A book in the Ewert Grens series, 2005

Translation copyright © Anna Paterson

All characters in this publication, other than those

clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any

resemblance to real persons, living or dead,

is purely coincidental.

He shouldn't have.

They're coming now. There they are.

Walking down the slope, past the climbing frame. Twenty metres away now, maybe thirty. They've reached the plants with red flowers. They're like the ones at Säter secure unit, near the front door. He guessed they were roses. Or whatever.

He shouldn't have.

It doesn't feel the same afterwards. Not so strong, it's like the sensation's gone.

There now. Two of them, walking along, their heads close together, talking. They're friends, it's easy to spot. Friends talk in a special way, using their hands as well.

It seems the dark-haired girl is in charge. She's a live wire, wants to get everything said in one go. The blonde one is mostly listening. Maybe she's tired? Maybe she's a quiet one, who never talks much. Quiet ones don't need their own space to feel sure they're alive. Maybe one is dominant and the other one dominated. Isn't that always the way?

He shouldn't have wanked.

Still, that was then, this morning, twelve hours ago. It mightn't matter now. The effect might've gone.

He'd known it first thing, as soon as he woke up, known that everything would work out tonight. It's Thursday today, and it was Thursday the last time.