Page 74 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)

Astrid looks a little lighter, her face not as strained. “Do you want to watch something?” she asks, glancing toward the stairs.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light and steady. Despite the ease of our conversation, there's still a tension beneath the surface.

We head to her bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows across the room.

The familiarity of the space, with its plush carpet and neatly arranged bookshelves, brings a sense of comfort.

We settle onto the mattress, the TV flickering to life in front of us.

Astrid scrolls through the options, finally settling on a series we both enjoy.

As the first episode begins, I steal glances at her from the corner of my eye.

She's leaning back against the headboard, her eyes focused on the screen, but there's a softness in her expression that wasn't there before.

I can't help but feel a swell of hope that maybe, just maybe, this night can be a turning point for us.

Hours pass, and we lose ourselves in the fictional world, momentarily forgetting the troubles of reality. The rain outside slows to a gentle drizzle, and the rhythmic tapping against the windows provides a comforting backdrop to the scenes playing out on the TV.

Eventually, we both start to drift off. The events of the day have taken their toll, and the exhaustion is undeniable. I glance at the clock – it's past midnight. I reach for the remote to turn off the TV, the screen going dark and plunging the room into a peaceful quiet.

As I sink back into the mattress, a sudden noise catches my attention. Footsteps on the gravel outside. My heart skips a beat, and I feel a cold shiver run down my spine. I hold my breath, straining to listen.

“Astrid,” I whisper, shaking her awake.

She stirs, her eyes fluttering open with groggy confusion. “What?” she murmurs, rubbing her eyes.

“Listen,” I urge, my voice barely above a whisper. “I heard someone outside.”

She sits up, her expression sharpening as the sound of a door opening downstairs reaches us. My mind races, trying to make sense of the situation. Who could be here at this hour? Lauren and the staff are gone, and Astrid's parents are away.

Astrid's demeanor shifts from confusion to alertness. She jumps out of bed, her movements quick and decisive. “Stay here,” she instructs, heading straight for her parents' bedroom on the other side of the corridor. I follow her, unable to shake the sense of dread settling in my chest.

Inside her parents’ bedroom, I close and lock the door behind us while Astrid pulls out a gun from a drawer, checking if it's loaded. Her hands are steady, but I can see the fear in her eyes.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” she says firmly, but I shake my head.

“I'm not leaving you alone. What if it's just Lauren or a member of the staff coming sooner?” I suggest, though I don't believe it myself.

Astrid glances at me, her expression a mix of worry and determination. “At 2 a.m.?” Her voice is tense, filled with doubt.

She goes back to the drawer and takes out another gun, handing it to me. The weight of it feels unfamiliar and unsettling in my hand. “Do you know how to use it?”

“I guess so,” I reply, my heart pounding in my chest.

“It's an automatic. There's nothing to do but shoot,” she instructs, her voice steady but low.

We hear more footsteps downstairs, confirming that someone is indeed there. Astrid stands behind the bedroom door, listening intently. I can see her mind working, calculating the risks and the next steps.

“Astrid,” I plead, my voice barely a whisper, “let's just stay here and call the police. We don't know who they are or what they want. It’s safer this way.”

Astrid shakes her head. “I’m not staying inside while they steal whatever they want. This is my home.”

I grasp her arm, my heart pounding. “Please, Astrid, don't go down there. It's too dangerous.”

She meets my gaze, her eyes fierce and unyielding. “Call the police, Hannah. Now.”

There's no arguing with her. I can see the resolve in her eyes, and I know she won't back down. My hands are shaking as I pull out my phone and dial the emergency number, my breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

As I relay the situation to the dispatcher, Astrid unlocks the door of the bedroom and goes out.

“Please hurry,” I whisper into the phone, my voice trembling. “There’s someone in the house. My friend is going downstairs to confront them.”

The dispatcher assures me that officers are on their way, but it does little to calm the storm of fear inside me.

I hang up, clutching the phone to my chest as I watch Astrid descend the stairs, her gun held firmly in front of her.

Every step she takes feels like an eternity, the silence of the house amplifying the sound of her movements.

My mind races with a thousand what-ifs, each more terrifying than the last.

I decide to follow her out of the bedroom, staying behind her at the top of the stairs.

My heartbeat thunders so loudly that I can feel it in my throat, each pulse echoing in my ears.

The house is illuminated only by the faint light from the moon and stars outside, casting eerie shadows that stretch and shift with each movement.

The soft glow filters through the large windows, giving just enough light to see by.

Astrid moves with a quiet determination, her footsteps barely making a sound on the carpeted stairs.

I keep a safe distance behind her, my breath shallow and my heart hammering in my chest. Every creak of the floorboards sends a jolt of fear through me, magnifying the already intense thudding in my ribcage.

My palms are clammy, one hand gripping the gun tightly as I wipe the other on my clothes, trying to steady myself.

As she reaches the bottom, she turns on the light in the foyer, the sudden brightness a stark contrast to the moonlit darkness.

The grand entrance hall stretches out before her, empty and still.

I remain at the top of the stairs, my eyes squinting against the harsh light.

I hold my breath, hoping she doesn't hear the frantic pounding of my heart.

I grip the banister tightly, my knuckles white as I peer around the corner, every nerve in my body on high alert.

The cold metal of the gun feels foreign and heavy in my hand, a constant reminder of the danger we might face.

The silence of the house feels oppressive, each second stretching into an eternity as I watch Astrid move with purpose.

My mind races with questions and doubts, but I push them aside, focusing on keeping my movements quiet and controlled.

The air is thick with tension, and I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my temple, mingling with the cold fear that grips me.

“Is there anybody there?” she calls out, her voice echoing off the high ceilings.

There's no response. Astrid proceeds to the living room, the tension in her posture evident as she grips the gun tighter.

I take two cautious steps down the stairs, trying to keep an eye on her as she enters the living room.

The large room is dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the tall windows, casting long shadows on the walls and floor.

She moves further inside until she disappears from my sight.

A sudden scream pierces the silence, followed by a gunshot. My blood runs cold as I hear a male voice shout, “Liam!”

“Stay back! I said stay the fuck back!” Astrid's voice echoes through the living room.

“He’s bleeding! He needs to go to the hospital!” the male voice pleads, panic seeping into his words.

“You should’ve thought about that before coming here!” Astrid retorts, her voice steady despite the situation.

The sound of police sirens approaches, their wailing growing louder and more insistent. “Shit! The cops! We need to go! Odin, let's go!” another voice yells, frantic and terrified.

“I can’t go without my brother,” the first voice cries, desperation clear.

“Your brother is dead, man! He got a bullet in his chest!” the other voice argues, urgency in his tone.

“You better go, or you’re gonna meet him in hell!” Astrid warns, her voice unwavering and resolute.

The intruders’ footsteps fade into the distance as they flee.

My legs finally obey my commands, and I rush downstairs, my heart in my throat. I step into the living room, the transition from the bright foyer to the dimly lit space almost jarring.

“Astrid, are you okay?” I ask immediately.

The cold night air rushes in through the open door to the outdoors, making the curtains billow and sending a shiver down my spine. I stop short at the sight of a body lying on the ground, blood pooling around it.

I gasp, covering my mouth instinctively. “Oh my gosh.”

The man on the floor is dressed in a black hoodie and pants, a mask covering his face. He lies still, the crimson stain spreading across his chest. The scene feels surreal, like something out of a nightmare. My mind struggles to process the reality before me.

Astrid stands a few feet away, her gun still aimed at the intruder. Her face is set in a grim mask, her eyes steely and unyielding. The tension in the room is palpable, the silence broken only by the distant wail of approaching sirens.

My breath catches as I take in the scene, every detail etching itself into my memory. The mask obscures the man’s features, but the lifelessness of his body is undeniable. The open door frames the darkness beyond, a stark reminder of the chaos that just unfolded.

“You killed him?” The words escape my lips, trembling with shock and horror.

“He was an intruder, Hannah. Don’t make it a big deal.” Astrid’s tone is cold and detached as she stands over the body.

“It's a human being, for fuck’s sake.” Anger flares in me, overriding my fear and sorrow.

“A human being who trespassed and entered my property at 2 am! He knew the risks.” Her eyes blaze with defiance, but I can see the exhaustion and the strain beneath the surface.

The sound of police sirens grows louder, and soon, the house is filled with flashing lights and hurried voices. Officers flood the room, assessing the situation and securing the area. The once serene living room is now a chaotic crime scene.

The lead officer, a tall man with sharp features, steps forward, his expression serious but calm. “Are you two okay?” he asks, his voice steady and professional.

Astrid nods, lowering the gun and handing it over as requested. “We're fine. But this guy and his friends broke into my house,” she says, her voice firm yet tinged with the strain of the night’s events. “The two others left.”

The officer takes the gun and nods to another officer, who begins to secure the weapon. “We'll need to ask you both a few questions.”

I stand there, the reality of what just happened sinking in, feeling a mix of fear, anger, and sorrow. The body on the floor, the blood, the mask—it all feels like a terrible dream. But it’s real, and there’s no escaping it.

Astrid stands tall, her expression a hallmark of defiance and exhaustion.

The officers approach us, asking questions, and I answer them numbly, my mind replaying the events over and over.

The dispatcher had said the police would arrive quickly, but nothing had prepared me for the aftermath of violence.

I look at Astrid, standing strong despite everything, and I can’t help but feel a mixture of admiration and heartbreak. She defended her home, but at what cost? The night had begun with an attempt to mend our fractured friendship, but now it’s marred by blood and fear.

As the police continue their work, I realize that the bond between us is forever changed.

Whether it’s for better or worse, only time will tell.

Amidst the chaos, a myriad of questions linger in my mind, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts: Who were those men, and why did they come here?

Did they know we were alone without staff tonight?

The answers elude me, inviting more questions than resolutions.

And so, the night goes on with an unsettling sense of foreboding, a feeling that this is only the beginning of something far more complex and sinister.

The unknown looms over us, and as I stand beside Astrid in the aftermath of the night’s events, I can't shake the feeling that our lives are about to change in ways we can’t yet comprehend.