Chapter 8

I woke at some point in the middle of the night. The room was in darkness but a glow showed under the door. A faint sound reached my ears—the scrape of a cup or something on the kitchen counter. I groped for the clock beside the bed and checked the time. It was four in the morning. I kept listening but didn't hear anything else, although fifteen minutes later the light was still on.

Yawning, I climbed out of bed. I slept in the tee shirt I'd been wearing the day before, and cotton boxer briefs. I opened the door and peered out. The apartment was silent, but the kitchen light was on and I could smell cigarette smoke. When I walked in, Daniel was sitting at the small table in the corner, his head on his folded arms, sleeping. It looked like he had gone to bed and got back up. He wore the same tee shirt he'd had on in the evening, and underwear similar to mine. An empty coffee mug sat in front of him and two cigarette butts had been ground out in a saucer. The empty packet was scrunched up beside it.

"Hey."

He didn't stir at the sound of my voice.

"Daniel." I put my hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Hey."

He jerked upright, startled, and blinked.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"You were asleep," I pointed out.

"I must have been tired after all." He rubbed a hand over his face. He looked terrible—eyes bloodshot and the shadows beneath them were darker than before.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Because every time I close my eyes, it's like it's happening again. I dream about it. The bomb. The gas. If I'd got in the car when I was talking to him, the doors would have locked. It all plays out in my head as if I'd done that and I wake up gasping, like I can't breathe." He was gasping now, his chest heaving with the effort, and his eyes were wild and anxious. "It's fucking ridiculous," he went on. "This isn't me. I don't scare easily, but—"

"I think anyone would be scared in your position. This killer will go down in history books. After all this time, and the number of people he's murdered, the cops still haven't caught him. You've had personal contact with him and he tried to kill you."

"Thanks, Petter. I really wanted that spelling out."

"I'm sorry." I groaned. "Isn't it different here? He's a long way away and you're not on your own. I'm literally the other side of the wall."

"Yes, it's better. But I still don't want to fall asleep. I'm sorry I smoked in the house."

"No problem. Let me show you something." I realised I shouldn't have left it in my bedroom anyway, and I led the way into the room and flicked on the light. Daniel followed and sat on the edge of the bed. It didn't look as if he'd even got in it earlier. I opened the wardrobe and pulled up the loose board in the bottom. When I turned around with the gun in my hand, he gasped.

"What the fuck? You have a gun?"

"Yeah. A lot of the Mobsters do. We were at war with another gang for a long time. It's over now, but it's protection."

"Have you ever shot anyone?"

"No. I never needed to, although I came close a couple of times."

"You have a license for it?"

"No."

"Fuck." Daniel tugged a hand through his hair.

"I'd be in serious shit if I used it, but I would if he turned up here."

"He's not going to. I know that." He got up, pulled back the bed covers, and got in. "I'm sorry I'm being such a jerk about this."

"You're not. Get some sleep." I switched off the light and went back to the other room, taking the gun with me. I put it on the cabinet beside the bed and ten minutes later, I dozed off again.

When I woke it was daylight. There was no sound anywhere in the apartment and when I glanced in the open door of my own room, Daniel was fast asleep, facedown. I took a shower, made coffee and breakfast and got ready to go to the garage, and when I checked again he hadn't moved. I wrote him a note and left it on the kitchen table with a spare key, hid the gun, and went to work.

When I returned hours later, the apartment was locked up and he was out. I microwaved a frozen dinner and switched on the TV. He returned an hour later with two bags of groceries, made himself a sandwich, and joined me. He looked better.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yes, thanks. I slept until after two this afternoon."

"Good. Thanks for getting groceries."

"There's beer, too. I owe you. Any news?" He nodded towards the TV.

"Not that you'd want to hear. He's killed again."

"Bloody hell." He didn't ask for any details.

I didn't elaborate except to add, "He's still in Malmo."

He nodded.

"What did you do this afternoon?"

"I applied for a job with Svenska Dagbladet. It's for a daily columnist. It doesn't sound that exciting, but maybe I've had enough excitement for the time being."

"That's great. Good luck."

"Thanks. I don't know that I'll have much chance, but we'll see, so long as my reputation doesn't put them off."

We spent the evening watching TV and didn't talk much. I went to bed at eleven and this time, I heard Daniel go into my bedroom and move around for a while. Then there was silence. I went to sleep soon after.

I was disturbed sometime during the night by a loud yell, and I sat up quickly, flicked on the light and instinctively grabbed my gun. Then I put it down again and got out of bed. When I looked down the hall, I saw light under the door of my room. I tapped and opened it. Daniel sat in the bed, his tee shirt wet with sweat and his head in his hands. He looked up and grimaced.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"This is why I don't want to sleep. Fucking bad dreams."

"You want anything?" I shuffled from foot to foot, uncomfortable. I had a sudden urge to give him a hug, to try to make things better, but that was probably a bad idea.

"Yes, I—" He looked up and shook his head. "No. It's stupid."

I just stared at him and raised my eyebrows until my silence prompted him to say something.

"Maybe you could, uh, stay here?" He flushed, then grinned. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Shit." I thought about it for a moment, then went back to the boys' room.

"I'm sorry," I heard him say. "Fuck."

I switched off the light, grabbed a spare tee shirt from a pile of clean laundry in the kitchen, and went back to my room. I tossed the tee shirt to Daniel. "Put that on. Your shirt's soaking wet."

"You're staying?" he said in surprise.

"Yes. Move over."

He shuffled towards the side of the bed and peeled off the damp tee shirt. I caught a glimpse of his smooth chest before he put on my dry shirt, which hung loosely on his slim frame. I turned off the light and got in the vacant side of the bed.

Immediately, I wondered at the wisdom of my doing this. I lay on my back, rigid, staring at the ceiling and trying not to breathe too loudly. That other time, we'd both had out clothes on and rested on top of the bed covers. This was different. My heart thundered so loudly I wondered if he could hear it as he lay less than half a metre away from me. The muscles in my arms popped as I clenched my fists at my sides. I doubted I would sleep a wink, and I only hoped Daniel would do so, then he wouldn't realise how stupidly nervous I was.

He turned his back to me and much to my relief, his breathing quickly slowed and deepened. He didn't seem to have noticed my discomfort, or perhaps he had and was being diplomatic. I tried to relax and think about something else, but my imagination began working overtime. I remembered how he'd felt resting against me the last time—his head heavy on the top of my arm; warm breath on my skin. I shivered and my pounding heart continued to hammer. I found myself wishing he would roll over and snuggle against me, but I knew if he did I would probably catapult out of the bed as if he'd pulled a gun on me.

Eventually, I began to relax. He was fast asleep and snoring softly, and the sound began to lull me into sleep too. My anxiety had dispersed and I let myself drift, not really thinking about anything. The next thing I knew, daylight filled the room.

I opened my eyes and glanced at the blond head resting on my shoulder. He had rolled over in his sleep and snuggled against me, just as I imagined before I drifted off. I became aware of every little detail. His hair tickled my face. Warm breath touched my throat. His hand rested over my heart and if he woke, he'd feel its pace pick up. He had one leg hooked over mine and his erection pressed against my thigh. I was hard too, but if he woke he wouldn't feel it, because I was on my back. It merely strained against the front of my underwear and the weight of the bed covers. I froze and stopped breathing. It was just morning wood—no different from any other day. Except it was different.

Daniel stirred a little. His head moved against my shoulder and he slid his hand up to my neck. His lower body shifted too, and his erection, mercifully covered by his underwear, rubbed against my leg. I gulped, let out a rush of breath, and sucked another in. The last time I woke like this, I jerked away from him in shock. Now, I lay still, my jaw twitching as I ground my teeth together. This time my arm wasn't under him but resting across my stomach, but I doubted I could slip away without disturbing him, because his arm and leg were draped across me.

I tried asking myself what was bothering me so much. Was I horrified that a gay man was draped over me, erect in sleep which was unlikely to be anything to do with me? No. Was I afraid he'd wake up and call me a faggot like Torgny had? Definitely not. Was I worried that the way my heart was pounding was more to do with excitement than anything else? Maybe a little.

Daniel grunted softly in his sleep and moved his head from my shoulder to my chest. Then he stiffened and tilted it back to look at me as he woke. "Shit." He rolled away from me. "Fuck, sorry."

"It doesn't matter." I slid out of the bed quickly and kept my back to him as I left the room. I heard him groan and swear under his breath, and couldn't help the smirk that made my lips twitch at the corners. Apparently, he was uncomfortable about the situation, too.

I showered and got ready for work. Daniel went into the bathroom the moment I came out, and I made coffee and some toast. He didn't speak apart from a grunt of thanks as he picked up the coffee I'd made him. Then there was a knock on the door. I opened it and found Ulrik outside, his bike parked in front of the building.

"Hey. What's up?"

"Forks are leaking. Can you reseal them?"

"Sure, I can do that today. You want to come in?"

"All right."

I didn't think about explaining Daniel's presence as I led him into the kitchen to get a coffee.

"Who's this?" Ulrik stared at Daniel, then me.

"Oh, uh, temporary housemate. Daniel. Ulrik," I introduced quickly.

"Hey." Daniel stuck his hand out in greeting.

"Hey." Ulrik shook his hand, then took his coffee. He glanced back at me with raised eyebrows.

"He's from out of town. Visiting," I said.

"Out of town where?"

"Malmo," Daniel replied. "I'm thinking of moving here."

"How do you know Petter?"

"I'm a—" he paused. "Former customer."

I glared at him and shoved my feet into my boots. "Let's go, shall we?" Ulrik gulped half of his coffee and followed me outside. I got in my truck and he followed me to the workshop. "Former customer?" Apparently, he wasn't about to drop it. "You've only been to Malmo once that I know of."

"Yeah, he had some Ecstasy from me. Ended up in hospital," I admitted.

"Shit. So, what's he doing here?"

"Looking for a new job and a place to live. I said he could crash for a few days."

"Fair enough." He dropped it, much to my relief, and I got to work on his bike.