Invisible Murder

INA WAS WAITING for the night.

It was still light outside, even though it was almost 10 P.M., and she had been lying on the guest bed in the clinic for more than an hour. Since she got out of the taxi, actually, dragging her scant possessions with her. She had bought a sleeping bag. Underwear. Two pairs of jeans. Socks, shorts, and T-shirts. And a toothbrush, of course. It was important to bring a toothbrush to your new home. Magnus had said she could stay at the clinic until she found a place to live, and somehow Nina was thinking that wouldn’t happen right away. A new place to live meant something like an apartment. Maybe somewhere in Østerbro. Two bedrooms would suffice, surely. Then the kids could each have their own, and she could sleep in the living room when they were there. If they ever were. Anton would show up at regular intervals. Ida was less likely to. Nina had been granted permission to hug her one single time since their ordeal. Ida had wrapped both arms around Nina and cried into her neck, but she had also given her a look afterward that was completely different from her normal glare. For the first time in more than a year, it didn’t feel like Ida was mad at her, but more … sick of it all. Disappointed, maybe.

You promised her that as long as you were with her, nothing bad would happen to her, Nina thought. Now she knows that isn’t true. That her mother and father aren’t strong enough to protect her from everything in this world.

Apparently the war between them had been called off and replaced with something else. Nina just didn’t know what. But Ida hadn’t come to see her since.

Morten came to the hospital a few times with Anton and had dutifully asked about her broken rib and her radiation sickness and the long-term effects, and he had also smiled, probably for Anton’s sake, and talked a little about Anton’s school and how the parent-teacher meeting had gone. He had traded shifts so he didn’t need to go back to the North Sea until the summer vacation. He was thinking about looking for a new job, he had said. One where he wouldn’t be away from home for two weeks out of four. But for the time being, his sister was helping with the logistics, and they were lucky that his brother-in-law worked in Copenhagen, not far from Ida and Anton’s school.

They hadn’t discussed difficult issues like custody. Not yet. “That can wait until you’re well again,” he had said.

And now she was well. Or recovered, anyway.

Her body was symptom-free, but the doctors said she should still count on having more infections than normal. She should go to the doctor for regular checkups. And remember to take her pills.

The springs in the guest bed sagged noisily every time she rolled over. The sleeping bag she had just taken out of its plastic wrap was way too warm. North Field Arctic, rated for extreme, subzero temperatures. But the sun had been beating on the clinic’s south-facing windows all day, and the evening was muggy and still. She could hear young men yelling outside, drunk and aggressive.

Nina got up, pulled a shirt on over her underwear and stuck her feet into the loose shorts she’d bought at Kvickly. She left her sleeping bag where it was and walked down the long walkway to the children’s unit. In the security room, the night guard was sitting on the sofa sipping a cup of coffee and watching the ten o’clock news, with its endless scenes of violence and prophecies of doom. They were talking about terrorist threats and the melting polar icecaps and the global financial crisis. Nina snuck past without saying hello.

She found Rina in her room, all the way down at the end of the hall, wrapped up too warmly in the corner of her bed with her eyes closed, her breathing hot and fast. Sometimes she mumbled something or other and lashed out at something in the air. She was on medication now, Nina knew. She was sleeping better now. Nina opened the window facing the lawn and stood there for a moment looking out into the twilight before she lay down next to Rina.

Nighttime was the worst time at the Coal-House Camp, because at night they were all alone in the dark.