Free The Last Fix by K. O. Dahl

three years fighting for her
life, all for nothing.'
        They
sat in silence listening to the cars rushing past some distance away from them.
An acquaintance strolled by and waved to the two policemen.
        'Do
you know what it costs to rehabilitate a drug addict?'
        The
woman's question was a reaction; the two men both understood that she was not
interested in an answer.
        'My
God,' Annabeth repeated. 'What a waste, what a dreadful waste!'
        The
following silence lasted until Gunnarstranda prompted her: 'What is a waste, fru
Ås?'
        Annabeth
straightened up. She was on the point of speaking, then paused and instead
dried her eyes with the back of her hand.
        'Tell
us about the three years,' Frølich interjected. 'When did you first meet
Katrine?'
        Annabeth
sat thinking for a while.
        'Why
do you think…?' she began at length. 'Was it assault? Rape?'
        'When
did you first meet Katrine?' Frølich repeated patiently.
        Annabeth
sighed. 'It was a few years back. It was in… 1996. She came to us of her own
unfree will, as we are wont to say, referred to us by Social Services. She
wavered for a bit, by which I mean she absconded several times. They often do.
But then up we went into the mountains to see how invigorating life can be
without any artificial stimulants. She became more motivated, agreed to
treatment and followed a three-year course. We divided it up into stages - she
was in phase four - and would have been discharged in the summer. She took
advanced school-leaving examinations while she was with us and finished last
year. Brilliant exam results. God, she was so intelligent, so smart,
lightning-quick at picking things up. She got three damned As. She rang me up. Annabeth, Annabeth, she screamed down the phone. I got As. She was
ecstatic, so happy…'
        Annabeth
was becoming emotional and stood up. 'Excuse me… I'm just so upset.'
        Gunnarstranda
looked up at her. 'I suppose that patients do sometimes die,' he commented.
        'What?'
        'Don't
drug addicts sometimes die?'
        Annabeth
stared at him, speechless. Her mouth opened and shut in slow motion.
        'And
after school,' Frølich interrupted in a composed voice. 'What did she do
then?'
        Annabeth
glowered at Gunnarstranda, closed her eyes and sat down again. 'She got a job
in no time at all,' she said. 'Well, I think she should have aimed higher,
started at university, taken an honours course. She could have done political
science. She could have become a journalist. With her looks she could have
walked into any job she wanted. My God, she had so many options!'
        'But
where did she get a job?'
        'In a
travel agency. I can give you the phone number. Such a ridiculous young girl's
dream. That's such a bitter thought, too. Here we have this delicate soul who I
assume - I say assume because it was impossible to get anything out of her, as
is so often the case - and this poor soul goes and gets abused by some man or
other while still a child. Please don't misunderstand me. There are some drug
addicts who just want their kicks in everyday life. I mean, some patients can't
seem to live intensely enough in the world we call normal. But…'
        '…
but Katrine wasn't the type?' Frølich suggested.
        'Katrine
was so full of… what should I say?… she was so vulnerable. And girls like her
often start taking drugs at the age of twelve, with hash anyway. Start smoking
reefers, as they call them, then it's glue-sniffing and alcohol and the first
fix when they're fifteen. Then they drop out of school. It's the usual story:
leave school, leave home, then start picking up punters on the streets. These
poor young people have no childhood. They don't have the ballast that you and
I…'
        She
paused for a few seconds while Gunnarstranda, still thinking, sprang up and
placed one foot on the seat to roll himself a