Read Online I Can See in the Dark by Karin Fossum - Free Book Online

and its people, I pulled Nelly’s hair and pinched her behind the ears, and all the while I listened for signals, alertness was vital. I liked strolling past the slumbering houses close to where I lived, I liked going to the park by Lake Mester, preferably in the dark when no one could see me. But I could see. Eyes gleaming in the shrubbery behind the benches, foxes, cats and hares, quivering, darting, orange-coloured creatures. I also registered that the big black man from the Reception Centre frequently occupied a bench at night. He probably got out of a window, and then sat there on the bench glowing like a house on fire. I stood motionless in the bushes and stared at all that strength which no one wanted. There was something genuinely pathetic about him. I’m not a compassionate person, but that massive man touched something deep within me. He was so very big and so very unwanted.
    It came to pass just as I’d imagined.
    One day there was an impatient ring at the door.
    The sound of the bell through the house was so rare that I jumped; but I’d been waiting, I’m no fool, some things are so obvious. I’d dangled a worm, and now the fish had bitten. The bell was a harbinger of something new and different, something resembling an occasion in my uneventful life: I was wanted for something. Arnfinn stood at the top of the steps, faltering and shaky as always. With one hand on the wall to steady himself, he looked at me with beseeching eyes. He’d had to swallow his pride, his need was too great, his dignity had been laid aside, he needed first aid.
    ‘You wouldn’t happen to have a drink, would you?’ he asked expectantly.
    His hopeful enquiry hung in the air between us. I didn’t answer immediately; I liked the situation and I wanted to milk it a bit. So I stood for a while in silence and regarded the pathetic figure, the broken-down man in his windcheater and stout, brown shoes. With his florid face and all his forlorn despair. There was definitely a mutual understanding between us; I felt it clearly as I stood in the open doorway. Deep in his ravaged, drink-sodden brain, Arnfinn had registered that I wanted him for some reason, that he had something I needed. Or, to be more precise, that I had a plan. Even if he didn’t understand my motive, the reward was a few glasses of vodka, and vodka was the only thing that got him from one day to the next. I opened the door wide and led the way into the house, and he scuttled in after me with his rolling gait, found his place on the sofa, right up in the corner and sat there, hunched and clasping his hands in his lap, like some inscrutable riddle. He didn’t remove his windcheater or his shoes, but seated himself as he was. Shabby, unkempt and thirsty. His eyes turned to the cupboard and, just like the last time, it contained a bottle: I’d bought another in case he dropped in, and he’d realised this. But I didn’t hasten across the floor to fetch it. I wanted to wait a bit, I wanted to torment him, at least for a short while. I was like a small boy with a stick, and he was wriggling like a worm.
    ‘Yes, you’re thirsty, I expect,’ I remarked mildly.
    Because I can be extremely friendly when I want to be, and I wanted to be then. I dug into my reserves of goodwill, buried deep within me, and which on rare occasions I require.
    He dropped his gaze immediately. And coughed to clear his throat.
    ‘I was in the area,’ he said. ‘It was too good an opportunity not to visit. For a chat, I mean. If that’s not too much to ask. But perhaps your cupboard’s empty anyway? I don’t want to cadge,’ he maintained. ‘Well, it was only a thought, I don’t want to be a nuisance. But you know how it is, you understand people, I knew that the first moment I set eyes on you.’
    He was silent for a long time after expressing this piece of flattery. He was sitting right on the edge of the sofa, twining his fingers. Just as scruffy and dishevelled as always, with his