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

not going—”
    “Tramp cunt,” Olav muttered through gritted teeth.
    The director was now deathly pale. She lifted her left hand once more, and once again let it fall after a few seconds. Her grip around the boy’s face became even more ferocious. Then she swallowed twice and slowly released her grasp. Nevertheless, the boy did not open his eyes and remained standing there with his face turned upward.
    “I’ll phone your mother and tell her she doesn’t need to come here for a fortnight, do you understand? That will be a suitable punishment.”
    Maren opened her mouth to object, but closed it when she caught the director’s eye. Instead she tried to place herself between the boy and Agnes, something that was rather difficultsince Olav, on hearing the punishment, had opened both his eyes and his mouth, and was now ready to launch himself at the other woman. She, for her part, had turned away and was on her way out the door. Maren managed to stop the boy in his tracks by grabbing his arms and twisting them behind his back.
    The boy roared. “I hate you! I hate that fucking cunt woman!”
    Agnes slammed the door behind her and vanished.
    “Mum,” the boy yelled, trying to struggle free. “Mum!”
    And then he deliberately bit his own tongue so it gushed with blood.
    But he did not cry.
    “Mum,” he mumbled as the blood streamed out of his mouth.
    Standing behind him, Maren suddenly noticed the boy was no longer attempting to tear himself free. Slowly she let him go and escorted him to a chair. Then she caught sight of the blood.
    “Oh, my God, Olav,” she said, terrified, grabbing some paper from a kitchen roll.
    It rapidly became saturated with blood, and she used almost the entire roll before the flow was stanched sufficiently for her to inspect the injury more closely. Part of his tongue was almost torn off.
    “Olav, there, there,” she said, patting the paper towel on the wound.
    At that, she realized there was not much more to be said. Apart from one thing.
    “You must remember this, Olav, if you have a problem, if things are difficult, if the others are nasty to you, then you really must come to me. I’ll always be able to help you. If you only hadn’t got so angry just now, we could have sorted this out together. Can’t you try to remember that another time? That I will always help you?”
    She wasn’t entirely certain, but she had a feeling the boy nodded, and she then stood up to phone for the family doctor.
    His tongue had to be sewn with three stitches.
     • • • 
    Only one member of staff was absent from the total of fourteen, and Agnes chaired the meeting. The staffing rosters for the next two months had been drafted, though they spent some time adjusting Maren’s suggestions. Thereafter, they discussed the children, one by one.
    “Raymond has been allocated a place on that course,” Terje said. “He starts next week, so then he’ll have three days of school and two days tinkering with motorbikes every week. He’s looking forward to it.”
    Raymond was doing fine. He had lived at Spring Sunshine since the age of nine, and had been a hard nut for the first year. From then he had relaxed his shoulders, exhaled, and settled down, accepting that he could visit his mum only at weekends. His mother was fantastic. She had all the qualities a mother should have, considerate, stimulating, protective, and loving. When she was sober. For the first five years of his life things had gone well, and then she fell off the wagon again. At seven years of age, Raymond was placed in an individual foster home and all hell broke loose. He was so attached to his mother that it was impossible for anyone to assume the parental role, and after three pairs of foster parents had worn themselves out without his mother having managed to relinquish the bottle, he was transferred to Spring Sunshine, where things improved. His mother stayed dry from Friday morning, and opened her first bottle as soon as Raymond