That shame had become an integral part of him, an independent force circulating like the blood through his veins. He had been on the verge of telling Iben several times, but the thought of how it would forever change her view of him had stopped him every time.

He could no longer recall exactly when and how it had started. He had been lured with extra pocket money and extra attention, that much he remembered, had been told that he was charming and unique. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old and full of admiration and respect. Maybe there had even been a little touch of childish infatuation. When they were alone together, there was room for ideas, grown-up music, real conversation, and as many sodas as he could drink. Sometimes he got praise and money, but that wasn’t the most important part. The most important part was the way he felt when they were together. The feeling of being talented, of being somebody, of meaning something.

He felt seen.

It wasn’t until he got older that it started to feel wrong. Of course, he had always suspected it, but it wasn’t until he fell in love with Iben that he understood the pictures were a problem. He had asked to have them deleted, but that had only resulted in threats of having them shown to the school, to the whole world, so everyone could see his double standards. He was told that he would ruin his family if he didn’t keep their secret and he knew that was true.

Over time he started hating himself.

Malthe had seen that something was wrong. He was the only adult who he had understood, had looked at Oscar’s drawings, and asked how things were going at home. It had come as a shock when Malthe called him into the spare classroom and asked him straight out. Oscar had been paralyzed with fear. But the unaccustomed attention had somehow lanced the boil, and before he had time for second thoughts, Oscar shared his secret.

Malthe was horrified.

I can’t pretend I don’t know about that kind of atrocity, Oscar. I won’t! You’re being abused. It must be reported to the police.

At first Oscar had felt relieved. But as the days passed, he regretted his weakness and wished he could take back the confession. It was bad enough that his little sister had once overheard a conversation and guessed what it meant. Her he could control. But not Malthe. And there was a lot to lose. The family would be split in two if his mother found out. His regret turned to despair, but Malthe was adamant.

That was when Oscar reached the end of his rope.

“HER PULSE IS stable, and the wound has stopped bleeding. I think she’s okay.” Jeppe took his hand off Jenny Kaliban’s throat. “Will you call for the ambulance and backup?”