Previously…

“It’s not your fault. And we will find out who did this to your brother.” Kurt rarely guaranteed anything, but he still felt his own guilt from the death of the girl months before; a child whom he couldn’t save, existentialism be damned!

“They…not you… caused this.” He wanted to add ‘your father caused this,’ but the girl already had too much to bear. He nodded to Anne-Britt and she gathered the girl into one last hug before they walked out of the office, closing the door behind them.

Kurt walked back and sat down at this desk. Reflexively, he pulled out the large bottom drawer to his left, but found his own hand-written note; a brief reminder of his recent success that merely said, ‘don’t stop now!’ He closed the drawer and breathed out a heavy sigh as he gazed through his office door window. Anne-Britt was sitting at her desk across from the girl, talking.

“Inger?” Kurt smiled to himself. He dated a girl named Inger when he was a bit younger; before he met his ex-wife. Little did he know that the name would come to mean more than just homage to the boy/girl’s mother….much more.

---

Saturday, 11:46 am, on the road…

The sound of Maria Callas ‘E’ Strano; Viloetta’s Aria’ from La Traviata by Verdi filled the Saab even as the aroma of a very ill-advisedly purchased smoked sausage sandwich wafted around in the car. Kurt grabbed a bite and swigged a mouthful from a very warm bottle of Trocadero.* A few minutes on the road and the stress of the morning had him wishing for a sit-down meal and a few drinks instead. He glanced at the identity card lying on the seat beside him and sighed. Nyberg or any of the others at the station could have handled the follow-up with boy’s father, but none of them were as angry as Kurt, if at all, and he wanted that anger to fuel the investigation; fate be damned. A few minutes after that and he was parked in front of the Erickson house.

A casual stroll to the front door gave Kurt enough time to get ready. He pounded hard on the door, ignoring the doorbell entirely. The loud sound of shuffling and a few choice expletives came from the other side of the door. A few moments later, the door opened and Anders Erickson appeared. The odor of stale beer and cigarettes wafted past Kurt and he stepped back onto the small landing; a bit repulsed and wondering why he hadn’t noticed the smell earlier.

“What the hell do you want?” the man snapped, placing his hand on the edge of the door as if to close it in Kurt’s face. Taking the gesture for exactly as it was intended, Kurt pushed the door fully opened and stepped inside; glaring at the surprised man.

“Your child….”

“Where is that useless boy?” Erickson shook his head in frustration. Either he was inattentive or worse. Kurt noted the smell once again. As upset as he had been when he and Anne-Britt had arrived earlier, his anger welled up at the man’s indifference to both of his children. He paused and remembered the fear that he had seen in the boy earlier, and changed his course in mid-stream, so to speak.

“He’s at the station helping with the investigation into the death of your daughter.

“What? What the hell are you talking about? You said the boy was found dead in a barn. Hung himself?”

“Your child committed suicide.” Kurt resisted the urge to slam the man against the wall and backed up.

“Pappas smutsiga lilla hora.” The man snickered. Kurt resisted the urge to resist the urge and pushed Erickson against the door, closing it to the outside.

“You bastard.” He said, releasing the man’s shirt and pushing away.

“I don’t have to take this from you.”

“You’re right. You don’t. I’m sorry,” Kurt said softly. He wasn’t sorry at all, but he needed Erickson to think that he was just another cop with a temper.

“What do you want from me? The kid was a kucksugare….. he …..”

“Disappointed you?” Kurt feigned concern. Another time and place and the man would be nursing a bruised wrist or rubbing a broken jaw.

“Both of them…they take after that hor that I married. Yeah…” Erickson half frowned and Kurt nodded.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about one, but what about your other kid?”

“Ulf? The saint? Yeah…. At least he’s not a fucking fag like his brother.”

“What is he then, Mr. Erickson?’

“I really …. You need to leave. NOW!”

“Just one more question? Do you know of anyone who would want to kill your child?”

“Get the fuck out of my house!” Erickson grabbed at Kurt’s elbow but stumbled. Kurt stopped the fall and pulled Erikson close enough to fog the man’s glasses with his breath.

“For now, Mr. Erickson, for now.”

Kurt lowered the man into the chair by the door. Erickson flailed a bit; knocking over a picture from atop the television. Kurt reached down and picked up the frame and replaced it on the television; a picture of the two boys with their mother in happier, safer times. Erickson looked over at the picture and Kurt grabbed an empty beer bottle off the table by the door; putting it in his coat pocket. He walked out and across the street. It was only when he got to the car that he realized just what he had seen in the picture.

“Heregud…”

---

Saturday, 12:45pm, at the Safe House…

Anne-Brit sat in a very worn easy chair across from the equally worn if still utile sofa where Marcus/Inger sat.

“How long will I have to stay here?” The boy had changed into a blue corduroy jumper over a white cowl-neck top. Even without makeup, there was no doubt that the girl had already replaced the boy. Anne-Brit shook her head.

“I don’t know. You’re not safe to go out, even if you dress as your brother.” She cringed at her own words even as she noticed the girl begin to quiver.

“I’m sorry, gullunge. This is hard for you no matter what.”

“I …I wish they had killed me. Ulfie would still be alive and at least my father would have one good son.”

“You….” Anne-Brit began to correct the girl, but thought better and continued.

“You were never a good son?”

“More like a bad girl…a very bad girl. Poppa’s lilla kucksugare. And a bad one at that. I hate myself.” She almost glared at Anne-Brit, as if to expect her to nod in agreement.

“I’m sorry, Inger. I don’t hate you.”

“You pity me. Just as good….” Anne-Brit shook her head no.

“You started to…. You did…..” Even the thought of the child performing such an act left Anne-Brit tongue-tied.

“I sucked cock. For my father…. The good little hore keeps father from being beaten up by….” She began to cry; no weeping but an almost mewl-like whimper.

“He… he knew, didn’t he?”

“Yeah….. Poppa’s fag ….some good it did. Ulfie’s dead and I’m alive. I hate myself. It should have been me and not my brother. It’s not fair.”

“No…it’s not. But that’s not the worst part of it?” She sighed and half-smiled in urging the boy/girl to continue.

“It was never enough. I’ve never been enough….” Inger shook her head and continued.

“I’m such a fuckup…so stupid! I couldn’t even get that right.”

“Your father? He kept gambling even as you paid off his debt.”

“Yeah. What good did that do? And Ulfie dead anyway. I hate myself.”

“You did what you …. He hated you but….”

“His idea? Why wouldn’t it be. I couldn’t be a good boy, but I sure as hell I could be a bad girl, so why not? I’m not sorry for anything but Ulfie. I’m so angry…..”

“I’m sorry you never got to be the girl you were, Inger. That you tried and tried. But you never could please him, no matter what you did? “

“No, but it’s still the same. I’m here and Ulfie’s gone. I wish I was never born.” The urgency of the tragedy continued to play out in real time, which left Anne-Brit conflicted.

“I have to go.” She said as her own life intruded with insistence. She frowned and stood up; giving the girl a squeeze on the shoulder.

“Will you be back?” Anne-Brit nodded almost too enthusiastically.

“Oh, yes, gullunge… I just have my own things ….my kids….you know? But I’ll be by tomorrow.”

“Oh…okay,” Inger sighed; still sitting on the sofa. Nyberg nodded and looked out through the small gap in the curtains; checking to see the officer outside still on guard.

“Listen, Inger?” The girl looked up and tilted her head in question.

“I…..I cannot tell you how sad I am. That you were forced to live such a life. And so much loss with your mother and now your brother….” She paused and turned away, searching for words.

“I’m sad that your brother died. I’m very sad that you think it’s your fault.” She shook her head at the thought of someone so young having to bear so much needless and undeserved guilt. But she smiled even as she set her hand to the doorknob to leave.

“But I am very, very glad that you were born..” Anne-Brit wanted to abandon the role of officer if only for a moment as the mother in her wanted to hug the girl. She just smiled again; instead; a hug from afar, so to speak. And then she was gone.

The girl stared at Nyberg and shrugged. He smiled lamely and produced a deck of cards and proceeded to deal out two hands on the table in front of the sofa. Inger smiled back and picked up the hand; a brief respite from the horror that seemed to lurk just outside the door.

---

Saturday, 1:17 pm, on the way back to the station…

Kurt sat in the Saab with the seat slightly back; his phone was open to the picture of his daughter Linda. The photo was recent, and Linda seemed almost welcoming, unlike the recent past of lectures and such about Kurt and his father. He already felt ill-equipped to deal with his father’s illness, and the guilt made it much worse; another reminder of how he wanted a drink. Wasn’t Alzheimer’s hereditary? He picked up the bottle of Trocadero and took a swig. It was warm and already a bit flat; leaving him musing only a bit for the tavern on the way back to town.

“Inger,” he said almost in a whisper. A woman he had not merely dated, but one of many of his indiscrete choices in the past. He stared at Linda’s picture, wondering what an amalgam of the girl might be if blended with the woman in the photo at Erickson’s. His daughter did favor him in some ways, and he could almost see the resemblance if he tried hard enough.

He blinked back a few tears; more from the regret of his continued inability to save everyone, including himself, than from any regrets or even remorse that might linger from his brief time with the woman with whom he cheated. Linda would always be in his corner, so to speak, but would likely be heartbroken if Kurt’s betrayal of her mother came to light.

He sighed. Could the boy…? He shook his head no and started the car and was back on the road in seconds.

---

The morgue, 2:32 pm….

“You get anything other than what we found? The boy thinks this wasn’t …. That his brother didn’t kill himself after all.” Kurt blew out a frustrated breath. The idea of the boy’s beginnings pulled hard at him already, and he had no real idea what he wanted to know. Would the truth be the one thing that shoved him rudely back to the bottle? And what about the other boy? The girl, actually?

“I’m still on the fence,” Olsen said as he used his glance to direct Kurt to the body under the sheet on the table behind him.

“A sad way to end, no matter what. And here’s something we didn’t expect,” he said as he lifted the sheet. Kurt’s eyes widened as he noted the thin pink lines traversing the boy’s right arm. More to the child than they first thought. As troubled as Inger/Marc was, Ulf seemed to duplicate his sibling’s emotional pain. Whatever might be causing the crisis the first child faced, the second certainly looked like he could indeed have killed himself. Olsen shook his head slightly.

“There’s more, I’m afraid.” The man pointed to the boy’s chest.

“I’m fairly sure he was getting help from someone. You said the boy dressed up as his sister? I’m not so sure about that, either.” Kurt nodded reluctantly. Whatever the motive might be regarding Ulf’s sacrifice, his own intent went beyond just being a loving brother.

“Tvillingar…. In every way?” Kurt whispered to himself. Olsen nodded slightly as he drew the sheet back over the body.

“How utterly sad.” Olsen said. And Kurt nodded in return while looking away slightly. However the boy’s life had ended, it was every bit as tragic no matter if he had taken his own life or had it stolen from him, since it seemed quite clear that Inger never had a twin brother in the same way that Inger had never been a boy. Did Ulf even have her own name? To live in secret hidden even from the one person in the world who might understand; who would indeed have understood that Ulf was a Karen or an Anne or a Marta.

“Yes….” Kurt muttered. “How utterly sad.”

---

Saturday, 6:15 pm, at the safe house…

Nyberg stood at the front window; peering out at the street thru the gap in the window blinds. Inger had changed back into Ulf's shirt and jeans and was sitting on the worn sofa. A barely touched pizza lay in a box open on the table in front of her. She looked up at Nyberg.

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Inger sat with her hands folded in front of her; almost in prayer.

“Yes, I mean, no, I don’t mind. Ask away,” Nyberg said with a half-smile.

“Do you ….do I make you sick?” She winced at her own words.

“Fan nej, kid. Why do you ask?” Nyberg almost sounded hurt.

“Because you don’t look at me. Even after I put the boy clothes back on.” She sighed.

“No, you don’t make me sick. I don’t understand you, but I don’t hate you, Lucas.”

“See. That’s just it. You just called me Lucas. Like you don’t believe me.” Nyberg went to speak but Inger put her hand up.

“No. You don’t believe me. You’re just putting up with me because it’s your job. You don’t want to be here.”

“No, I don’t, but it’s not because of you. I was supposed to go to my sister’s for dinner, but I got the detail here.”

“If you didn’t have to be at your family, would you still be mad?”

“No, kid. I’m not mad. The cable doesn’t work. The fridge is almost empty, and even I’m getting tired of playing cards. I’m bored and I’m not exactly the best person for this detail.”

“Because you don’t like kucksukere?”

“Because I don’t know what to say to make things better for you. I saw your brother. I saw your face at the station when they showed him to you. There’s something else going on, and I think I know what it is, but every time I ask you a question you deflect. I get that. I lost a cousin when I was your age. It hurts. But you… there’s something else, and playing games isn’t going to help.

“I told your …I told Anne-Brit. It’s my fault. My brother would still be here if I wasn’t such a fuck up. I should have killed myself, okay? Are you happy now?” Even with shorter hair and in male mufti, there was no mistaking the girl in front of him. She almost emitted an aura of sorts, as if no matter how she looked, her true self was forever on display now that she had been revealed. That she began to cry seemed to reinforce Nyberg’s well-entrenched if earnestly held stereotypical views.

“Oh, no. Don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” The girl stood up and went to walk past Nyberg into the kitchen. He grabbed Inger’s hand and went to pull her into a hug. She surprised him by stepping closer and kissing him on the lips. Nyberg’s eyes widened in shock as the girl stepped back; her own face a mask of grief mixed with shame.

“I’m….I’m so sorry.” She stood facing him; her fists balled tightly as she shook. He resisted the temptation to hug her and stayed back.

“I…I think I understand. I’m sorry, kid.” He shook his head and the girl took it the wrong way and burst into tears. He stepped only a bit closer and held his hands up slightly in plea.

“No….Luc…Inger. I meant I understand. When I was a kid, my best friend’s brother….he was sort of like you….”

“Like….me? What?”

“A transsexuell? And he…she was put in the same position your father left you. Men have hurt you all your life. That’s what I meant. You’ve been hurt, and I guess you don’t know how to … like you just can’t help yourself. But you’re still a kid, and I’m sorry, okay?”

The girl continued to cry and Nyberg wanted to help, but a hug was the last thing the child needed at that point. A girl dressed as a boy. A teen dressed as an adult. A child dressed just how everyone and everything demanded; too many demands even for a fifteen year old.

“We’re gonna be okay, kid. You and me will be just fine, since I’m old enough to be your ….older brother,” he laughed softly, but the girl winced at the word brother. He shook his head and half-frowned.

“As long as I’m around, you don’t have to do or be anything, okay?” The man looked at her and at himself. She realized that he wouldn’t condemn her for her actions even as he helped her understand. She fell back into the chair next to the kitchen and began to sob. He nodded and frowned.

"I mean it. You can't keep doing what you just did. I'm an adult and you're a chlld to begin with, and I'm not here for you for that. And you are definitely not here for me for anything. You just did wrong by you, okay?" She continued to weep.

“Yeah, kid. Go ahead and cry. I know.”

---

Saturday, 6:49 pm in Kurt’s office…

“Dr. Olsen? Would you mind? Can you get a sample of the boy’s DNA to the lab along with these?” Kurt produced two bottles; a Pripps Bla beer bottle and bottle of mostly consumed Trocaderro.

“Any particular reason?” Olsen asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No. Nothing special. Just a hunch….”

---

Saturday, 8:19 pm at the safe house...

Nyberg opened the door, welcoming in a uniformed woman.

"He....the kid's been pretty quiet. Noting much to say, but you might make a note to call her Inger, you know?" Officer Lidstrom, of all people, would be understanding and sensitive, being the spouse of a nice woman doctor in Ystad. He pointed to the bedroom.

"She's been napping for a bit. Hey, Inger? Reinforcements are here." He knocked on the door. No answer. Another knock brought the same results. He opened the door and peered into the dark room. 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.

"Åh kära gud! Lidstrom...call 112!" He turned back and found her moaning; a good sign at least for the moment.

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

Crow fly be my alibi
And return this fable on your wing
Take it far away to where gypsies play
Beneath metal stars by the bridge

Oh write me a beacon so I know the way
Guide my love through night and through day

Only the sunset knows my blind desire for the fleeting
Only the moon understands the beauty of love
When held by a hand like the aura of nostalgia

To be continued…

---

*Trocadero is a caffeinated apple- and orange flavored soft drink from Sweden.

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

E’Strano; Violetta’s Aria
from the Opera La Traviata by
Giuseppi Verdi
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CPjYYvV7Gdo