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Joona Linna Crime Series Books 1-3: The Hypnotist, The Nightmare, The Fire Witness
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“Just stop. This is not logical. Who on earth would come into our apartment, open the fridge and the freezer, smoke a cigarette, and then just leave?”
He tosses the wrung-out dish cloth back on the floor and begins swabbing with his foot again.
“I don’t know, Erik! I don’t know, but that’s what somebody has done!”
“Calm down,” says Erik irritably.
“Calm down?”
“Stop making such a fuss. I’m sure we’ll find a simple explanation.”
“I could feel there was someone in the apartment when I woke up,” she says, in a subdued voice.
He sighs and leaves the kitchen. Simone looks at the dirty grey cloth he was using.
Benjamin comes in and sits down in his usual place.
“Good morning,” says Simone.
He sighs and sits there with his head in his hands. “Why do you and Dad always lie about everything?”
“We don’t,” she says.
“Yeah, right.”
“What makes you think we do?”
He doesn’t reply.
“Are you thinking about what I said in the taxi from—”
“I’m thinking about a whole load of things,” he says loudly.
“There’s no need to shout at me.”
He sighs. “Forget I said anything.”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen between me and Dad. It’s not that simple,” she says. “Maybe we’re only fooling ourselves, but that’s not the same as lying.”
“According to you,” he says quietly.
“Is something else bothering you?”
“How come there aren’t any pictures of me when I was little?”
“Of course there are,” she answers with a smile.
“Not when I was first born,” he says.
“Well, you know I had had a miscarriage … it’s just that we were so happy when you were born, we forgot to take photographs. I know exactly what you looked like. You had wrinkled ears and—”
“Stop it!” yells Benjamin, and storms off to his room.
Erik comes into the kitchen and drops an analgesic into a glass of water. “What’s up with Benjamin?” he asks.
“I have no idea.”
Erik drinks from the glass over the sink.
“He says we lie about everything,” says Simone.
“All teenagers feel that way. Comes with the territory.” Erik burps silently.
“I did mention to him that we were going to separate,” she tells him.
“How the hell could you do something so stupid?”
“I … I just said what I was feeling at the time.”
“For fuck’s sake, you can’t just think about yourself!”
“Me? I’m not the one who’s screwing students. I’m not the one taking a shitload of pills because—”
“Shut the fuck up!” he yells. “You don’t know anything!”
“I know you’re on serious painkillers.”
“And what’s that got to do with you?”
“Tell me, Erik: are you in pain?”
“I’m a doctor. I think I’m in a slightly better position to evaluate—”
“Oh, stop trying to fool me.”
“What do you mean?” he says.
“You’re an addict, Erik. We never have sex any more because you’re always zonked.”
“Maybe I don’t want to have sex with you,” he breaks in. “Why would I, when you’re so god-damn miserable with me all the time?”
The acrimony hangs in the air between them, nearly palpable. Is this really what saying the unsayable feels like? It should be more liberating, more profound; it should boil down to something more substantial.
“Then it is best if we separate,” she says.
“Fine.”
She can’t look at him; she just walks slowly out of the kitchen, feeling the tension and the pain in her throat, the tears springing to her eyes.
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