The Blood Spilt Read Online Free PDF

person’s secret like a bookmark.
    “My sister had a terrible experience like that five years ago,” Petra went on when Rebecka didn’t speak. “She found their neighbor’s son drowned in a ditch. He was only four. After that she went a bit…”
    She finished the sentence with a vague hand movement.
    “So this is where you are.”
    It was Popeye. He came over to them with a gin and tonic in each hand. He held one out to Petra, and after a microsecond’s hesitation offered the other one to Rebecka. It was actually for himself.
    A gentleman, thought Rebecka tiredly, putting the glass down beside her.
    She looked at Popeye. Popeye was looking greedily at Petra. Petra was looking greedily at Rebecka. Popeye and Petra were going to feast on her. Then they’d go off and have sex.
    Petra must have sensed that Rebecka was about to run away. That the opportunity would soon have passed her by. Under normal circumstances she would have let Rebecka go, and thought to herself that there’d be other times. But right now too many drinks from the bar and too many glasses of wine with the food had clouded her judgment.
    She leaned over toward Rebecka. Her cheeks were shiny and rosy when she asked:
    “So, how does it feel to kill a person?”
    *                  *                  *                  
    Rebecka marched straight through the middle of the crowd of drunken people. No, she didn’t want to dance. No, thank you, she didn’t want anything from the bar. She had her overnight bag over her shoulder and was on her way down to the jetty.
    She’d managed to deal with Petra and Popeye. Assumed a thoughtful expression, gazed out over the dark water, and replied: “It feels terrible, of course.”
    What else? The truth? “I have no idea. I can’t remember.”
    Maybe she should have told them about those totally pathetic conversations with the therapist. Rebecka sitting and smiling at every meeting and in the end nearly bursting out laughing. What can she do? She just doesn’t remember. The therapist very definitely not smiling back, this is no laughing matter. And finally they decide to take a break. Rebecka is welcome to come back at some point in the future.
    When she can’t work anymore she doesn’t get in touch with him. Can’t bring herself to do it. Pictures the scene, sitting and weeping because she can’t cope with life, and his face, just enough sympathy to cover the what-did-I-tell-you expression.
    No, Rebecka had answered Petra like a normal person, it felt terrible but that life must go on, however banal that might sound. Then she’d made her excuses and left them. It had been fine, but five minutes later the rage hit her, and now…Now she was so angry she could have ripped a tree up by the roots. Or maybe she should lean against the wall of the hotel and push it over like a cardboard box. Just as well for blondie and her little friend they weren’t still down on the quay, because she’d have kicked them into the water.
    Suddenly Måns was right behind her. Beside her.
    “What’s going on? Has something happened?”
    Rebecka didn’t slow down.
    “I’m leaving. One of the boys in the kitchen said I could borrow the skiff. I’ll row across.”
    Måns uttered a snort of disbelief.
    “Are you crazy? You can’t row across in the dark. And what are you going to do when you get to the other side? Come on, stop. What’s the matter with you?”
    She stopped just before the jetty. Spun around and growled.
    “What the fuck do you think’s the matter?” she asked. “People asking me what it feels like to kill a person. How the hell should I know? I didn’t sit there writing a poem while it was going on, analyzing how I felt. I…it just happened!”
    “Why are you angry with me? I didn’t ask you, did I?”
    Suddenly Rebecka was speaking very slowly.
    “No, Måns, you don’t ask me anything. Nobody could accuse you of that.”
    “What the hell,”