by S. J. Gazan
“Yours and Karen,” Anna snapped. “You and Karen got the idea, and…” and the words spilled out of her. “You were always trying to shut me out. You became Karen’s best friend just to hurt me. And it was the same that night. I might as well not have been there. And my parents favored you. Poor Troels, he’s such a nice kid, we’ll take good care of lovely, little Troels,” she mimicked. Troels stared at Anna in amazement.
“Anna,” he said softly. “I’ve always loved you more. Karen is my friend, she’s straightforward and uncomplicated. She always was. You had everything I wanted. I worshipped you and I loved your parents. I wanted to live with you, always, be with you always. But there were times I thought you hated me. That night, I thought you hated me. And I couldn’t cope with anymore hatred. I wanted to shut you up, and that’s why I ran. The week before I had knocked out all my dad’s teeth, for fuck’s sake. With a wood plank. He told everyone he had forgotten to wear his seatbelt and had had to brake hard. But it was me. He shut me in the basement and said the most awful things to me, provoked me, baited me, called me queer. Finally, I ripped a shelf off the wall and bashed him across the face with it. I couldn’t take being hated anymore, do you understand? And I was scared of how I might react that night. Really terrified. I’ve thought about it hundreds of times since. How jealous you must have been. You were an only child and always landed on your feet, always, born with a fucking silver spoon in your mouth, and then I come along like the serpent in paradise. By the way, I never understood what your parents saw in me. Since they already had you,” he added. “But…” He fell silent.
“You know nothing about me,” Anna said, quietly. Troels stared ahead with a blank expression, as if he hadn’t heard her.
“During that evening I realized Johannes was in love with you. He talked about you all the time. Not directly… but he would mention your name, no matter what the conversation was about. I would ask questions, from time to time, as though you interested me and he answered them willingly. Very quickly I knew most of it: you had been dumped by your boyfriend, Thomas, who never visited your young daughter, never sent Christmas presents, and only paid basic child support—even though he was a doctor and you were a student—you struggled with your rage; you felt completely powerless; you were about to get your masters; Cecilie had moved to Copenhagen, and your relationship with her was strained. Johannes never found my questions odd—he was quite keen to talk about you. His eyes lit up. It was bizarre. I was madly in love with him, and he was madly in love with you.” Troels smiled. “Seems to be my curse. You get everything I want.
“That night,” he continued, “I crossed the line. Johannes wanted a repeat of last time. Wanted me to abuse him verbally, humiliate him, and slap him. Mostly on his body, but also across his head. He masturbated while I did it, but flinched whenever I tried to touch him. I could do the same, he said. Get my dick out and have a tug. I didn’t want to. I was delirious, a bit drunk and in love. And I was the stronger; I was in charge. I managed to enter him. I held him down. For fuck’s sake, I only lasted five seconds. I came inside him, and he went berserk. He cried; he screamed and threw me out. On the fetish scene this is a total no-no,” Troels muttered, ashamed. “You go right up to the line, but you never cross it without the other person’s consent. Johannes asked me to stop many times that night, but I didn’t listen.
“The days that followed were terrible. I called him. I e-mailed. He didn’t reply. It took a week before I got ahold of him. He sounded really pissed off with me. I had crossed the line, he said. It was unacceptable. The rules had been crystal clear. We were experimenting with the balance of power, but there was to be no direct sexual contact. I had agreed to that. I had broken our deal. He never wanted to see me again.
“Some weeks passed. I met with Karen, twice. I told her I was in love, but that it wasn’t reciprocated. She consoled me.” Troels smiled. “And we talked about you. I asked her if she thought we might be friends again. You and I. The three of us. Asked her how you were. She became a little subdued. Then she told me the two of you hadn’t kept in touch, either. That really surprised me. But she had met Cecilie, and Cecilie had told her you were alone with your daughter. You had had a rough time, Cecilie said, but she made no effort to conceal she and Jens were enormously relieved Thomas was out of your lives. They never liked him. He was highly intelligent, but shallow. That’s how Cecilie had put it. They worried about you, Karen said, and they helped take care of your daughter, Lily. I would like to meet her someday,” he smiled.
“Karen suggested we get in touch with you, but Cecilie asked us to wait until you had defended your dissertation, so we agreed to meet afterward. Karen was wildly excited about our plan. She was missing us so much, she said. Her joy inspired me. One day, I visited Cecilie and had tea with her. It was a lovely afternoon. I apologized for my years of silence, but Cecilie said it didn’t matter. I told her I had had a hard time and asked her not to mention to you that I had been there. I said I wanted it to be a surprise, but really… I was scared you would get angry again. Jealous and angry. That we would end up back where we started. I wanted to establish some ground rules with you. You must never humiliate me again. I can’t take it. In return, I would keep a low profile, as far as your parents were concerned—if that was what you wanted.
“I also went to see Jens. I waited for him outside his office, saw him come out. He had aged, I thought, he looked withered and gray. I followed him home, but I chickened out. So I got in touch with my sister instead. Karen’s joy, Cecilie’s open arms… I got carried away and called my sister. She was as cold as ice. “Don’t you ever call me again,” she said. “Don’t ever come near me or my children, or I’ll call the police.” He smiled, embarrassed. “My dad and I fought when he was in the hospital, terminally ill with cancer; I smashed a vase across his head, and he threw a drawer at me. My sister always got so upset when we fought.” His smile started to fade. “At his funeral, six days later, I still had seven stitches in my forehead from the drawer he’d hurled. I don’t know how he got the strength. He was weak and dying. I still have a scar.” Troels turned to Anna and ran his finger along a thin white line.
“It never occurred to my sister to ask if I was all right. She refused to sit next to me at the funeral. She and her family sat on the opposite pew. Afterward, she came up to me and said if I ever contacted her again, she would have me charged with assault. Our dad was eaten up by cancer, but according to her logic, I had killed him with a vase.” For a moment Troels looked exasperated.
“When I called my sister that evening to attempt a reconciliation, it soon became clear she had no intention of forgiving me. When I hung up, I had a small breakdown. I was thinking about Johannes all the time; I was scared of what I had done, scared he might file charges against me, and all the while I just wanted to be with him. Karen suspected nothing. We met a couple of times; we had coffee and Karen chatted away about the great reunion that was to come. Suddenly, I had to see you. It seemed to be the only right thing to do. Perhaps you could speak to Johannes… I don’t know what I had imagined. I waited for you—twice. Found your address online and got into your building, hoping you would be there. I deliberately didn’t call you first, because I didn’t want you to turn me away. I was convinced that if only I could speak to you, everything would be all right again. I chickened out both times. One time I panicked. The woman below you came up to check on your daughter. I found out you had gone for a run. She left the door open, and I followed her in. I sat down and pretended to be an old friend. She threw me out. Told me I had to wait outside. She gave me such a hostile and suspicious look, her eyes flashed as if she had seen through me, caught me in the act. That’s when I panicked. I ran down the stairs and suddenly I heard you come back. The door downstairs opened, you were out of breath, I could hear that it was you. You coughed. I hid in the meter box. You and your neighbor looked for me, as if I were a criminal, as if I were a danger to others.” His voice sounded tired. “Just lik
e when we were back at school, right? My dad had to be strict or he wouldn’t be able to control me, he told my teachers. No, of course he didn’t hit me. But he made himself clear, he assured them, he set boundaries. They understood that. They, too, had a job controlling me. Your parents were the only people who didn’t buy the story.
“I curled up inside the meter box, and you walked right past me. When I heard your footsteps above, I got out and ran. I found myself in Vesterbro. In front of Johannes’s building. I looked up at his windows. The light was on, and after a while Johannes appeared—he was on the phone. I stood outside for a while, then I knocked on his door. And when he answered it, I forced my way in. I had called him every day for two weeks, I had sent flowers, I had begged for his forgiveness, and sent him several e-mails. I had heard nothing from him.
“He was very scared when I got inside his apartment. I’m much bigger than he is, that’s what made it so perfect between us. I got aroused. There was something in his eyes; I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. He wants me to, I thought. He wants to be dominated, controlled, humiliated; at that moment everything became clear. He had tricked me, tricked me good.” Troels’s eyes shone now.
Anna carefully slipped her hand inside her pocket and shivered, as though she was cold.
“I closed the door behind me and unzipped my jeans. It was what he wanted. I felt so sure. He walked backward, just as he was supposed to. I held my dick, I rubbed it, while I ordered him to take off his clothes and told him to suck me off. He was good at acting scared, he got it just right. He resisted. I called him lots of names… and suddenly I came. All over my hand and the floor. I buckled, consumed by a deep urge to hug him, to snuggle up. I closed my eyes for a second and when I looked at him again, he was armed. I don’t know where he got it from, but he was holding a knife. His eyes grew black. I said something. I raised my hands. ‘You mustn’t threaten me,’ I said. I wanted him to calm down, but he attacked me. Waved the knife in the air, stabbing at me. I tried to warn him, told him to put down the knife, to stop. His tenderness was gone, as was the fragility, which I loved about him. His voice had changed, too. It was dark and strange. He wouldn’t stop. He came closer to me wielding the knife and ordered me to leave. He screamed in a high-pitched voice, I felt drops of spit on my cheek.” Troels glanced at Anna.
“This time I didn’t run. I wanted him to shut up. He had to shut up.” Troels fell silent.
Anna got hold of one of the cable ties in her pocket and curled it up so it lay like a coiled snake in her hand. She pretended she wanted to change position and leaned forward. Her heart was pounding.
“Afterward I visited Jens,” Troels said, casually. “I don’t know how I got there, but suddenly I found myself in front of his building, without my jacket, my trousers soaked. All I could think was that I was about to be arrested. I wanted to talk to Jens first. Just talk to him. So we talked. For hours. I calmed down a little; I thought it possible that Johannes mightn’t have been seriously hurt. Did I even hit him? I started to have doubts. Jens poured me a whiskey, he lent me some clothes. You’ve got great parents, Anna.”
Anna nodded.
“They’re very fond of you, too,” she said, kindly.
“I’m leaving soon and I won’t be coming back. I don’t want to go to jail.” He laughed a brittle laugh. “I’ve been in prison all my life.”
“Why did you text me?” Anna wanted to know.
“Do you know what a big thing it was to me that we had a falling out? Massive. I didn’t want to leave without seeing you first. I wanted to unburden myself, tell you I didn’t mean to do it. Not then, not now. I don’t think you’ll betray me again,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll get up now and betray me again.” He smiled a crooked smile. “I think you’ve changed. Your little girl. I must meet her sometime.”
“I knew you did it.”
“Yes, I’m impressed.” He smiled again. “I thought it would take you longer. What did I write?”
“That you were trying to tell me something,” Anna replied. “It was the way you phrased it. But that’s not why. It was when you mentioned Johannes by name. When we met last Friday. You knew his name. You pretended that Karen had told you.” Anna turned to Troels and her eyes glowed yellow. “But Karen didn’t know his name. So how could you? Suddenly, it all made sense. You waiting for me; you showing up everywhere. Karen met you, Jens met you, and so did Cecilie, apparently. And Johannes’s stalker…. At first I thought it was a girl, but when the police told me they were looking for a man… YourGuy. That was one coincidence too many.”
Troels gave Anna a rather drowsy look.
“Did he really say that?” he said, dully. “That I was stalking him?”
Anna leaned toward her friend.
“And you’re right. I won’t betray you again,” she said, softly into his ear. Troels turned to face her. His eyes were shiny.
“I’m sorry about Johannes,” he whispered. “I love him. I hope he gets better. I hope he’s not too upset.”
“He’s dead, Troels,” Anna said, gently. “Johannes is dead.”
Troels stared vacantly at her, then he turned away and Anna knew he was about to leave. This was the moment when she mustn’t betray him.
It only took ten seconds. She rested her full weight on his arm, blocking his view with her body, then she slipped the cable tie over his arm, looped it around a slat, and clicked it shut. He grunted, not realizing why she was lying across him. She pulled hard, he yanked back his arm, “What the hell are you doing?” Shit, she was too late, someone screamed. It wasn’t until she found herself on the floor three feet away, dazed and brandishing the screwdriver, that she discovered she was the one who was screaming. Troels thrashed about and tried to stand up. The bench groaned ominously. Anna gasped for air. The loop was tight, but Troels pulled at it. He shouted. Called her names. Threatened her. “I’ll kill you,” he screamed. “I’ll kill your kid.” People came running. The loop started to give. The plastic stretched white. She returned to him. He lashed out at her with his free arm, kicked her. Punched her on the side on her head. She saw stars. She forced herself to focus and slithered under the bench, where she looped the second cable tie around his arm, pulled it through the back of the bench, and tightened it. He lashed out again, stabbing a bent index finger against her temple, a direct hit. His arm started to go red. Anna rolled out of reach. His whole arm was tethered to the bench now. A crowd had gathered. “What’s going on?” someone shouted. Anna got out her cell, her hands were shaking. He answered it immediately.
“Søren,” Anna said. “Help me.”
Anna left the museum before the police arrived and ran down Jagtvejen, where she jumped on a bus. She was incandescent with rage when she rang Hanne Moritzen’s doorbell.
“Why is everyone lying to me?” she yelled when Hanne had let her in. Anna stamped her feet. Then she saw the look on Hanne’s face.
“Why did you lie about having a son?” she continued, somewhat appeased. “With Professor Helland! It makes no sense. Why didn’t you tell me?”
They were in the large white hall, the door to the living room was ajar, and Anna could see a white, comfortable sofa and a brass dish with polished seashells. Suddenly, Hanne slumped to her knees. She grabbed Anna’s hands, pressed them against her face, and the noise that erupted from her throat cut Anna to the quick. Shocked, Anna helped her into the living room. They sat down on the sofa and Anna let Hanne cling to her, realizing how close she was to solving the mystery. When Hanne had calmed down, she told Anna about her son.
“It’s my fault,” she said. “I thought if I buried it, it would go away. It’s all my fault.”
Anna didn’t contradict her.
They spoke for almost two hours. At the end, Hanne asked Anna to go to the police.
“I can’t report my own son,” she whispered. When Anna had agreed, Hanne asked, “Would you like to see a picture of him?”
Anna nodded and Hanne fetched a box fu
ll of photographs. Anna had expected a recent photograph of the Asger Moritzen who apparently worked three floors above his mother, whom Anna must surely have passed in the corridors at the institute or might even have had as her dissection tutor on an Introductory Morphology course. But the box Hanne brought out contained pictures of Asger as a child. Photos of a smiling dark-eyed toddler with his mouth open, shiny saliva dribbling down his chin and a stripy rattle in his chubby hand; winter pictures of a child in a snowsuit with open and inquisitive eyes, like blotting paper, completely unspoiled.
“I have to get back to Lily,” she whispered.
Hanne and Anna said good-bye in the doorway. Hanne refused to let go of her.
“I’ll be there for you, I promise,” Anna said.
Hanne smiled feebly and released Anna’s hands.
“I’ll call the police when I get back,” she went on, “and you’ll take it from there, okay?”
Hanne Moritzen nodded.
Anna walked down Falkoner Allé, crossed Jagtvejen, and went around the National Archives. She felt relieved and calm.
She unlocked the entrance door and for a moment she stared into the darkness, her hand on the door handle, then she opened the door and walked up the stairs. She could hear singing from a children’s television program and something that sounded like an exuberant child bouncing up and down.
It was nearly over. All she had left to do was to meet with Professor Freeman tomorrow.
Chapter 17
When Søren arrived at the Natural History Museum, Anna had vanished. He had been driving to Copenhagen when she called and his blood had turned to ice.
“Help me,” she had said. He could hear her breathing heavily.“My friend Troels killed Johannes. He’s here. In the Whale Room at the museum. I’ve tied him to a bench. But I have to go now.” Then she had hung up. Søren called Bellahøj police station for backup and accelerated. A patrol car with two officers reached the museum at the same time as him. He told them what little he knew as they raced up the stairs. “The Whale Room?” he shouted to the young woman behind the counter. She pointed dutifully to the elevator. When they reached the fourth floor, they ran through the foyer and into a large room. A whale was mounted on the wall, several people had gathered and it was mayhem.