The Last Fix by K. O. Dahl Page A

regain balance and scrambled on to the shore. She tried to force her
wet feet into the shoes. It was difficult; her feet refused to go into her
shoes of their own accord.
        Once
she was ready, she stood with her body tensed, listening. Not a sound to be
heard, not even insects. Her eyes seemed to be drawn to the thick wall of
spruce on the right. There were spruce needles and tiny pebbles in her shoes.
It was unpleasant, but she repressed the feeling. She was focused on the air
and the dark wall of spruce. There. There was that sound again. And it came
from somewhere behind the spruce trees.
        She
was breathing through her open mouth. Panicky breathing which she had to keep
in check. She closed her mouth and held her breath. She stared intently at the
clump of trees. There it was again. The rustling noise. She closed her eyes.
        'Henning?'
she whispered. Her voice didn't carry.
        The
rustling stopped. She cleared her throat to regain her speech.
        'Henning?'
she shouted and listened. A twig cracked. Other twigs stirred. 'Is that you,
Henning?'
        A
silhouette detached itself from the clump of trees, a white silhouette. A
silhouette that had been there all the time, but she had not seen it until now,
when it started moving. It was in human form. White human form. With no clothes
on.
    ----

PART 2
        
    THE LITTLE GOLD RING
    ----
        

Chapter Five
        
    Kalfatrus
        
        Police
Inspector Gunnarstranda observed the shape of his face in the glass bowl. The
reflection distorted his appearance and made it pear-shaped. The mouth with the
white, artificial, porcelain teeth resembled a strange, long pod full of white
beans. His nostrils flared into two huge tunnels and around his face there was
the suggestion of a grey shadow, no Sunday shave as yet. He searched for words
to say to the goldfish. He was standing in front of the book shelf on which the
goldfish bowl was placed, looking at the fish and himself in the glass. Behind
his pear-face, the reflection caught everything in the flat: the book shelves
and the table with the pile of newspapers. 'Are you lonely?' he asked. The
question was ridiculous. He re-phrased it: 'Do you feel lonely?' And, as usual,
he put words into the mouth of the red and orange fringetail swimming around in
the bowl with an air of leisure. 'Of course you feel lonely; I'm lonely, too.'
Saying the words gave the policeman a pang of conscience. He ought to have
bought more fish to give the fat red and orange goldfish some friends, to
create a fish community in the bowl. However, at the same time he feared that
buying more fish would mean he would lose contact with this one. It looked at
him with its strange eyes, its beautiful tail flapping in slow motion. 'Yes
indeed, we're both lonely,' he concluded, straightening up and ambling into the
kitchen to brew up some coffee in the machine. Four spoonfuls of Evergood, five
if it was a different brand. That's how it is; with some brands of coffee you
need to put more spoonfuls in the filter. Not something you can discuss. It's a
question of taste. He hooked his braces over the shoulders of his vest. 'Do you
know what the worst thing about it is?' he said to the fish. 'It's that you
can't be alone with your loneliness any more. Now it's fashionable to be
lonely, now they have programmes about loneliness and everyone talks about it,
and they broadcast programmes for the lonely.'
        He
switched on the coffee machine and leaned against the door frame. There was a
portrait of Edel hanging over the fishbowl. What expression would she have on
her face and in her eyes now? But why? Was it because he spent his time
conversing with a fish? Perhaps she's jealous, he thought, jealous because I
don't talk to her? But he did talk to her, in his head. The fish was different;
the fish was like a dog. 'Yes,' he heard Edel chide him. 'But dogs have names,'
she said.
        Exactly,
thought Gunnarstranda,