Page 21 of The Living and the Dead

“What?”

Sander breathed, silence. “Never mind.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it was nothing. We can talk about it tonight or whatever.”

“Lean down.”

She was small and dark-haired, half a head shorter than her son, so he bent down just like he used to do. She pressed her lips to his forehead, her soft hand on the back of his neck, and Sander thought:Stay. Don’tgo.

After his mom left, he turned on the faucet in the bathroom. The pipes creaked and hammered as he showered.

When he stepped out, there was someone outside, on the other side of the front door. A knock. He could see their shadow moving butcouldn’t tell who it was. Sander dressed quickly and went to answer the door. He caught a glimpse of the visitor through the window: a short, dark-haired woman with Asian features and a mouth like a small line on her face. Sander had time to notice the wordPolison her shoulder.

15

What could be expected of a boy like Killian? Not much. It had been said many times: he came from a family of men with violence in their bones.

With a big head comes big dreams, and out here a head was something you could do without, if you had to. A body was enough. A guy without a head, that was Killian, who let himself be guided by what his hands and his thighs could do, by what he had between his legs. It was just that it was hard to carry everything around just in your body. Secrets, lies, and fears—other people had brains for that stuff. When it ended up in your hands or your dick, watch out.

It really didn’t have anything to do with his parents, Sten and Linda, even if it appeared that way. They had slipped out of love once upon a time and never managed to claw their way back. They were fond of one another, but that wasn’t enough.

Killian, at least, had stopped hoping. It was easier that way. You could imagine any number of outcomes: If his father had stayed, he would be a kind and solicitous dad, giving Killian rides to and from practice back when he was on the soccer team. Just like other dads, he would have asked about Killian’s day at school and then helped Mom with dinner, dishes, and laundry. He would have kept the car and the house in good working order, not to mention the workshop and their small yard. He would have worked but always made time for Killian,to sit with him as he did homework or maybe even go to parent-teacher conferences, where he would ask the teachers good questions and defend his kid if they were unfair, but he would also firmly correct Killian if he made a mistake. He would listen to Killian and understand him.

If he hadn’t left. That was probably how he would have been. You can imagine anything at all. Saying it out loud is another matter, so he seldom spoke about his father with anyone.

But Killian seemed to have been saved from his fate. Was that the right way to put it? The Lord had sent his only begotten son to Earth to save the world, as Isidor Enoksson taught them during confirmation class a few years ago. Maybe God also performed considerably more modest acts of mercy, because Killian’s mother liked to say that since her son never had any siblings he was given Sander instead. It was like they had been bestowed upon one another.

Now that Sander kept talking about leaving, maybe Killian would turn out the way everyone feared. Sooner or later. It was only a matter of time.

A bolt of lightning. A storm. An icy rain; hail falling so fiercely it hurt. This is what roiled inside Killian when he imagined what life would be like without Sander. Like a hole in his chest.

When he went downstairs for breakfast, his mother was waiting.

“Didn’t you sleep in the cabin?” she asked.

“No, I slept in here after all. It was so late, and I was cold.”

“Wait. What happened to your nose?”

He had a hand on the door of the fridge. “I fell down.”

“Where?”

“On the way home. It was slippery. I was still holding my last beer and I didn’t want to spill it.”

“What, so you caught yourself with your face instead?”

“Basically, yeah.” Killian tried to smile. The bridge of his nose was throbbing angrily. “But I’m fine.”

He opened the fridge. It had broken twice this winter and was almost bare.

“You’re acting weird,” he said, closing the fridge again. “What’s going on?”

“When I went to buy a Christmas tree, I saw Madeleine’s car all roped off and surrounded by cops down on Kjell’s road. When I got home just now there was a patrol car outside Erik and Eva’s too. I guess Madeleine’s car got stolen.”

Erik and Eva. Sander’s parents.