Is that my hearing aids or was that actually a sound?

I stand dead still.

No noises. Silence. A car drives toward the shopfront and slows but then it drives on by. It’s a black Audi. Eva Edlund’s Audi.

Dust tickles the fleshy insides of my nostrils.

I pinch my nose and straighten up slowly.

As I stand, the sleeve of my jacket catches a coffee mug and time slows down.

I lunge to catch the mug but it’s too late.

It hits the dusty floorboards and spins and ricochets but it does not break.

Another creak from upstairs. I can feel movement up there.

I lift the mug with my sleeve extended over my hand and I place it back on the desk how it was before. My heart’s beating too hard. A damp spot on the floorboards. Cold coffee. Dust particles float in mid air and my heart pounds inside my ribcage.

I swallow.

The smell of old paper. Old wood.

And then the light in the stairwell turns on.

How do I explain this? I can’t catch my breath. Will I even get a chance to explain? I step slowly to the door and hide behind it.

Ten clear creaks as he walks down the stairs.

The light comes on and I see the gleaming, metallic barrel of a rifle.

And then I see Ragnar in his nightshirt. He has red chest hair and his feet are bare. His skin is so dry it looks like scales: deep cracks up and down his heels.

The movement of the door and the man disrupts the dust and it tickles my nose.

Both nostrils.

I bite down hard on my tongue and squeeze my eyelids together.

Ragnar huffs and walks to the desk. He inspects the files and notes and then walks to the front door to check the lock.

I emerge from behind my door and step out carefully to the kitchen and then tiptoe to the rear door.

Do not squeak, please do not squeak.

It doesn’t squeak.

I open it a crack and slip through and close it gently and replace the padlock.

Click.

Then I crouch and walk away. Not running, just walking. Casual.

Two figures emerge from the darkness, from behind the dental surgery, their shadows as long as two humpback whales.

‘Hello, girl,’ says Cornelia, the speaking one.

‘Bad,’ says Alice, shaking her head.

‘Shhh,’ I say, waving my hands around.

‘Don’t you dare shush me, girl,’ says Cornelia.

‘I have to go.’

I walk around them but they follow me into the town square. Alice is holding a bottle of something. Most likely home-brew liquor, strong enough to knock out a normal person.

‘What do you reckon the girl was up to, Alice?’ says Cornelia loud enough for me to hear clearly.

Alice blows a raspberry.

I stop and look back. ‘Please.’

‘Girl’s polite,’ says Cornelia. ‘Them fancy big-city ways.’