Let The Right One In Part 43

"So that... what. That fat one, you said ... Miriam?... that belly, it's just... a bag of dead kittens in there?"

"Yes."

Lacke drank the rest of the gla.s.s, put it on the table. Gosta gestured to the gin bottle. Lacke shook his head.

"No, I'm taking a little break."

He lowered his head. An orange carpet so full of cat hair it looked like it was made of it. Cats and cats all over. How many were there? He started to count. Got to eighteen. In this room alone.

"You've never thought about... having them fixed? Like castration, or whatever it's called ... sterilizing? You could make do with one s.e.x, you know."

Gosta looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"How would I go about doing that?"

"No, you're right."

Lacke imagined Gosta getting on the subway with maybe ... twenty-five cats. In one box. No, in a bag, a sack. Go to the vet and just pour out all the cats. "Castration, please." He chuckled. Gosta put his head to one side.

"What is it?"

"I was just thinking .. . you could get a group discount." Gosta did not appreciate the joke and Lacke waved his hands in front of him. "No, sorry. I was just... uh, I'm all... this thing with Virginia, you know. I..." He suddenly straightened up, slammed his hand on the table.

"I don't want to be here anymore!"

Gosta jumped in his spot on the couch. The cat in front of Lacke's feet snuck away, hid under the armchair. From somewhere in the room he heard a cat hiss. Gosta s.h.i.+fted his weight, wiggled his gla.s.s in his hand.

"You don't have to. Not for my . . ."

"No, not that. Here. The whole shebang. Blackeberg. Everything. These buildings, the walking paths, the s.p.a.ces, people, everything is just... like a single big d.a.m.n sickness, see? Something went wrong. They thought all this out, planned it to be ... perfect, you know. And in some d.a.m.n wrinkle it went wrong, instead. Some s.h.i.+t.

"Like ... I can't explain it. .. like they had some idea about the angles, or f.u.c.king whatever, the angles of the buildings, in their relation to each other, you know. So it would be harmonious or something. And then they made a mistake in their measurements, their triangulation, whatever the h.e.l.l they call it, so that it was all a little off from the start, and it went downhill from there. So you walk here with all these buildings and you just feel that... no. No, no, no. You shouldn't be here. This place is all wrong, wrong, you know? you know?

"Except it isn't the angles, it's something else, something that just. . . like a disease that's in the . . . walls and I. . . don't want any part of it anymore." A clinking when Gosta, unasked, poured Lacke another drink. Lacke took it gratefully. The outburst had caused a pleasant calm in his body, a calm that the alcohol now suffused with warmth. He leaned back in the chair, exhaled.

They sat quietly until the doorbell rang. Lacke asked: "Are you expecting anyone?" Gosta shook his head while he heaved himself out of the couch.

"No. d.a.m.n central station here tonight."

Lacke grinned and raised his gla.s.s to Gosta as the latter walked past. Felt better now. Felt pretty OK actually.

The front door opened. Someone outside said something and Gosta answered: "Please come in."

Lying there in the bathtub, in the warm water that grew pink as the dried blood on her skin dissolved, Virginia had made up her mind.

Gosta.

Her new consciousness told her it had to be someone who would let her in. Her old one said it couldn't be someone she loved. Or even liked. Gosta fit both descriptions.

She got up, dried herself, and put on pants and a blouse. It was only when she was down on the street that she realized she hadn't put on a coat. Even so she wasn't cold.

New discoveries all the time.

Below the tall building she stopped, looked up at Gosta's window. He was home. Was always home.

If he resists?

She hadn't thought about that. Only imagined the whole thing as her taking what she needed. But maybe Gosta wanted to live?

Of course he wants to live. He is a person, he has his pleasures, and think of all the cats that will... think of all the cats that will...

She put the brakes on, willed the thought away. Put her hand over her heart. It had a rate of five beats a minute and she knew she had to protect it. That there was something to that thing with ... stakes.

She took the elevator up to the second to last floor, rang the bell. When Gosta opened the door and saw Virginia his eyes widened to something that resembled horror.

Does he know? Can you see it?

Gosta said: "But... is it you?"

"Yes, can I?..."

She gestured into the apartment. Couldn't understand. Only knew intuitively that she needed an invitation, otherwise ... otherwise ... something. Gosta nodded, took a step back.

"Please come in."

She stepped into the hall and Gosta pulled the door shut, looked at her with watery eyes. He was unshaven, the droopy skin of his throat dirty with gray stubble. The stench in the apartment was worse than she remembered, clearer.

I don't want to- Then the old brain was turned off, and hunger took over. She put her hands on his shoulders, saw her hands put on his shoulders. Allowed it to happen. The old Virginia now sat curled up somewhere at the back of her head, without control.

The mouth said: "Do you want to help me with something? Stand still." She heard something. A voice.

"Virginia! Hi! I'm so glad to ..."

Lacke flinched when Virginia's head turned toward him.

Her eyes were empty. As if someone had poked a needle into them and sucked out what had been Virginia and only left behind the expressionless gaze of an anatomical model. Plate number eight: Eyes. Virginia stared at him for a second, then she let go of Gosta and turned to the door, pressed the handle down, but the door was locked. She turned the lock, but Lacke grabbed ahold of her, dragged her away from the door.

"You're not going anywhere until..."

Virginia fought his hold and he got her elbow against his mouth, his lip splitting against his teeth. He held her arms firmly, pressed his cheek against her back.

"Ginja, d.a.m.n it. I have to talk to you. I've been so d.a.m.n worried. Calm down, what is it?"

She jerked toward the door but Lacke held her fast, coaxing her in the direction of the living room. He made an effort to speak calmly and quietly, as if to a frightened animal, while he pushed her in front of him.

"Now Gosta is going to pour us a drink and then we'll sit down all calm and collected and talk about this, because I... I'm going to help you. Whatever it is, I'm going to help you. OK?"

"No, Lacke. No."

"Yes, Ginja. Yes."

Gosta pushed past both of them into the living room and poured Virginia a drink in Lacke's gla.s.s. Lacke managed to get Virginia in, let go of her, and placed himself in the doorway to the hall with his hands on the door posts, like a sentry.

He licked a little blood away from his lower lip.

Virginia was standing in the middle of the room, tensed. Looked around as if she were looking for a way out. Her eyes stopped at the window.

"No, Ginja."

Lacke prepared to run over to her, to grab her again if she tried something stupid. What is it with her? She looks like the whole room is full of ghosts. What is it with her? She looks like the whole room is full of ghosts. He heard a sound like when you crack an egg into a hot pan. He heard a sound like when you crack an egg into a hot pan.

Then another.

And another.

The room was filled with more and more hissing, spitting.

All of the cats in the room had stood up, their backs curled and tails bushed out, looking at Virginia. Even Miriam got clumsily to her feet, her belly dragging on the floor, pulling her ears back and baring her teeth.

From the bedroom, kitchen, more cats streamed in.

Gosta had stopped pouring; stood there now with the bottle in his hand, staring wide-eyed at his cats. The hissing was a cloud of electricity in the room, increasing in strength. Lacke had to shout in order to make his voice carry above the din.

"Gosta, what are they doing?"

Gosta shook his head, sweeping his arm to the side and spilling a little gin from the bottle.

"I don't know... I've never..."

A little black cat jumped up onto Virginia's thigh, digging in her claws and biting down. Gosta brought the bottle down on the table with a bang, said: "Bad, t.i.tania, bad!"

Virginia bent over, grabbed the cat by its back, and tried to pull it off. Two other cats used this as an opportunity to jump up on her back and neck. Virginia let out a scream and ripped the cat from her leg, throwing it from her. It flew across the room, hit the edge of the table, and fell down at Gosta's feet. One of the cats on Virginia's back climbed up onto her head and held itself in place with its claws while it made dives for her forehead.

Before Lacke got there three more cats had jumped up. They screeched at the top of their lungs while Virginia pummeled them with her fists. Even so they managed to hang on, ripping her flesh with their small teeth.

Lacke thrust his hands into the crawling, seething ma.s.s on Virginia's chest, grabbed skin that glided over tensed muscles, pulled off small bodies, and Virginia's blouse was ripped, she screamed and- She's crying.

No; it was blood running down her cheek. Lacke grabbed the cat that was sitting on her head, but the cat dug its claws in even deeper, sat there like it was sewn on. Its head fit inside Lacke's hand and he yanked it from side to side until he-in the middle of all the noise-heard a snap snap and when he dropped the head it fell down lifeless on Virginia's head. A drop of blood trickled out of the cat's nose.

"Aaaaaah! My baby..."

Gosta reached Virginia and, with tears in his eyes, he started to stroke the cat that even in death stayed attached to Virginia's head.

"My baby, little darling . . ."

Lacke lowered his gaze and his eyes met Virginia's.

It was her again.

Virginia.

Let me go.

Through the double tunnel that was her eyes Virginia was looking out at everything that was happening with her body, Lacke's attempts to save her.

Let it be.

She wasn't the one fighting them off, her arms going out. It was that other thing that wanted to live, wanted that its ... host should live. She had given up when she saw Gosta's throat, taken in the stench of the apartment. This was how it was going to be. And she didn't want a part of it.

The pain. She felt the pain, the cuts. But it would soon be over. So . .. let it be. So . .. let it be.

Lacke saw it. But he didn't accept it.

The farm ... two cottages ... the garden ...

In a panic he tried to tear the cats from Virginia. But they hung on, furry knots of muscles. The few he managed to get off took with them strips of her clothing, leaving deep cuts in the skin underneath, but most of them stayed put like leeches. He tried to hit them, he heard bones cracking, but if one came off another jumped on, because the cats were climbing over each other in their eagerness to . . .

Black.

Something hit him in the face and he stumbled back about one meter, almost falling, steadied himself against the wall, blinking. Gosta stood next to Virginia fists drawn, staring at him with tearful anger in his gaze.

"You are hurting them! You're hurting hurting them!" Next to Gosta, Virginia was a boiling ma.s.s of mewling, hissing fur. Miriam dragged herself across the floor, got up on her hind legs and bit Virginia in the calf. Gosta saw it, bent down, and shook his finger at her. them!" Next to Gosta, Virginia was a boiling ma.s.s of mewling, hissing fur. Miriam dragged herself across the floor, got up on her hind legs and bit Virginia in the calf. Gosta saw it, bent down, and shook his finger at her.

"You can't do that, little lady. That hurts]" hurts]"

All sense of reason left Lacke. He took two steps, aimed a kick at Miriam. His foot sunk into her bloated belly and Lacke felt no revulsion, only satisfaction, when that sack of guts flew from his foot, was crushed against the radiator. He grabbed Virginia's arm- Out, must get out of here -and pulled her with him toward the door.

Virginia tried to resist. But Lacke and the will of her sickness were the same, and they were stronger than she. Through the tunnels in her head she saw Gosta fall to his knees on the floor, heard his howl of grief as he took a dead cat in his hands, caressing its back.

Forgive me, forgive me- Then Lacke pulled her out with him, and her ability to see was blocked as a cat climbed up onto her face, bit her in the head, and all was pain, living needles puncturing her skin, and she found herself in a live iron maiden as she lost her balance, fell, felt herself dragged across the floor. Let me go. Let me go.

But the cat in front of her eyes changed position and she saw the apartment door opening in front of her, Lacke's hand, dark red, that pulled her along, and she saw the stairwell, the steps, she was up on her feet again, fighting her way along, in her own consciousness, taking control and- +.

Virginia pulled her arm free of his hand.

Lacke turned around to the crawling ma.s.s of fur that was her body in order get a hold of her again, in order to- What? What?

Out. In order to get out.