Death of the Demon: A Hanne Wilhelmsen Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

He had brought back a little figure, which he had given to Olav. It was bloody childish, so he passed it on to Kenneth.
    Trying to sneak down the stairs, he discovered that the treads creaked slightly. It dawned on him that if he placed his feet at the extreme outer edges of each step, it did not make a noise, and he managed to descend the stairs almost soundlessly.
    “Hi, Olav!”
    He nearly jumped out of his skin. It was Maren.
    “Why aren’t you outside? All the other children are!”
    “I can’t be bothered. I want to watch TV.”
    “No TV watching so early in the day, I’m afraid. You’ll have to find something else to do.”
    She smiled at him. She was the only adult in the foster home that he could abide. She was logical, something almost nobody was. Not his mum either. And certainly not Agnes.
    “I’m starving,” he whispered.
    “But it’s only half an hour since we ate lunch!”
    “I only had two slices of bread.”
    Looking around, Maren saw no one and, placing her forefinger over a smiling mouth, she crept toward the kitchen with exaggerated movements, all the while humming the Pink Panther tune. A smiling Olav crept behind her even though he thought it fairly stupid.
    In the kitchen she opened the fridge a tiny crack and they both thrust their faces toward the gap. The light blinked on and off because the door was not properly open, so they had to swing it open a little wider.
    “What do you want?” Maren whispered.
    “The meatballs,” Olav whispered back, pointing at the leftover food from the previous day.
    “You can’t have that. But you can have some yogurt.”
    He wasn’t particularly pleased, but it was better than nothing.
    “Can I put muesli on top?”
    “Okay.”
    Picking up an economy carton of yogurt, Maren poured some of the contents into a small, deep dish. Olav had brought out the muesli packet from the pantry and was in the process of sprinkling a third scoop over the bowl when Agnes appeared at the door.
    “What’s going on here?”
    Both of them froze for a second, before Maren grabbed the bowl of food and positioned herself in front of the boy.
    “Olav’s so hungry. A little yogurt can’t do any harm.”
    Agnes did not utter a word as she circumnavigated the massive dining table to relieve Maren of the bowl. Still without a word, she produced a roll of plastic wrap from a drawer and, using it to cover the food, she pushed the two sinners away from the refrigerator and placed the bowl inside before closing the door.
    “So. We do not eat between meals in this house. You both know that.”
    She did not even glance at Olav. But she stared hard at Maren as she spoke. Maren shrugged her shoulders in embarrassment and planted her hand on Olav’s shoulder. After his initial astonishment, Olav pulled himself together.
    “Fucking cow.”
    Agnes, about to leave the room, froze in midmovement and then turned around slowly.
    “What did you say?”
    Maren squeezed the boy’s shoulder in an attempt to warn him.
    “Fucking cow, bitch from hell!”
    Now the boy was screaming.
    Agnes Vestavik set upon him faster than anyone would have thought possible. Grabbing hold of his chin, she forced his face up against her own. He displayed his protest by narrowing his eyes.
    “Expressions like that are not used here,” she snarled, and Maren could have sworn that her left hand was raised as though for a stinging slap. If so, it would have been the first time in history that Agnes Vestavik had ever laid her hand on a child. After a moment’s hesitation, she lowered her hand but continued her grip around the boy’s face.
    “Look at me!”
    He screwed up his eyes even more tightly.
    “Olav! Open your eyes and look at me!”
    Olav’s face was crimson, contrasting starkly with the livid marks around the director’s fingers.
    “I’ll take care of him, allow me,” Maren suggested in a muted voice. “I’ll speak to him.”
    “Speak! We’re not going to do any speaking here! We’re