Emilie looks at Remi, she listens to the short grunts he makes, but she can’t hear what is being said at the other end. She only sees him nodding from time to time, almost imperceptibly, and running his hands over his head. The words seem to have some effect on him, but it is only a few minutes ago since he threatened to kill them all. Though Remi seems to have calmed down a little, she has no idea if the rage will flare up in him again. And that could mean the end for all of them.
Emilie’s hands are bleeding. She has been rubbing them against the thick rope the whole time, but the knots haven’t loosened even a millimetre.
‘I’m listening,’ he says.
Again she wonders what they could be talking about. And who he is talking to.
The knocking in the bedroom has stopped. Sebastian must have fallen asleep.
Thank God
, she thinks, and hopes that it is so. Again she tries to wriggle her hands out of the rope, but it cuts into her flesh, sending shockwaves of pain through her. It’s no use. She is completely stuck.
‘How are you?’ whispers Mattis a short distance away from her.
Emilie thinks about everything that has happened in the last few days, Mattis’s new job, her negative thoughts about him that have started to surface even though she doesn’t quite know why. Looking at him now and seeing how outmanoeuvred he is, how bloodied and how battered, she realises there is very little left of the man who came up to her at the check-in counter at Gardermoen Airport and invited her to go reindeer hunting with him. And she understands that if anyone is going to stop Remi in case the police don’t, then it has to be her.
She tugs at the rope, feels the pain in her wrists again and grits her teeth.
Primal strength
, she tells herself. Only women know what that is. Pain is nothing. Not once you’ve given birth. But still it makes no difference. The knots refuse to budge.
From the kitchen she can hear Remi’s angry voice. He says something about apologies. Then he falls silent again.
A noise makes her glance sideways. The door handle to Sebastian’s bedroom is being pushed down.
No
, she mouths silently.
Don’t do it, Sebastian. Stay where you are!
But he doesn’t. The next moment the door opens and his little face peeks out. Emilie closes her eyes, desperately wishing she could shoo him away with her hands, but they are still trapped. She whispers to him to go back, but Sebastian doesn’t react, he doesn’t do as he is told, why can’t he ever do as he is told? Instead, he comes running towards her as he always does.
‘Mummy,’ he shouts. ‘I’m hungry.’
Of course he’s hungry, he hasn’t had anything to eat or drink all day.
‘I know, darling. But I don’t have anything for you right now. You’ll have to wait a little. Why don’t you go back to your room and play? I’ll come and see you very soon and I’ll bring you some food.’
Sebastian doesn’t budge. He just stares at them.
‘Hungry,’ he repeats before turning.
And then he starts walking towards the kitchen.
‘Sebastian,’ Emilie says, louder this time. ‘Don’t go in there.’
But he does.
‘Sebastian, don’t go—’
‘Sebastian,’ shouts Mattis in a voice that cuts through everything. ‘You’re not allowed to go in there. Do you hear me?’
And Sebastian stops and turns around again. He is not used to being spoken to like that. The slightest change in pitch makes him burst into tears, especially if he thinks he has done something wrong.
‘You mustn’t go in there,’ Emilie says, as gently as she can manage.
‘Why not?’ he demands to know.
‘Because—’
The next moment a figure appears right behind him.
Remi.
He looks at them. At Sebastian. Then he grabs the boy’s arm and drags him into the kitchen.
Remi ignores the screaming that erupts behind him. He closes the door and sits down on one of the kitchen chairs.
The pressure on his temples has increased. He grimaces and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the pain.
When he opens his eyes again, Sebastian is standing in front of him. In his hand he holds a small, red toy car.
‘Hungry,’ he says indignantly.
Remi’s mouth opens.
‘Eh?’
‘I’m hungry,’ the boy repeats.
‘A-are you?’
Remi continues to stare at him.
‘I want some food.’
‘Okay,’ Remi says at last. ‘What do you want, then?’
‘Cornflakes.’
Cornflakes. His favourite cereal when he was little. Who is he kidding? It still is.
Sebastian
, he thinks.
You and me both
.
‘Then I’m going to need your help,’ he says to the boy.
Sebastian goes over to the cupboard where they keep empty bottles on one shelf and finds the cereal box, then he fetches a small, blue spoon from the cutlery drawer and half runs back to Remi with both. Then he turns and races over to the fridge, opens it, tries to make himself as tall as he can, but he can’t reach the milk. Remi gets it down for him, picks him up and puts him in his high chair and pours cereal and milk. He watches Sebastian eat his cornflakes; he slurps and makes a mess.
Somewhere far away he hears a voice. It’s a woman. She says his name: ‘Remi. Are you there?’
‘Yes,
I’m
here.
We’re
here. From now on it’s just you and me, Sebastian.’
He gets up and takes the gun. He thinks about where he is going to do it. The bedroom, perhaps. It’ll be messy, no matter where he does it. Best to wait until Sebastian has finished eating. You shouldn’t travel on an empty stomach.
He goes over to the door and pushes it open. He thinks about how quiet it will be. How he will finally be able to do it, this time with Sebastian. How the two of them will stare right into the brightest of lights.
*
Emilie’s body is convulsing. She is crying so hard that she can’t breathe properly. When she finally calms herself down enough to take a deep breath, she resurrects the thought of primal strength and primal pain, and tells herself that pain doesn’t really exist. She contorts her hands again, more desperate now, and only one thought keeps her going, the thought of Sebastian and what Remi might be doing to him in the kitchen. Every second counts. She wiggles and twists; she feels her back getting wetter so she tears, yanks, pushes and jerks. The blood acts as a lubricant and she feels the rope begin to give; she pulls as hard as she can and hopes that if she just keeps trying, just a little bit longer, then she will be able to free herself.
Emilie grits her teeth as her back grows bloodier, but she carries on tugging at the ropes and suddenly there is no more resistance.
She brings her hands round to the front, looks at them red and sticky with blood; she doesn’t recognise them and they don’t hurt. She is free and Sebastian is still with Remi. Mattis tries to say something to her, but she hushes him in order to listen out to noises from the kitchen. Her first instinct is to rush in before it’s too late, divert Remi’s attention away from Sebastian and on to herself. But she has no way of knowing what would happen then, Remi might panic and lash out and she can’t run that risk because of Sebastian.
So now what?
Emilie looks around for a weapon, anything that can inflict injury. It’s not enough to knock Remi out even if she does get the chance. She has to make sure that he can’t get back up again.
My weights
, she thinks. The dumbbells Johanne gave her for Christmas and which she keeps under the sofa in case she feels a sudden urge to exercise. Emilie rushes over to the sofa, lies down flat on the floor and spots the dumbbells in between dust bunnies, Lego bricks and an old grape that is turning into a raisin. She stretches out as far as she can, gets hold of one of the dumbbells and rolls it towards herself. Then she stands back up, raises the dumbbell to chest height and pledges that if she – and Sebastian and Mattis – get out alive, she is going to start exercising properly rather than just talk about doing it. She will take responsibility for her life. Improve herself. Try to love all of Mattis and not just the reindeer hunter in him.
Emilie hurries over to the door and braces herself.
At that moment the kitchen door handle is pushed down.
*
Remi doesn’t reply.
Trine turns to the hostage negotiator, to Simen Krogh, to the police officers and everyone in uniform who begin to move in almost robot-like unison. Trine knows why. A scream from a hostage means danger, that lives may be lost.
The officers from the armed response unit move closer, orders are issued, code words and warnings that make no sense to her. Everyone is standing by.
Trine closes her eyes.
Please
, she says to herself.
Please let this end well
.
Emilie raises the dumbbell over her head, ready to strike. She knows that Remi might be holding Sebastian so she hides behind the kitchen door when it opens. Remi takes a step forward. And she sees that Sebastian is right behind him, but neither of them has noticed her.
Emilie closes her eyes and lets her arm fall. She has only one thought in her head and that is to hit Remi and hit him again and again until there is nothing left to hit.
At that moment there is a bang. She has never heard such a loud bang before and when she opens her eyes, she realises at once that Mattis’s rifle has been fired, but it doesn’t stop her, she still lets the dumbbell fall and she feels that she hits something, but has no idea what.
She is about to strike again when one of the living room windows is smashed in. The floor starts to shake with the heavy footsteps of men in dark uniforms and her arm stops moving. There is a lot of shouting, but Emilie doesn’t understand a word that is being said, she just concentrates on hitting Remi, but it’s no use. Someone is restraining her.
Emilie exhales and then she sees Remi’s feet under a pile of men and Mattis’s gun trapped under a solid, black boot on the birch parquet floor. White powder scatters from the ceiling as if it has started to snow indoors. And that’s when she realises it’s all over.
The tiny, delicate crying of a toddler emerges from the pandemonium of loud, male voices and Emilie wriggles free. She rushes over to her son, who is looking up at her with wide-open, moist eyes. His cheeks are flushed. Lightning McQueen is lying next to a bowl of half-eaten cornflakes on the kitchen floor. There is mess everywhere. And Emilie doesn’t really understand what has happened, but right now she doesn’t care, either.
She puts her hand on Sebastian’s head and hugs him tightly. And she thinks that nothing in the whole world will ever make her let go.
*
Trine doesn’t notice that the drizzling rain has turned into heavy drops. It is as if she has a puncture. The air is escaping from her, making her heavy and empty. She feels a hand on her shoulder as someone speaks to her, but she doesn’t hear what they say and she doesn’t know who they are. It’s not until now that she realises she is shaking all over.
Slowly she becomes aware of the uproar around her; someone starts to clap, a round of applause, born out of relief, which gradually gains momentum. But Trine doesn’t join in. She just stands there panting.
It ended well. No one was hurt.
And she doesn’t know where they come from, the tears that now engulf her. She hasn’t cried for as long as she can remember. She didn’t cry when she was accused of sexual assault and life became intolerable. She didn’t cry when she lost a friend to cancer some years ago. She didn’t cry when they watched
Atonement
on DVD, she and Pål Fredrik, even though he did. Nor did she shed tears of joy when Petter Northug beat Axel Teichmann in the last lap of the World Championship Relay Race in Liberec, though she was a little moved.
But she is crying now.
The heavy rain disguises her tears and Trine cries as if her body needs to make up for all the tears she never shed. She doesn’t know for how long she stands there sobbing in the rain, but when she turns around and walks back to the police cordons, to the TV cameras and all the onlookers, knowing full well that she has another battle to fight before this day is over, she straightens up a little and juts out her chin.
And it strikes her that she hasn’t felt this strong for a long time.
Henning cranes his neck to see what is going on. Exactly what has happened doesn’t require major analytical skills. Applause and cheers spread across the neighbourhood. The hostage situation has been resolved, clearly without the loss of life, otherwise people would not be cheering.
Henning sends a quick message to the news desk. To the extent it was possible outside the police cordons, he has kept the news desk updated and he knows that they have been feeding the readers of
123news
with an account of events as they happened.
But that the story would conclude with Trine coming to Jessheim to try talking Remi Gulliksen out of Emilie Blomvik’s house, Henning would never have imagined. He should really have stayed away since conflict of interest means he can’t write anything about his sister, but she wasn’t the central character in the hostage drama.
Now she comes towards the police cordons. Her head is held high. Her stride is purposeful and her gaze is steady.
She looks confident again
, Henning thinks. Trine straightens her shoulders as she walks directly towards TV2’s reporter Guri Palme, adjusts her clothing and pushes out her chest slightly.
Henning makes his way to the front and earns himself a look of disapproval from the other journalists, which he decides to ignore. Trine stops in front of the TV2 camera where Palme waits until she gets a message in her ear that everything is ready. Then she asks what happened and what part Trine played in it. And Trine gives plain and simple answers without dramatising or overplaying her own role; she stresses how delighted she is that there was no loss of life.
‘But Trine Juul-Osmundsen, earlier today you were about to hold a press conference to tell your side of the sexual assault allegations. What can you tell us about that right now?’
‘What I can tell you is that I’ve offered my resignation to the Prime Minister and that he has accepted it. We’ll have to see what the King says when the Cabinet meets tomorrow.’
‘So you’re confirming that you’ll be resigning as Justice Secretary?’
‘I am,’ Trine nods.
‘Why are you resigning?’
‘I don’t think the Norwegian people need further information. Everything the media have written and said about me in the last few days should provide ample explanation.’
‘So you’re admitting that you’re guilty of the allegations?’
‘No, that’s not what I said. But recent media coverage makes it difficult for me to carry on.’
‘You need to elaborate,’ Palme demands.
‘No, I don’t.’
Palme is briefly thrown, but quickly recovers.
‘Can you tell me what the last few days have been like for you?’
Trine inhales deeply.
‘They’ve been tough; to say anything else would be wrong.’
‘Many people will view your resignation as an admission of guilt.’
‘I realise that. People will have to interpret my resignation as they see fit.’
Palme hesitates. A few seconds pass before she continues: ‘The identity of the young politician has yet to become known or confirmed. Have you spoken to him since this?’
‘No,’ Trine says.
‘Is there anything you want to say to him right now?’
‘No.’
‘Are you going to apologise to him?’
Trine looks straight into the camera.
‘I’ve got nothing to apologise for. I need to go now,’ she says and starts walking. New questions are hurled at her by Palme and the other reporters, but Trine just carries on walking and shows no sign of wanting to answer them. She aims for her ministerial car, which starts with a vroom before she reaches it. A blitz of flashlights follows them around the first bend.