Part 47 (1/2)

She is terrified of being referred to a psychiatric clinic and put back on medication. Many of her former fellow patients are probably able to exist only with the help of mind-bending drugs. Ten years ago, Iben had to fight for her return to stability and real work, and she isnt certain she can do it again.

Before leaving the office she looks out to make sure that theres no dark-haired, square-jawed man waiting down there in the street. Its pointless, though. You cant see properly from up here. Perhaps Dragan Jelisic is there. Perhaps he isnt.

Iben announces that she needs to go home because she has a headache. She quickly checks the on-screen camera image. The landing is empty. The elevator is empty too. n.o.body is waiting for her in the street.

She cycles away. For a February day its not that cold. Then she realizes that her balance is too poor to continue cycling. She locks up the bike just a few hundred feet from the DCIG.

Men, broad smiles on their faces, hold severed human heads in their hands. Archive images drift in front of her minds eye.

We distort our memories when it serves our purposes. Our thoughts too. Even our senses cannot be trusted; we reshape the messages they send to suit our needs.

How much of what Im thinking is nothing but the egoistic, post hoc rationalization that the professor was talking about?

When I stood up for Anne-Lise, I believed I was good. Was I lying to myself? Was my choice to risk my job and my friends.h.i.+p with Malene based on nothing more than a notion of what would be to my own best advantage?

Three million corpses scattered over the paddy fields of Cambodia. All slaughtered by their own countrymen, believing they were right but also because they felt that there might be something in it for them.

Five skulls sticking up from a water-filled ditch. Plants winding their way up, around and between them.

Sure, I might gain from losing my friend. Id be free to date Gunnar. Also, Id be free of the duty to help Malene, whose arthritis will only get worse with time.

How could I believe that I was making a sacrifice in order to resist the bullying? But I did believe it. I truly thought it was hard to make the choice I made. I felt heroic. Truly good.

Hey! Watch where youre going!

Iben walks with her head down without looking where shes stepping. Now she has almost fallen over a small white bulldog. Whining, it leaps sideways against a wall, obviously thinking that its about to be stepped on.

Its owner tells her off while he pulls at the dogs long red leash. Youre not the only one on the sidewalk, you know!

Im sorry. Im so sorry! She sighs.

Meanwhile a thought has struck her. Thats it! Though Ive seen myself as idealistic, Ive lied to myself. Thats the evil act that has been gnawing at the back of my mind all day long. I couldnt figure it out. But now that I know, my nausea will fade and disappear.

The sense of unease and queasiness does not leave her, however. She straightens up and looks around. She hasnt gone very far. No one resembles Jelisic. She scans the street in both directions. Pedestrians are few and far between, but he could be in any one of the cars. The traffic seems unending.

She cannot possibly defend herself against a man in a car.

She cannot possibly go home now.

Jelisic could find her there, no trouble at all there is no steel-lined door, no CCTV camera. If she did go home, she wouldnt be able to relax.

Crowded streets are her best hiding place. She walks quickly now, taking long, decisive strides. It helps against her tremor, which grows fainter the faster she walks.

No Jelisic at the Vibenhus roundabout or in Tagens Road or Nrrebro Street.

She practically flies along, one street after another, running to get away from Jelisic and from the evil she senses in everyone she overtakes. She knows that at one time in his or her life, each person she pa.s.ses has done evil things toward another person, but they no longer think about it. They all pretend theyre so innocent.

If they thought it would benefit them, they would knife the next man in the back, each and every one of them. Only lack of opportunity determines if they become genocidal killers or not. If their community leaders pressed the right b.u.t.tons, these people would be off on the hunt right away.

When she gets to Nrrebro, there are more people about and it is harder to keep her distance.

Iben can smell the evil inside a young man cutting in just ahead of her. He is wearing a long coat and carries a briefcase, but she has a vision of him inside a Russian army helicopter, throwing out mined toys to kill children in Afghanistan. Ruthlessness oozes from his pores and the smell p.r.i.c.kles inside Ibens nostrils, like the drinks of freshly opened lemonade she remembers from childhood.

She veers to pa.s.s him, steps into the cycle path, and hears the bells as two cyclists come up from behind. She leaps back onto the sidewalk.

She lands near a young woman walking her old bike with a child seat on the back. She is the type of person who, as a trained nurse, helped eliminate invalids in gas chambers well before the Second World War. Her brand of evil stinks like the raw meat left in a plastic bag that you forgot to throw out before going away on a holiday.

Im like a rat, Iben tells herself. My sense of smell is a rats. A lab rats.

When they tickle one tiny bit of my brain with an electric current Ill run one way, and when they try another bit Ill run in the opposite direction. Like everyone would. Social psychologists can predict what Ill do next. And when a researcher puts me in a cage with another rat, we will tear and bite each other until one of us dies.

Thats what we do, never mind what intellectual ideas we use for display. Razor-toothed rats without free will.

A little boy is strapped into the bicycle child seat. He is asleep, and his head in its little helmet is drooping. His romper is open at the neck, and the smell of evil rises from him like the reek of burning gra.s.s.

I am sick, she thinks. Its obvious. It isnt normal to smell people like this. Or to think in this way. The next moment she is sweating copiously under her thin jacket. Her whole body becomes damp and cold.

She knows why. And she knows that she doesnt want to think of what is to come. Her nausea grows until at last she throws up. As she leans against a board advertising a kebab place, her stomach contents pump out of her and into the gutter.

Didnt I have one of these attacks in the office one night? The others had left. I remember how furious I was with myself then. And with Malene. What was I doing there? It was something that eased the pressure. Some people smash china or cut themselves. What did I do?

What was I doing? I know I was writing. When I freak out, I write or I read.

She weeps.

Im sick in the head. I dont want to be sick. Its hateful. I want to be able to work at the DCIG. And to live with Gunnar.

I want a life.

I wont have one much longer. The others will realize soon enough that Im the one whos abnormal. Im the only one in the office who has been in a psychiatric ward. The only one who Frederik called Batgirl because he like the rest of them can tell that Im different. Im the only one whod willingly walk around for four months with a knife tied to my leg.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her glove and cleans off the vomit. She is still leaning against the board. She remembers that after the evening in the office she had a headache cycling home.

I was sick then. Like now. When I rode along St. Kjeld Street I kept telling myself: Im not like that. I didnt do that. Nevertheless, I recalled what it was that I had done. But by the time I had turned into Jagt Street it had become very distant, like hearing about it late one night at a party. Once I reached Tagens Road and home, I had even stopped saying, I didnt do that.

Her ability to think is gone. She wants to lie down but cant do that on the sidewalk. The next best thing would be to sit on a bench for a while or maybe go into a shop to rest, but thats out of the question too. She feels safer from Jelisic while shes on the move. Now she has to hurry, or h.e.l.l find her.

I had such a sense of writing the truth. It felt so right: You, Malene Jensen, have sworn to your secret evil And then: You, Iben Hjgaard, are for your actions recognized as self-righteous among the humans.

She strides along, her muscles seeming stronger now that she has thrown up.

Outside Nrrebro Station, she stops. Now where should she go? Shed like to go to Gunnars apartment. He knows about danger. h.e.l.l know what she should do to protect herself from Jelisic. But he mustnt see her this way. At least she has the presence of mind to see that.

The other thing shed like to do is go to Malenes and tell her how sorry she is. Its a good thought, even though she cant imagine that Malene will ever forgive her.

It has become dark. Lights in shops and cars make a s.h.i.+fting pattern around her. She needs to tire out her brain, dampen down her emotions. Other people might take tranquilizers or splash cold water on their face, but she gets the same kind of effect from working intensely. She must concentrate now to distract herself from all these emotions.

She will formulate an entire article in her head, leaving no room for any other thought. Later, all sh.e.l.l have to do is write it down.