Free When the Devil Holds the Candle by Karin Fossum

Jacob were going in the same direction, so they shared a taxi. He patted his leg, the signal for his dog to come and lie down at his feet. His thoughts whirled: Matteus, Sara, Jacob, Robert, and everything that happens. But life is not basically bad. The red wine had taken effect, he had to admit. He'd drunk his fill and a little more besides. Matteus would be fine, everyone was healthy, he was doing well in his job. And he would work out this thing with Sara. Later. He stared up at the picture of Elise. Since all was finally quiet in the building and anyway no one could see him, he drew her a little closer.

    Ingrid Sejer was also still awake. She had put Matteus to bed at 8 P.M. , sung him a song and tucked him in. Later on she went to get his school bag to check that everything was there: books and gym kit. She took it out to the living room and opened it. She glanced through his books, made sure his pencil was sharp, that his eraser and glue stick and scissors were there. A folded slip of paper fell out, blue-tinted paper, not a kind she recognized. perhaps it was a message from his teacher, intended for her.
I'M GONNA CUT THREE GASHES IN YOUR BACK AND I'M GONNA RUB SALT IN THEM SO THEY HURT LIKE HELL.
    YOU FUCKING BLACK!

Chapter 6
    As I said, Andreas was handsome. He had a flawless complexion. Fair and smooth, with rosy cheeks. And clean. I've always been aware of the importance of cleanliness; it's something I learned early on. Nothing is ever left lying around at my house, either inside or out. I go out in the evening to check. The neighbors are not so meticulous—I've seen everything from bikini tops to dirty coffee cups on the patio table next door. Now, I don't mean it's a catastrophe, but I don't understand it. How can they stand at the window and see those dirty cups, and then go to bed and sleep soundly? For my part, I am always considerate. I think that's important. We're not alone in the world, after all.
    I sit in the red chair in the dark and listen. Even though it's quiet, sometimes I think I can hear someone outside. A warning of everything that is to come. A silent stream of people coming to the house, curious. Ingemar won't miss me, but he will do his duty. Put a notice in the paper. Send word to my two sisters, who are far away. They always write at Christmas: Everything is fine. We keep in contact with other people.
    We're not really afraid to die. We're only afraid of being forgotten. We know that we'll be forgotten, and the idea is unbearable, don't you agree? As time passes we become less frequent visitors in the minds of those left behind. The ones who clear
out the house, divide up the belongings, throw away the rubbish—and forget. If we knew that every evening someone lit a candle and sat down to think—think about us, if only for a few seconds—then we could depart this earth in peace. No one will light a candle for me. Who would do that? But I've arranged things so that when my name is mentioned it will be with horror and amazement. A picaresque story. Maybe my picture will be in the paper. I've got rid of all photos of myself except for one, which shows me almost young, forty or so. The worst thing about dying is not being dead and buried. Dead and buried: that's proper, that's final. It's the hours before, when you're still in the hands of the living. They're only human, after all. I can imagine some of the things they'll say. I won't repeat them here, but they'll be said. I know what they are.
    ***
    Andreas sauntered along, taking long strides, with Zipp plodding diligently at his side. They were making for the river. Not because of its steady roar or the way lights flickered in the black water: those weren't things they thought about. Nevertheless, the water drew them. There was a raw wind, and Zipp stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets to warm them. They found a bench and there they sat, in silence. When water is flowing past, it's not necessary to talk. Each was lost in his own