release in a couple of hours anyway. And he was sure that after they had come down from their feigned trauma, they would set their lawyers on them.
Then his men had shut down the surveillance system, but the only thing this generated was even more mayhem, as several crucial sections got sealed off. Including the room they were trying to get into now.
Yet he had a good nose for these things, and it told him that behind this door were the answers he was searching for. And as he watched his men blast open the door with their axes, an opening revealed itself.
Moments later, his boots crushed at the glass shards strewn across the marble floor. His eyes scanned the room and instantly caught the broken glass door. He swerved his body in between the protruding glass and rushed out onto the balcony.
As he whirled around himself, a simple fact reached his mind. Whoever had crushed this door, was long gone. And with them, probably his last chance at solving this case.
* * *
Viola was battered and left a trail of blood behind her. She shuddered in agony at the few glass shards still in her body. Yet, she was still standing upright, on her feet. After the impact through the glass, she had lost way too much blood, her mind fumbling with even the simplest of tasks. But as long as she could shuffle her legs back and forth, she knew she would be all right.
So it was nothing short of a miracle that she had made her way towards Magda’s office without being detected. Her time was about to run out, she knew that.
But as she faced the door now, she was almost home. Yet, one tiny hurdle remained. The alarms had jammed all the doors, and this door, made of oak, wouldn’t be so forgiving towards her body. This left only one option, Magda’s card. She swiped it once, twice, but this yielded the same result as upstairs. Everything was sealed.
She pivoted her body around, searched for anything resembling a solution, but quickly realised this was a dead end.
Then, as i
f on cue, she heard all the alarm systems come back online. Whatever had brought this on, it couldn’t have been timed better. She swept the card and the door hissed open.
As she burst into the room, she caught the glimmer of a laptop screen.
Late evening
Pål had spent the last two years in isolation, divided proportionally into two things, the booze and feeling sorry for himself. And he did everything in his power to uphold this holy balance.
But right now, as he supported one of the women whose foot was bleeding all over the snow, and eyed the children gushing with fear, he felt a pang of guilt. He couldn’t quite understand what his holy balance had been about.
As they made their way to his car, Pål was worried sick. His tiny Fiat Cinquecento was the smallest tin can ever to be mass produced. The four people it was supposed to accommodate was just theory, and three was the more realistic limit.
So it wasn’t without astonishment that Pål eyed the six women and their children as they squeezed into his minuscule vehicle. An unexplained but much-needed miracle.
Even the kids, who didn’t quite understand what was happening, somehow sensed this was of great consequence. Everyone kept silent, except an occasional whimper that begged their mums for just a little bit more elbow room.
Despite that everyone was crushed in the cramped space, everyone accepted the situation without as much as a single complaint.
The little one on his knees cuddled in for comfort, and for the first time in years, Pål felt a pang in his chest. The child found comfort in his arms, and he was the only one to provide it. His face glowed back to the kid, and this made all the difference in the world to the little one.
As he fired up the car, Pål’s mind flashed back to his last two years. Here he was, still a man in his prime, someone who was more than capable of putting a dent in the sorry fabric of this reality. And the only thing he had managed was to drown himself in pity.
As he turned the car around, he knew he drove them off toward a place that would provide them with a more secure future. And hopefully less lies.
He began to feel good about himself. Maybe even good enough to upset his holy balance.
* * *
As she had lain cuddled into him, she had listened to his breath until it became an imperceptible whisper. And when it had become so subtle that she wasn’t sure if she heard his inhalations or her own, her tears had come.
She never cried, never had the time nor the willingness to put a dent in her shell. It provided the much-needed security, something crucial for her everyday survival.
Yet this once, the very first time in a long while, she didn’t try to stop the tears. And just this fact alone liberated some part of her that struggled with letting him be on his way.
Somewhere in the distance, swarming around her, she felt some movement. Maybe it was the police who had barged open the last of the doors. And as if to confirm this, she registered some faint movement from the corner of her eye. She realised the cops had made a circle around her, but despite their training and their procedures, none of them dared to speak a word. No one could explain what was going on, but everyone sensed this wasn’t an ordinary patient.
Yet for Magda, this wasn’t significant any longer. The only thing that was, were the few remaining moments with him.
* * *
Viola had found the files. But a simple delete wouldn’t suffice. The first thing the cops would do, would be to run their recovery tools. This would dig up all the deleted files in a matter of hours, if not minutes. She had to initiate a low-level format, but this would require time. As she stared at the screen, she realised this would be about two hours. A lot more than she had at hand.
She heard a dull thud against the door. Had the police managed to locate her already? She knew that the last thing this man was about to wait for, would be for her to open the door. And as if to confirm this, several axes buried themselves into it. Her mind and body scrambled for another solution, one that she knew wasn’t available.
Moments later, the team splintered the door out of its hinges, and the Chief Inspector locked onto Viola. The cop’s eyes ran downward, to Viola’s feet and stared at Magda’s laptop.
But by now, the thing was one big mess, smashed to smithereens.
And although Viola had the sense to keep her mouth shut, her eyes sent the Chief Inspector a succinct message, telling him he could recover this junk as much as he wanted to.
Chapter 44
Night
Viola was dragged out of the clinic by the Chief Inspector himself. An IT expert from the force had taken extra care to pack up the laptop and he carried it now. Viola knew this was the only substantial evidence they had, or at least what remained of it.
But already, she noticed the cringes passing back and forth between the cops. They knew they had absolutely nothing. She had made sure she dug out the SSD and had pulverised it beyond recognition. Even the best recovery procedures wouldn’t be able to deal with the thoroughness of her handiwork.
Couple that with the women being long gone, the lack of any substantial evidence inside the clinic, and Viola knew this case was about to explode in the Chief Inspector’s face. He did everything to push away the simple facts, but Viola knew it was just as well as he did. He had failed on every level.
The only thing that remained was the question of Marianne. All the women had made use of the escape route, except for the blogger. This disaster-zone of a woman was bound to cause more trouble.
Maybe Marianne wasn’t the only one with the knowledge of InviNordica’s secret lab program, but she was certainly the one most willing to share it with the public. And after her disappearance had made her into a public figure, she was in the perfect position to snowball this case into a media circus seldom seen.
Viola was robbed of any illusions about the girl by now. After all, what more could she desire, especially someone as attention-starved as Marianne? Yet, there was a chance this whole thing could be kept under wraps. Not only for her sake, but for the women and their kids.
As Viola exited, her eyes were assaulted by an array of lights, all aimed at the clinic’s entrance. It was the middle of the night, the brutal snow blizzard still blasted away at everyone, yet the police were far from the only ones parked outside. Viola realised there were two dozen reporters who gunned their flash-equipped cameras right in her face.
Viola eyed Stine’s hawkish features, hungry for knowledge about her daughter’s fate. Their gazes locked, Stine’s face filled with a souped-up grin.
Viola felt her anger stir. She was handcuffed and dragged towards the police cars, but despite this, she jerked herself away from the cop’s grip and grabbed Stine by the collar. She was about to trash the farmer’s face to a pulp.
“Damn you, woman. You have any idea what you’ve…!” Viola lashed out at Stine. But the Chief Inspector’s huge hands tugged at Viola’s neck, twisted her elbow, then finally pulled her back.
“Not my doing, Miss. My mouth big, yes. But I’d not do that to my daughter.” Viola didn’t believe a word of it but then, behind Stine, a familiar face shimmered into view, her own mother, Anne.
Viola was struck by Anne’s presence, her senses taking in the rest of her surroundings, the journalists, a couple of them familiar faces from Aftenposten, some favourable co-workers, and some bitter enemies. No matter the relation, each gaze stung at her chest. Being led out by the cops like a simple criminal, paraded to the world like some kind of spectacle, carried a finality to itself. This was all of her choices manifested. The only thing left for her to do was to shy away from their glances. Knowing all too well her life would never be the same.
Her mind raced to the inevitable conclusion as she realised who was actually behind the call. Stine was telling the truth; maybe they had been empty threats from the beginning. And the decision-making might have come from the person much closer to Viola.
And as her eyes swept to her mother, she realised her suspicion was more
than justified. This simple fact left her reeling in devastation.
“You made a promise to me back at my office. Remember?” Here was a woman tired of her own daughter’s reckless actions, far from prepared to accept what Viola had to say.
At some other time, Viola would have made an attempt to listen to her mother. If this was done for her, why all the reporters from Aftenposten at this site? Why were these bloodhounds gunning their gear at her? Was that for her own good, and she didn’t know better?
Before Viola’s thoughts could arrive at the inevitable conclusion, someone flew past her. Viola whipped her head around and realised it was Marianne, scuttling towards the reporters.
“Guys. Girls. You wouldn’t believe what they made me do in there,” she shrieked.
Viola tried to take in what was happening around her. Marianne about to launch into a story filled with her lies, not even giving a second thought to the consequences.
People are different in all sorts of uncanny ways, and sometimes one shouldn’t expect too much of them. That had been her lesson a long time ago. She had tried to live by this plain fact. She had learnt to lower her expectations, way down to ground level, simply because her life was filled with so many difficult hurdles. As she grew older, this ground level kept getting even lower, and her assumptions with it. Yet at this moment, however much she tried to reconcile what she had before her, she simply couldn’t.
And as Viola’s eyes returned to her mother’s, Anne moved closer to Viola.
“Viol, I always taught you that great journalism is supposed to provoke anger and inspire action while it batters our souls. But this place and what you’ve done here? This was done for your own good, girl. In time, you will learn to appreciate this, hon.”
At this moment, everything snapped inside Viola and, irreversibly, a veil was lifted away from her eyes, one that filtered her whole life. Viola knew she would never find common ground with Anne. This would be the last time they saw each other.