Bad Intentions (9 page)

"I'll read it," she said, "and I'll let you know."

M
OLLY GRAM CROSSED
the lawn in front of the hospital.

She walked diagonally toward the path, glancing briskly both to the left and right as she always did. Molly was seventeen years old, but her childish face, high forehead, slender body and the way she moved made her seem younger. She did not want to come across as womanly. She did not play on that side of herself because she had had her fingers burned. Instead she had assumed the role of a small, grumpy girl. She took in everything as she walked. A limping man to her right, a couple strolling arm in arm across the parking lot. She assessed them as she moved. As far as she could see, there were no enemies around. Every time she left the ward she exposed herself to the outside world and its inhabitants, to the light and the wind. Something might come from above or something might attack her from the side. She felt safe only inside her room. Under her duvet. In the dark. With Melis.

She was outside now. She had finally reached the path. This was where she used to walk with Jon Moreno. Now the dog was her only companion. From time to time it would jump up and snap at her green skirt and she would tell it off in an affectionate voice. Little rascal, she said. Good doggy. She felt that Jon was somehow still with her, that his frail figure was at her side as usual, and she carried on an internal conversation with him.

Hi Jon, let's go for a walk. The weather is very nice. I like this time of year when it starts to get dark earlier. I couldn't find anyone who wanted to come for a walk with me. The others are so boring; they just hang out in the smoking room and can't be bothered to do anything. And they take no notice of what's going on outside. They don't know that monks are being killed in Burma and stuff like that.

Her inner voice grew quiet as if she lacked the strength to keep Jon alive. Her eyes soon began to dart around again, and she increased her speed. Melis had to run to keep up with her.

You and I would have been friends for life, she thought, I'm sure of that. But we didn't get enough time. Jon, I need you to listen to me now because there's something I have to tell you, something I've never told anyone. I want to kill myself too. But I'm afraid. I'm not that scared of dying, but I'm scared that I might change my mind. What if, say, I jump off a bridge and regret it and panic as I fall. Then I'll die with a terrible scream. I don't want to die screaming, it would be so embarrassing. People might think I'm some huge seagull as I flap past them, can you imagine that? And once I have made my decision, then I don't want to whine and moan about it, but to leave life behind with dignity. Or what if I take an overdose? And I have second thoughts and can't make myself vomit. Imagine me slumped over the toilet bowl, retching, how humiliating would that be? I can't see a future, only a road that is getting narrower and disappears round
a bend and then into darkness, and I'm walking down that road alone. Damn you, Jon!

She sobbed as she walked on. She was quite deep into the forest now. Melis zigzagged, one moment he would appear on her right side, then ahead of her and then somewhat behind. A light breeze caused Molly's hair to flutter, and the leaves either side of the path rustled as if the forest were an animal stirring. Then she heard a different noise, the sound of a twig snapping. It can't be Melis, she thought, he's too light. She stopped abruptly and glanced over her shoulder. Was anyone there? What did they want? Melis, too, had stopped. His small ears had detected a sound. She increased her speed again. She was quite far from the hospital now. No one would hear her if she screamed. Were those footsteps? A muted shuffle and some dry cracks. Was it one of the men from the secure unit, she wondered, one of the lunatics? The patients in the secure unit had their own outside space, but sometimes they escaped. Molly could taste blood in her mouth. She turned around a second time, but there was nothing to see. Perhaps it was just a cat prowling through the scrub, nothing to get wound up about. Other people were out walking too; she did not own the forest or the path. Now calm down, Molly, she told herself.

Calm down, for God's sake!

But she could not calm down. And then she spotted a man some distance away. He stood motionless on the path. There was something familiar about him, and she searched her memory frantically.

Axel Frimann raised his hand and waved.

"Well, who would have thought it?" he said. "It's Molly and Melis."

He bowed solemnly. Molly could not work out what he was doing here, on her path. At her hospital. He took a few steps
toward her. Molly stood very still as she watched him come closer.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said, "but I suddenly got it into my head to try this walk. It was you who gave me the idea."

Axel Frimann expected people to take the bait immediately, that they would be dangling from the hook on his first throw. But not Molly. Her kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed with skepticism.

"What did you make of the funeral?" Axel asked.

What does he mean? Molly wondered. Jon's funeral was terrible. She had never attended a sadder funeral in her entire life.

"I mean, the ceremony," Axel said. "The vicar's eulogy. It was lovely, wasn't it?"

"It was very ordinary," Molly said.

"You think so?"

Axel fell silent. The sullen girl baffled him. He did not get the reaction he usually got when speaking to girls.

"You need to train that dog of yours," he said. "People are still talking about it, Jon hitting the ground."

Molly shrugged. "You should have kept steady," she snapped.

"That mutt sank its teeth into Reilly's calf," he said.

Molly looked down at her mutt.

"West Highland terrier," she said. "Eight kilos."

Axel tried a different tack, a more friendly approach.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it? That he killed himself, I mean."

Molly remembered Jon's voice. It always contained despair, suppressed tears.

"He was troubled by so many things," she said.

Axel Frimann was on his guard now. "That's what I've been thinking," he said. "That something must have happened, something he couldn't cope with. But I never found out what it was. He wouldn't even confide in his best friends. It's actually very hurtful to be kept at a distance. Did he confide in you?"

Molly stared down at her feet in the pink sneakers. "We spoke about most things," she said.

Axel offered her his arm. "Will you walk with me?" he asked.

Molly started walking in the opposite direction, back to the hospital. She walked quickly now. "No, not at all."

"Don't be so ill-tempered," he said. "There's no need. I was only asking."

Molly strode on. Axel sauntered after her. Melis growled from the depths of his throat.

"Has Hanna Wigert been asking you a lot of questions?" Axel wanted to know. He was walking effortlessly beside her now.

Molly continued to walk as quickly as she could.

"About Jon, I mean," Axel continued. "If you have information which might explain his suicide."

She stopped and gave him an irritated look. "He was having a hard time. It's that simple. Jesus Christ, stop prying!"

"I'm sorry," Axel said. "I don't mean to interrogate you, but Jon was my best friend. It's a huge loss."

"I'm quite insightful," Molly said. "All you've lost is control."

That night she climbed into bed with Melis. The darkness crept out from the corners and she felt the warmth from the panting dog. She was thinking of the things Jon had told her. I've got such a guilty conscience, he had said, I've made some big mistakes. I've discovered something terrible about myself. I'm a coward. This is what he used to say. But everybody makes mistakes and only a few of us are truly courageous, Molly thought, Jon must be thinking of something quite specific. She was startled when the door opened. A beam of light fell across the floor and she saw Ruth, the night nurse. Melis raised his head to sniff the intruder. Ruth entered and looked down at Molly in the bed. Molly had removed the black make-up and without it she was
another person, a pale and blurry child against the white bed linen. Ruth perched on the edge of the bed and Molly clasped her arm with both hands.

"You're so good to touch," she said. "You're like warm dough."

Ruth laughed heartily. She carried some extra weight, and she was used to Molly being direct.

"So what's keeping you awake?" she asked.

"I'm thinking about Jon. And everything Jon said. And how to manage without him."

"There are other people out there you can trust," Ruth said. "Time is on your side. You'll find someone."

"But no one is like Jon," Molly said. "And what we had, I'll never find that again."

Ruth patted Molly's cheek with her chubby hand.

"Did he ever tell you what was on his mind?" she asked.

Molly sat up in bed. She pulled the duvet to her chin. "Yesterday I saw a man on TV," she said. "He was one of those explorers. He was going to live in the wilderness for thirty days. In Canada. Where the Inuit live. He packed everything he would need on a sledge. It weighed a hundred kilos. He could barely drag it across the ice."

Ruth waited for her to continue.

"Jon's conscience was that bad," Molly said. "He had so much to drag along."

Ruth sighed. "He never should have gone to that cabin," she said. "He didn't want to. Perhaps he sensed that something might happen.

"All the staff here at Ladegården feel responsible. We so wanted him to go. God knows what we were thinking. But if he had killed himself here on the ward, we would have felt even more responsible. And if we had discharged him and he had killed himself afterwards, then we would also have felt responsible. And if he had done it at home in his own bed, then his mother would have felt responsible. Do you see what I'm saying? That's how it is with suicides."

Molly held Melis up to her face. She inhaled his smell. It made her think of sweet spices.

"If you like, we can visit his grave one day," Ruth said. "You and I together. We can take some flowers. We can say a few words and imagine that they'll reach Jon. You never can tell."

Molly shook her head. "He won't hear one word," she said. "Of that I'm certain."

"Molly," Ruth implored. "You need to hold on to some mystery in your life. You don't know everything."

"Those friends of his," Molly said. "Do you think they were good friends?"

Ruth frowned. "You mean the ones who took him to the cabin? I imagine so. They had known each other a long time. Why do you ask?"

Molly returned Melis to the foot of her bed. "Not all friends are good ones," she said. "Some are there purely out of habit. Or because they benefit from knowing you."

Ruth listened in silence.

"They profit from you," Molly continued. "Or they need you for some reason. To outsiders, it looks like a friendship."

Ruth tried to follow her thoughts.

"But if Jon didn't want to be a part of that trio," she said, "then why didn't he end the friendship?"

"Perhaps that was what he was trying to do," Molly said. "Perhaps he sought refuge here, at the hospital."

"You're saying he was escaping from his friends?"

"He was trying to hide here," Molly said, "but they came and got him."

"Why do you say that?"

Molly tossed her head. "I notice things."

"You're going to be all right, Molly," Ruth said, "because you're sharp."

"I'm not going to be all right," Molly said, fluffing her pillow gently. "I'm going to be here at Ladegården forever. In this bed. In this room. With you."

Ruth was wise and so she did not protest. "Perhaps," she said. "Perhaps we'll both be here forever, you and I."

She got up from Molly's bed. Her heavy body moved across the floor.

"You remind me of a container ship at sea," Molly said.

Ruth grunted by way of reply.

"You lie quite low in the water. And you're heeling a bit. But your sails are full, I'll give you that."

"Go to sleep," Ruth laughed, "and give that sharp tongue of yours a rest."

I
NGERID MORENO WAS
standing by the window.

Her hands were resting on the windowsill. She still wore Tony Moreno's ring on her right hand. He had left her, but she liked the ring with the pink pearl. Her eyes swept across the garden and the other houses in the residential area where she lived. Everything was pretty, well maintained and green, every hedge trimmed, every fruit tree pruned, because the people who lived there were hard-working. For a long time she admired birds on a branch, the early autumn foliage and the damp grass. Tumbling clouds, the sound of music from an open window, all these things Jon had lost. She turned and glanced at the coffee table where the diary glowed red. I may not have the right, she thought, but I'm a human being in need. She curled up in an armchair with the diary on her lap. On the back of it she discovered a white label with the text
MADE IN CHINA
and also a yellow price sticker. This is Jon's life, she mused, and the price is
29.99 kroner. She switched on the reading lamp and opened the first page.

My name is Jon Moreno. I'm a patient at Ladegården Psychiatric Hospital and I have sat down to write. Is there any point in writing things down?

Will everything become clearer, will it be a relief? Does it serve as a confession, and as a result will I be forgiven for everything? I need absolution. But I have ended up in a situation where it is unobtainable. People will say that my actions were unforgivable and that is true. But if I don't confess then I will go tainted to my grave. I don't believe in God, but I cannot bear the thought of being consumed by remorse in my final hour. But then there are always other considerations. There are other people and their dreams and plans for the future. Should I destroy even more than I have already? I'm not very stron
g.
Sometimes, at night, when I lie in the darkness, tossing and turnin
g,
I end up praying to God anyway. It helps for a few minutes. Then I feel even more of a fraud than before because I'm praying to someone I don't believe in, but then again He might exist and He is watching my hypocrisy and that makes it even worse. When I finally fall asleep I have nightmares. Someone is hammering on my door, they have come for me and it's all over. Perhaps I have this dream because deep down this is what I want. Someone to expose me finally and call me to account. That black December night haunts every second of my life. When I woke up the next day, I felt confused. I tried to recall what had happened. Did we drive off the road and end up in a ditch? Perhaps that's one way of looking at it: we lost our way and I'm still in that ditch. I have been so privileged. I had a good childhood. My mom taught me right from wrong. All my life I have imagined that my morals were high, that I was decent and honest and truthful. But what happened to my morals when I was tested? A nasty voice started whispering in my ear: it was all right to run away, besides there were more of us,
a lot was at stake. I don't understand where that voice came from, I didn't know it even existed. Perhaps it had been dormant for a long time and then, when I needed it, it started its vile whispering. Reilly does have a conscience, he is a humble guy, but Axel Frimann is a Master of the Universe. It was a battle of wills I was bound to lose. No matter how I handle this I will be exposed to contempt. At times I can see the contours of a devil, someone who watched us that night and laid a trap for us. I know that's nonsense. Life is full of coincidences. Yet I feel so bitter because we're not bad people. How can you know you're a good person if your life has been nothing but plain sailing?