Eleven minutes later, Blix arrived at the entrance to Leirfallsgata 11. An electric bike was propped up against the wall. It was raining lightly.
Hesitantly, Blix raised his index finger to the intercom beside the door, but paused and pulled it back.
You don’thave to, he told himself. You could just turn around and go home. Regardless, he found Krissander Dokken’s name on the wall panel and drilled his index finger into the light-green doorbell. A mere second later, the door’s locking mechanism clicked open.
Blix took the stairs up to the second floor, where a door stood ajar in the short corridor. He tentatively pushed it open. Inside, Krissander Dokken met him with an outstretched hand and a measured smile. In his other hand, he clutched the cane he was leaning on.
‘Please, come in.’
Blix took off his shoes and hung up his now-wet jacket. Without saying anything, Dokken showed him into a room where two chairs were placed at a good distance from each other with a small, round coffee table in between them. On the table was a water carafe filled to the brim, along with two glasses. A thin, white tissue poked out of a small, square box.
Blix sat down on the chair furthest from the door and crossed one leg over the other. A deep breath provoked a sharp pain in his chest. He tried to tell himself to relax, but it did nothing.
Krissander Dokken took a seat in his regular chair, placed his cane next to it and lay a notepad on his lap. On the wall behind him was a familiar print of a Vincent van Gogh painting. On the floor next to a white bookcase: a terracotta pot with a luscious green Guiana Chestnut plant.
‘So,’ Dokken began, adjusting the round glasses that barely covered his eyes. ‘How are you? How have you been since we last spoke?’
Dokken spoke slowly in a light, dry voice. Blix didn’t know how to answer. He could say that it still felt like an invisible force was pushing him down into his bed when he woke up in the morning, keeping him there. That there wasn’t a minute of the day when he didn’t think about Iselin and the man who had killed her. When he didn’t think about all that he, himself, had done afterwards. His time in prison. The time since he had been released.
Instead he said: ‘Good.’ And swallowed. ‘I guess I’ve been … pretty good.’
‘What does that mean?’ Dokken looked at him intently.
‘Uh,’ Blix said, shrugging it off. ‘I don’t know really.’
‘What does it mean to you to bepretty good?’
It took a few moments for Blix to answer.
‘That’s a good question,’ he said. ‘Maybe I don’t really know what that means or includes anymore.’
Dokken nodded slowly. ‘What do you think you have to do for things to be or feel better?’
Blix thought about it. Thought for a long time.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Have you tried meditating yet?’
Blix shook his head. ‘I’ve … not quite got round to it.’
A long silence stretched across the table between them.
‘What have you been up to for the last few weeks, then?’
‘Not much, really. I … read a lot. Newspapers, books. And then I tie … flies.’
‘As in … flies for fly fishing?’
‘Yes, it’s an old hobby I’ve taken up again.’
‘That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. Do you fish a lot?’
‘Not anymore. Before, I did. In the old days.’
‘Maybe you should test out your new flies sometime soon?’
Blix shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
Dokken waited a moment, then asked his next question.
‘Are you eating?’
‘Yes, I’d say so.’
‘Are you eatinghealthy food?’
Blix thought about it.
‘Not as often as I should do, no.’
‘We are what we eat, you know.’
Dokken tried sending him a small smile. Blix didn’t return it.
‘What’s your sleep pattern like?’
‘A little disturbed. As it’s almost always been though, even back when I was working.’
Dokken moistened his lips. ‘Do you still do your usual morning walk?’
‘Mostly.’
‘The same route?’
‘Yes, I’ve not really made many changes. I guess I’m a creature of habit, like almost everyone else.’
Dokken brought his hands together and steepled his fingers. ‘Do you still feel like you’re being watched, or like someone’s following you?’
Blix had forgotten that he’d told Dokken that.
‘No,’ he answered, a wave of heat rising to his face. ‘But a lot of people know about me, now,’ he added. ‘After … everything that happened. Someone always seems to recognise me when I’m out on the street or shopping or whatever.’
‘Ah, the price of fame,’ Dokken said with a faint smile. ‘I’m glad I’m not famous.’
Blix said nothing.
‘Are you still receiving the same amount of letters?’
Blix thought about it.
‘Maybe a little less now.’
‘What kind of lettersare you receiving then?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t really look at them.’
‘Why not?’
Blix considered the question. He didn’t really have a solid answer.
‘Do you keep in touch with anyone?’ Dokken asked.
‘Emma,’ Blix replied. ‘Emma Ramm. Occasionally.’
‘No former colleagues? None of them message, invite you out for a beer or anything?’
Blix shook his head.
‘So there’s no oneyou reach out to either?’
‘No. Unless we’re counting Merete. My ex-wife. But even that’s only every so often.’
Dokken stared ahead for a few moments, as if he were deep in thought.
‘What about your parents?’
Blix looked up at him abruptly. ‘What about them?’
‘Are they still around?’
‘Do you mean, are they still alive?’
‘M-hm?’
‘My father is … ’ Blix said with a heavy sigh. ‘My mother died a long time ago.’
‘How old were you then?’
Blix pushed himself up a little in his chair. Quickly scratched his cheek with an unexpectedly sharp fingernail.
‘Sixteen.’
‘Do you have any contact with your father?’
Blix put a hand on his thigh and squeezed a little on the muscles under the fabric.
‘Not so much.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s … in a nursing home.’
‘Does that prevent you from having contact with him?’
Blix looked down and interlaced his fingers. Didn’t answer.
‘Why is he in a nursing home?’ Dokken continued. ‘If you don’t mind me asking?’
‘He … can’t take care of himself anymore.’
Dokken nodded slowly. ‘Where is this home?’
‘Just outside Gjøvik.’
‘Is that where you’re from?’
‘Close. I’m from Skreia.’
‘Skreia,’ Dokken repeated, as if the place itself were important. ‘When was the last time you visited him?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Was it before or after you were in prison?’
‘Before,’ Blix answered quickly.
‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’
‘I don’t re — ’ Blix stopped himself. ‘It’s been a while.’
Blix noticed that the psychologist now had deep frown lines between his eyebrows.
‘Perhaps you should take another trip,’ he said. ‘If for nothing else, then to — ’
‘No,’ Blix interjected.
Dokken gazed at him for a while.
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want to.’
Silence descended again.
‘What was your relationship like with your mother?’
Blix sighed. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’
Dokken scrutinised...
