Slowly We Die

by Emelie Schepp

  Bang.

  Then there was the first kick. The whole door rattled.

  Bang. The second kick.

  Lucas broke out in a sweat. He tried to attach the money to the tank in some way, but he had nothing to fasten it with.

  Bang. Now the bathroom door was beginning to splinter.

  Lucas struggled, finally getting the lid back on. He sank down to the floor, closed his eyes and prayed to higher powers as they broke through the door.

  * * *

  She took a cautious step to the side, then held her breath and listened. Jana heard the front door close behind her and then voices behind a corner, farther down the hallway. She saw a pale light trickle in through a window in a door marked “Staff.” She tried the door handle, but it was locked. She began walking down the hallway, keeping close to the wall. She found another door and tried it. It opened into a storage closet with vinyl flooring that had peeled up in places probably because of dampness. The shelter emanated a smell, a mixture of dust, sweat and garbage.

  She held the bag containing the shirt and continued down the hallway. It looked as if there were ten rooms ahead, five on each side of the corridor. She would leave the shirt in whichever one was the most likely it would be found.

  Quick in, quick out was her plan.

  She nudged another one of the doors open and saw that the room was empty.

  No dresser, no closet. Just two bunk beds.

  Two bunk beds. She looked at the lower bunk with its thin mattress, and quickly stepped inside.

  * * *

  In a police cruiser in Motala, Officer Joel Marklund had just taken a call about an in-progress disturbance at the shelter in the industrial district. The call had come from staff who had locked themselves in the staff office.

  “Aren’t there any officers closer?” he said. “We’re a ways outside of the city.”

  “There’s no one else,” said the voice from the central command.

  “Then we’ll take it,” Joel said, confirming before an “over and out” that they were on their way.

  He started the car, signaled left and told his partner, Kim Heist, that it had been unusually unruly at the shelter lately.

  “Toby and Danny were there twice yesterday, and on Friday I think Vlad and Anna had to spend the whole damn day there. There’s a new guy who seems to be using the shelter as a base to shake people down. We think he’s organizing begging in some way, and not always by very pleasant means.”

  “Then let’s go and clean things up a bit,” Kim said.

  * * *

  The fist came immediately and the pain was like an explosion. Lucas stumbled backward but steadied himself on the sink. Dragan sneered. Behind him stood two of his men, one with a shaved head and the other with wide, dark pupils. They took hold of him, one on each arm, and Dragan head-butted him so hard that he crumpled to the floor. When he looked up again, he was looking straight at the gleaming tip of a knife.

  “Give me the cash. Now.”

  “In my pocket,” Lucas said.

  The blood from his nose was running into his mouth.

  Dragan counted the money and began laughing.

  “You foolin’ me, man,” he said. “Now show me the real cash.”

  “That’s all I got, I...”

  “Shhhh...”

  Dragan laid a hand over Lucas’s mouth.

  “I know you have more. And do you know how I know? That guy there told me,” Dragan said, pointing to the man with the shaved head. “He said he saw you counting. What to do? You no money, others no money, me problem. You understand? Problem!”

  Lucas stared at the tip of the knife as it neared his face. He tried to breathe through his bleeding nose.

  “And now I teach you a lesson. I teach you, no fuck with me.”

  Lucas began screaming with Dragan’s hand over his mouth, but he felt the pressure increase.

  “Calm,” Dragan said. “I only take one eye.”

  Lucas should have struggled, should have thought of something, but now he couldn’t think at all. Stiff from fear and with his eyes wide open, he couldn’t avoid the movement of the knife.

  “Dragan?” said the man with the shaved head.

  “Shut up.”

  “But it’s important. Look. The door over there is open.”

  He pointed down the hallway.

  Dragan rolled his eyes, took his hand from Lucas’s mouth, looked at the blood that had run over his palm and wiped it back and forth on Lucas’s shirt to clean it.

  “Check it out.”

  “I will,” Dragan said. “I’m just going to solve this problem first.”

  Lucas took short, quick breaths, gasping for air. One part of his brain told him he should try to get away. Another part said he should attack the men in front of him and at least make an attempt to defend himself.

  But fear has a peculiar effect on people. Even when standing before certain death, there are people who, despite a complete lack of alternatives, simply can’t fight back. It was as if Lucas was paralyzed. He simply couldn’t move. So he sat there, with his hands on the floor. He saw when Dragan raised his fist and felt how it split the skin on his forehead. He was deafened by the blow and knew that if it had been any harder, he would have passed out. Then he wouldn’t have had to see when the next blow came.

  But he did.

  * * *

  Jana lifted the thin mattress, shook the dirty shirt out of the bag and shoved it almost completely underneath, backed up a few steps and checked that it wasn’t visible at first glance.

  When she turned around, three men were standing there.

  “What the fuck,” one of them said, revealing his gold teeth. “What we have here? Smells like cash. Or is there something else you gonna give me? Huh?”

  He walked toward her, around her. She could smell him: grease and sweat, alcohol and cigarettes.

  He opened his mouth and waggled his tongue. He stood in front of her and tried to touch her hair, but she slapped his hand away as quick as a blink.

  He laughed. “Well, well! Did someone wake up on the wrong side of bed?”

  He tried again, and again she slapped his hand away. This time, he didn’t laugh. Jana saw the transformation in his face. She knew what was about to happen and began counting backward.

  She estimated it would take a full twenty seconds before he attacked her. Twenty seconds, she thought, before the first attack.

  It was risky to stay there. She should get out, but she knew that she couldn’t turn her back on this type of opponent. It was better to look him in the eye.

  “I don’t want to fight,” she said.

  “We don’t have to fight,” he said, sneering. “If you do what I say.”

  “And what exactly are you saying?”

  The man sneered and pulled one sleeve up to his elbow. The hand on his watch was glowing a strange shade of blue. He tried to appear calm and relaxed, but she saw that he was nervous. All three of them were.

  Fifteen seconds.

  But Jana felt the usual sense of calm filling her as she lifted her head and appraised the situation. She remembered the green exit signs at the end of the hallway that led to two escape routes. Three, if she counted the window behind her.

  Ten seconds.

  She examined the other two men carefully, one with a shaved head and the other with large pupils. In comparison, the man with the gold teeth seemed old. He was small, round-shouldered, wrinkled. He probably wasn’t older than around fifty, and clearly he enjoyed demanding things from other people. He looked determined and held a steady grip on the knife in his hand.

  “What are you gonna give me? Huh?”

  He took a step toward her, and she could almost hear the ticking of his watch. The other men stood to either side of her, breathing heavily.

/>   She also took deep breaths, not because she was nervous, but to fill her blood with oxygen so that she would be ready to act when the moment came.

  Five seconds.

  The man with the dilated pupils clenched his fists. Only then did she realize how muscular he was. Any blow from him would knock her out without a problem.

  Then the man with the gold teeth gave the signal.

  Go time.

  Jana held her breath.

  * * *

  Officers Joel Marklund and Kim Heist double-parked their cruiser outside the shelter. They didn’t say a word to each other.

  Joel examined the surrounding buildings nearby, scanning for movement. The shelter was relatively new, and not just a temporary place to sleep. When morning came, the guests were allowed to stay. They didn’t have to wander around Motala with a suitcase or plastic bag containing their possessions, didn’t have to wait for evening to be allowed back into the warm shelter again.

  But there was a limited number of beds; only forty-odd people could stay here. No one knew how long the municipality’s pilot project would last, if the shelter would still be there in a year or two.

  “It looks calm,” he said, biting his thumbnail.

  “I think the instructions were to go inside,” Kim said.

  “Really?” Joel said.

  “Come on now, for Christ’s sake.”

  * * *

  The man with the gold teeth advanced. But Jana Berzelius was ready. She shifted her weight and pressed her elbow against his temple. In her next movement, she jerked the knife from his hand. He faltered, staring uncomprehendingly at his empty hand.

  “Give me the knife,” he said.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said. “But I will if I have to.”

  He laughed, more unsure of himself this time.

  “She has the knife. Get the knife!” he said.

  As the man with the dilated pupils approached, she dodged him, spun around and thrust the knife toward the man with the shaved head. She scratched his throat with it, then slammed him hard with her left hand. It felt like punching a brick wall. He didn’t move an inch. Instead, he hit her so hard that made her double over. If he had made contact a few inches higher, he would have broken at least one rib, maybe two. She didn’t even try to block. She attacked him with everything she had, getting in an uppercut and feeling his jaw break. He swore, spitting out blood and teeth. She followed with a fist directly over his nose, which made the blood spatter and the color drain from his face.

  He cupped his hand over his nose as he staggered and sank to the floor. He looked ready to pass out.

  The man with the gold teeth nodded at her and smiled a chilling smile. He seemed reluctantly impressed and waved his hand at the man with the dilated pupils, who pulled out a pistol.

  Jana stared into its muzzle.

  She knew better than to run.

  You couldn’t run from a Glock, not without getting a bullet in the head. And the man’s empty, easily confused expression meant that he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

  She glanced at the man with the gold teeth. His sneer was wider now, more superior.

  “I’m sorry about this,” he said.

  “So am I,” Jana said, flinging the knife.

  It sunk straight into his shoulder, going through cartilage and tissue. Before he understood what had happened, she kicked the pistol out of the other man’s hand, stepped forward and gripped his right arm, twisting his wrist until it tightened the nerves of his forearm. He moaned.

  In her next movement, she grabbed the pistol from the floor.

  The man with the gold teeth looked at her. Blood was pulsating from his shoulder, staining his shirt a deep red. His arms hung at his sides. He tried to say something, but Jana didn’t have time to listen.

  She pointed the weapon at his head and pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  Joel Marklund twirled around. Three birds took flight and disappeared behind the rooftops, cawing. He met Kim Heist’s gaze. Kim had assumed a wide stance, hand on her holster. They were standing right outside the shelter.

  “That was a gunshot,” Joel said.

  “Yes,” Kim nodded.

  They heard one more shot, and then another.

  Joel ran back to the car with his head down and, in a shaky voice, requested reinforcements.

  * * *

  Lucas Bratic had come to, but he quickly realized he was still in the shared bathroom in the hallway at the shelter.

  Blood dripped from his broken nose, over his chin and down onto his sweatshirt.

  He had heard the shots, and now he heard footsteps approaching.

  He thought his last moment had come. Dragan would probably shoot the top of his skull off, too. Spray his brains all over the bathroom.

  But Lucas didn’t want to die in a bathroom, not for the sake of a few bucks. He didn’t want to be shot, either, for that matter.

  When he heard the steps disappear, he thanked the higher powers again. This time, he did so with clasped hands.

  * * *

  Joel Marklund and Kim Heist stood unmoving on either side of the open front door. They listened to the sounds coming from inside the shelter.

  Joel gripped his weapon, saying nothing to Kim because he wanted to be able to register any potential whimpering or moaning from any of the rooms. But he didn’t hear anything. Experience told him that the silence didn’t bode well.

  It was important to act quickly. So they wouldn’t risk that the perpetrator or perpetrators would be able to leave the building, they decided to go in without waiting for reinforcements.

  They opened the front door.

  Joel knew he had to do more than just that.

  “Police!” he yelled into the building.

  * * *

  Jana Berzelius pressed her body against the facade of the shelter. She saw the police cruiser parked in front of the entrance and felt some hesitation about which way she should go. Her car was a hundred yards away. If she chose the quickest route, she would be completely visible from the shelter entrance.

  She heard sirens far off; they were slowly becoming louder, coming closer.

  She turned her head in the opposite direction and looked at the window standing wide open in the neighboring cultural center. If she took that route, through that building, she’d be able to stay out of sight.

  Then she heard the officers’ yells and assumed they had entered the shelter and caught sight of the dead men.

  She never even considered letting the men live. Showing mercy would have been a mistake that would have haunted her. As long as they were alive, they would have presented a threat to her.

  She climbed inside the building through the window and saw cabinet drawers and empty frames. Farther off were a number of paintings. She presumed she was in a storage room.

  She moved nimbly toward a wooden door.

  She put her ear against it and heard a quiet voice and a muffled laugh. The laugh subsided. When she listened again, there was silence on the other side of the door. She pushed it open, peered out cautiously and looked straight into a bright, well-lit space. Large paintings adorned the walls and sculptures of various sizes stood on white tables.

  It was a gallery.

  She straightened her coat, smoothed her hair and stepped into the room, walking with quick steps toward the exit. Just then, she heard the laugh again, followed by approaching footsteps.

  Quickly, she stood with her nose pointed at one of the paintings and pretended to observe it with squinted eyes.

  “Yikes! Oh, you scared me!” said the woman, who entered from an adjoining room. She held her cell phone in her hand. She had a wide smile and twinkling eyes, and was wearing a knee-length skirt and long-sleeved blouse, bracelets in various shades of red around her
wrist and matching red earrings that bounced as she spoke.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

  “No?” Jana said.

  “The door usually jingles.”

  “Maybe it’s broken.”

  Jana turned her gaze to the painting again.

  “Do you like Julius Nord?” the woman asked.

  “Who?”

  “The artist? The exhibition is comprised of his paintings, which...”

  “I’m just looking around.”

  “Okay, but just tell me if you need help with anything. We have a newly opened exhibit on the second floor. Acoustic installations.”

  “Thank you, but I see from the time that I have to hurry off,” Jana said, beginning to walk toward the exit.

  “Come back soon. Both exhibitions are open until May,” she said. “Wait, let me hold the door open for you.”

  The glass door jingled loudly when she opened it.

  “The bells seem to be working again,” Jana said as she left the gallery.

  She saw her car parked just a dozen yards away. She walked slowly toward it, thinking how she wasn’t in much of a hurry anymore. If anyone, contrary to her expectations, happened to ask, she had both a reasonable explanation for why she was in the area and a believable alibi.

  She opened the car door and sat behind the steering wheel. Farther up the street, she saw the flashing blue lights. She sighed in relief and put the car in Drive.

  * * *

  Officers Joel Marklund and Kim Heist remained on either side of the shelter’s entrance. Reinforcements had arrived. The lead officer shouted orders at the units to surround the building. Two men immediately disappeared to place themselves at the back exit, if the shooter attempted to escape. All other doors to the shelter were secured.

  Joel heard the sound of weapons being loaded in the cool afternoon, then the sound of a door being kicked in.

  His colleagues rushed past him and shortly he heard calls from inside the building, first announcing three dead bodies. Then he heard the capture: “Hold your hands where I can see them!”

  He went in.

  “Hands up, I said!” he heard.

  Joel followed the voice and found a colleague with his weapon pointed into a bathroom. And there, sitting on the floor, he saw a man, his head hanging and hands up in the air.