Bad Intentions (5 page)

"Perhaps it was," Reilly said.

He went over to the kitchen counter. He filled the kitten's bowl with fresh water and opened a tin of cat food. He mashed the food, which consisted of chunks of meat in gravy, with a fork until it turned into a smooth gray and brown mush. He carried out these simple tasks with great care and he did not permit Axel to interrupt him.

"Now don't pee on the carpet," he told the kitten. "Do your business in the litter box."

"Snap out of it," Axel said. "We need to go."

Reilly leaned against the kitchen counter. His long hair was unwashed and hung in thin strands over his shoulders.

"I don't know what to say," he said. "You go on your own. With your big mouth you can do the talking for both of us."

Axel grunted irritably.

"I can't do everything," he said. "I'm exhausted. Now get a grip."

Reilly put on his long coat. He threw a last, worried glance at the kitten and followed Axel. The old stairs creaked as they walked down to the ground floor. Shortly afterward they were driving through the town in Axel's Mercedes, scarab green with gorgeous white leather seats. As always it was newly washed and polished. Reilly watched the world through its windows and the people they passed. We're not like them, he thought, we lack decency. We lack a normal sense of justice.

He pondered these things for a while.

"What do you think it is about us?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Axel said.

"I mean, that we did what we did. Does it mean that we're not quite right?"

"What are you talking about now?" Axel asked.

"Well, you know, there's something called emotional intelligence," Reilly elaborated. "Empathy. Understanding. Conscience. Remorse. The ability to comprehend the consequences of your actions. Some people have low emotional intelligence."

This caused Axel to brake so abruptly that the tires screeched. He pulled over and stopped the car.

"Are you saying that there is something wrong with me?" he said. "That I don't have feelings like other people? Are you saying that I'm not grieving? That I have low emotional intelligence just because Jon threw himself into the lake?"

Reilly retreated slightly. "To be honest, I'm not really sure," he said.

"There is nothing wrong with my emotional intelligence," Axel snapped. "Jesus, what an idea! You've got to quit that reading of yours, it's doing your head in."

"But most people would not have acted the way we did," he wailed.

Axel checked his mirror and pulled out into the road again.

"Most people don't end up in that kind of situation," he said, "and I won't listen to any more talk like that."

"But I've got such a bad conscience."

"I don't understand this fuss about conscience," Axel said. "It's not like you can take a clear conscience with you to your grave."

Reilly felt like saying something about conscience. It stays behind after we die, he thought, like light or like shadow. And those who come after us grow up in that shadow. The sins of the fathers, he mused. But Axel would not understand these things. Axel would ask if he was thinking of getting married or having kids since he was going on about future generations. No one will want a scruffy old hippie like you, he would say. And he might be right.

"Our society is based on important values," Reilly said out loud.

He held up three fingers.

"The rule of law, truth and justice. But we've made our own rules."

"There isn't one set of rules which apply universally," Axel declared. "You understand that, don't you? Such notions depend on culture. And history. And religion. And, not least, circumstances. By the way, why are you reading the Koran?"

"It's Nader from work," Reilly said. "Nader talks about the Koran all the time. The most beautiful message about peace in the world."

"If you're feeling that much guilt," Axel said, "then throw away the Koran and become a Catholic."

Ingerid Moreno came to the door immediately to greet them. She no longer looked like the Ingerid they knew. Despair controlled her body like pain in every joint, and she moved around like an old woman. Axel got a cautious hug, but she was more reserved toward Reilly. As per usual Axel was sincere in his compassion. Why is that man not on the stage? Reilly thought, he's a born actor. But perhaps life itself was his stage and everyone he met his devoted audience. Ingerid invited them in. Reilly watched her large, heavy breasts undulate beneath her blouse. Jon used to lie at those breasts, Reilly thought, it must have been a good place to be. Jon did not take after his mother, he thought next. Jon was thin and slight, while Ingerid was plump and broad-shouldered. But the Italian Moreno, who was Jon's father, had been slight, too, he recalled. A small, slender guy who had left them when Jon was a little boy.

"I know he found things difficult," Ingerid said. "Young people often do. But he was getting help."

She looked at them across the table.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Tell me what you think. You were with him that last evening."

Reilly was unable to utter a single word, but Axel spoke freely, as he always did.

"I suppose he was a little gloomy," he said, "a little low. He did not say much, you know what he was like. He didn't drink much either, Jon was quite restrained like that. He didn't do much crazy stuff, you need to know that, Ingerid."

He opened his arms helplessly.

"Anxiety is impossible," he said. "An enemy you can't see or hear."

Ingerid Moreno started wringing her hands in her lap.

"But when did it start?" she asked. "Did you notice when he first started to feel anxious? Did he talk about it? Was it last winter?"

Axel and Reilly exchanged glances.

"Did something happen? I've tried thinking back," she said, "but I can't put my finger on anything. Could it have been to do with a girl? Girlfriend trouble can get very bad, I know all about that, I was married to an Italian."

Axel smiled a kind smile.

"Jon wasn't involved with girls," he said. "Jon was very shy, you know that. If a girl even so much as looked at him, his ears would go bright red."

"Yes," Ingerid remembered. "His ears used to go very red."

She gave them a look of resignation.

"When the hospital told me he was going on this trip, I was very skeptical. But when they explained he was going with you two, I was happy. Then I knew he would be in safe hands."

Reilly felt a lump in his throat. He thought about their safe hands which had not managed to save Jon. His eyes sought the
window; they lingered on a treetop where a crow made a branch sway, slowly, like a child on a swing.

"Shy or not," Ingerid said, "he did have a friend at Ladegården. Her name is Molly and she was in the same ward. Jon doesn't get close to people very easily so it made me happy. Because it's so important to have friends, and of course, a girlfriend. I had hoped that Molly might become his girlfriend. That he would finally have had someone to confide in."

Her lower lip started to quiver.

"I know he was holding something back," she hiccupped. "Mothers always know. But whenever I asked, he would draw back. It must have been something serious since he was too scared to tell me. That's what I thought. Something really serious."

At this point Axel and Reilly both chose to nod emphatically.

"His funeral is next Friday," Ingerid said. "At one o'clock. The vicar is coming tomorrow. I hope he is a considerate man and that he can find something to say, something meaningful. Please would you help me choose some music?" she asked. "What did Jon like to listen to? Please tell me."

"Madrugada," Axel said.

"Madrugada, definitely," Reilly said. "Jon wouldn't have settled for anything less."

"I see. Is that a band?"

"Yes. Jon liked Madrugada more than anything else. We can sort that out for you. We'll find something suitable."

"We can't have rock music in a church," she said.

"We'll pick something quiet," Axel said. "Trust us."

"'Highway of Light,'" Reilly suggested.

"Yes, 'Highway of Light,' definitely," Axel agreed. "It will raise the roof of the church. It is grand and symphonic. It always used to send shivers down Jon's spine when he listened to it."

"Thank you," she said. "You're so kind."

She leaned forward across the table as if to crawl over to them.

"I wish he had left behind a letter," she said. "A last message. I have spoken to Hanna Wigert. She said he might have been struck by an acute psychosis, but we'll never know for sure."

She wrung her hands on the table. Reilly grew scared that the joints of her fingers would snap.

"And then I need to talk to Molly. If she wants to see me. And his things need to be collected. I'm dreading it. Entering the room where he slept, taking his toothbrush out of the glass. His clothes and everything."

"Let us do that, please," Axel said. "Then you won't have to."

Again she smiled with gratitude.

"Thank you," she whispered. "You're so kind. Thank you for everything you have been for Jon, you meant so much to him. I'll never forget you two."

She clasped their hands on the table.

"And now there's something I need to tell you," she said.

She looked earnestly at them both.

"What happened must be difficult for you and perhaps you feel responsible, but you're not. I don't blame you for anything. Promise me, please, that you will put this behind you and move on."

L
ADEGÅRDEN PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL
was a yellow, three-story building set in an attractive park with sculptures and fountains. A network of paths bordered by flowers and bushes crisscrossed the grounds. Axel stopped the Mercedes in the visitors' parking lot and for a while they sat watching the yellow façade. Jon had slept behind one of the arched windows.

"His room was on the first floor," Axel said.

Reilly started counting. "It's up there," he said, pointing. "Fourth window from the left."

Axel stuck a Marlboro in his mouth and Reilly opened the car window. He did not want to go inside, did not want see Jon's room or his things. However, they had promised Ingerid Moreno they would take care of it. Axel finished his cigarette. They went to reception and explained why they had come.

"We would like to talk to Hanna Wigert," Axel said. "We're here to collect Jon Moreno's belongings."

Reilly had imagined Hanna Wigert to be a big, sturdy woman. There was something about her name which proclaimed a full bust and broad shoulders. However, Hanna Wigert was small and neat with an impressive mane of red, curly hair. Reilly was aware that she was judging them. It appeared she was drawing some swift conclusions.

"So," she said gravely. "You wanted Jon's things?"

Axel nodded. He was wearing his wistful smile.

"I've been expecting you," she said. "Ingerid Moreno called."

She studied them for several long seconds with a sharpness which made Reilly say a silent prayer. He had never felt so scrutinized. I need a fix, he thought.

She turned on her heel and walked off in white strappy shoes, noiseless against the linoleum floor. They followed her up a broad staircase where every step was edged with brass. It smelled as though someone had just washed it. Lemon, Reilly thought, or apple. Then they went down a long corridor until they reached a door. She opened it, and they looked inside. The room was reminiscent of a cell. The bed was stripped of linen and someone had taken Jon's clothes out of the wardrobe and dumped them on the mattress. A pair of trousers here, a sock and a sweater there. The pile of clothes made Reilly imagine that Jon had fallen apart like a doll and that he could not be put back together again. The mattress repelled him. It had blue and white stripes and was covered with a kind of plastic sheet, through which he could detect some stains.

"There's not much," Hanna Wigert said. "Just some clothes. And his stereo and CDs. I'll get you some boxes."

Reilly was restless. He paced up and down the floor, went over to the window and looked out at the park, at the paths and the fountains.

"I feel like an intruder," he said. "This is Jon's room. We've got no right to be here."

"Let's just get it over with," Axel said.

Reilly went to the bed and held a sweater to his face. It was blue with a darker pattern across the chest. Suddenly he was surrounded by Jon. He inhaled the smell and his throat closed instantly as though a stick had been pushed down it.

"We need to fold them neatly," Axel said, "so Ingerid can see that we've made an effort. Don't just stand there. Procrastinating will only make it worse."

Reilly was still pressing the sweater to his face. It was as if Jon were very close and wanted to tell him something. Bring me back, the voice said, I don't want to be alone here in the dark.

"Now get going," Axel ordered him.

Hanna Wigert returned with the boxes. She put them down on the floor and placed her hands on her hips.

"If you understand anything about what's happened, I expect you to tell me," she said.

Reilly let go of the sweater. Axel pulled the boxes toward him. It said Evergood on one and Delikat on the other.

"It came as a shock," he said. "But then again, he was ill," he added.

"Ill," Hanna Wigert echoed. "Not suicidal."

Axel picked up a pair of trousers. Hanna Wigert did not take her eyes off him. There was something ominous about her disapproving look and her wild red hair.

"If you think that we bear some responsibility for this, then you're probably right," Axel said. "We should have seen that something was up, we should have taken more care. But we don't have your experience, we're just ordinary people."

His words silenced her. She left, closing the door behind her, and Jon's room fell quiet.

"She's one angry woman," Axel said. "She practically had steam coming out of her ears. I thought she would blow her top."

"Jon liked her very much," Reilly said.

"Jon was desperate," Axel said. "He liked anyone who was nice to him."

That was when Reilly snapped. He grabbed hold of Axel and shook him.