Nikolai chuckled."So Chance was the good one then."
"Yeah, he was.Don't know why it didn't work out.I liked him, still do.He lives here, and I run into him now and then.They were good together.Solid guy who snarled at anyone who so much as looked at Frode wrong."
"Ah, a guard dog."Nikolai didn't like the sort.They were most often jealous bastards who tried to control you.
"Nah, more like he worried about Frode, looked out for him, and since I couldn't be there to do it, I approved."
Isaac cleared his throat."You think he'd agree to come back?Frode, I mean.For the case.Not for a boyfriend."
Nikolai jumped at Isaac's voice.He'd forgotten he was there.
Hjalmar shrugged."I doubt it.You made him leave his home.He doesn't like that."Then he grinned."I better go find him."
"I'll come with you."Nikolai jumped to his feet.
Hjalmar gave him a funny look."He's most likely in a cab on his way home."Then he looked at his phone again."Or grabbing lunch somewhere."
Nikolai hoped for the latter.
* * * *
Frode was walking, rapidly.His gloved hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.Nikolai fucking Nesterova.He turned down one alley, stomping loudly, then turned a corner into the older parts of town.He wasn't entirely sure of where he was, but it didn't matter.
When his phone rang, he ignored it.
Fuckers.
Mother fucking fuckers.
He took a turn down a cobblestone road with old buildings crammed together.They were beautiful, but he never wanted to live here.Not enough space, and what if he happened to touch something?How many people had touched these door handles over the last couple of hundred years?
He stopped outside a tiny white stone church.1787it said with big wrought-iron digits fastened to the church tower.The wrought-iron fence surrounding the small church yard looked to have been made around the same time.If he touched the handle on the gate, he'd knock himself out.No question about it.
How many people had walked through it?How many had touched the handle?His brain would store them all.It wouldn't matter if they'd passed away a hundred years ago.If they'd touched the gate handle, he'd carry their image around in his mind forever.
Or until his head exploded.
Sometimes he wondered if it would come to that.He was thirty-seven now.He'd collected faces for about twenty years.If he did for another twenty, would his mind be able to handle it?Or would he put himself in a vegetative state?
It was his biggest fear.
If he touched the gate, he'd most likely end up in a coma for days.Maybe.But what if, when he'd done it one too many times, he never got out of it?
His phone rang again, and he snarled but didn't look at it.Instead, he scanned the surroundings, hands curled into fists in his pockets.
There was an old painting in the local museum of a salmon auction in the late 1800s.He believed it was from farther down this street.An artist had captured the fishermen auctioning off their catch.So many people who'd lived their lives in these cobblestoned alleys.
He curled his fingers tighter in his pocket, instantly afraid two layers of fabric wouldn't be enough to protect him from seeing them all.
His phone rang again, and this time he grabbed it.
Hjalmar.
Fuck.He hurried to accept the call."Sorry."
"Where are you?"
"St.Laurentii."He looked up at the church again.
