Chapter 114
Whatever happens, morning will always come. A thought they turned to for comfort, the boys from Skavboke, when times were at their worst.
The night was cool and comfortable, and the first streak of light was just dawning low on the horizon as Sander stepped into the yard. Jakob was on his front steps, as though he’d been waiting for quite some time.
“I saw you over by Felicia’s,” Sander said. “I thought I would stop by first, before I took off. I wanted to apologize.”
“To me? What for?”
“For going to the police.”
“Oh.” Jakob cleared his throat, scuffing the gravel with his shoe. “Well, it all worked out.”
“Yeah,” Sander said. “I guess it did.”
Jakob nodded at a car parked under the big oak in the yard. Its hood was open and there was a neat row of tools laid out on a blanket draped over the bumper.
“I was out tinkering with the car, I like to do it after the kids go to bed. It’s pretty well protected from the rain under there.
Then I saw the flashing lights and wondered what had happened, so I followed them.
When I got back, I just ended up out here.
” Jakob was holding a bottle of beer. He took a sip and rubbed his fingers together like he wished he had a cigarette.
“Alice is asleep upstairs with the kids. She probably doesn’t even know I was gone. ”
Sander sat down next to him. Jakob noticed the bandage on his hand, but he didn’t ask about it.
“Was Killian alive for real? Was that really him?”
Sander didn’t respond right away.
“I think so. Or, it was him and it wasn’t him.”
Jakob held out his beer, eyebrows raised. Sander shook his head. They sat in silence for a while.
“How are you doing?” Jakob asked at last. “About Felicia, I mean. I saw them drive her off, so I basically figured it out.”
“Oh.” Sander blinked. “I don’t know.”
“You didn’t know? That it was her?”
For an instant, despite all the time that had passed, he was ashamed.
He should have known; they should have been close enough for her to tell him.
But maybe they never were. He had only thought so—all the things he had confided in her.
She was the only one who knew the truth about him.
Sander felt his heart beating against his rib cage.
“She never said a word.”
“I guess it can’t be easy to talk about something like that anyway.”
A brief silence.
“Nice car. What is it?”
“A 1969 Chevy. I found it in a barn down in Snapparp about a year ago. It’s a 327 with Fuelie heads and a Hurst shifter. Put me back ten grand.”
“Nice,” Sander said again, since that was basically all he could say about cars.
Jakob gazed out at the yard and the land. For a moment they both watched the thin streak of warm light as it slowly grew on the horizon.
It had been such a very long night.
“You know,” Jakob said, as if something were weighing on him, “I was so scared when the police came to talk to me. And your betrayal—I knew you were the one who told them about the shirt.”
“Again, I apologize. I felt like I didn’t have any other choice. I’ve got too much to lose.”
“And I don’t? Did you think about me at all? About Alice? Our kids?”
Sander didn’t respond. He just squinted into the darkness.
Someone was heading their way on foot. A figure appeared. When Jakob spoke again, the words came out slowly and searchingly.
“So I had to tell the police the truth. I didn’t have any other choice either. I’m sure you understand.”
A chill from the past heaved up through the years, rising through Sander’s legs like water in a sinking ship. The figure grew, became clearer. It was Vidar Jorgensson.
“Good morning,” he said calmly, gazing at the sunrise. “If that’s the right phrase.”
The burly officer was holding a brown paper bag. He stuck a hand inside and pulled something out, held it up to Sander.
“I believe,” he said slowly, almost apologetically, “this once belonged to you. Could that be true?”
He was holding the shirt. Sander studied it, then looked up to meet Vidar’s gaze.
“What makes you think that? It’s not mine, I’ve never worn that.”
Vidar didn’t react, just stood there with the shirt in his outstretched hand.
Next to Sander, Jakob was stiff and silent, as if he were holding his breath. Sander had lied for so long, to so many people. It had come at a great cost. He had no qualms about continuing in the same vein. It was just that he had run out of lies.
“A shirt?” he said in a dead voice. “That’s not enough.”
Vidar smiled sadly.
“You’re right, it’s not. But I think part of you, deep down, wishes I had more. So this could all come to an end.”
—
He should have figured it out. She was the only one who knew.
He had confessed to her as they were dividing up their belongings during the breakup; it just came out.
Who would get the little chair? The sofa belonged to the apartment, so it would stay.
Who had paid for the fancy dishes? Wall art—two each? I’m the one who caused the landslide.
He couldn’t say how it had happened, why it had come out of his mouth just then, when it was already too late.
Maybe that was exactly why. He’d almost killed her once.
He’d killed the baby she was carrying. Now she was going to leave him, and he had nothing left to lose. That was probably why he said it.
When he cried, he did it quietly as she sat beside him on the sofa. Eventually she took his hand.
—
She had revealed Sander’s secret to Killian. Killian the innocent. Killian the flight-prone. Killian, who became a shadow while Sander made it through without a scratch.
Maybe it was unavoidable.
The dead do not return, and if they do it creates a disturbance in the world. No matter the price, order must be restored.