However, some readers still supported me and wrote letters of appreciation. In public, few people would admit to having read my books and fewer still to liking them, but the letters painted a different picture. Many wrote of powerful reading experiences, not only from the violence in the book, but also from its characterization. They mentioned scenes and images that had moved them in a way they hadn’t been moved for years.
In between these two extremes were letters from a third group, and they were the ones that really worried me. They were fanatical declarations. Initially, these letters resembled fan mail, but they quickly assumed a more disturbing tone. The senders wanted specific information about certain scenes, how I had researched the effect of the murder weapons, or they pointed out mistakes in terms of the body’s reaction to certain influences. Some had re-enacted passages from the book and would either praise me for my accuracy and insight or draw my attention to errors, for example, certain bodily positions that were impossible. A few told me how they had used episodes from the book in sex games and thanked me for the experience; one even attached a series of photos as evidence to prove it.
Despite the – for me – enormous attention, I had no problem being out in public. Of course people recognized me, but it was rare for anyone to approach me directly. Perhaps they were scared of me, scared I would turn into one of my notorious killers if they came too close. The few people who did come up to me were friendly and usually only wanted an autograph. One woman told me she couldn’t sleep after having read Inner Demons, and another, heavily pregnant and sweating, said she simply had to stop reading and would have to finish the book after she’d had her baby.
It seemed as if everyone had an opinion about the book, whether or not they had read it. But a great many people bought the book and did read it.
Except Line.
After a month, it started to irritate me. Of course she was busy with the children while I ran around doing interviews and attending receptions, but she could have shown a bit more interest, I thought. I nudged her, but it was another month before she picked it up.
To this day, I wish I had never encouraged her.
She started reading it while I was in Germany. Finn was with me; we were meeting with the German translator and settling some contractual issues with the German publisher. When I phoned home from the hotel that evening, Line had just started the book. She remarked that it was rather bloodthirsty, but that was all. We talked about the children and I told her about the German publisher, who had turned out to be a whisky connoisseur and was determined to prove it later that night. The following day she didn’t answer the telephone and on the third day, I got the answering machine.
I was surprised, but not worried. She had probably gone to stay with her father as she was on her own with two children, so I didn’t regard it as cause for concern.
When I came home, exhausted after three days of talking literature and drinking whisky, the house was empty and Inner Demons was lying on the kitchen table.
A note stuck out from it.
It’s over.
I’m scared to leave you alone with the children now.
Line
I must have read that note a hundred times, thinking alternately that it was all over or that she would probably come back. The German publisher had presented me with a bottle of 37-year-old Highland Park for special occasions, but it was opened that night and when I woke up next morning only a quarter was left. I hadn’t tried to call Line even though I was fairly sure she had gone to stay with her father. Somehow I knew it would be pointless and I needed to think, to come up with a strategy before contacting her, but no useful plan had materialized during the night so, after a cup of pitch-black coffee, I rang my father-in-law.
I had expected rejection, that Line would refuse to talk to me, but after a moment she came to the telephone. She even sounded composed and resolved as she explained that she didn’t feel safe with me and would never leave her children in my care again. When I pointed out that they were my children too, she hardened her voice and informed me that she was scared I might hurt them, unless she was around.
The most idiotic thing I could do was lose my temper, so that’s what I did. I screamed at her down the telephone and spewed out stupidities I have regretted ever since, but I felt unfairly treated. It was for their sake that I wrote what I did. It was so they could live comfortably in the house in Kartoffelrækkerne and have the holiday cottage in Rågeleje that I had gone the whole hog with the book.
Line said very little during my outburst. She waited until I had finished, then, when my torrent of justifications and accusations had run dry, she informed me that I would be hearing from her solicitor. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I was knocked for six, exhausted by my attacks on her, and I realized that everything I had said and done had only served to convince her she had made the right decision. Finally I begged her to at least let me speak to Ironika. She hesitated for a moment, which sparked a slender hope in me, but then she declined and hung up.
In the days that followed I tried various forms of lobbying with Bjarne, Anne and Line’s family, but everyone was of the opinion that this time I had gone too far and they neither could nor did they want to help me. A letter arrived from her solicitor. Even up until that point I had been deluding myself I could talk my way out of it, that Line would forgive me and return after some days or weeks, but the formal, legal language and dry presentation of facts hit me head-on like an express train.
Line wanted full custody and banned me from seeing my children. The lawyer pointed out that I had myself supplied the most damning proof by virtue of my two books Outer Demons and Inner Demons, which clearly demonstrated that I fantasized about torturing and killing my wife and children. To substantiate their claim, they would produce the interview with Linda Hvilbjerg and witness statements in connection with the cut to Ironika’s thigh.
I knew the battle was lost. There would be no court hearing or arguments over the children because I had no defence. All I could do was hire a lawyer and let him do what was necessary. I couldn’t subject my children to years of court proceedings that I would probably end up losing anyway. It would only make matters worse. In time, I might be allowed to see them, but for now I was beaten.
My mental state and lack of self-worth made me considerably more generous than strictly necessary. I gave Line the house in Kartoffelrækkerne, unencumbered, and would of course be paying alimony and child maintenance until the girls grew up. I kept the cottage and initially moved in with Bjarne and Anne in my old Scriptorium room. They were sympathetic, but I couldn’t talk to them about the break-up. I suspected they sided with Line and therefore couldn’t see the point of bringing up the subject.
Instead I pretended that Line had ceased to exist and threw myself into the life of a bachelor, which nearly proved to be the death of me.
29
DARKNESS HAD SPREAD over Frederiksberg. It was cold and I wrapped my jacket around me as I walked from the taxi to the Forum entrance. I showed my invitation and was admitted.