“Can you guess where he is, can you guess where he is . . . ”
Suddenly the song stopped, the camera zoomed in a little, then the picture froze and immediately dissolved in ten thousand asynchronous washed-out pixels only to materialise again a moment later. This time Jeanette Hvidt was not crying. Instead she sat anxiously covering her ears while the Belphégor demon cautiously approached her from behind. Pauline clenched her fists, Jeanette Hvidt clenched her fists. The demon behind her grew bigger and bigger, until finally she could see the watchful eyes in the loathsome mask. Only then did she understand: the little camera that was attached to the upper edge of her screen no longer showed Jeanette Hvidt at all.
Pauline Berg whirled around on a wave of adrenaline that surprised them both. The man behind her took a step backwards. She grabbed the first thing she could lay her hands on, a solid ceramic mug that stood next to the keyboard, and at the same time heard herself scream while her brain vainly bombarded her with warnings that this was the dumbest thing she could do. His instinctive retreat when she turned around gave her just enough time to put herself in a defensive position with legs slightly spread, side turned and the coffee mug poised ready to strike. They stood like that, facing each other for what seemed like an eternity. Behind her a woman started howling like a tormented animal, but Pauline ignored that and concentrated on her opponent, aware that with every split second that passed her odds improved.
He had lost the advantage of surprise, and the more she looked at him, the less afraid she was. The mask was no advantage to him in a fight; on the contrary it limited his view. Slowly she inched towards him with her feet angled and her body slightly leaning forward, as she aimed a kick towards his testicles. As if he was reading her thoughts, he hitched up his sweater and took out her pistol.
“She will follow him to his car.”
The pistol was pointed firmly at her abdomen, and at that distance he could not fail to hit. She did not answer him, Jeanette Hvidt’s howling behind her stopped, and only the low-frequency hum of the computer broke the silence.
“She will follow him to his car, otherwise he will shoot her.”
If it was courage or anxiety that drove her she never knew. Perhaps it was simply desperation, or possibly she had unconsciously registered how unprofessional it was to stick a pistol in the waistband of your pants, as if they were playing cops and robbers.
“Do you really know how to shoot a gun like that? Have you even released the two safeties? That’s a police pistol you’re holding, a kind you’ve never had in your hands before, I can see.”
Her voice probably shook, she could hear it herself, but the words were said. He took another step backwards and turned the pistol while he observed it as best he could through the holes in his mask.
“She must not say such things to him.”
“I’m not a stupid little goose you can scare with your childish devil facade.”
“She does not say such things, she will get the staff.”
“I can’t see any staff, Andreas. You must have forgotten it.”
He stamped on the floor.
“She is not saying that. I can’t . . . he will . . . ”
She was no longer afraid of the gun, which was now limply pointing at the ground. Her disdain about the safety had hit the bull’s eye. Again she started to inch forward, while she mocked him venomously.
“You’re messing up your performance. Think if your father saw you now, how he would laugh. See, he was a man who knew how to take a girl . . . did you get that, little Andreas? . . . take a girl, but you’ve seen that yourself, of course, so you’re not unaware of it. You on the other hand are nothing more than a shell of a man, an overgrown boy who caused his mother to get beaten, because you . . . ”
Falkenborg let the pistol drop and left the room. Immediately after that she heard the key being turned in the lock.
Without wasting a second she gathered up the pistol and discovered to her annoyance that there were no bullets in it. The next priority was the window. If she got out quickly he would not be able to catch her before she reached the forest. That idea wouldn’t work, though; the window was blocked from outside. She shoved and pounded on the window frame with all her strength, to no end. Plan C was the computer. She turned it off by pulling out the plug, then turned it on again and restarted the machine, after which all the power in the house went out.