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at Hakan, who took the opportunity to step closer. The boy stood still, following him with his gaze. This was going to hell. Of course the boy sensed something was wrong. First a man came storming out of the woods to ask him what the time was and now he had struck a Napoleon pose with his hand inside his coat.
    "What do you have there?"
    The boy gestured at Hakan's heart region. Hakan's head was empty; he didn't know what he was going to do. He took out the gas container and showed it to the boy.
    "What the hell is that?"
    "Halothane gas."
    "What are you carrying it around for?"
    "Because . . ." He felt the foam covered mouthpiece and tried to think of something to say. He couldn't lie. That was his curse. "Because . .. it's part of my job."
    "What kind of job?"
    The boy had relaxed somewhat. He was holding a sport bag similar to the one Hakan had stowed in the hollow up in the woods. Hakan gestured to the bag with the hand that was holding the gas canister.
    "Are you on your way to work out or something?"
    When the boy glanced down at his bag he had his chance.
    Both arms shot out, the free hand grabbing the boy by the back of the head, the other pressing the mouthpiece of the canister against his mouth. Hakan released the trigger. It let out a hissing sound like a large snake and the boy tried to pull bis bead away but it was locked between Hakan's hands in a desperate vice.
    The boy threw himself back and Hakan followed. The hissing of the snake drowned out all other sounds as they fell onto the wood shavings on the trail. Hakan's hands were still clenched around the boy's head and he held the mouthpiece in place as they rolled around on the ground. After a couple of deep breaths the boy started to relax in his grip. Hakan still made sure the mouthpiece was in place, then looked around. No witnesses.
    The hissing sound of the canister filled his head like a bad migraine. He locked the trigger in place and teased his free hand out from underneath the boy, loosened the rubber band and then drew it back over the boy's head. The mouthpiece was secured.
    He got up with aching arms and regarded his prey.
    The boy lay there with his arms thrown out from his body, the mouthpiece over nose and mouth, and the halothane canister on his chest. Hakan looked around once more, retrieved the boy's bag, and placed it on his stomach. Then he picked him up and carried him to the hollow.
    The boy was heavier than he had expected: a lot of muscle. Unconscious weight.
    He was panting from the exertion of carrying the boy over the soggy ground while the hissing of the gas cut through his head like a chain saw. He deliberately panted more loudly so as not to hear the sound. With numb arms and sweat pouring down his back he finally reached his destination. There, he laid the boy down in the deepest part of the hollow and then stretched out beside him. It grew quiet. The boy's chest rose and fell. He would wake up in approximately eight minutes, at most. But he wouldn't.
    Hakan lay beside the boy, studied his face, caressed it with a finger. Then he pulled himself closer to the boy, took the floppy body in his arms, and pressed it to him. He kissed the boy tenderly on the cheek, whispered "forgive me," and got up.
    Tears threatened to well up into his eyes as he looked at the defenseless body on the ground. He could still refrain.
    Parallel worlds. A comforting thought.
    There was a parallel world where he didn't do what he was about to do. A world where he walked away, leaving the boy to wake up and wonder what had happened.
    But not in this world. In this world he now walked over to his bag and opened it. He was in a hurry. He quickly pulled on his raincoat and got out his tools. A knife, a rope, a large funnel, and a five liter plastic jug. He put everything on the ground next to the boy, looking at the young body one last time. Then he picked up the rope and got to work.

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    He thrust and thrust and thrust. After the first blow Jonny had