— We've arrived.
The Grundtvig Church, built in the style of expressionism mixed with late Gothic, met with its severity and seemed to say: “Everyone who enters will never leave the same. Your sins will remain here forever.”
Covering their heads with jackets, the trio ran up the stairs and burst through the brick-red door. On Friday at four o'clock in the afternoon there was a communion service for tourists. A pastor in a white alb and green fabric with yellow stitching, in Lutheranism this is called stola, stood at the altar and distributed bread and wine to everyone who knelt near the fence.
A man in a black shirt and trousers, with a white insert on the collar, apparently a deacon, approached the guests.
— Greetings, brothers and sister. How can I serve you?
— We would like to get to the House of Welfare, our relative lies there.
— It will be my pleasure to accompany you. But first you need to cleanse yourself of your sins, leave them to Jesus our Lord. Everyone needs a Savior. — the slow, peaceful communication of the servant of God irritated Glenda. She didn't like churches.
— What does it mean?
— This means that you need to take communion.
— Oh no, thanks. I'm not very pious. — the girl giggled nervously. — Christ, Buddha, Mohamed, all good guys, but, unfortunately, I didn’t know them, and I won’t trust them with my sins.
Here Iver not very delicately poked her in the side with his elbow, hinting with all his appearance to shut up.
— Yes, of course, we will definitely take communion. — Jack concluded, and all three took their turn at the altar.
— I am an atheist. — Glenda whispered to her companions when the intrusive deacon was no longer around.
— We do too, but this is the only and easiest way to get to Yornas’s brother.
The girl just sighed resignedly, but agreed.
The pastor's hands touched her neatly laid head and he muttered something in Danish. “Prayer,” Glenda concluded. Then he asked her in English if she agreed to accept the body of God and drink the blood of God to atone for her sins. Glenda nodded.
The dry, thin flour tablet — prosphora — quickly melted on the tongue, leaving behind a pleasant aftertaste, and the cold monastery wine flowed down my throat, parched from fear.
"And it's all? And I was afraid. Nothing wrong, very tasty.” As soon as she calmed down, she suddenly felt a salty metallic taste in her mouth and the smell of rotten meat. She tried to swallow, but her gag reflex took over and the food she had eaten came out.
Bloody vomit with some contents very reminiscent of a tongue lay on the stone floor, causing Glenda to have a new attack of primitive horror.
— Forgive our friend, she is not feeling well today. — Iver stood up to the deacon running up with questions. — We'll clean everything up now.
The girl looked again at the puddle under her feet, but saw nothing there except the hamburger she had eaten for lunch, which began to dissolve under the stomach juices.
— It’s okay, we’ll clean up ourselves. Go to the neighboring building in the courtyard through this corridor.
The deacon, embarrassed by the unusual situation, hurriedly escorted the guests to the hospital building.
— Yes, there is an inveterate atheist in you. You couldn't even go through the simplest ritual. — Jack joked with Glenda.
The small rooms to the left of the corridor, and the spacious garden to the right, looked very much like a Catholic monastery, the only difference being the people in white coats. The girl, pale as death, was still shaking from the experience, but she continued to confidently walk forward.
— You have no face. Maybe I should take you home?
— No, we are too close to the goal to give up. — with all the seriousness that could only be spoken now, she answered Iver.
Finally, the three “detectives” approached a low door at the end of the corridor.
— This is Mr. Crownwood's room. Please don't bother him too much, he is very timid, and if something bothers him too much, he can even become violent.
— Fine. — the guests answered in unison, and the man in black robes disappeared into the next room.
The creaky door opened, and an unpleasant, slightly stinking air hit my nose.
Dirty men's socks lay on the bed, under the table and right next to the entrance on the floor. A rotten orange with thick green mold stood in the middle of the table, and a young man in only a shirt, biting his upper lip, sat with a tablet, apparently drawing it.
— Still life! — he shouted to his guests, jumping out of bed. The naked genitals were barely covered by a long-skirted robe.
— Great. — the girl smiled. — I'm Glenda, your brother's friend.
— Jornas? Where is he himself? — a frowning fifteen-year-old guy began to look through his guests into the doorway, looking for a fourth person there.
“He didn’t come because…” the girl stopped, she looked at her companions and caught a unanimous agreement that there was no need to inform Graham about her brother’s death right now. — because he is taking an exam at the University and will definitely come to see you after.
“How disgusted I am with myself now. Lying to a little mentally ill person is low even in these circumstances.”
— It's clear. Will Miss Catherine be there today?
— Who, excuse me?
— Katherine is a fairy from a fairy tale.
“I don’t know, maybe it will be,” all three looked at each other, it seems their assumptions were confirmed. — Tell me, is this her? — Glenda showed a photograph of a blonde in a red dress.
— Yes. — the young man burst into a loving smile.
— What does she do here when she comes?
Here a young man who looked like Jornas suddenly laughed nervously and embarrassedly. This happens when parents ask a small child to talk about where he thinks children come from, and he knows this from his friends, but is afraid to tell adults, he feels embarrassed.
— Is she raping you? — the angry guest could not stand it.
— Yes. — Grem smiled, but somehow strangely, stupidly. — She loves Me.
— Is that what she says?
— Yes, if I cry and it hurts, she constantly repeats that it is for the sake of love. — Grem spoke not like a weak-minded person, but rather like a stupid lover who is being deceived, and he blindly believes in the holiness of his object of adoration.
— Can you repeat this now on camera?
Jack took out his smartphone and wrote down every single word, he took pictures of the situation in the room and all the details so as not to miss anything.
On the way back, Iver turned to the deacon again.
— Tell me, does Miss Catherine Andersson often come to you?
— Yes, every day.
— What for?
— She is one of the sponsors of the House of Welfare. You know how difficult it is to support a thousand people, making sure that they eat well and do not freeze from lack of heating and clothing for the season. Dearest person. And what?
— It's clear. Why is she visiting Mr. Crownwood?
— She fell in love with Mr. Cronwood as if she were her own. They cannot be separated. He’s not even as happy to see his brother as he is to see her.
— Do you know that she rapes him?
— What?! — the man in a black suit pursed his lips, his eyebrows knitted together, and his composure disappeared somewhere? “This can’t be true, Miss Anderson always takes Holy Communion before going to the hospital!”