Rites of Spring by Anders Motte (life books to read .txt) 📗

Hubert has shot her. But Ingrid scrambles to her feet. Her face is ashen, but she appears to be unhurt. Hubert is looking in surprise at his stomach, where a small black-rimmed hole has appeared in his raincoat. Dark red blood is seeping out. Thea turns around. Arne is staring at Hubert, then suddenly he realises what he’s done.

‘No!’ he gasps, and lowers the pistol.

Hubert drops the shotgun, his knees give way and he sinks to the ground. Thea rushes over to him. He is still conscious, and manages a strained smile.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been completely honest with you, Thea.’

‘Hush – not now.’

She unbuttons his raincoat. The wound is approximately ten centimetres diagonally above the navel. The right side to avoid the liver, but bullets often change direction inside the body. She rolls him over onto his side, finds the exit wound. There is blood here too, but not much. A good sign.

‘No, no, no!’

Arne is walking around in circles. Ingrid still looks shocked.

Thea finds a handkerchief in Hubert’s inside pocket, presses it against the entry wound.

Ingrid staggers over to Arne.

‘We need to finish this, right now,’ Thea hears her say.

Arne appears to have lost the plot completely, but he’s still clutching the gun.

‘Can you stand up?’ Thea asks Hubert.

‘I think so.’

She helps him up, drapes his arm over her shoulders and hobbles towards the edge of the forest as fast as she can.

Ingrid and Arne seem to be involved in a heated exchange of opinions, but Thea has no intention of sticking around to see who wins.

90

Thea tries to half-run through the forest, but it’s impossible. Hubert is too heavy, and as soon as she’s among the trees she loses the little path.

She will never be able to find her way back to the logging track where she left the car. They’ll have to try and follow the canal as far as the moat, then cross the bridge to the castle. Lock themselves in the west wing and call the police.

She’s far from sure that Hubert will be able to make it, but she can’t see any other way. Hubert seems to understand, and keeps going as best he can. He doesn’t complain, even though he must be in considerable pain.

‘Forgive me,’ he murmurs. ‘All the trouble I’ve caused . . .’

She doesn’t answer; she’s fully occupied with trying to press on in the pouring rain. She looks back; the beams of two torches have appeared in the darkness behind them.

‘We have to keep going,’ she whispers, dragging Hubert to the left to get closer to the canal.

She smells the water before she sees it. It’s impossible not to think about what’s buried down there in the mud. A pick-up and a car with the remains of Lasse, Eva-Britt and Lola.

Hubert coughs, gasps for air. ‘Sorry, sorry.’

The torches are getting closer.

‘We can’t stop now, Hubert.’

His legs can’t carry him any longer. He is becoming heavier and heavier, and in the end she has to lay him down on the ground in a glade by the water’s edge.

‘Leave me here,’ he whispers. ‘Run – I’ll delay them.’

Thea takes a couple of steps. Sees the blood on his raincoat. The handkerchief in his outstretched hand is more red than white. She goes back, sits down beside him. Helps him to press the handkerchief to the wound.

‘Run, Thea.’

She shakes her head.

‘You’re my patient. I can’t leave you.’

The torch beams have almost reached them. Thea thinks about curling up, but realises there’s no point. There are reflective tags on Hubert’s yellow raincoat that shine when the light hits them.

‘Here!’ Ingrid shouts. ‘They’re here!’

Ingrid and Arne enter the glade. Arne is still holding the gun. He clenches his jaw, a determined look in his eye.

Thea holds her breath. Margaux’s face suddenly comes into her mind. Her smile, her voice.

Don’t be afraid, ma chère.

At the same moment Thea hears a faint sound approaching through the night. At first she thinks she’s imagining things, but then Arne lifts his head.

The sound comes closer, a rhythmic thumping. Hooves thundering on soft ground. A dazzling bright light blazes through the trees.

Arne shades his eyes with his hand, then staggers backwards.

The hoof beats and the light come closer and closer, illuminating Arne’s face. Every scrap of colour has been replaced with ash-grey. His eyes are wide open, his mouth is gaping.

‘Arne!’ Ingrid yells, but he doesn’t seem to hear her. He stands there as if he has been turned to stone, as if his worst nightmare has come true.

A big horse enters the glade; the blinding light is shining from the head of its rider.

‘NOOO!’ Arne screams. He drops the gun and turns around. The horse cannons into him and he falls into the thick, muddy water.

Horse and rider continue towards Ingrid, who begins to run. After only a couple of metres the horse knocks her down like a rag doll.

The rider reins in the animal, then circles around Ingrid to see if she’s likely to get up. Ingrid lies there motionless. The horse comes to a halt and the rider switches off the powerful head torch.

‘Did you think I wouldn’t be able to get out of my own cellar?’ Kerstin Miller says, without taking her eyes off Ingrid.

She turns to Thea.

‘I really am so sorry about all this.’ She jumps down, loops the reins over a branch. ‘I’ve called emergency services. The police and an ambulance should be here in a few minutes. Let’s see if we can get Hubert back to the house.’

91

The night is filled with blue lights, and Hubert is lying on a trolley. Thea and the paramedics have managed to stop the bleeding.

Arne was covered in mud when the police led him past, hands cuffed behind his back. He wept like a child as they put him in the patrol car. Ingrid was quieter.

It is Kerstin who talks to the police, explains what’s happened. Thea has given only a brief summary, on the basis that she has to attend to her