The Complete Game Trilogy: Game, Buzz, Bubble. Литагент HarperCollins USD
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Henke had always been good at stretching the truth, making things up, telling white lies, or just lying through his teeth. First to their parents when they were little, mostly to Dad, of course: No, Daddy, I’ve got no idea where you left your wallet. Then to his teachers at school, and eventually to the rest of the world, with one exception. It wasn’t until after everything had happened and he had got out of prison that he started lying to her as well, which probably wasn’t that strange if you thought about it. Most of the time he was very good at it, so good that it usually took her a few days to work out that she’d fallen for one of his lies again. But not today.
Today there was something missing.
To start with, this lie lacked the right details and was far too easy to demolish with a few facts, such as the fact that the Security Police would never release her name to the media, so he couldn’t have known she was involved if he had seen anything about the crash on television. And she seriously doubted that a load of dope-heads would be sitting watching the news …
Oddly, his pathetic story only made her more annoyed. As if he were trying to blow her off and declare her an idiot at the same time. But then she realized that the details were of only secondary importance.
The main thing that was missing was his usual convincing smile and the glint in his eye that always made her believe him. His little brother look, she called it. Henke was nowhere near as self-confident as he usually was, she could see that clearly. That wasn’t just morning tiredness visible in his face. He also had a black-eye and a plaster over his nose that she had seen but not really picked up on until she started looking at him properly.
He’s been beaten up, her police instincts told her, but the big sister in her hoped that he’d just fallen down some stairs. But whatever the cause was, Henke looked worn out, shaken, almost as if he was seriously worried about something, which was unusual for him, to put it mildly. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost say he was … frightened?
‘Don’t lie to me, Henrik,’ she said calmly, trying to catch his wandering gaze.
‘What d’you mean, I’m not lying!’ He held up his hands and ran through his usual routine. But it wasn’t anywhere near as convincing as it usually was.
He could hear how unbelievable it all sounded. But what the fuck was he supposed to do? Tell the truth?
He’d broken rule number one once already, and twice in twenty-four hours would definitely not be a good idea.
Besides, what were the odds on her believing him?
I’ve been playing a reality game, they tested me and I lost. Sorry you got in the way, my bad!
As if!
It was fucking bad luck that he happened to hit her. Of all the cop-cars in the city, he had to go and hit his sister’s. What were the odds of that?
Actually …
Shit, he was stupid! What a complete fucking moron for not realizing …! Luck had nothing to do with it!
He flew up from his chair, grabbed her arm and tried to drag her towards the door.
‘You have to go!’ he muttered firmly, while she pulled against him.
‘Let go, Henke, what are you on about now?’
‘Please!’ he begged when he realized she was far too strong and he’d never manage to get her out by force.
‘Please, Becca, you have to go. Right now!’
She shook free of his grasp quite easily. What the hell was he up to now? He suddenly seemed to have gone mad. How much dope was he smoking these days, unless he’d moved on to something heavier?
‘Please, Becca, I’m begging you. You have to leave. I’m in a bit of trouble but it’ll get sorted, I promise. But if you don’t go … they’ve got people … You have to leave, right away!’
He could hear how frightened he sounded, but made no effort to do anything about it. He really was terrified. They’d used her to test him. Manipulated him into hurting his own sister, the only person that he … well … cared about.
And just for fun!
The more he thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. Yesterday everything had been far too hazy, but now he’d had time to sleep on it, he realized what it was all about. What he really was. A pawn in the Game, no more, no less. A fucking pawn!
And there he was, imagining he was some sort of superstar, when he was just one of the crowd. A pathetic little pawn that could easily be sacrificed so the Game could move on. And that was exactly what they had done. The footage of him spilling his guts to Bolin the pretend cop were probably already out there.
We got this idiot to almost kill his sister, then confess everything to the boys in blue! Cold-hearted bastards.
So what wouldn’t they be capable of if he carried on breaking the rules? If, in spite of the warning, he didn’t stick to rule number one?
‘Please, Becca, please! You’ve got to go, right now!’ he yelled.
Okay, at least he was being honest now, she could see that. And he was utterly terrified, but the question was: why? Who was he in trouble with? She opened her mouth to ask, but he got there before her.
‘You owe me, Becca,’ he said, more composed now, suddenly staring straight at her.
‘You know why,’ he added, his heart sinking like a stone over the boundary he had crossed.
A few seconds later he heard the front door slam shut. For the first time in years he was close to …
Tears! That’s what it felt like, as if she was close to tears. She hadn’t cried since Mum’s funeral.
Fucking bloody Henke!
Even back when it was all happening, she hadn’t shed a single tear, but now she could feel them burning behind her eyes and she blinked hard to compose herself. She wasn’t about to start crying now, that much was certain!
They had never properly talked through everything that happened out in Bagarmossen, the pair of them always tiptoeing round the subject, but now, out of nowhere, he had suddenly thrown it back in her face. Reminding her that her debt was in no way forgotten and that thirteen years was nowhere near long enough for things to have settled.
How could she have been stupid enough to think any different?
He was right, of course, it had been her fault but he had taken the consequences. She was in his debt, and always would be.
Because she was a murdering little whore.
Although it was ten o’clock, HP went back to bed and put his head between the pillows. He was tired, run down, utterly exhausted, but he still couldn’t get back to sleep.
Thoughts were rolling round his head like they were in that huge tumble-dryer down in the laundry-room.
Slowly tumbling round and round.
The Game, the assignments, the list, the money, the business at Lindhagensplan, the pretend cops, his sister, then the drum completed its cycle and he was back where he had started.
The Game.
They’d tricked him, made him think he was someone, only to pull the rug from under him. Bolin and the apes were probably just hired actors who had been following a script. Or, even worse: other players who had been given the job of breaking him! And they’d done a bloody good job of that … Christ, what a monumental fucking stitch-up he’d fallen for!
The really sick thing was that even though he understood that he’d been royally fucked up the arse, that he was the Game’s very own little prison bitch, he still couldn’t help toying with the thought …
What if it could all be put right? Say sorry, make amends and reinstate number 128?
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