Autumn Killing

home.’

Malin jumps up and runs over to Zeke without paying any attention to Johan, Sven or Waldemar.

‘Come on!’ she yells. ‘I know where he is.’

Zeke follows her without asking, and they rush towards the car over the moat where the water seems to be frothing with green bubbles. The rain is pounding the ground and soon they are in the Volvo, carrying them faster and faster through the darkness of the estate, imagining that they can see the spirits of those who have gone before them, drifting anxiously outside the car windows.

They sit in silence.

Behind them other cars with flashing blue lights.

But no sirens.

The sound of wind and rain and engines dominates the forest and fields.

They pass Linnea Sjostedt’s cottage, a dull glow coming from the windows.

They pass the building where the party took place that New Year’s Eve, turn once, twice, three times, and then the sharp bend by the field where Jerry Petersson and the others rolled over and over and over, bodies flying through the air, the winter night must have been shattered by the sound of metal crumpling, bodies breaking, beyond any hope of repair.

A car some way out in the field.

White, almost transparent rain in the beams of light from the headlamps.

And at the boundary of light and darkness stands a man with a rifle in his hand.

73

Lights and sounds.

Cars, spraying cascades of colour.

I couldn’t kill the old man. But I could kill his son, I had that much in me. And it felt wonderful.

I did it.

I didn’t mean to kill Jerry Petersson, but can anyone say he didn’t deserve to end his days like that?

It’s time for me to go. This is it. And this is a good place, Andreas, isn’t it?

If you’re here, show me, because in that case I’ll stay. And stare straight into the yellow faces of the snakes.

The lights.

The cars.

Shouting and people, that person moving towards me like a black silhouette over the waterlogged meadow.

I can’t see the person’s face.

But I know it isn’t you, Andreas.

Out of the car.

‘I’ll take this on my own, Zeke.’

The figure out in the field seems to be shaking, just like in the images of his life. His long black hair like a whip in the wind.

And in his hand the rifle. A sporting rifle.

Malin has drawn her pistol for the second time that day.

Close to their prey now.

Evil, confusion, fear, all within sight.

He’s holding the gun along the side of his body.

The others take cover behind the cars, Sven’s voice, anxious, concerned, but full of certainty: I can’t stop her from doing this, and now she’s walking towards the man in the field and the closer she gets, the clearer his contorted features become, the torment in his eyes. It’s as if he can’t see me, Malin thinks. As if he’s alone in the rain and wind and his gaze seems to be searching for something he’s been missing for a long time.

I can’t see anything but darkness.

Can only feel the sharp slithering of the snakes inside me, can only hear their whimpering. Feel Dad’s blows, hear their shriek as they chase me.

You’re not here, Andreas.

That’s enough for me, there’s nothing more for me to do here, and the cold rain that has pressed through all my clothes will never stop, nor will the darkness.

I’m looking at the lights and the person coming towards me, she seems to be shouting but I can only hear an agitated rumbling, as if she wants something important.

But I ignore her. Instead I put the barrel of the rifle in my mouth, and caress the trigger the way your finger often caressed it, Dad, before your eye was destroyed.

I see her in front of me.

But I can’t see you, Andreas. You’re not here.

He’s raised the gun to his mouth.

His finger’s on the trigger, careful yet without any uncertainty.

‘Don’t do it,’ Malin shouts. ‘It won’t make anything better.’

As she shouts a powerful wind sweeps over the field, somehow making a rattling sound.

He’s going to shoot, Malin thinks.

But Anders Dalstrom doesn’t pull the trigger, instead he meets her gaze, and his eyes become calm, reassured by what is about to happen, and Malin shouts again: ‘There’s another way, there always is,’ and time becomes compressed and she sees Janne and Tove standing in front of her. They’re sitting watching television in the house out in Malmslatt, waiting for her to come back with her love, that must be it, they must be missing that. I want to understand, she thinks, what it is that stands between me and the love that I feel.

‘Don’t do it.’

My voice a prayer now.

Don’t do it.

There’s always another way.

‘Don’t do it,’ she shouts at me. I can hear it now.

But I want to do this, and I look out into the darkness, and I see a car roll and spin and the world tumbles into nothingness, it ends.

Tell me, why should I stay?

The barrel is cold and hard. A taste of gunmetal and iron.

I’m going to do it now.

And her mouth moves, but no words come out, but what is it I can hear, whose voice, and what’s it saying?

Do it. Do it.

You weak fucker. Do it!

Pull the trigger and put a stop to this.

Of course I was driving, but what difference does that make? You had no life before that, and afterwards you had a reason to believe in your own misery, and you never moved on from that.

Hopeless.

So do it, do it, do it, do it now, now, now!

Away, away, away.

Anders Dalstrom wants to wave his arms in the air, wave the disembodied voice and everything it’s saying away, even if it’s saying the words he most wants to hear.

Do it.

‘Sit still. I’ve got the ruler. Hold your fingers out.’

‘Get him, get him.’

Do it.