Little Star

by John Ajvide Lindqvist

  ‘Hi,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘So you must be Tora?’

  Tora looked at his outstretched hand without taking it, and the central plank of his strategy fell to pieces right there. In one single movement he withdrew his hand and gestured towards the room: ‘Come on in.’

  The other girl took a step forward and Max placed one hand on the doorpost, blocking her way.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ he said. ‘You’re not Tora, are you?’ The girl shook her head. ‘No. So what exactly do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I’m coming with her.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but this is a matter of contract negotiations. It’s a discussion between two parties. No outsiders. That’s how it works.’

  His authoritative tone made an impression. The girl looked at Tora, seeking support, and Tora said, ‘Teresa is coming with me.’

  Max decided to risk everything on one throw of the dice. Without more ado he said, ‘Sorry, in that case we have nothing to discuss,’ and closed the door. Then he stood just inside the room, his heart pounding. The doors were heavily soundproofed, and he couldn’t hear what the girls were saying. He was not going to put his ear to the door. He tucked his thumbs inside his fists and squeezed hard.

  After perhaps thirty seconds there was another knock at the door. Max let out a long breath, waited for ten rapid heartbeats, then opened the door with an irritated, ‘Yes?’

  Tora was standing there this time. The other girl was sitting on the floor opposite the door. ‘Teresa will wait,’ said Tora, stepping into the room as the other girl glared at Max, who took out his wallet and held out a fifty-kronor note.

  ‘Here. Go and sit in reception and get yourself a soft drink or something. Sorry, but that’s the way it works in this industry.’ The other girl took the note, but made no move to get up. Max closed the thick, heavy door as if he were sealing a bank vault. First stage completed.

  Tora stood in the middle of the room, arms at her sides. She looked at the camera, but as Max was about to launch into his carefully prepared spiel, she had already turned her gaze to the champagne bucket. Max took this as an encouraging sign and said, ‘Let’s have a drop of bubbly, shall we? To celebrate.’

  Tora watched as he filled two glasses. As he passed her a glass it almost slipped out of his sweaty hand, which had started to tremble on top of everything else. Tora’s calm silence was confusing him. He had seen every possible variation: hysterical gabbling, rock-hard attitude (assumed or genuine), hesitant seductiveness or something close to panic. Everything but this. A visiting princess who knows that all this is mine, and barely tolerates the presence of others. It left him nonplussed, almost scared and really, really excited.

  He clinked his glass against Tora’s and took a large gulp. When she didn’t move he said, ‘Try it. It’s absolutely delicious. Excellent label.’

  Tora sipped the sparkling wine and said, ‘No. It isn’t delicious. It tastes bad.’

  Something snapped inside Max Hansen and he slumped down into an armchair where he rested his cheek on his hand and simply looked at her. Then he clicked a button to start the camera. If nothing else came of this he would at least have a short film of her. Tora was standing in the middle of the floor with the glass in her hand, gazing at the window.

  ‘Sing something,’ said Max Hansen.

  ‘What shall I sing?’

  ‘Whatever you like. Sing “A Thousand and One Nights”.’

  Without hesitation Tora began to sing, and after just a few seconds it was as if a clear, cool stream was flowing through Max Hansen. Her voice washed away his anxiety, and he felt pure inside.

  ‘There is no one in this world like you…’

  When the song was over Max Hansen sat there with his mouth hanging open and realised that he had probably been crying; his eyes felt as if he had. The girl standing in front of him was immensely talented, there was no doubt about it. It wasn’t just that she sang perfectly, there was something about the timbre of her voice that penetrated straight through the breastbone and squeezed, squeezed.

  If only he could have been satisfied with that. He wanted to be satisfied with that. He was already exhausted, sated as if he’d had terrific sex. He should have simply rolled over and lit a cigar to celebrate. Not risked this.

  But the little red devil that lived in his chest woke up and started swishing his tail around Max’s nether regions, tickling where he could feel it the most. Max Hansen put his strategies to one side; after Tora’s song he just couldn’t do it anymore.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘With a bit of practice I think you could be really good. I’d like to work with you.’

  ‘Am I going to make a CD?’

  ‘Yes. You’re going to make a CD. I’ll make sure of it. I’m going to make you a star. A big star. There’s just one thing.’

  Max Hansen knocked back the remains of the wine in his glass in order to combat the desert-dryness in his mouth. He didn’t want to say it. He wasn’t going to say it. He had his best chance for a very long time here, and he mustn’t mess it up. But then the devil’s forked tongue shot out and said the words for him.

  ‘I need to know what you look like with no clothes on.’

  There, it was said. The cards were on the table, and Max Hansen’s body tensed as if expecting a blow. The expression, the howl from Tora that would crush all his hopes.

  It happened so fast he almost didn’t realise what was going on. Tora put her glass down on the bedside table, shrugged off her jacket, pulled off her T-shirt, stepped out of her trousers and knickers and stood there naked, two metres away from him. Max Hansen blinked. And blinked again. He didn’t understand. He went over what had happened in the last few minutes, how it had come about that he was sitting here in an armchair with the girl he desired standing naked in front of him. The dialogue. What he had said. What she had said. He could see the pattern.

  She does whatever you tell her to do.

  It was that simple. Max Hansen’s eyes drank in the smooth, slender body in front of him and if he had believed in God, if his prayers being answered had been a possibility, then the moment had come.

  She does whatever you tell her to do.

  A dizziness came over him. The possibilities. Go there, Tora. Sing here, Tora. Come here, Tora. Lie down here, Tora. Feverishly he tore off his shirt and vest, struggled out of his trousers and underpants and stood up, his arms spread wide. Tora looked at his erection. It wasn’t too impressive, he knew that. Twelve centimetres, and even then you had to press the ruler right down to the root.

  But that didn’t matter now. Everything had become so simple when Tora just removed her clothes. They were like two children, innocents before each other’s bodies.

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ whispered Max, falling to his knees.

  The carpet rubbed against his kneecaps as he crawled towards Tora to bury his face in the blonde bush between her legs. When he was almost there she backed away half a step, bumping into the bed frame. She said, ‘No.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Max Hansen. ‘Come here, it’s nice, I promise. Just a little…’

  ‘No,’ said Tora. ‘Don’t touch.’

  Max Hansen grinned. Don’t touch. This really was like a game. He couldn’t remember when he had last felt so uncomplicatedly happy. Two naked bodies. Don’t touch. Come on, a little bit, just a little bit. He shuffled forward and grabbed hold of her buttocks, buried his nose in her pussy and stuck out his tongue, sliding over the warm flesh inside.

  He heard a crack, and a second later felt as if someone had slapped him across the back. His tongue was just slithering out again when a cramp shot through the muscles in his back, and he felt another blow. And another. He twisted his head around awkwardly, but couldn’t see anything.

  Strange, really, because it felt as if someone was standing there pouring warm water over his back. He looked up at Tora and saw that she was holding something in her right hand, although he couldn’t work out what it was. In her left hand she was
holding her champagne flute, which seemed to be missing its base.

  That was what she was holding in her right hand. The base, with a piece of broken stem three centimetres long and dripping red with his blood. Tora raised the weapon again and Max Hansen cried out and curled up into a ball. A second later he felt a deeper blow between his shoulder blades. The glass spike penetrated his flesh and stayed there.

  He screamed. The uneven surface of the broken stem must have damaged some nerve when it went in, because he started jerking as if he were having a fit. It was throbbing and pounding. He managed to raise his head to beg for mercy, but Tora was no longer there. He managed to haul himself to his feet with the help of the bed head. Throbbing, pounding. Then he heard the door opening.

  There was something not right about that Max Hansen. Teresa had felt it as soon as he opened the door of the hotel room. Something wasn’t quite right about the look on his face or the tone of his voice. Perhaps everyone in the music industry was like that, but she wouldn’t have left Theres alone with him if it hadn’t been necessary, and if Theres hadn’t said that was what she wanted. She was going to make her CD.

  However, there was absolutely no chance of Teresa going down to reception. As soon as Max Hansen had closed and locked the door, Teresa crept over and placed her ear to the door. She could hear the sound of voices inside, but not what they were saying. After a while she heard Theres singing ‘A Thousand and One Nights’ and felt a stab of jealousy. That was their song, somehow. Although of course Theres didn’t know that.

  And what if she had known? Would it have made any difference?

  Teresa had a sentimental streak. She liked what was known as elegiac mood in poetry. A persistent, imprecise longing for what had been, even if it hadn’t been particularly good. She was sometimes struck by a blissful melancholy when she saw Bananas in Pyjamas on TV, despite the fact that she hadn’t really liked it when it was on the first time round.

  Theres was the least sentimental person she had ever met. Only the present existed, and when Theres spoke about things that had happened in the past, it was as if she was reading aloud from a history book. Dry facts that had no relevance to what was happening now.

  Teresa heard a scream from inside the room. She leapt to her feet and rattled the handle, banged on the door. When no one opened it, she banged again. A moment later the door opened and Theres was standing there, naked. There were streaks of blood on her stomach. One hand was red, and in the other she was holding a champagne glass without a base.

  ‘What have you…what…’

  Before Teresa managed to formulate a sensible question she caught sight of Max Hansen, disappearing into the bathroom. He too was naked, and before he locked the door she caught a glimpse of his back. A T-shaped object was sticking out in the middle of all the red, a tap that had been opened and let out the blood.

  ‘Help me,’ said Theres. ‘I don’t understand.’

  If it hadn’t been for the word ‘help’ Teresa would have taken to her heels. This was too much. But Theres had asked for help. Theres needed help. Therefore she had to help. Teresa walked into the room and closed the door behind her.

  ‘Here,’ said Theres, holding out the glass with the broken stem. ‘Do you like this stuff? I don’t. It tastes bad.’

  Teresa shook her head. ‘What…have you done?’

  ‘I sang,’ said Theres. ‘Then I took off my clothes. Then he tried to eat me up. I wasn’t scared. I knew I could make him dead.’

  ‘Listen. Get dressed. We have to get out of here.’

  When Teresa followed Theres into the room, she caught sight of the camera, the red light showing that it was recording. They had a similar one at school, and while Theres was getting dressed, Teresa rewound, and quickly looked through what had happened before she came into the room. Theres’ refusal, Max Hansen’s insistence, the result. She pressed eject, took out the DVD and slipped it into her pocket.

  Theres was dressed now. The contents of the glass without a base had spilled out all over the bedside table. ‘Come on,’ said Teresa. ‘We need to leave.’

  Theres didn’t move. There was the sound of running water from the bathroom. Teresa was beginning to get an odd taste in her mouth. The particular taste that comes when you are facing something completely unpredictable, a mixture of bile and honey. She didn’t want to do this anymore. ‘Come on,’ she wheedled. ‘We can’t stay here.’

  ‘Yes we can,’ said Theres. ‘I’m going to make a CD.’

  ‘Not with him.’

  ‘Yes. He wants to make a CD with me.’

  ‘Before, maybe. Not anymore.’

  ‘Yes, he does.’

  Theres sat down on the bed and indicated that Teresa should come and sit beside her. Teresa wavered for a few seconds, but there wasn’t really any alternative. She picked up the champagne bottle, tipped the contents into the ice bucket, tested its weight in her hand as a weapon, then sat down next to Theres. She handed her the bottle. ‘Here.’

  Theres didn’t take it. ‘What for?’

  ‘In case he…tries to eat you again.’

  ‘He won’t.’

  ‘But just in case.’

  ‘If he does you can make him dead.’

  They sat side by side. The intensity of the whimpering from the bathroom was lessening somewhat. Theres was probably right. That Max Hansen was an unpleasant character, but not particularly dangerous. A coward.

  Teresa weighed the bottle in her hand. It was thick and heavy. The shape of the neck and the bulge at the top made it ideal for use as a club. She imagined what it would be like to bring it down on Max Hansen’s coiffured skull, examined her feelings carefully. No. It wasn’t unthinkable. Something within her actually longed to do it.

  They were two defenceless girls. There was proof of Max Hansen’s attempted attack on film. They would walk free on every count. She thought. But as Teresa sat there on the bed next to Theres, she felt anything but defenceless. On the contrary. She tried out a couple of mock blows with the bottle in her hand, looked at Theres, so calm and erect, her hands resting on her knees. Not defenceless.

  We are invulnerable, thought Teresa. We are the wolves.

  When Max Hansen emerged from the bathroom five minutes later, he was literally as pale as a corpse. Every scrap of colour had left his skin, and he had knotted a couple of bath towels around his chest and stomach as temporary bandages. He gave a start when he saw Theres and Teresa sitting on the bed.

  ‘What the fuck…what the fuck are you doing here?’ he said faintly, glancing at the bottle in Teresa’s hand. He fumbled in his jacket pocket and took out his wallet, threw it on Theres’ knee. ‘Here. Take it. It’s all I’ve got.’

  Theres gave the wallet to Teresa, who didn’t know what to do with it. She opened it and considered removing the money, but decided it was best not to, so she threw it back to Max Hansen.

  ‘I’m going to make a CD,’ said Theres.

  Max Hansen swallowed. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m going to make a CD,’ Theres repeated. ‘I’m going to sing. You’re going to help me.’

  For a moment it looked as if Max Hansen was going to burst into tears. He swayed on his feet. Then he opened his mouth to say something, but no sound emerged. He was about to take a step towards Theres, but something in her posture stopped him.

  ‘Is that…is that what you want?’ he said eventually.

  ‘Yes,’ said Theres.

  ‘So we can…we can just draw a line under this, and kind of…?’

  Since Theres didn’t reply, possibly because she wasn’t familiar with the expression, Teresa answered instead. ‘Nobody’s drawing a line under anything. But you heard what she said, didn’t you?’ She patted her pocket and nodded at the camera. ‘By the way, I’ve got the movie.’

  ‘OK,’ said Max Hansen. ‘OK, OK.’

  In the mirror Teresa could see blood seeping through the towels. Presumably Max Hansen ought to go to hospital, if he was going to be in a position t
o help anybody with anything.

  When Teresa got up, she realised her legs weren’t quite as steady as her discussion with Max Hansen might have suggested. But she managed to get Theres to her feet, and placed the empty bottle on the table next to Max Hansen. She had to keep up the show for a little while longer.

  And she succeeded. She would remember that moment for a long time, and how for once she actually managed to say the right thing in a difficult situation instead of thinking of it afterwards. As she and Theres headed for the door, Teresa turned back to the ashen, sweating figure.

  ‘Don’t call us,’ she said. ‘We’ll call you.’

  Teresa thought she was in a fairytale. The subway train rumbling along through the bowels of the earth was a magic train, and Theres by her side was a creature from another world.

  Perhaps it was a way of dealing with the incomprehensible blood-splattered episode she had just witnessed, but from her final comment onwards her brain had decided that the whole thing was a fairytale in which she had been given a role.

  Once upon a time there were two girls sitting on the subway. They were as different from one another as two girls can be.

  ‘Theres,’ she asked when they had gone a couple of stops. ‘How come you killed those people you were living with?’

  ‘First a hammer. Then different tools.’

  ‘No, I mean why. Why did you do it?’

  ‘What was inside. I wanted it.’

  ‘And did you get it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  One of the girls looked like a fairy princess, but she was a dangerous killer. The other girl looked like a troll, but was as cowardly as a hamster.

  ‘How does it feel?’ asked Teresa. ‘To kill someone?’

  ‘Your hands get tired.’