Page 34 of Rune
But he paused there as I finally lost the battle with my grief, dragging an animalistic cry from somewhere deep inside as I dropped down on the edge of my bed.
I cried hard enough that I started to scare myself—loud, hiccuping sobs that left me gasping for air.
I was vaguely aware of voices outside the door. Rune and, I imagined, Sofia, as I blew my nose.
“No, I can’t.”
“Trust me,” Sofia said. “She pretends she doesn’t, but she needs someone. Be that someone. She won’t let me. Go!”
Pressured into it, the door opened, then closed softly.
“I don’t want you in here.”
“I don’t think your sister would let me leave.”
“I don’t care. Go.” I wiped at my cheeks as another wave of tears slid down. I leaned forward, burying my face in my hands.
“Oh, baby,” Rune sighed.
The bed depressed next to me, and Rune’s arm slid around me, curling me against him even as I tried to pull away. It was a half-hearted effort, though. Because, God, it felt good to be held. For a moment, I just let myself forget that he was the reason I was crying in the first place and just let myself be comforted.
Rune’s one arm stayed around my waist. The other rubbed up and down my arm and over my hair.
But then, suddenly, Rune stiffened beside me.
“Carmen?”
There was something strange in his voice. Tight. Tense.
“Carmen, who the fuck is that?”
“What?” I asked, startled by the change in him.
“In the picture with you,” he said.
Suddenly, he wasn’t the only one whose spine was straight enough to snap.
Because I’d let myself forget. Sure, only for a few moments, and only because I was so upset. But still. I’d forgotten that the man beside me on the bed was the whole reason for all the pain and suffering and loss in the first place.
I shot to my feet, moving across the room to stand against the dresser where the picture sat.
“Seriously?” I asked, eyes suddenly sandpaper dry as my voice went brittle enough to crack. “You don’t remember the woman you murdered?”
Rune’s gaze snapped up to me from the picture.
“So, that’s what this has been all about.”
“‘That’s what this is all about’? Seriously? That’s all you have to say when you killed her?”
The look on his face was unreadable.
“What was her name?” he asked.
I swallowed hard. Past the grief. Past the fist of fury lodged in my throat. Because if you were going to do something thathorrible to someone, the least you could do was know their name.
“Victoria. Vicky.”
“Sister?” he asked.
