The Hanging Girl (45 page)

Pirjo staggered through the corridor, slammed the door behind her, and fell down in the office chair. She took a few deep breaths, deep down into her lungs, in an attempt to get her pulse under control, without success. Her arms began to shake and her skin became cold. Something was very wrong. Was it a psychological reaction to what she was about to do? She didn’t feel anything about it, but could that still be the reason? Was her conscience awakening? Was it a type of trial or punishment? She couldn’t believe it. She implored Horus as the pain in her abdomen increased, praying to him to deliver her from this tribulation.

“I’m doing it with the best of intentions!” she screamed.

And then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

It was with a sigh of relief that she went to stand up, but then she realized to her horror that her legs wouldn’t obey.

Then she noticed the blood.

Blood on the seat of the chair and blood on the white robe.

Blood that ran warm down her leg, dripping on the floor under the table.

—

Carl could only think of three short words, the rest of him being no more than a body:
not long now.
In the beginning, it felt as if his whole body was bubbling, like when you have a dead arm, but then all his muscles contracted and seized up. Even the tiny muscles in his eyelids and nostrils contracted and stiffened. It almost felt as if his body was slowly burning up. Suddenly his heart was beating extra systoles, and his brain sporadically short-circuiting in flashes of light, while his lungs were
increasingly ceasing to react to the lack of oxygen. And the more light that the cloud cover let through, the stronger the effect of the current, and the more the words “not long now” made sense.

Carl didn’t feel Assad next to him at all. He only remembered in glimpses that they sat securely tied to one another. Only in glimpses did he remember where he was.

Then the current suddenly became weaker. He gasped, breathing heavily. There was still an electric trembling in his body, but nothing compared to before. He looked around in confusion. It was bright in the room. Maybe even brighter than before. What was going on?

He heard a moan coming from beside him.

He sat for a moment, trying to get his neck muscles to obey. They were still as hard as stone. With difficulty, he managed to turn his head toward Assad, seeing his grave face contorted with pain.

Carl coughed when he tried to talk, but he did get the words out.

“What’s happening, Assad?”

A moment passed before he answered in short breaths.

“There’s a ground connection . . . in . . . the wall.”

Carl turned his head a fraction more. At first he didn’t understand what Assad meant. The wall was metal of some sort, he could see that, but what did that matter?

Then he noticed a faint smell of burning flesh and tried to work out where it was coming from.

Now he saw one of Assad’s arms twitching. He’d raised his bound arms in toward the wall as much as he could, pressing his thumb, which the cable was wound around, against the metal wall.

A very weak trace of smoke rose from it. That was what he’d been able to smell.

“The current . . . doesn’t get . . . any farther,” he mumbled.

Carl looked at the finger and the nail that was slowly turning brown, and the tip even darker. It was shocking to look at. Carl knew enough about current to know that Assad was sacrificing his finger for them. Just now, current was accumulating from a crazy number of solar cells down to the cable wound around Assad’s thumb, and from there onto the metal wall.

Wasn’t it his physics teacher who’d said that current always finds the shortest route to discharge?

“Can’t you manage to twist your hand and press the cable directly onto the wall, Assad?” he asked tentatively.

He shook his head tensely.

“Arhhh,” he mumbled, when a cloud suddenly drifted past over them. For one second the pain caused him to release his pressure against the metal wall, causing Carl to hit his neck against the wall and his arms to spasm.

Just until the next cloud came.

He noticed Assad twitching, and then the current disappeared again from Carl’s body.

Assad gasped beside him. It was unbearable to watch. It couldn’t continue like this for long.

Carl took a deep breath. “When the sun breaks right through, Assad, let go. The pain will be over . . . in a moment,” he heard himself say. It was awful to think about, but what if he was wrong? If it wasn’t over in a moment?

“But before you let go, I need to know, why . . .” He reconsidered for a moment. Did he really want to know?

“Know . . . what?” groaned Assad.

“Said! Why do they call you that? Is that your real name?”

For a moment, it went completely quiet next to him. He shouldn’t have asked.

“It . . . it belongs in the past, Carl,” he struggled out. “An alias . . . that’s what it is. Don’t think . . . about it . . . now.”

Carl looked down at the floor; the shadows became more defined. “The sun’s breaking through. Let go now, Assad. Are you listening to me!”

The body next to him twitched, but Carl felt no change. He hadn’t let go.

“Come on, Assad.
Let go!
”

“I’ll . . . be okay,” answered Assad almost inaudibly. “I’ve . . . tried . . . it . . . before.”

She leaned in over
the desk and reached for the telephone. If the ambulance came quickly, she’d be lying in the gynecological ward in Kalmar in forty-five minutes.

She told herself that if Atu came with her, everything would be all right again.

She was just about to smile at the thought when a cutting sensation suddenly tore through her.

“No, what’s happening?” she mumbled, as yet another convulsion thrust her backward in the chair.

Instinctively, she directed her eyes down. The bleeding between her legs had increased.

She trembled all over for a few seconds, and then it went totally quiet inside her. Far too quiet. The throbbing beat of her pulse. The movements in her uterus. The impulses that could give her an idea about her general condition. All signals stopped at once.

Pirjo began to cry. Just like the time when with a child’s naivete she’d asked her mother to love her as much as her sisters, she knew that the tears were shed in vain, that crying was of no use. Fate followed a path all of its own and you just had to follow along, no matter how terrible and sad it could seem. That was the realization she was left with now. From one moment to the next, everything became suddenly insignificant. The little being inside her had decided that they should part ways now. She’d gone into labor but her water hadn’t broken because the baby was dead inside her. She knew this with certainty.

She stared for a moment at the telephone, completely lost.

Why should she call for help? Why should she save herself when all was lost? She wouldn’t get Atu to impregnate her again. She’d never have the child who should have carried things on, so what was there to live for? Atu’s promise that they’d be united at the timber circle wouldn’t be granted anyway, not as things were.

And then there were the men in the control room. She wouldn’t be able to get rid of them for a long time if she allowed herself to be hospitalized. The electrician would find the bodies when he came back in a few days.

Now Pirjo was shaking all over. Even the severe Finnish winters hadn’t made her feel so cold.

Broken, she let her shoulders fall. Not because of her own fate, but because of Atu’s. When they found the bodies, they’d work out connections that she couldn’t allow. At some point they’d find Shirley, and then both she and Atu would pay for their actions.

So there was only one way out: She had to sacrifice herself for Atu one more time, and this time with her life. She’d write it all down as she bled to death. Take the blame for everything. Everything. And the men in there wouldn’t be around to prove otherwise. Their fate would have to follow hers. They’d made the choice to come so close.

For a long time, she looked tenderly at the little wooden figure the policeman had had with him.

Then she kissed it lovingly and began to write.

—

Carl told himself not to panic now. To remove himself from the pain and use the time he still had left.

He was somehow able to look around the room, despite the painful aftermath of the last wave of shocks, which had led to severe cramps in his arms and legs.

The biggest threat now was that Assad wouldn’t be capable of keeping his finger pressed against the wall. If he couldn’t, their bodies would be immediately thrown back in cramps, and Carl knew full well what that
would lead to. Just now, it wasn’t death itself he feared, but that it would be prolonged. That the current that would be sent through Assad’s finger, through their bodies, and out through Carl’s left leg wouldn’t kill them without incredible suffering. Terrifying pictures of executions in the electric chair, victims with blood coming out of their eyes and unbelievably contorted bodies, were all too clear in his mind. He’d already experienced how it felt, as if the brain was being cooked and the heart could fail at any moment.

But how to avoid that fate? Was there any possible way out, given that that evil woman had so thoroughly tied them together? The cables were extremely tight, the hooks on the wall behind them far too strong. The angle they were sitting at made it impossible for them to wriggle their bodies to a better position or one even totally free.

“When . . . when . . . when my finger is totally burned,” mumbled Assad beside him. “The cable . . . the cable . . . will fall down . . . down on me if . . . I . . . can’t push it . . . away and down on the floor.”

Carl tried to say something but the muscles in his neck were still so tense that not a sound came out. In desperation that even his voice had been taken from him, his eyes began to well up.

He knew he had to make sure not to cry. Moisture on his face wouldn’t help in this situation.

He wanted to say to Assad that he’d help him when it happened. That they’d wriggle themselves as much as they could so that the cable fell to the floor. But all he could do was nod.

He wondered why a fuse didn’t blow. Was there even a fuse? He stretched his head back and looked straight up at the bottom of the junction boxes and panels that controlled the whole system. It was up there that the woman had screwed the two cable ends. If only he had a free arm. Just a free hand. Then he’d . . .

He turned his head to his friend when he heard the awful sound. Now it was clear that Assad’s finger had begun to sizzle. His face was whiter than an albino’s.

But Assad held out.

*   *   *

Pirjo had sat for a moment with her hands on the keyboard, her mind elsewhere. She was really exhausted now. Things were happening so quickly.

Now there were hundreds of “n”s on the screen at the tail end of the words she’d written. Her finger must have been resting for a few seconds on the “n” key.

She began to delete them.

Just as she was thinking that it wouldn’t be long before Atu arrived, and that she’d have to be quick, she heard the door open to his quarters.

She felt a stab in her heart when she caught his scent. If those two policemen hadn’t come, this would’ve been the most blissful moment in her life. She could almost feel the embraces that wouldn’t come to anything. The caresses that would never be between them. And worst of all, the smiles and giggles of the child they’d both wished for most would never come to be.

Pirjo was about to faint in despair at the thought as she turned around and saw how Atu radiated. He was dressed all in yellow with tight trousers and a polo shirt, looking like a young man out for a good time. She tried to smile back, but her face wouldn’t obey.

She knew that he wouldn’t be able to see the blood, thinking that it was fortunate that the front of the desk hid it.

“You look wonderful, Atu,” she said, trying to raise her arm toward him so she could give his hand a squeeze, but she just didn’t have the energy.

“I’m just finishing something,” she said instead, succeeding now to smile a little. “It’ll just take five minutes, and then I’ll be with you.”

He took a step closer, his head to one side.

“Is something wrong, Pirjo?” he asked. Of course he noticed that things weren’t as they should be.

He scanned the desk instinctively, fixing his eyes on the little wooden figure that lay beside her hand.

It made him start, and his smile disappeared immediately. The reaction was noticeable, as if he’d been punched. Several times his eyes
jumped from the figure to her eyes with a mixture of confusion and shock.

Then he grabbed the figure and looked at it close-up, his face contorted as if the sight of it brought on physical pain.

“I recognize this figure,” he said, his voice full of unanswered questions. “Where did you get it?” he asked sharply.

Now she noticed only too clearly what the loss of blood was doing to her. How her energy was ebbing away and the cells in her body lacked oxygen. She told herself that she needed to concentrate on speaking clearly. That she had to talk slowly or she’d end up slurring.

She smiled with her eyes, which didn’t come easily. “You recognize it. That’s wonderful, Atu. But let’s talk about it in a little while. I’ll just finish up here.”

“Has Bjarke been here?” he asked to her surprise.

She looked at him, confused. What did he mean?

“I don’t know who Bjarke is,” she said.

It was obvious the answer irritated him.

“You must know seeing as the figure’s here.”

She shook her head slowly. Her heart began to beat faster in an attempt to oxygenate her blood.

He really didn’t understand. That much was clear. “I remember it. It was a young man on Bornholm who carved it.” He frowned. “He said he wanted to give it to me because he was in love with me.”

Pirjo didn’t understand. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. You’ve never mentioned that.”

“Just tell me what that figure is doing here, Pirjo. It’s a simple question. It hasn’t come from me because I refused to accept it. He was a pest and I couldn’t stand his advances, so do me a favor and don’t deny that he’s been here.”

“In five minutes, Atu,” she said, more insistently this time. If she was going to save the center and Atu, she had to finish writing her confession.

“What is it that’s so important?” He was about to go around the table to check the text on the screen when she stopped him.

“Fine, I’ll tell you! I’m taking all the blame, Atu, and you can’t stop me. Do you understand? I’m confessing to what you’ve done.”

Now Atu looked at her in a way she’d never seen before. Displeasure was the first word that came to mind, but it could also be loathing.

Loathing? Didn’t he understand that she was sacrificing herself for him?

“What is it I’ve done, Pirjo, and what’s it got to do with the figure? Is it your way of telling me that you regret what you just promised me? I don’t understand anything just now.”

She wanted to take his hand but didn’t dare lean forward for fear of passing out. She couldn’t let that happen.

“You killed Alberte,” she said quietly.

“
What
did I do? Alberte?”

“Yes, the girl you were with on Bornholm.”

She’d expected that he’d look at her with shock. That his face would express that his secret was out, but not that he’d fall backward against the wall as if his legs couldn’t carry him anymore.

“Alberte! Is Alberte dead?” He swallowed a couple of times and groaned.

Why was he denying all knowledge of it? Was he really so coldhearted?

“I don’t understand why you’re acting as if it didn’t happen. You know more than anyone else what happened. That’s why you wanted to get away from Bornholm, so why don’t you just say it like it is? What’s wrong with you? You’re as white as a sheet, Atu. What’s going on?”

He remained where he was, as if they were each in their own world, each with their own language, and it made her angry. So many years of silence between them, and now when it was finally out in the open, he kept silent. She hadn’t reckoned on this. That he was so cowardly.

“You disappoint me, Atu. I saved you back then. I covered up that you’d killed her. I worked it out on the same day we left the island. Did you maybe think that I could ignore how much you talked about her? You hadn’t talked about anything else for a few weeks. Maybe you
didn’t think it hurt, but it did. And then I heard on the radio that they’d found her murdered, thrown up in a tree following a hit-and-run. That was just two mornings before we left the island. I knew straightaway that it was you, Atu, and that they’d find you if I didn’t do something. They searched all over the island for the car. You do know that, right? And then I found the sign in the VW with blood on it.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. This is totally insane. I had no idea about any of this. I didn’t know Alberte was dead, and it makes me more than sad if it’s true. And what’s this sign you’re talking about?”

“Do I need to explain that to you, too? The sign that hung over the house at Ølene, of course. The Celestial Sphere! You painted it yourself so don’t try and say you don’t remember it.”

“Yes, of course I remember it. I caught myself on the screws when Søren Mølgård and I took it down, and I bled quite a bit. So what is it about that sign and what’s it got to do with Alberte?”

Atu was a master at manipulating others, but did he really believe that he could now manipulate her, too?

“Is it true? Is she dead?” he asked again. It was pathetic.

Pirjo clenched her teeth. She’d met resistance often enough in her life. The least he could do for her under the circumstances was to be honest. “You secured the sign on the front of the VW and used it to fling her up in the tree when you ran her down. But relax. I got rid of it for us. I burned it, Atu, so you can thank me for that.”

At that moment his eyes changed from desperation and anger to icy cold. “I’m very shocked over everything you’re saying, Pirjo. Really horrified!”

Then his face changed expressions again. He suddenly smiled with a serene expression.

He turned toward her.

“Aha, this is a test. You’re testing me. It’s a game. But then, where did you get the figure, Pirjo? Is this something you’ve been planning for a long time?” He slammed it on the table in front of her.

Didn’t he get just how vulnerable he was right now?

“Get away from here, Atu! Go, they’re after you,” she said, her voice weak. She owed him that much at least.

“Who’s after me?” He remained standing in front of her, smiling as if nothing was wrong. Didn’t he believe her?

She took a deep breath. “The officers who came with the figure, that’s who. The police have been looking for you all these years. They know it was you. But I’m taking the blame for you, so just get out of here. It’s all lost anyway.”

“I don’t understand anything. What officers?” He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“I remember that time well, when you began to talk about wanting to stay on the island because of Alberte. You were totally obsessed with her, and she consumed you. You weren’t yourself when you came home. It wasn’t anything like with the other women, and that worried me. But you realized, thank God, that it went against what you wanted for your own future, against what we’d agreed. Against everything.”