walk. He must have been reeling around for some time when he noticed that he had ended up below the cottage. In front of him, the moonlight showed him the beginning of a path. It snaked off through the night, or was
snaked
really the right word … ?
Don searched in his bag for something that would bring clarity, fumbling among bottles and plastic-sealed syringes, while his carbonated legs continued to carry him away of their own accord.
In the pine forest, the trees pressed in closer and closer, encircled themselves around him, pressed down over his head, as though they wanted to close him in a cave. And when he finally managed to get a few more pills out, he dropped the first one on the path, where he couldn’t find it even though he dug in the ground with his fingers, and now he had slumped down into a sitting position, and how would he be able to get up again while he felt like this?
There was something on his chest, too, which felt heavier and heavier, and his breaths sounded dangerously shallow, panting and weak; he truly became frightened then, and he pulled up a random box in the dark and swallowed something without having any idea what it was, and soon after that he dropped off.
*
W hen Don’s eyes opened again, he was lying on the forest path and looking up at the sky, and he thought it had completely lost its color. Hadn’t it just been black? Now it seemed to have turned beige or, wasn’t that a streak of blue? Was it morning already? And if it was: lucky that the diver hadn’t seen him.
He sat up and looked around.
Yes, it was morning. A blackbird was singing somewhere, and it looked as though water was glittering at the end of the path. A T-shaped dock extended out into the water, and the surface alongside the dock was covered in a thick layer of green leaves and white roses. A red patterned shirt had been left at the very end of the planks. Don had the thought that perhaps the diver had drowned, and maybe that explained why the machines were on up in the cottage and why the door had been open.
But then he caught sight of someone who was lying asleep just next to the edge of the woods. The dew glittered around the diver, because that must be him lying naked there in the grass, right? But there was no glitter around his large head; the ground was just sludge there. It looked as if Erik Hall had lain down to rest with his face in a rust-colored puddle.
A few steps closer now, and the sun really began to shine, strong even though it was still only dawn.
Nothing was bending or moving in an unnatural way anymore. Still, Don thought that this had to be some sort of dream or hallucination, because it was as though someone had ripped off a large part of the diver’s face—from his temple through his right eye socket and all the way into the root of his nose.
One eye was missing, or maybe it was there in the sludge somewhere. It was hard to tell, because from the curls on his forehead down to his neck, Hall’s face was covered with something that looked like a cowpat of coagulated blood.
Don wanted to stop, but his legs just kept moving, and they lowered him to his knees by the diver.
At the same time, his hands, a doctor’s hands, wanted to find something to do—but when he poked at all the red, his stomach turned, and he had to bend forward to force the vomit back down. Now his heart started to flutter away again, and he searched through the medicine in his bag, but all his fingers found was some angular object made of plastic.
When Don lifted it up, he saw that he was holding his cell phone. Pushed the power button; the battery was way down in the red. And while he continued to force back his vomit reflex, his fingers started to search for the buttons that made up the emergency number: one, one, two.
11
Solrød Strand
T he asphalt of the Øresund Bridge rushed by about four inches below the foot pegs of ridged aluminum. Elena was crouched in place on the motorcycle, behind the carbon-fiber
snaked
really the right word … ?
Don searched in his bag for something that would bring clarity, fumbling among bottles and plastic-sealed syringes, while his carbonated legs continued to carry him away of their own accord.
In the pine forest, the trees pressed in closer and closer, encircled themselves around him, pressed down over his head, as though they wanted to close him in a cave. And when he finally managed to get a few more pills out, he dropped the first one on the path, where he couldn’t find it even though he dug in the ground with his fingers, and now he had slumped down into a sitting position, and how would he be able to get up again while he felt like this?
There was something on his chest, too, which felt heavier and heavier, and his breaths sounded dangerously shallow, panting and weak; he truly became frightened then, and he pulled up a random box in the dark and swallowed something without having any idea what it was, and soon after that he dropped off.
*
W hen Don’s eyes opened again, he was lying on the forest path and looking up at the sky, and he thought it had completely lost its color. Hadn’t it just been black? Now it seemed to have turned beige or, wasn’t that a streak of blue? Was it morning already? And if it was: lucky that the diver hadn’t seen him.
He sat up and looked around.
Yes, it was morning. A blackbird was singing somewhere, and it looked as though water was glittering at the end of the path. A T-shaped dock extended out into the water, and the surface alongside the dock was covered in a thick layer of green leaves and white roses. A red patterned shirt had been left at the very end of the planks. Don had the thought that perhaps the diver had drowned, and maybe that explained why the machines were on up in the cottage and why the door had been open.
But then he caught sight of someone who was lying asleep just next to the edge of the woods. The dew glittered around the diver, because that must be him lying naked there in the grass, right? But there was no glitter around his large head; the ground was just sludge there. It looked as if Erik Hall had lain down to rest with his face in a rust-colored puddle.
A few steps closer now, and the sun really began to shine, strong even though it was still only dawn.
Nothing was bending or moving in an unnatural way anymore. Still, Don thought that this had to be some sort of dream or hallucination, because it was as though someone had ripped off a large part of the diver’s face—from his temple through his right eye socket and all the way into the root of his nose.
One eye was missing, or maybe it was there in the sludge somewhere. It was hard to tell, because from the curls on his forehead down to his neck, Hall’s face was covered with something that looked like a cowpat of coagulated blood.
Don wanted to stop, but his legs just kept moving, and they lowered him to his knees by the diver.
At the same time, his hands, a doctor’s hands, wanted to find something to do—but when he poked at all the red, his stomach turned, and he had to bend forward to force the vomit back down. Now his heart started to flutter away again, and he searched through the medicine in his bag, but all his fingers found was some angular object made of plastic.
When Don lifted it up, he saw that he was holding his cell phone. Pushed the power button; the battery was way down in the red. And while he continued to force back his vomit reflex, his fingers started to search for the buttons that made up the emergency number: one, one, two.
11
Solrød Strand
T he asphalt of the Øresund Bridge rushed by about four inches below the foot pegs of ridged aluminum. Elena was crouched in place on the motorcycle, behind the carbon-fiber
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