‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ asked Valdimar, dumbstruck with horror. ‘Why have you never said anything before? I could have helped you.’
‘What could you have done, Valdi? You were so young. I was hardly more than a child myself. What was I supposed to do? Who could have helped us against that animal? Would it have made any difference if he’d served a few months in jail? Rape isn’t a serious offence, Valdi. Not to the men in charge. You know I’m right.’
‘But how have you kept it bottled up all this time?’
‘I’ve just done my best to live with it. Some days are better than others. You’ve been such a comfort to me, Valdi. I don’t think there can be a better brother in the world.’
‘Runólfur,’ murmured Valdimar.
His sister turned towards him. ‘Don’t go doing anything foolish, Valdi. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I’d never have told you otherwise.’
‘She didn’t tell me until the day before she gave up the fight,’ said Valdimar, with a look at Elínborg. ‘I let go of her for a minute — and that was enough. I didn’t realise she was in such a bad way, how deeply he’d wounded her. They found her that evening on the seashore below the churchyard. Runólfur moved to Reykjavík soon after he raped my sister, and after that he only made brief visits here.’
‘You need advice. You must talk to a lawyer,’ said Elínborg. ‘Please don’t say any more.’
‘I don’t need a lawyer,’ replied Valdimar. ‘What I needed was justice. I went to see him, and I found he was still at it.’
33
The pill worked faster than Runólfur expected and Nína leaned heavily against him on the way up to Thingholt, towards his home. She seemed very susceptible to the drug. She clung on to him and he had to half-carry her the last few steps. They did not go in from the front of the house but through the back garden, so he did not expect anyone to notice them. He did not switch on any lights when they entered, and he laid her gently on the sofa in the living room.
He shut the door, went into the kitchen, lit candles, arranged them in the bedroom, and then lit two more in the living room. He took his jacket off. The candlelight cast an eerie glow over the flat. He was thirsty. He drank a large glass of water and put on some music from one of his favourite films. He bent over Nína, took the shawl, bundled it up and flung it into the bedroom before pulling off her San Francisco T-shirt. She was not wearing a bra.
Runólfur carried her into the bedroom, then removed the rest of her clothes and undressed himself. She was unconscious. He squeezed himself into her T-shirt and looked down at her naked motionless body. He smiled, and bit off the corner of a condom wrapper.
His whole mind was focused on the young woman.
He lay down on top of her unmoving body, stroked her breasts, and thrust his tongue into her unresponsive mouth.
About half an hour later he left the room and changed the music. Serenely, he picked out another film theme, and turned the volume up a little higher.
As Runólfur was returning to the bedroom there was a knock at the door. He looked towards it, not believing what he was hearing. On two occasions since he moved to Thingholt revellers had come to his door late at night, in search of a party on their way from the city centre after a night’s drinking. They had either forgotten the address or were lost, and he had only been able to get rid of them by answering the door. He stood in the living room, glanced into the bedroom, then back at the door. The knocking was repeated, louder this time. His caller was persistent. One such night-time visitor had been calling out for someone named Sigga who he thought lived there.
Runólfur hurriedly put on his jeans, half-closed the bedroom door, then cautiously opened the front door and peered out. There was no porch light and he could only vaguely discern a figure standing on the doorstep.
‘What-?’ he began, but got no further. A man shoved hard against the door, burst into the flat, and swiftly shut the door behind him.
Runólfur was so astonished that he did not even try to resist the invasion.
‘Are you alone?’ asked Valdimar.
Runólfur recognised him at once. ‘You?’ he asked. ‘How …? What do you want?’
‘Have you got someone with you?’ asked Valdimar.
‘Get the fuck out of here!’ hissed Runólfur.
He saw the handle of a cut-throat razor in Valdimar’s hand, and a split second later the flash of the blade. In a moment, Valdimar had clenched his hand around Runólfur’s throat and thrust him hard against the wall, holding the razor to his skin. Valdimar was a much taller, stronger man. Runólfur was paralysed with terror. Valdimar scanned his surroundings and, through the half-open bedroom door, saw Nína’s feet in the bed. ‘Who’s in there?’ he asked.
‘It’s my girlfriend,’ stammered Runólfur. Valdimar’s steely grasp on his throat made it hard for him get the words out. He felt as if his neck were in a vice. He could hardly breathe.
‘Girlfriend? Tell her to get out!’
‘She’s asleep.’
‘Wake her up, then!’
‘I … I can’t,’ said Runólfur.
‘Hey, you!’ Valdimar shouted into the bedroom. ‘Can you hear me?’
Nína did not move.
‘Why doesn’t she answer?’
‘She’s fast asleep,’ said Runólfur.
‘Asleep?’
Valdimar swivelled suddenly to stand behind him with the razor still at his throat, and grasped his hair in the other hand. Propelling Runólfur ahead of him, he kicked the door open fully.
‘I can slit your throat whenever I want,’ he whispered into Runólfur’s ear. He nudged Nína with his foot, but she did not move. ‘What’s wrong with her? Why doesn’t she wake up?’
‘She’s just asleep,’ protested Runólfur.
Valdimar made a small cut in the skin of his throat, which stung painfully.
‘Please don’t hurt me,’ begged Runólfur.
‘No one sleeps that heavily. Is she drugged? Did you give her something?’
‘Don’t cut me,’ whimpered Runólfur.
‘Did you give her something?’
Runólfur made no answer.
‘Did you drug her?’
‘She …’
‘Where is it?’
‘Don’t cut me again. It’s in my jacket pocket, in the other room.’
‘Hand it over.’ Valdimar marched Runólfur ahead of him back into the living room.
‘You’re still at it,’ he said.
‘She likes it this way.’
‘Like my sister did!’ howled Valdimar. ‘She asked for it, did she? Asked you to rape her, you filthy bastard?’
‘I don’t know what she told you …’ gasped Runólfur. ‘I didn’t mean … I’m sorry, I …’
Runólfur took the pills from his jacket pocket and held them out to Valdimar.
‘What are these?’ asked Valdimar.
‘I don’t know,’ said Runólfur, his voice faltering in terror.
‘What are they?’
Valdimar sliced again at Runólfur’s throat.
‘Ro … Rohypnol,’ groaned Runólfur. ‘It’s a sleeping pill.’
‘You mean a date-rape drug?’
Runólfur said nothing.
‘Swallow them,’ Valdimar told him.
‘Don’t …’
‘Swallow them!’ bellowed Valdimar, making another cut. Blood flowed down Runólfur’s neck. He placed a pill between his lips.
‘And another one!’ ordered Valdimar.
Runólfur was in tears. ‘What … what are you going to do?’ he asked, putting another pill in his mouth.
‘And another.’
Runólfur had given up resisting and swallowed the next pill. ‘Don’t do anything to me,’ he begged.
‘Shut up!’
‘I could die if I take too many.’
‘Take your jeans off.’
‘Valdi, please …’
‘Get them off!’ said Valdimar, making another small incision in Runólfur’s neck. He whined in pain. He unbuttoned his jeans and dropped them to his ankles. ‘How does it feel?’ Valdimar asked.