The Hanging Girl

49

Pirjo was shaking all over.

She knew it was the most stupid thing she’d ever done. She’d overreacted and painted herself into a corner. Yet she still couldn’t reproach herself.

Behind the door to the room with the electrical control system lay two unconscious men who’d just spoiled the most precious moment in her life. Ever. Two blasphemers who’d trespassed on holy ground at a moment that would shape her future life. Maybe the one extreme attracted the other. All her life she’d dreamt of a future like this, and now that it was within reach she wouldn’t let them get in the way.

But what should she do? They weren’t just anybody. Not vulnerable or naive women who could suddenly disappear. They were policemen in the middle of an investigation, which she knew neither the extent of nor who’d been involved. This was information she simply needed to get hold of before she could assess the danger and how she should react going forward.

One thing was certain: They had to be stopped. The question was how.

She noticed dark red blotches spreading treacherously on her forearms, and how they began to itch.

It was the mixture of adrenaline and frustration; she knew it all too well.

In an hour Atu would be finished with his coaching and come in to her, expecting embraces and ill-concealed happiness.

In an hour.

Pirjo’s head was full of what she had to find out and what she had to do: She had to force them to tell her what was lying in wait after them; how many she should expect and who they were; what they knew and how many people they’d told; and she needed to make it look like an accident—an accident that might well make you wonder, but not doubt.

She looked at the door leading to the control room. Now and again she felt stomach cramps, and the men were big and strong, so how could she neutralize them with such a disparity in strength. In better circumstances, the most logical thing to do would be to kill them with a tool that was heavier than a rubber mallet. The wrench lying on the floor in there, for example. But a blow like that would be deeper, and subsequently analyzed as having been inflicted by a third party, so that wouldn’t do.

“If only they hadn’t been so insistent,” she snarled in frustration. They’d gone at her too hard. It wasn’t how these things were supposed to happen. She’d expected questions and answers that she’d have been able to shoot down with ease. There were so very many ways you could get around that sort of thing, especially when the case was so old, but not when they were so aggressive.

Actually, she felt certain that the dark one would have taken it to extremes that a civilized police force couldn’t stomach. And she was equally certain that the two men would’ve softened up Atu in a confrontation. If they’d been successful in that, the whole truth would’ve come out and everything would’ve been lost on this otherwise miraculous day.

She looked at the wooden figure that’d fallen out of the Danish policeman’s pocket, and frowned. Someone or other had carved a wooden figure many years ago of the man who’d just proposed to her. The likeness was uncanny.

Pirjo wondered how these policemen had come to be in possession of it, and why one of them had it in his pocket. Was that their tactic? To slam the figure down on the table in front of Atu, like a bolt from the blue, in the hope that it would shock him and knock him off-balance?

She imagined the type of questions they’d ask. Do you deny that the figure is carved in your likeness? Do you deny all knowledge of someone who has seen you so clearly and at such close quarters?

They’d try to soften him up with that figure, and it might work.

Pirjo had no doubt who the artist was. It was that bitch Alberte who used to plague Atu. It was her special form of voodoo doll, intended to bewitch him and keep him trapped in a net of stipulations and demands from which he couldn’t escape.

Yes, she was certain that this was her doing, so it was good they’d managed to break the curse and get rid of her. There was no knowing what might have happened otherwise.

And the more she thought back to the time when it had happened, the more she hated the people that had brought back the memory of Alberte.

She clenched the figure in her hand and was about to slam it on the floor, but looked closer at the finely carved face and the beautiful mouth. It was almost like bringing back Frank as a young man, and that moved her. So simple and straightforward everything had been back then.

And yet so complicated that everything had gone wrong.

All because of Alberte.

She put the figure to her cheek, moved it a little, and kissed the lips in memory of lost days of innocence.

Then she heard a noise from the corridor behind her and put the figure down on the table. It was one of the two men out there, moaning.

In the following seconds she made some radical decisions and acted accordingly. When she stood in the control room she saw that both men were still lying spread out on the floor, and that the immigrant was trying to lift his head a little. She’d need to deal with him first.

She rolled the cylinder with non-insulated cable forward, pulled the man’s shirtsleeves down to the heels of his hands, and wound the cable around his arms at least ten times so they were tightly bound together. She then pulled him up to the bench and tied him securely. First around his ankles, then his thighs around the bench, and after that she bound his body tightly to a pair of old butcher’s hooks on the wall. When she was finished with him, she did exactly the same with the other man. He wasn’t much heavier than the immigrant, despite the difference in size, but he was completely limp, so it wasn’t easy, not least because Pirjo was feeling sick. So she stood for a moment and recovered herself until her stomach didn’t feel so strange.

Then she tied their bodies together with the cable and took a step back to scrutinize her work.

She went over the scenario in her head, wondering if she’d done anything wrong or overlooked any details.

It might be possible to trace the men via their cell phone signal, but the cells had probably been confiscated and turned off in reception. And then there was the car she’d seen pass by. It was probably parked some distance down the road, but it couldn’t stay there; it was too close.

She fished out the car keys from the pocket of the larger of the two men, checking again to see if everything was as it should be. They were securely bound together, and nobody came in this room except her. The electrician wasn’t expected back for a few days, so that gave her enough time. Next, there was Nisiqtu, who’d welcomed them, but then hadn’t it been Pirjo herself who’d given her the name “the appreciated”?

Yes, she’d definitely believe Pirjo when she claimed that the men had caused the accident themselves.

Now the immigrant was seriously starting to come round, so there was no time to waste. She judged the distance up to the junction box and cut two pieces of cable in lengths of three meters, winding one around the base of the immigrant’s thumb and the other around the policeman’s left ankle.

She looked at the junction box where all the different solar system cables were gathered together, screwing the cap off. Unknowingly, an electrician and Shirley had told her how she could apply torture and much worse. The direct current would only cause a little stinging sensation for the person the current was sent through so long as the sun was weak. But the stronger the sun, the more dangerous it would become. It would kill them eventually.

She nodded, taking a screwdriver with an insulated handle from the pile of tools under the bench, and loosened the two cable lugs that sent the current to the inverter. The direct current effect from the two cable lugs came from all the solar panels, creating an optimal effect. Were the sun to shine brighter, the voltage would be enormous.

She pulled the end of the cable that was wound around the immigrant’s thumb up to the junction box, connecting it to the positive pole, and then similarly the cable from the big man’s ankle to the negative pole.

In the same second that she connected the second cable, every muscle contracted in the two men’s faces, and all four legs shot suddenly forward. The immigrant’s leg kicked her hard in the stomach, causing her to sink to her knees.

She grabbed her abdomen, looking up at the men, who were both sitting with their eyes open staring, while everything inside her was screaming that she had to get out.

She stumbled into her office and sat down for a moment by the desk, groaning until the pain subsided. She was momentarily scared, but then turned her attention to what needed to be done, looked at the clock, and got up again.

“I’m just popping out for ten minutes to get some fresh air, Nisiqtu,” she said to the woman in reception. “There won’t be anything else today, so you can return to your room now. I’ll serve tea for the men myself when I get back.”

They smiled to each other. No danger there.

* * *

The police vehicle was a few hundred meters down the highway, parked to one side but very visible.

She rooted about in the glove compartment, opened the trunk, and checked the interior, but found nothing about the investigation that had led them here.

She started the car and parked it a few hundred meters down a small connecting road that nobody used anymore. It gave her a bit more control over the situation. If more police turned up in the immediate future, she could maintain that they’d driven off but said they’d be back again.

No one should enter the center and pry as long as those two men were still alive. And when they were dead, she’d consider whether or not it could appear to be an accident, or whether she needed to get rid of them. In any case, when the time came she’d go down and take the license plates off the car and make sure it ended up in Poland or some other obscure place. The Poles and Balts who drove around begging to paint the houses red could have it for a song if they agreed to take it far away. They could have the license plates from the old car sitting gathering dust in the back of the Stable of Senses. It wasn’t going to be used again anyway.

She walked back toward the academy, looking up at the sky. The clouds were still heavy but an easterly breeze looked to be blowing them away from the coast.

She thought about how the sun would soon be shining again, massaging her stomach as she walked in the door to the reception. It’d been a long time now since the baby had kicked.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Are you so tired? It’s been a special day, so Mom’s a bit tired, too,” she muttered. “Dad’s chosen your name, so you can be happy about that. And when you’re born, we’ll name you on the same day as Dad and I are joined together under the sun in the timber circle. It’ll be a great day, sweetheart.”

She screwed her eyes shut with the sudden discomfort that shot through her. It was a really nasty feeling, as if something in her body was completely off-balance.

She thought that something really wasn’t as it should be, as the sweat poured off her. She needed to get to the clinic in Kalmar and get it checked, but first she needed to know what she was up against. The men needed to answer her questions, and then she needed to get going.

* * *

They both sat with quivering jaws and tense neck muscles, staring at her, as she entered the room.

The immigrant tried to hiss something at her, but the words became distorted by the contractions in his neck.

She took her screwdriver and screwed one of the cables free from the junction box.

They both collapsed at once, their heads hanging on their chests.

“You should be glad that the sun isn’t out at the moment,” she said, as they slowly lifted their heads.

She looked up toward the skylight and noticed as the men’s eyes followed hers.

“You’re crazy,” said the larger of the two. “You could kill us.”

She smiled. Did he think she was crazy? Dear God, he had no idea how much was at stake. The whole world was waiting for this center to spread the message so that all religions could be united and the world could live in peace. Who did these two insignificant people think they were that they could stand in the way of that vision?

Her smile hardened. “What do you know?” she said, sticking the cable in the cable lug with the effect that both men’s legs kicked out and their backs arched. This time she knew from bitter experience to keep a safe distance.

“I’m well aware that the effect isn’t much at the moment. Maybe it just feels like an internal massage, right? But just wait until later, when the sun comes out again. Then it’ll be worse. Much worse.”

She pulled the cable to her again, causing the men to fall back, albeit not as much as last time. Maybe you could get used to this level of current.

“What do you know?” she asked again.

The big man coughed a couple of times before answering. “We know everything and we aren’t alone in that knowledge. Your Atu killed a girl in a hit-and-run years back, and now the past has caught up with him. So don’t make it any worse for yourself than it already is. Let us go, Pirjo. We . . .”

She pressed the cable against the cable lug again and the whole scenario repeated itself. After a few seconds, she let them off.

If they wouldn’t spit it out now, it would be the last time she’d try.

“Are there more of you?” she asked.

The big one tried to nod. “Of course. Atu’s been under suspicion for a long time. A policeman is dead as a result of this investigation. Atu’s left a trail of death and misery. Why are you protecting him? He isn’t worth it, Pirjo. There’s no reason to . . .”

He gasped for air when she once again pressed the cable against the cable lug. This time she screwed it tight and turned her back on the men.

Now she knew that what would be, would be. The men couldn’t say anything to her to ease her worry. The immigrant hadn’t even said a word. He’d just stared at her with cold eyes, as if he might kill her with a look. No, she’d done the right thing.

She looked up at the floating clouds, and then the twinge came again, only this time like a knife being stabbed in her stomach. It almost felt as if the baby inside her turned right round with one jerk. As if it was the fetus rather than the men who’d been subjected to the current.

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.”