‘Amen,’ Lukas said again. He couldn’t help himself.
Porta Caeli, Heaven’s Gate. And now they were here to prepare for the day that would soon arrive.
The pastor opened the door and let out all the children. All except Rakel. He always kept Rakel back for an extra chat. Perhaps it was like the lamb that had got separated from the flock? Of course it was. The lost sheep and the shepherd. Yet again, Lukas felt bad for having doubted the pastor’s wisdom.
‘I think that Rakel needs a little time alone with God, and with me,’ the pastor said, and signalled to Lukas to leave the room.
Lukas nodded, smiled and left.
‘Make sure that no one comes in and disturbs us, would you, Lukas?’
‘Of course,’ Lukas said with a bow.
He closed the door softly behind him. It had started to grow dark outside now; he could see stars in the sky. He smiled broadly to himself and felt another warm rush through his veins. That was where they were going. To Heaven. He could hardly wait. He was so looking forward to it; indeed, it was hard to describe how excited he was. A huge, wonderful, constantly tingling feeling from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers and into his toes. Turquoise rivers and houses made from gold. Was that really possible? That he could be so blessed? Lukas folded his arms across his chest, still grinning from ear to ear and started humming a new hymn he had just taught himself.
Chapter 42
It was undoubtedly the longest minute in Mikkel Wold’s life. And the shortest. The shortest and the longest minute. It was as if time had stopped. And yet it was slipping away between his fingers. Time had acquired a new meaning. Time had no meaning. They spent the first five seconds just staring at one another. Mikkel looked at Silje, whose jaw had dropped and whose eyes looked like they had just seen a UFO. Silje stared desperately at Grung, a young member of the flock seeking comfort from one of the older ones, but there was no help to be found in Grung; the normally so resourceful editor stared alternately at the mobile lying on the table between them and Mikkel Wold, who was now looking at Erik Rønning.
Erik had ground to a halt. He was no longer functioning. There was not a single movement or expression to be found in his face. The rubber ball sat half squeezed in his hand. His mouth was half open; a witty or sarcastic comment had stopped on its journey out into the room and was now going back inside his head. All four of them. Dumbstruck. Frozen. In total shock. So went the first five seconds.
The next fifteen seconds were the total opposite. Everyone started talking over one another. Like four children in a tunnel who had just realized that the goods train was coming towards them and that they couldn’t get off the railway tracks, there was just one way out and that was to run, even though, deep down, everyone knew it could only end in tragedy, but still they ran out of instinct. Random words bounced around the room.
‘Christ Almighty.’
‘We have to pick one.’
‘Jesus.’
‘What if it’s a hoax?’
‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘But what the hell, we can’t just…?’
‘What if we don’t pick one?’
‘Oh, my God.’
‘We have to pick one.’
‘We can’t.’
‘This can’t be happening.’
‘Grung?’
‘Mikkel?’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘We can’t kill another human being.’
‘I think I’m going to throw up. I feel sick.’
‘We can save a human being.’
‘Erik?’
‘Silje?’
‘What happens if we do nothing?’
‘They both die.’
‘We can’t kill a little girl.’
‘Shit.’
‘We can save a little girl.’
‘Shit.’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘Shit.’
Twenty seconds had passed now. The clock in the office had no hand for seconds. It still said 12.16. It wasn’t helping. It didn’t count the seconds. That was the one thing they needed right now: not hours, not minutes, just seconds. The next ten were spent trying to work out how much time had passed. At this point, panic was spreading around the room like wildfire.
‘How much time has passed?’
Silje’s face was deathly pale.
‘How much time is left?’
Grung had stood up and was resting the palms of his hands against the table.
‘Did someone make a note of the time?’
Mikkel Wold looked his mobile, at the clock on the wall; without the second hand the numbers might as well have been painted on the wall. Four children on the railway tracks in a tunnel who can feel the vibrations of the train thundering towards them.
‘Let’s not waste time working out how much time has passed!’
Erik had got up, too, and banged his fist against the table. Once. Twice. Three times.
‘Let’s not waste time working out how much time has passed!’
Grung had moved his hands from the table and started pulling at his hair.
‘How much time has passed?’
This part took ten seconds. By now, thirty seconds had passed.
‘We have to think now!’ Erik shouted. ‘There’s no point shouting over each other.’
‘We can’t just shout each other down!’ Silje shouted.
‘We must decide!’ Mikkel Wold shouted.
‘What are we going to do?’ Grung shouted, still tearing his hair out.
‘Everyone, calm down!’ Erik shouted.
‘Let’s all calm down!’ Silje shouted.
By now, forty seconds had passed. Every single one of the last twenty seconds had felt like an entire minute in itself. Or an hour. Or a whole year. It was as if the hands had stopped moving and yet were running away at the same time. Erik was the first person to make a sensible suggestion.
‘Let’s vote.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t say anything. We’re voting now. Hands up everyone who thinks we ought to do something.’
Erik held up his hand. Grung held up his hand. Mikkel Wold held up his hand without quite knowing why; his reaction was pure reflex. Silje’s hands remained on the desk.
Forty-nine seconds had passed.
‘Three against one.’
‘But-’ Silje protested, but Erik was not listening to her.
‘Hands up everyone who votes to save Karoline.’
‘You mean, kill Andrea?’ Silje wailed.
‘Hands up!’ Erik shouted.
By now fifty-three seconds had passed.
‘Hands up if you think we ought to save Karoline!’ Erik shouted again, desperate now; the train was nipping at his heels, this was the only way out, make it stop or derail it.
He raised his hand and stared at Grung. Grung copied him and looked desperately at Silje.
‘No,’ Silje sobbed. ‘No, no, no.’
By now, fifty-seven seconds had passed.
Grung and Erik were standing with their hands in the air now. They both looked at Mikkel Wold.
‘Yes or no?’ Erik demanded.
Mikkel Wold tried to raise his arm from his lap, but it refused to move. It felt leaden. His arm had never been that heavy before. It refused to obey him. Or maybe that was exactly what it was doing. His brain didn’t know.
By now, fifty-nine seconds had passed.
‘Come on!’ Erik roared. ‘Do we save Karoline or not?’
‘We kill Andrea,’ Silje sobbed. ‘We can’t do that.’
‘Yes or no?’ Grung bellowed.
He had clumps of hair in the hand which was raised in the air. Mikkel Wold tried to lift his hand again, but it was still stuck to his lap.
Then his mobile rang.
The room fell completely silent. Their time was up. The mobile rang again. Mikkel Wold was staring at it, yet he had no idea where it was. He couldn’t see it clearly. It could have been in another room. On the moon. He didn’t know what to do. Finally, Erik Rønning leaned over and pressed the screen.