paper. You killed Didrik and Henrik.
I figured you would come for me too. In a way I have been waiting for you.”
Bertel had an urge to get up and pull away the curtain to see his
perpetrator’s face. But something kept him from doing it. Some force bigger
than himself forced him to stay in his chair. The same force that the boys in
the juvenile prison had come to know after the nightly visits with the prison’s
pastor. The same force that would keep them awake night after night staring
anxiously at the door to their cell. Afraid that it would open and they would
once again lose a finger, an ear, be blinded, or even castrated.
It was fear.
“I suppose there’s nothing I can do or say to make you change your
mind?”
“You suppose right.”
“So it is over?”
A long motionless silence. For an instant the pastor in the armchair
thought the man behind the curtain was gone.
“Can I please at least see your face?”
Another silence from his perpetrator before the sound of the curtain
being pulled aside filled the air. A face appeared on the other side. The glove
from his past was pointing right at him. The pastor wasn’t afraid any longer.
But he was indeed surprised.
“So it is you?”
“Yes.”
“But why? Why now after all these years?”
“Because your time is up. The game is over.”
The pastor was content with the answer. He had always known that the
past that he had too long been running from, would one day catch up with him.
And this was it. His time was up. After all he was a priest. He wasn’t
frightened by the end, only by the pain.
“Will I suffer?”
“Yes.”
21
Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest. A day to spend with your loved
ones. And so this Sunday began. But shortly after I hung up after talking to
Giovanni, my phone rang again. This time it was Sara.
“There’s been another one. Another murder, they say on the police radio.”
She sounded so excited. They had never had a murder in this area before
and now they had three in week.
“Aren’t you supposed to have the day off?”
“I am. I’m at my house.”
“So you have a police radio at your house too?”
“Well of course. Most things happen on the weekends.”
That was true, I had to admit.
“So tell me about the murder.” I waved at my daughter who wanted me to
come back and do the rest of the puzzle with her. I signaled both her and my
dad that this was important.
“You are never going to believe this. It’s a priest this time.”
“A priest?”
“In the juvenile prison.”
“Where is that?”
“Roedvig Stevns.”
“Now where is that exactly?”
“About an hour drive from here. Just on the east coast of Zeeland.”
In the middle of nowhere, that is, I thought.
“How do we know it is the same guy?”
“We don’t. But the police keep talking about his chest being ripped
apart. Using words like “almost looks inhuman, beastlike, messy, blood
everywhere.” I just thought you might like to check it out for yourself.”
“You thought right,” I said and got the address of the juvenile prison.
Now all I had to do was call Sune and then the hard part: tell my family that
our Sunday was ruined.
They didn’t take it well. Julie cried and said she missed me. My dad gave
me one of those looks that strongly indicated I was not making the right
choice. I felt bad for Julie, but I had to go. I promised her we would get ice
cream when I got back. But I also knew it would probably never happen. I wouldn’t
be able to get back in time. Luckily for me she forgot all about it when I told
her that Tobias was coming because his dad, Sune, was going with me. So I got
out of the house without anyone crying. Which was quite an accomplishment.
At least Sune was in a great mood. Well, until I told him where we were
going, that is. Then his smile froze and he looked mad.
“I didn’t choose the location,” I defended myself, thinking he was mad
because it was so
I figured you would come for me too. In a way I have been waiting for you.”
Bertel had an urge to get up and pull away the curtain to see his
perpetrator’s face. But something kept him from doing it. Some force bigger
than himself forced him to stay in his chair. The same force that the boys in
the juvenile prison had come to know after the nightly visits with the prison’s
pastor. The same force that would keep them awake night after night staring
anxiously at the door to their cell. Afraid that it would open and they would
once again lose a finger, an ear, be blinded, or even castrated.
It was fear.
“I suppose there’s nothing I can do or say to make you change your
mind?”
“You suppose right.”
“So it is over?”
A long motionless silence. For an instant the pastor in the armchair
thought the man behind the curtain was gone.
“Can I please at least see your face?”
Another silence from his perpetrator before the sound of the curtain
being pulled aside filled the air. A face appeared on the other side. The glove
from his past was pointing right at him. The pastor wasn’t afraid any longer.
But he was indeed surprised.
“So it is you?”
“Yes.”
“But why? Why now after all these years?”
“Because your time is up. The game is over.”
The pastor was content with the answer. He had always known that the
past that he had too long been running from, would one day catch up with him.
And this was it. His time was up. After all he was a priest. He wasn’t
frightened by the end, only by the pain.
“Will I suffer?”
“Yes.”
21
Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest. A day to spend with your loved
ones. And so this Sunday began. But shortly after I hung up after talking to
Giovanni, my phone rang again. This time it was Sara.
“There’s been another one. Another murder, they say on the police radio.”
She sounded so excited. They had never had a murder in this area before
and now they had three in week.
“Aren’t you supposed to have the day off?”
“I am. I’m at my house.”
“So you have a police radio at your house too?”
“Well of course. Most things happen on the weekends.”
That was true, I had to admit.
“So tell me about the murder.” I waved at my daughter who wanted me to
come back and do the rest of the puzzle with her. I signaled both her and my
dad that this was important.
“You are never going to believe this. It’s a priest this time.”
“A priest?”
“In the juvenile prison.”
“Where is that?”
“Roedvig Stevns.”
“Now where is that exactly?”
“About an hour drive from here. Just on the east coast of Zeeland.”
In the middle of nowhere, that is, I thought.
“How do we know it is the same guy?”
“We don’t. But the police keep talking about his chest being ripped
apart. Using words like “almost looks inhuman, beastlike, messy, blood
everywhere.” I just thought you might like to check it out for yourself.”
“You thought right,” I said and got the address of the juvenile prison.
Now all I had to do was call Sune and then the hard part: tell my family that
our Sunday was ruined.
They didn’t take it well. Julie cried and said she missed me. My dad gave
me one of those looks that strongly indicated I was not making the right
choice. I felt bad for Julie, but I had to go. I promised her we would get ice
cream when I got back. But I also knew it would probably never happen. I wouldn’t
be able to get back in time. Luckily for me she forgot all about it when I told
her that Tobias was coming because his dad, Sune, was going with me. So I got
out of the house without anyone crying. Which was quite an accomplishment.
At least Sune was in a great mood. Well, until I told him where we were
going, that is. Then his smile froze and he looked mad.
“I didn’t choose the location,” I defended myself, thinking he was mad
because it was so
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