The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

hand as he fastened his left arm around her thighs to hold her up. He knew it was too late. Flesh
sizzled, his nostrils were filled with a sweet, greasy smell and blood ran down his face. He looked
up. His right hand was situated between the white glow of the loop and her neck. The weight of her
neck forced his hand down against the white-hot wire which ate through the flesh of his fingers like
an egg slicer through a hard-boiled egg. And when it was right through it would cut open her throat.
The pain came, delayed and dull, like an initially reluctant then insistent steel hammer on an alarm
clock. He fought to stay upright. Had to have his left hand free. Blinded by blood, he hauled her up
onto his shoulders and stretched his free hand over his head. Felt her skin against his fingertips, her
thick hair, felt the loop burn into his skin before his hand found the hard plastic, the handle. His
fingers found a flip switch. Moved it to the right. But stopped as soon as the noose started
tightening. His fingers found another switch and pressed. The sounds disappeared, the light
flickered and he knew he was on the point of losing consciousnessness again. Breathe, he thought,
the important thing was to get oxygen to the brain. But his knees were giving way nevertheless. The
white glow above him changed to red. And then gradually to black.
At his back he heard the sound of glass being crushed under several pairs of boot heels.
‘We’ve got her,’ a voice said behind him.
Harry sank to his knees in the blood-tinged water, with clumps of snow and unused plastic ties
floating around him. His brain engaged and disengaged as if the power supply to it were failing.
Someone said something behind him. He caught fragments of it, inhaled air and groaned, ‘What?’
‘She’s alive,’ the voice repeated.
His hearing stabilised. And sight. He turned. The two men clad in black had laid Rakel on the bed
and cut the plastic ties. The contents of Harry’s stomach came up without warning. Two heaves and
it was all out. He stared down at the vomit floating in the water and felt a hysterical urge to laugh
out loud. Because the finger seemed to have been spewed up with everything else. He lifted his
right hand and looked at the bleeding stump as confirmation. It was his finger floating in the water.
‘Oleg ’ It was Rakel’s voice.
Harry picked up a plastic tie, wrapped it round the stump of his middle finger and tightened it as
hard as he could. Did the same with his index finger which had been sliced through to the bone but
was still firmly attached.
Then he went to the bed, spread the duvet over Rakel and sat beside her. The eyes staring up at him
were large and black with shock, and blood ran from the wounds where the loop had come into
contact with the skin on both sides of her neck. He took her hand with his uninjured left.
‘Oleg,’ she repeated.
‘He’s OK,’ Harry said and responded to her hand pressure. ‘He’s with the neighbours. It’s over
now.’
He saw her trying to focus her eyes.
‘Promise me?’ she whispered, barely audible.
‘I promise you.’