‘OK,’ said Max Hansen. ‘OK, OK.’
In the mirror Teresa could see blood seeping through the towels. Presumably Max Hansen ought to go to hospital, if he was going to be in a position to help anybody with anything.
When Teresa got up, she realised her legs weren’t quite as steady as her discussion with Max Hansen might have suggested. But she managed to get Theres to her feet, and placed the empty bottle on the table next to Max Hansen. She had to keep up the show for a little while longer.
And she succeeded. She would remember that moment for a long time, and how for once she actually managed to say the right thing in a difficult situation instead of thinking of it afterwards. As she and Theres headed for the door, Teresa turned back to the ashen, sweating figure.
‘Don’t call us,’ she said. ‘We’ll call you.’
Teresa thought she was in a fairytale. The subway train rumbling along through the bowels of the earth was a magic train, and Theres by her side was a creature from another world.
Perhaps it was a way of dealing with the incomprehensible blood-splattered episode she had just witnessed, but from her final comment onwards her brain had decided that the whole thing was a fairytale in which she had been given a role.
Once upon a time there were two girls sitting on the subway. They were as different from one another as two girls can be.
‘Theres,’ she asked when they had gone a couple of stops. ‘How come you killed those people you were living with?’
‘First a hammer. Then different tools.’
‘No, I mean why. Why did you do it?’
‘What was inside. I wanted it.’
‘And did you get it?’
‘Yes.’
One of the girls looked like a fairy princess, but she was a dangerous killer. The other girl looked like a troll, but was as cowardly as a hamster.
‘How does it feel?’ asked Teresa. ‘To kill someone?’
‘Your hands get tired.’
‘But I mean, how does it feel. Does it feel good or bad or horrible or…what does it feel like?’
Theres leaned closer and whispered, ‘It feels good when it comes out. You don’t feel scared anymore.’
‘What is it that comes out?’
‘A little bit of smoke. It tastes good. Your heart gets big.’
‘Do you mean you feel braver?’
‘Bigger.’
Teresa took Theres’ hand in hers and examined it as if it were a sculpture and she was trying to understand the technique behind it. The fingers were long and slender; they seemed so fragile they might snap under the slightest pressure. But they were attached to a hand that was attached to an arm that was attached to a body that had killed. The hand was beautiful.
‘Theres,’ said Teresa. ‘I love you.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I don’t want to be without you. I want to be with you all the time.’
‘I love you.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I love you, Teresa. Let go of my hand.’
Without noticing, Teresa had squeezed Theres’ hand tightly when she heard the words that had never been spoken to her before. She let go of the hand, leaned back and closed her eyes.
But in spite of the difference between them, they needed each other as the day needs the night. As the water needs the person who drinks it, and as the wanderer needs the water.
Teresa didn’t know how the story went on, or how it would end. But it was hers, and she wanted to be a part of it.
When Jerry got back to Svedmyra, he was feeling happier than he had for a long time. Everything had gone according to expectations, even if Paris hadn’t been the voracious lover he had hoped for. She had mostly lain still, gazing into his eyes in a way that paradoxically felt much too intimate. When he came she bit him hard on the shoulder, then began to cry.
It brought back so many things, she explained as they lay smoking afterwards. They would have to give it time. It would get better. Jerry stroked her curves and said that was all he wanted. Time with her. All the time in the world.
When he stepped into the lift her skin and her soft flesh were still there within him like a body memory. He had been woken by her hand on his penis, and had made love with her again, half-asleep, gently; with no tears. She was wonderful, he was wonderful, everything was wonderful.
He had been careless, he knew that. He had hardly given Theres a thought since he went home with Paris. But that was the way things were now; it would all work out, or it wouldn’t. He was in love for the first time in his life, and if everything else went to hell, then so be it.
However, he still felt a stab of anxiety when he inserted the key and realised that the door wasn’t locked. He walked in and shouted, ‘Theres? Theres? Are you here? Theres?’
The DVD cases for Saw and Hostel were lying on the table in the living room. His own mattress was on the floor next to Theres’ bed. Breadcrumbs and an empty baby food jar on the kitchen table. No note anywhere; he went around like a CSI technician trying to reconstruct the girls’ activities before they disappeared.
He sat down at the kitchen table, swept the crumbs into his hand and ate them. There was nothing he could do but wait. He sat there looking out of the window, and the whole thing felt like a dream. Theres had never existed. The events of the last year had never happened. Would he really live with a fourteen-year-old girl who had killed his parents and who didn’t exist in the eyes of society? The very idea was just absurd.
He slipped his shirt off his shoulder and studied the marks left by Paris’ teeth, glowing red against his pale skin. That had clearly happened, at least. Which was a good thing. He got up and drank a glass of water, wondering what he ought to do, but came to no conclusion.
When the doorbell rang ten minutes later he was sure it was the police or some authority figure coming to put a stop to everything, one way or another. But it was the girls.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’
Theres slunk into the apartment without answering, and Teresa pointed at her wrist, where she appeared to be wearing an invisible watch. ‘I have to go. My train leaves in half an hour.’
‘Yes, that’s all very well, but where have you been?’
Teresa was on her way down the stairs, and answered over her shoulder, ‘Out.’
When he went back inside, Theres was busy dragging his mattress out of her room. He picked up the other end and helped her to carry it, then sat down on his bed.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Start talking. What have you done?’
‘We made songs. Teresa did the words. They were good.’
‘OK. Then you watched horror films and then you both slept in your room because you got scared…’
Theres shook her head. ‘Not scared. Happy.’
‘Yeah, right. But what did you do this morning?’
‘We went to see Max Hansen.’
‘The agent, the one who wrote? What the fuck did you do that for?’
‘I’m going to make a CD.’
Theres was standing in front of him, and Jerry grabbed hold of her hand. ‘Theres, for God’s sake. You can’t do things like that. You can’t just go off like that without me. You get that, don’t you?’
Theres pulled her hand away and examined it, as if she wanted to make sure it was unharmed after the contact. Then she said, ‘Teresa was with me. That was better.’
Teresa didn’t know how much of her was sitting on the train to Österyd. It felt like less than half. She had left the essential parts in Theres’ safekeeping in Stockholm, and the thing filling the seat on the train was no more than a functioning sack of blood and internal organs.