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by Andrea Lena DiMaggio

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Oh whisper me words in the shape of a bay
Shelter my love from the wind and the rain

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Previously…

The light from the hall illuminated the girl's body; face down on the bed. He walked over and touched her shoulder; gaining no response. Leaning closer, he saw an empty pill bottle lying in the girl's open hand.

"Stay with me, kid. INGER? STAY WITH ME!!!!"

Ystad Lasarett Hospital, Sunday morning, 3:45 am…

“What the hell were you thinking,” Kurt glared at Nyberg. The man stepped back and lowered his head.

“I didn’t think she’d…”

“That’s the problem. You didn’t think. It’s lucky for you…” Kurt stopped in mid-sentence.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Sven.” Kurt put his hand out In apology. Nyberg shook Kurt’s hand and spoke.

“This case is getting to all of us, Kurt. I understand.”

“We’ve got a uniform on guard at her room. She’s okay for now.”

“Well, we’ve lost the safe-house possibility, so it’s due diligence from here on in,” Kurt said almost automatically. He blew out a breath and put his hand out once again; as if the first apology wasn’t effective.

“I get it, Kurt. Something about this kid has affected us all….maybe down to our souls.” Nyberg looked over his shoulder down the hall.

“Anne-Brit…. She’s become a mother to her in just this short time, you know how she is.” Kurt nodded and sighed; hoping his expression was one merely of exhaustion rather than an anxious parent.

“Get some sleep, Sven. Then see me later at the station. We’ve got to get a handle on all of this.” Kurt didn’t wait for a reply but turned and walked down the hall and was into the elevator and gone.

Sunday morning, Kurt’s office, 8:51 am…

Kurt was sitting at his desk. The urge to drink was pulling even as wave of guilt slammed hard against him. He stared at the doorway, as if the girl was going to walk into his office and throw herself at him like any daughter would do for her father. He sighed and picked up the note that Nils had in his pocket; a cry for help by both children? To come to such a horrible end; alone and frightened and hopeless but for the one or ones who killed her. What did that poor kid ever do to deserve such a fate?

“Inspector Wallander,” the intercom barked. He looked at it as if he was looking at Nillson, the officer behind the voice.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, it being Sunday and all, but Mr. Jensen? The guy from the farm…the crime scene?”

“Yes, Nillson, I know…. What does he want?”

“He says he has something he wants to show you. He insisted on seeing you alone? I’m sorry, sir. I tried to put him off…to have someone else…”

“That’s alright. Bring him on up.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Nillson? Thank you!”

A few minutes later….

“Inspector…I hope I got that right….Wallander?” The tall man stood at the doorway; Nillson was already heading back down stairs.

“Yes, Mr. Jensen?”

“I have something…I think you might want to…I know you’ll want to see this.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his shirt pocket.

“I’m sorry I read this. It was buried under a hay bale. I just thought it was something …. When I read it…” The man sighed.

“Let’s have it,” Kurt said. Running on fumes, so to speak, made him impatient, and the whole weekend tested more than just his patience. He looked at the paper and shook his head. A second later he read it aloud; as if he could change the words on the paper.

“Dear Lucas... I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner. I know how hard it’s been with Poppa and you.” Kurt paused and shook his head again.

“And you?” he thought. The man was a beast to both of his children and one cannot speak of his own pain? And Kurt once again closed his eyes; oblivious of the man sitting across from him. A picture of three children; imagination taking him where he didn’t want to go. One young woman sitting between two girls; twin sisters. He bit his lip and his voice broke as he continued reading.

“I’m not as strong as you are. This is too hard. What they do? What we do.... For him? I can’t…. Inger? Yes, I know your name. You talk to yourself, you know? And to the cat? I wish I could be a good girl, but I can’t and I'll never be a good boy. Maybe this will help? Don’t worry. I love you. And I’ll tell Momma about you, okay? Bye. Ulfie”

Kurt’s eyes welled with tears and the paper became a blur. He had begun to love the children and now this? How could he have let this happen? How could he have known? Was that a poor excuse?

“I’m sorry, Inspector? This must be hard for you?”

“What would you know? You don’t even know me,” Kurt said brusquely. His mistake was compounded by his own guilt.

“I’m sorry.” Jensen nodded at the apology.

“My Elsa was not a very pretty girl. Her mother died when she was little, and when she got older she was teased. She ….” The man looked away, fighting back his own tears. Kurt’s eyes widened in sad realization. He shook his head at his own failures as much as in apology for the death of someone he had never even met. Jensen reached across the desk and patted Kurt’s hand like a father would to a frightened child.

“I understand more than you know, Inspector. And I’m sorry for the loss of such a precious soul.”

“Thank you.” Kurt sighed as the man got up to leave. Jensen turned and nodded with a smile that only comes from two knowing that the other knows. A moment later Kurt was alone. And it came to him in an instant.

“What they do? For him?” The girl wasn’t just talking about Inger but about herself. To carry that in silence on behalf of a man who never cared? For a girl who didn’t even know her twin sister existed? He looked around; searching for something that would make the pain go away. His eyes fell upon Linda’s photo. The pain wouldn’t depart, but it eased as his daughter’s image urged him to count his one major blessing. Nevertheless, the moment still was too much even for a police inspector to handle and he put his head down on his arms on the desk and wept.

Ystad Lasarett Hospital, Sunday, 9:22 am….

Anne-Brit sat in a stiff chair next to the bed; her hand reached out in comfort to the teenager lying sideways facing away from her.

“Inger?”

“Don’t call me that. I don’t….”

“It’s who you are, lilla,” she said. The child was little only in the sense of endearment. And no matter how non-descript the hospital gown that surrounded the child, there was no mistaking her for anything but a teenage girl. She went to pull away, but Anne-Brit pulled her over on her back and then stood up. Grabbing the girl’s hands, she squeezed.

“You do….” She paused and looked away; searching for words that would do more than barely soothe the girl’s pain.

“I’m nothing as good as your mother would have been,” she dared to say. But in giving Inger’s mother mention, it was a way of honoring what was past while beginning to face the present.

“I am someone who cares and believes…. You do deserve to live, kära barn.” She would have hugged the girl but the shame in the girl’s expression seemed almost impenetrable.

“Why did I….”

“You survived because it’s not your time, Inger. And I know it’s hard to think of Ulfie and how you’re still here, but you are here and now. And I’m glad.”

“Why? What makes me so important? What did I do to … I’m nothing.” The girl turned her head to the side as tears spilled off her face onto the pillow.

“You did nothing, but you are someone. A child who has seen more pain than anyone should see in lifetime. Someone, lilla.” Anne-Brit smiled and sat down again; still clutching Inger’s hand.

As much as the girl felt compelled to argue, she turned toward Anne-Brit and sighed. One can hit the wall in chasing after self-condemnation as easily as chasing after a dream, and Inger had no strength to deny her own self-worth. Finally, the words that should have been spoken to her all along were now uttered by a near-stranger placed in her path to bring balance to her life.

She began to cry; softly at first as her own doubts were replace by the faith of the woman who held her hand. Faith in God, perhaps, but Anne-Brit showed the girl she had faith in her. The tears began to flow freer and deep sobs came that moved the girl to shudders.

“That’s it, lilla. That’s it.” She wanted to hug her so bad, but like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon, the girl needed to make that last push by herself; establishing her personhood by how she saw herself rather than how Anne-Brit or anyone else viewed her for that matter. One of the nurses walked quickly into the room. Anne-Brit pointed to the girl. Her face had changed from grief to doubt to shame but in an instant had begun to show peace.

“She’s alright,” Anne-Brit said as the girl settled back into the soft comfort of the pillow and wept softly once again. The nurse smiled and nodded before walking out.

The station, Monday, 9:44 am…

Kurt sat once again at his desk; staring at the note. The sounds of Grieg’s Death of Ase came from the CD player on the shelf to his left. A knock came at the door. He lifted his head to see Olsen with a look of consternation spread across his face; bad news? Or just the inevitable.

“We got the tox screen back from the lab. The kid had some Sertraline in her system, but barely above a therapeutic dosage. And there were no signs at all of defensive struggle, Kurt. You know what that means?” Kurt nodded and looked away. Turning back, he half-smiled at Olsen before showing him the note from the girl.

“It looks like she sacrificed herself so they wouldn’t come after her twin….’ Kurt’s voice trailed off as the grief of the moment took him. Was any of this his fault?

“I got the DNA results back. They were kind enough return an old favor after that Larsen case last year.” Kurt’s eyes widened in expectation; hoping to be proven right.

“No match.”

“That’s impossible,” Kurt snapped. Olsen shook his head.

“That’s what I thought so I called up the lab. Neither sample matched the kid, Kurt. I’m sorry, but we don’t know who the father is.” Kurt turned away at the news. Disappointment? Relief? How much psychic energy had he invested in getting to know both children only to learn….what?

“The lab is going to run the results through the system, but neither of the men who provided those samples is the girl’s father.” Olsen stood up.

“I’ll write up a report and have it for you after lunch.” With that he walked out of the office.

Kurt stared at the note. What little control he had maintained up to that point went out the window, so to speak, as he bit his lip and began to cry bitter tears. His eyes fell upon Linda’s photo once again and he shook his head. She remained an only child. A young woman with a rebellious spirit and a sad commonality with her erstwhile siblings in her own suicide attempt at their age. The girls were orphans. And now one girl was left without any family whatsoever. Kurt’s nostrils flared as anger rose up. He shook his head and read the girl’s note again.

“Maybe this will help?” The words jumped off the page.

His face was a mask of horror. The same overwhelming pain that took him down destructive paths after the other girl killed herself months ago returned. No murder but for the soul…the souls that were destroyed by an uncaring, cruel man. No homicide but for the death he caused by his ignorance and selfishness. And no real accomplishment as Ulfie’s death did nothing to change anything but further proved how utterly wasteful her act had been. Perhaps some relief from the sadness. Some mitigation from her hopelessness and despair. But no one benefited from her death.

And the worst part about it is that she died alone…. Without a name. In that moment, without any real connection in this lifetime to the twins, Kurt became their father. He closed his eyes and wondered how the girl’s mother would see him. A failure in his own life? He was not the son he should be and he still wondered about how badly he had been as a father to his own daughter. But now he cared for the girl on the slab in the morgue and the girl in the bed in the hospital as if they truly had been his own children.

And he thought of Erickson and his indifference and cruelty. Kurt was no saint, but he was filled with an anger that many might consider righteous. He stood up from the desk and stared at the note on the desk.

“Jag är ledsen,” he said weakly. Another realization. No name to whom to apologize. Maybe Inger would help with that. But to die alone without a name?

“Jag är ledsen, kära barn,” he repeated before walking out the door.

Erickson’s house, Monday, 10:38 am…

Kurt walked up to the front door; again determined to ignore the doorbell. He banged hard on the door and it gave way; opening up. He stood at the doorway and called out.

“Erickson?” No answer.

‘Erickson, damn it. Come to the door.” Again no answer. Kurt stepped inside the darkened living room; lit only from the dimmed sunlight of the rainy day outside. Blinking a few times he looked around the room. The furniture was in disarray and broken from what looked like a very nasty fight. And then he spotted a hand sticking out from under the overturned couch. He knelt down and pushed the couch off the lifeless body of Anders Erickson.

“Fan dig!” Kurt sad as he stood up. The final ironic disappointment. All the sacrifices the two girls had made for the man had been for naught. Lost innocence and hurtful shame only to be rewarded with the death of a man who never really appreciated how blessed he had been. It was too much. Kurt stood up and punched the wall behind the couch; cracking the plaster and sending a picture crashing to the floor. The frame and glass shattered; leaving the photograph unprotected. Another picture of happier times. Inger Erickson sitting on a bench in a park somewhere; flanked by two adorable little children. Even then they didn’t look like boys. Kurt leaned against the wall and wept harder than at any time in his life.

At the hospital, Monday, 11:51 am…

“Oh dear,” Anne-Brit said. She looked into the room where Inger seemed to be resting peacefully.

“I’m not in a hurry to give her this news,” Kurt said with a sigh. Anne-Britt touched his arm.

“You look a wreck,” she said. She quickly added,

“But it’s a good wreck.” Kurt laughed weakly and smiled.

“I think she’s going to be okay. And my cousin Viveka has a place just outside Malmo. She’s got two girls who just might like a new big sister to keep them company.” Anne-Britt smiled and looked back at the girl and breathed out deeply.

“Yes,” she said. “I think she’s going to be okay.”

Monday, 2:26 pm…

Kurt sat in the Saab in the parking lot of the McDonalds on Route 9. The rain had let up; revealing a bit of sunlight through a gap in the clouds. He recalled something his father Povel had said to him a while back about how a painting he does is ‘what comes out.” It wasn’t a day for rainbows, but it was a day that was what came out of everything he had been through. He smiled and looked at his phone; bringing up his daughter’s picture once again. He hit the preset and spoke

“Linda? Are you free for dinner? Yes…. I know it’s ….Yes…. Yes, I’d like that. Okay? Broderna M? Six? Yes. Six is just fine. Okay, see you then.” Kurt paused, waiting for Linda to ring off. An awkward silence but still connected.

“Linda? Love you….yes…okay. See you…..” He clicked off and looked at the paper bag sitting on the seat beside him.

“Sorry,” he said in apology as he balled up the bag of fast food and tossed it in the back of the car. Turning on the CD, he put his seat back as Kiri te Kenawa’s artful interpretation of Visi de’arte from Puccini’s Tosca filled the car. He took a swig of warm Bonaque Citron and smiled.

Nostalgia
by Emily Barker and the Red Clay
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w098rz-rdiQ

The Death of Ase
from the Peer Gynt Suite by
Edvard Grieg
www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aKxf1h5r4g

Vissi de’arte (I Live for Art)
From the Opera Tosca
By Giacomo Puccini
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_SbJFnKx_8