Free When the Devil Holds the Candle by Karin Fossum Page B

He roared into the silence among the graves, doubled over with laughter, then stood there in the grass, gasping. He snorted several times through his snub nose, let out a few hoarse squeaks, then more snorts. Andreas gave him a weary smile, pulled his hands out of his pockets, jumped forward, grabbed hold of Zipp's jacket, and started boxing him. Not hard, they were friends, after all, but Zipp almost lost his balance. He stumbled backward a few paces as he raised his hands in a halfhearted attempt to defend himself. But the comic image wouldn't let go, and he laughed so hard that tears poured down his cheeks while he fumbled to hold his friend at bay. Andreas lunged forward. There was turf underfoot and Zipp fell on it, but didn't hurt himself. He was still fighting to control his laughter when he caught sight of Andreas's face. His expression was almost demonic, as if he'd gone berserk. And now he was on top of Zipp. What the fuck! Andreas had made up his mind, his strength was based on sheer will, and Zipp was helpless, overcome by hysterical sputtering; he was gasping for air even while he wondered what was coming to him. A fist in the head or a knee in the stomach? Andreas looked so strange. Zipp waited for him to let go, but he didn't. While he stared at Andreas through tears of laughter, he tried to remember what he had said that could provoke such a fierce expression on the face he knew so well, that was now so close to his own—shining eyes, red cheeks, teeth gleaming white in the darkness, warm breath against his chin. Andreas had locked his hands so that he lay helpless on his back in his tight jeans. And then, slowly, Andreas began thrusting against him in a steady rhythm. Zipp stared at him in surprise, couldn't grasp what he was doing. Zipp wasn't very bright, and Andreas seemed somewhere far away as he kept thrusting and thrusting. Suddenly he stopped. His eyes could see again; they looked at Zipp with such vulnerability. He loosened his grip. Zipp stayed where he was as he struggled to understand. And then, before he managed to work it out, he felt a hand between his thighs. It began rubbing him, the slender hand, rubbing and rubbing. He was caught off guard. To his horror he felt desire seize him, and something struck him like thunder inside: a terror so great that he felt as if he would split in half. From the depths of his soul he managed at last to summon a scream. It came all the way from his feet, it sliced through his body and into Andreas's face, blasting him away, and with a mighty leap he was on his feet—still screaming, incoherently bellowing, in a voice that he didn't recognize. He clenched his fists, ready to strike anything, to crush and rip it, smash it to pieces!
    Very slowly, Andreas got to his feet, without releasing his gaze. Zipp was like a raging animal, ready to attack. Andreas stood at a reassuring distance, keeping an eye on him and preparing himself. At that moment Zipp was the stronger one—strong enough to kill. One wrong move and he'd do it with his bare hands.
    "Shit, Zipp," Andreas whispered. "I didn't mean to."
    "Shut up! Shut up, you asshole, you fucking queer!"
    "I didn't mean..."
    "I don't want to hear it! I don't want to know anything. Don't touch me, God damn it!"
    Andreas raised his voice. Zipp could hear anger behind his words.
    "That's just the way it is! It's always been that way!"
    There was a plea in his eyes. Zipp was thunderstruck. He had never guessed it, not in his wildest imaginings. Anything but this. So what if Andreas was particular about girls, if he preferred older women—that was all fine, appealing almost, it suited the way he was. But gay?
    "What about the Woman?" he whispered, out of breath. "Was it all a bluff?"
    "No." Andreas stared at his feet. "She's ... a cover."
    "What the fuck! A cover?"
    "You believed it, didn't you?"
    "Do you sleep with girls or don't you?"
    Zipp couldn't sort it out, his emotions were tied in knots. He'd been oblivious,