The Circle (Hammer)

17



‘I’M SURE IT’S nothing,’ says Gustaf.

They’re standing on the stairs. Rebecka is one step higher so, for once, they’re the same height. They’re speaking softly so their voices won’t echo.

‘She said it was a routine chat, right?’ he continues.

‘Have you ever had a “routine chat” with the principal?’ Rebecka asks.

Jari Mäkinen from year twelve is running down the stairs with a pink bag that looks completely out of place in his arms. He and Gustaf greet each other with a nod.

‘Well, have you?’ Rebecka repeats, once Jari has disappeared.

‘No. Maybe it’s something new she’s starting. After Elias and that. She wants to speak to students who—’

He breaks off. Rebecka swallows. This is it. This is the moment they’re going to talk about it.

‘Students who what?’ she asks.

Gustaf presses himself close to her and breathes in the scent of her hair.

‘You smell nice,’ he mumbles.

She almost shoves him away.

He looks at her anxiously. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘What was it you were going to say about students like Elias and me?’

Why don’t you say it yourself? she hears a little voice inside her say. Don’t wait for him. Tell him the truth. Minoo’s right. You have to trust him.

‘I just mean that maybe she wants to check up on all the new year eleven students,’ Gustaf says.

Her disappointment in him and herself for their cowardice weighs on her chest.

‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ he says.

‘Okay,’ Rebecka mumbles.

‘I love you,’ he says. ‘You won’t forget that, will you?’

They look at each other, and Rebecka discovers how close she is to tears. She can only shake her head in response.



It’s dark in the principal’s office. The blinds are down and the only light is from the desk lamp. The shade is a glass mosaic, a circle of dragonflies standing wingtip to wingtip. There are no papers on the desk, not even a pen. The computer is switched off.

The principal is wearing a dark-grey suit with a large silver brooch on the lapel. It looks old. Her bone-white blouse is buttoned up to the neck, and her black hair is perfectly in place. As usual her face is well made-up. It strikes Rebecka that many people would describe the principal as beautiful.

‘Sit down,’ the principal says, with a stiff smile.

Rebecka takes the armchair placed in front of the desk. The principal looks her steadily in the eyes, but suddenly she is distracted.

‘Excuse me,’ she says, and reaches for a strand of hair caught on Rebecka’s knitted sweater.

Rebecka doesn’t know what to say.

‘You’re probably wondering why I wanted to speak to you,’ the principal says, and drops the hair into the wastepaper basket.

‘I think I know why.’

The principal has dark, intelligent eyes.

‘Yes?’

The weight is still pressing on her chest. Rebecka has to force herself to speak. ‘Who’s been talking to you?’

‘Talking to me?’

‘Was it Julia or Felicia? Ida? Or was it the school nurse? Is she allowed to talk about that kind of thing? Was it Minoo?’

She regrets adding Minoo’s name. She wants to trust her – she has to if they’re going to be friends. But why did she look so guilty?

‘What would they have said about you?’ the principal asks.

She’ll start crying if she doesn’t close her eyes. She squeezes her eyelids together.

Suddenly Rebecka knows what a relief it would be to let go. To let herself fall and see if they catch her. Let go of the fear that her secret will be exposed. Expose it herself instead.

‘We’d better start at the beginning,’ the principal says.

Rebecka opens her eyes. The bewilderment on the principal’s face seems genuine and Rebecka realises she may have been mistaken. Perhaps this really is a routine chat?

‘Rebecka, what did you think this meeting was about?’

Now she feels incapable of telling her anything. The secret has regained its hold over her. She gets up and grabs her bag.

‘Excuse me, I have to go,’ she says.

‘Wait!’ she hears the principal say as she shuts the door behind her.

She runs down the corridor to the main staircase. Gustaf is waiting for her at the front entrance. Waiting to make everything good again. But she can’t see him now. Not with the panic still throbbing inside her. She needs to be alone.

Rebecka continues up the main stairs and down a corridor. Then it’s as if her strength gives out. She leans against a wall and glides down on to her haunches.

Only now does she become aware of how fast her heart is beating.

Only now does she realise where she is.

She’s sitting opposite the door leading to the toilet where Elias died.

Ever since he was found it’s been locked and blocked off. It’s covered with notes and inscribed messages.



R.I.P.

We miss you!!!!!

It’s better 2 burn out than 2 fade away

Sorry

Live fast, die young & leave a good-looking corpse

Sorry for everything, Elias

Forgive me



And, scratched deeply into the wall, clearly legible despite someone’s attempts to cross it out:



The only good faggot is a dead faggot



Rebecka reads the messages one after another. Down by the floor, something is written in beautiful black lettering:

The good die young



The fluorescent ceiling lights flicker with a tinny electrical sound. Then they go out.

That’s how it is.

It’s a voice that isn’t really a voice, more like one of her thoughts, and yet not. It sounds nothing like the voice that had filled her head that first night, when she was given the task of leader. That voice had been a guest. This voice has forced its way into her consciousnesse.

What’s written there is true, it continues. The good can’t survive in this world. You’re too good, Rebecka.

She recognises the fear that takes hold of her. It’s the same as the fear she felt when she was being stalked on the morning after Elias’s death. The same fear as she felt yesterday when she knew she was being watched.

It’s you, she thinks. Her pulse is throbbing in her ears. Who are you?

Get up.

Rebecka’s body stands up immediately, as if she herself had issued the command. Open the door to the attic and go up the steps.

Her feet start moving automatically. The attic door is ajar. She tries to focus her powers on closing it. But suddenly there is resistance: something is blocking her with a power much stronger than her own.

Her vision blackens and she feels a trickle of blood run from her nose to her upper lip and into her mouth. It tastes of metal, earth and sweetness.

Don’t fight it, the voice says gently. There’s no point.

She mounts the narrow stairway leading to the attic.

What do you want? she asks, but she knows the answer all too well. This was how Elias died.

She’s reached the top of the steps. There are two doors: a rickety wooden one leading to the attic storage room, and a metal one leading outside. On to the roof. She sees her hand reach out and press down the handle of the metal door. The wind buffets her face when it swings open. The sky is blue, with white clouds chasing each other.

Elias was suffering. I released him from pain. I’m doing you a favour, Rebecka.

Please, she begs. Please, I don’t want to die. I’ve got four little brothers and sisters. My parents … Gustaf … Minoo … Panic makes it hard for her to formulate her thoughts.

They’ll get over it. Better to disappear now and remain perfect for ever in their memories.

Rebecka’s feet step over the threshold. The roof is laid with glittering black tar paper that crackles under her feet as she walks towards the edge.

You won’t have to suffer any more.

The voice inside her head is seductive now. It sounds like the only voice in the whole world that really cares about her, and she has to force herself not to listen to it.

But I want to suffer! she shouts inside herself. I want to live! I want to live!

Her feet stop just one step from the edge. She can see the playground down below, the dead trees and the black tarmac that has been used to fill in the long crack. From up here it looks like a scar. She sees the road where the bus has just driven past, a few students running for the stop. If one of them could just look up …

Please, she begs. Please, let me live.

Suddenly she feels the presence hesitate in her body. Her legs are no longer rigid. If she tries a little harder she can turn away from the edge. If she concentrates …

Rebecka clenches her fists. She’s regaining control.

No. I have to do it.

The voice is there again. The hesitation is gone. She feels it trying to regain control of her. She feels the pressure of the intruding will. But this time she has two advantages. She has hope, because she’s seen a weakness in the enemy, and she’s ready.

She pushes back. Her head is in excruciating pain, as if her brain is expanding to bursting point. Tension builds inside her skull. She puts her hands to her head, as if to stop it exploding. Yet another line of blood trickles from her nose.

The intruding presence is buckling and Rebecka is teetering on the edge of the roof. Her stomach clutches when she looks down to the playground far below.

She backs away from the edge and crumples to the roof. She doesn’t have the strength to stand up, much less walk down.

Rebecka fumbles in her bag for her mobile. At first she thinks of calling Gustaf, but she’ll never be able to explain what she’s doing up there. She has to call Minoo.

She hears footsteps coming up the stairs and turns. The sun blinds her and she has to shade her eyes with her hand to see who’s standing in the doorway.

Rebecka smiles uncertainly. ‘Hi,’ she says. ‘How did you know I was up here?’