The colour of the armband - The Bus

I.

Sven had remained inside the bus after the other two left for outside running to inspect the old red-brick house with the big white door at the front and shuttered windows. One of them stayed always back for security reasons but he also wanted to take a better look at the engine and the remaining gas before adding a new exaggerating haunting story to so many others he and his friends shared with other travellers.

 

Elias and Ida had checked their rifles and carefully tied their red armbands before going out whilst Sven left his on the driver’s seat since he wasn’t going outside. It wasn’t really necessary for him to wear it anyway; the bus had a red stripe all around it identifying its collusions to anybody curious.

Colour armbands and stripes was the only rule everybody kept and respected in this new world probably because there was no way to enforce it or protect you from ‘friendly’ fire. It was about survival and survival is enough reason to enforce even armbands with colours you never liked. Like Sven who never liked red.

Funny reason why. It all had to do with football and even though nobody played football anymore and most likely people had forgotten what football was about, didn’t help Sven’s dislike to the colour.

The other fear and dislike Sven carried was to find himself in a bus with an engineering problem without gas in the middle of a bunch of yellow, brown or blue armbands. Blue were the worst, still no compared with the green who were the hellangels on earth but nowhere around this part of the globe. At least not at the moment.

He ticked with his gloved finger over the dashboard to make sure that no needle was stuck and all the pointed indicators were right indicating and then activating all the alarms, inside outside, he opened the small engine hutch, down and on the right side of the river’s seat. That part of the bus was were its heart and its Achilles heel lay.

Sven breathed in the mixture of fresh air and oil that entered the cabin when he opened the small door. “Fresh but no clean,” he murmured to himself in the empty bus and bitterly smiled. ‘Well, at least the mixture of gas, old engine oils and radio’, he thought and regretted the thought immediately. Radio was not a thing to laugh with and there were a lot of black armbands to prove it.

The thought of the black armbands made him shiver but this was no time for day-dreaming or in this case a day-nightmare. He put his head through the small door, checked left and right the little gaps of open space and then pulled up again reaching the bag with the tools. After getting a -sharpen by him- small screwdriver, he returned to the engine and started checking one after the other wires, tubes, connections.

“Sven, are you there?” Ida’s voice in the absolute silence of the bus scared the shit out of him and made him hit his head the way he jumped half inside the engine cage, half outside in the cabin. Massaging his head he took a deep breath waiting for his heart to return to her place in his chest and then pulled out, reached the wireless and trying hard to sound calm he answered, “Everything OK Ida?”

“Everything is fine, actually everything is more than fine, “she said pointing the word ‘everything’ and he could hear her smiling. “We found a fucking treasure; food, cans of juice, even gas for the bus. Everything.” And the smile came wireless again.
That made the pain on his head go away.

“Do you need help?”
“No, no, we are fine. We might have to come and go a few times but I think, especially with ... mmmm …our hands full, it might be better if you stay there watching.”
“Right,” Sven answered.
“Elias says that it might be better if you move to the tower so you can have a better look around us.” Of course Elias thought this. Elias, always the strategist. But he was right, he had to admit. “OK, I’m finishing with the checks and I’m moving to the tower.”

 “Right, see you in a few.” Ida ended the conversation and Sven checked the last tube for a leak. Everything looked fine, but then it hit him.

He jumbled out of the engine hutch, he closed carefully the door and grubbing the riffle and the binoculars he rushed for the tower, an iron extension on the top of the bus with small holes here and there for observation. “Idiot, idiot, idiots,” he murmured loud and immediately started checking the horizon. No movement. Yet!

There were a few more houses around but there was a good empty distance between them to let Sven see if anything was moving between them. Still, Sven had only two eyes and the ability to check only one side at the time; he was not a black armband after all; and the realization of that triggered more his paranoia and fear. “Damn idiot,” he murmured again. “The great strategist thought of the tower and he let Ida tell me and the wide armband world that they found plenty of food and gas! Fucking idiots.”

The same time the wireless rang again. “Sven, Sven? Can you hear me?” Sven practiced his deep breathing again while keep turning around and looking through the holes of the iron tower. He wanted to scream, ‘yes I heard you idiot, so the rest of the armband army out there.’ But he didn’t say anything, just an angry, “yes.”

“Sven, false alarm, there is nothing here. We are coming back.” Right, the great strategist got his mistake and he’s trying to fix it. Well, great Elias, it didn’t trick him; it won’t trick anybody out there. Actually now they made it worst. Now the hunters became the hunted.  

II.

Elias had gone hunting too many times to make an elementary mistake like that but here they where in the middle of a death-trap they dag for themselves. Sven felt fear scrabbling on his back and the fact that he saw Ida shaking her hand to him when she was already out of the white door and into the open made it even worst. He should have seen her earlier when she moved out of the door not thirty feet away from the bus.

He jumped quickly down the small platform of the iron tower to the main cabin of the bus and pressed the button next to the door to disarm the alarms.

“I know, I know, I fucked up but we don’t have time, take this bags and return to the tower till you see me again,” she said and left three heavy bags on the floor in front of him, then she turned back towards the house. “Don’t forget the alarm,” she shouted while running for the white door.

Sven activated the alarm and run to the iron tower, binoculars back in the eyes checking all around. He would check later what was in the bags, no time now. His hands were trembling a bit and he thought that the binoculars might fall, but he grabbed them tighter and checked again. One hole after the other moving clockwise. Nothing. Only this time he saw Ida at least earlier, when she was coming out of the white door. Obviously inside Elias was loading bags and she was bringing them to the bus. Stupid, he was bigger and faster but who knows how the great strategist thinks. Sven was angry and he blamed Elias for the mistake. They should have never say anything, they should have just come to the bus with the first bags and then tell him.

“Two three more max,” she said leaving more bags on the floor and run straight back to the house. This time the bags were heavier. Sven moved them fast next to the others and returned to the iron tower.

Just on time. Somewhere to his left, still far away and beyond any house in the horizon, he saw a clod of rising sand. He acted instinctively without spending time to recheck. “There is a coming, there is a coming. Do you hear me? There is a coming.” He screamed at the wireless.

“We hear you,” came back with Elias voice this time and then silence. Ida reappeared but Sven remained at the tower. This time Elias was just behind her, both carrying bags with Elias carrying a small rusted tank on his back.

Sven watching the cloud of sand getting bigger and bigger waited till Ida literally touched the first outside alarms before climbing down to disarm them and open the door. Both Ida and Elias came threw bags and tank inside the bus and without a word turned back and run for the house. Sven decided to stay there, by the door; there was no time for the iron tower anymore, there was no time for all of them. This had to be the last round and then leave. He couldn’t tell them, they had already disappeared behind the white door.

The cloud and Sven’s fears were increasing by second and this time when Ida and Elias dropped the bags into the bus he literally screamed at them, “we have to move, this was the last time, come inside sand lets start the damn thing to get out of here, NOW!”

But it wasn’t going to be. While Ida stayed in, taking place on the iron tower with Sven standing by the door riffle ready, Elias returned to the house. “For one last time,” he said before turning his back to Sven and the bus.

“They are coming fast,” Ida screamed from the tower and Sven thought if he should move outside to have better view to what was coming and a better aim. “Two or three trucks and something else, smaller.” Ida shouted again and the second Sven started moving outside the bus, Elias appeared from the door carrying a huge track and bags rapped in both arms.

Sven turned to his left and he saw the small black dots moving fast between the gray sky and the yellow ground, appearing and disappearing behind small sand hills and buildings. They had crossed the sand land entering the housing area and getting closer fast. Elias was moving slowly under the heavy weight of the tank but Sven stood there without move to help. He aimed at the small dots trying to spot a head or something alive on them to shoot. Nothing. Not even a sound. Then a small thunder hit next to Elias rising sand and gravel.

“They are shooting,” Ida screamed from inside, voice in panic.
“I cannot see anything, cannot aim…” Sven shouted back while a second thunder hit closer to Elias.

 “Elias, come inside,” Ida kept screaming from the iron tower but Elias couldn’t hear her or anything else. A third louder thunder hit, this time even closer to him. Forty more feet and Sven couldn’t just stay there watching and waiting for the next thunder to come. He jumbled out of the bus and run to Elias but the next thing he saw was Elias eyes, wide open in shock and surprise.

This time the thunder came with a deafening sound and the tank fell from Elias back. The same time a small red blot appeared on his waist. “Oh god, oh god…” Sven whispered getting fast closer to him just in time to hold him up from fully falling down. Too late. Sven knew. It wasn’t the first time, but never before so close to him, never before to Elias.

“Help him, help him, help him,” Ida was screaming behind him having left the tower and exiting the bus in a last minute attempt to help. Sven grabbed Elias from his arms and started pulling him towards the bus when another loud thunder hit Elias body with another red bolt appearing immediately on his chest.

“Ida, start the engine,” Sven cried pulling the body closer. Fifteen feet, ten feet, five feet, they were inside the same time the roaring of the engine filled the room. He closed the door, draw the safe and sat next to the body while Ida was driving fast the bus the opposite direction away from the coming vehicles. “Oh god, oh god…” he let himself murmur not daring to look at Elias.

“How is he?” Ida asked but Sven didn’t have the power to answer. “Is he bad? We are two three hours away from the castle but we can make it. Keep him hot.” Sven didn’t know what to say but logic somehow kicked in. How is he? Did he check how he is? He just presumed him dead. No, he hadn’t. He saw his eyes but he didn’t check. He rolled closer to the body and tried to find Elias’ pulse putting his finger on the man’s neck. Nothing there. He put his ear on the man’s chest. Nothing. The only sound he could hear was the small thunders hitting the metal of the bus here and there. From outside. Nothing from inside. Nothing from Elias.

“Sven, take the wheel, I know better with these things.” Ida screamed again and Sven stood up and moved quickly to the driver’s cabin without saying a word. She knows better, he felt, she might find a pulse where I missed it. I might be wring. Elias might be alive. Elias eyes returned to haunt him again.

“Did you see them?” she asked while trying to stand up without stopping the bus and giving him space to take over the wheel. “Where they blue or brown?” Sven didn’t answer, only sat in the seat changed gear and increase the speed of the bus. They were running for their lives and let’s hope that the engine could sense it and help.

III.

“Ida, I need you up in the tower,” he wasn’t sure if she had heard him and he had used all the strength that remained inside him to say it but it was true. The only picture he had was from the front and no idea what was coming from the back. He thought he heard a sob but then he heard her climbing to the iron tower. She hadn’t said anything since she moved to the back.

“Can you see anything?” he asked trying to sound calm.
“They are at the house,” she answered with trebling voice.
“How far?” He asked again knowing that she will understand and give him the right answer.
“Not far enough,” she understood.

For a bit nothing else said with Sven pressing the engine for more power, more speed. Ida was watching.

“He’s dead,” she said after a couple of minutes in silence. Sven didn’t say anything.
“Elias is dead,” she repeated.
“I know,” he just said trying to keep his focus in front of them.
“It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have said anything.” Another sob came from the tower.
“Ida, they were obviously watching us but now we must escape from them so please …please watch.”

He knew that he was hard with her but there was no time for mourning or guilt now, if they wanted to come out alive. “Yeah,” came her answer and then again only the sound of the engine trying to get faster.

“Sven, two of them coming after us,” suddenly there was panic in her voice and that made him instinctively to press harder the accelerator hoping that it will give more speed and distance between them and their hunters.

“Fuck them,” Ida screamed and Sven heard her riffle’s sound. Pap, pap, pap. He wanted to tell her to stop wasting bullets but he knew. It was for Elias. So he kept quiet and she send another round, pap, pap, pap.

“Are they closer?” He asked her again after a bit.
“No, I actually think that I got something because one of them has stopped. Only one follows us,” Sven smiled almost unwillingly. Of course; the famous Ida luck.
“OK, we can make it, only one, soon he will be tired and feeling alone and he will return to the rest.” Sven tried to sound hopeful, Ida didn’t answer.

Again silence filled the cabin except the roaring of the engine. “We will make it,” Sven said more to himself than to Ida. She didn’t answer but a loud thumb from his side, outside the bus made them both jump. And then another and another. Boom, boom, boom. “Sven they are on our side,” Ida screamed and she starting shooting with her riffle, pap, pap, pap.

“Ida, get Elias riffle, its better,” Sven cried.
“Never,” came the answer from the tower accompanied with another round of pap, pap, pap.

“Got you, bastard.” Sven pressed the accelerator more hoping that there was something more in there. Boom, boom came from the side closer to his seat.

They were aiming for him to stop the bus. Pap, pap, pap, came from the tower and then another boom, a closer one. This time he even felt the metal next to him vibrating. Pap, pap, pap, pap Ida answered.

“I got him, I got him, I got him!” Ida screamed from the tower. “Stupid dick, he came to close,” she kept screaming. And then a louder bang but this time it was from outside!

“Two vehicles left,” Ida shouted, “One out of commission.”
‘Let her luck last’, Sven prayed inside him. Pap, pap, pap.
“He’s leaving, he’s leaving,” Ida cried. “I can’t believe it, he’s leaving. The coward. One left, one behind us.”

“Ida, can you hear me?” Sven shouted.
“Yeah, I can hear you.”
“Listen; there is no way to keep it like that, you know it and the engine is not going to take it for long.” She didn’t say anything waiting for him to continue.
“If there is only one left our best chance is to face them.”

“Right,” she answered immediately. “For Elias.”
“For Elias,” he added.

“So how are we going to do it?”
“Are they still behind us?”
“A couple hundred yards. Perhaps less.”
“Can you see how many they are?”
“I think two, both sitting in the front.”
“Even better,” he said. “Listen, I got an idea.” he added loud to make sure that she would focus to his words.

“There is only sand in front of us so I was thinking to continue like that and in some point to let the bus roll with its own speed without me in the wheel, move to the back, open the back window and the tower windows the same time and start shooting at them together. All we have. We might be lucky and finish them.” Nothing came from the tower.
“What do you think?”
“We will aim for their wheels first.” She answered and she sounded hard and determine like he had never heard her before. “For Elias,” she added.

“Their wheels, right. Give me a few more seconds to get ready and when I start the countdown be ready.” She didn’t answer but he knew she heard him, so he gave another push to the accelerator and the same time he looked for his riffle. No, Elias riffle was better and luckily was standing in the back next to his body. Sven looked back to check but all he saw was Elias laying there. “Damn you Elias,” he murmured angrily.

“How far are they?”
“Nearly a hundred yards and getting closer.”
“Good, when they are half that distance tell me,” and he let the accelerator from his foot.

Everything happened in between seconds or that’s how it felt. The bus started loosing speed while the other vehicle seemed to accelerate literally eating the small distance between them. The same time the back window of the bus and the window of the tower opened all the way letting Sven with Elias’ riffle  and Ida’s riffles, pat, pat, boom, boom, pat, pat, pat, boom, boom. Boom.

Sven felt tears in his eyes, “for Elias, monsters.” Boom, boom, boom.

IV.

Sven had tears in his eyes and a strange itch on his arm. Death silence all around him. Literally. The other vehicle, an old open car with a lot of metal improvement looked a mess with one body hanging out from a window on the side and another one laying on the wheel half in half out.

This was not Sven’s first fight and most likely was not going to be the last, but he knew when he was the winner and when to celebrate. This time he felt neither. He looked up for Ida. “Ida, are you OK?”
“I’m OK.” He heard her answering from just behind him. Obviously she had come down from the tower.

They both stepped carefully out of the bus and reached the odd vehicle. Sven moved to the rear to check if there was anything they had missed and have a look inside in case there were surprises waiting. The same time he kept looking in the horizon in a case more were coming. Ida stood near the head of the man laying on the window.

Sven felt confident that there was no sign of hostile movement in the horizon so he returned into checking the insides of the vehicle but after not hearing anything from Ida for a while he turned back to the side where she was still standing still looking at the dead head.

“What are you thinking?” He asked her reaching closer.
“Look.” She said pointing at the head.

A twisted face, a lot of burned skin and three eyes, one on the top of the forehead with something like horns on each side. Pointy teeth and a hole where the nose suppose to be, he or she, Sven wasn’t sure, was looking sidewise at the endless sand.

“A black armband?”
“Look again,” she said without taking her eyes from the three eye head.

He looked again. A brown ribbon tied on the right arm.

“Look at the other,” her voice steady, the tone sounded like an order. He looked. A blue ribbon tied on the right arm of something you would never call human. A bullet on the face had saved Sven from a better view but the rest of him was enough.

“I thought they were brainless. Animals like.” Sven squealed in the sight of the creatures. “Animals, perhaps but brainless …I have my doubts.” Ida said, “look at them. Different brands driving an improved vehicle. That takes brain.” Sven didn’t answer, just stood there looking at the three-eyed head.

“What do you think?” Sven asked again.
“I’m supposed to think?” She pulled her riffle and pat, pat she shot the middle eye. “That black armbands don’t have a third eye and horns to start with.”
“So, what are they?”
“A new day.” Ida said and started walking towards the bus.

The End

Overweight inferno

The night was unusually quiet on Lönngatan, a street in Växjö known for its rows of aging apartments. Most residents were students, their lives marked by the low hum of academic stress and late-night parties. But tonight, even the muffled music from the flat above Vera Wallin’s had faded into silence. Inside her small, dimly lit apartment, the air was thick with unease, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.

 

Vera sat hunched on her worn couch, its cushions sagging under her weight. The flickering light of a single bulb above cast distorted shadows across the cluttered room. Stacks of notebooks, unopened envelopes, and crumpled candy wrappers covered every surface. On the table beside her sat a half-empty glass of water and a battered laptop with a cracked screen.

She clutched a folded letter in her hand, her thumb tracing the jagged edge. It was from her parents, a rare occurrence. She had read it three times already, though the words hadn’t changed:

Vera,
We hope you're doing well. It's been hard for us to keep in touch, but know that we think of you often. Maybe one day you can visit, but we understand if you're busy.

It wasn’t an invitation; it was a polite dismissal, a reminder of the gap that had widened between them over the years. Vera crumpled the letter and threw it onto the cluttered table, her frustration mingling with a gnawing sadness. Her eyes darted to the corner of the room, where a small stack of philosophy textbooks leaned precariously against the wall. She had dropped out of the class weeks ago, unable to face the snickers and stares every time she spoke.

Her phone buzzed. Vera picked it up hesitantly, expecting another cruel message.

Anonymous: Enjoying the quiet, piggy?
Her breath hitched. The screen dimmed, plunging her into near darkness.

Outside, a faint rustling disturbed the stillness. A figure moved through the shadows near Vera’s window, their face obscured by the hood of a dark coat. They crouched low, their gloved hands fumbling with something metallic near the apartment’s entrance.

Vera lit a small candle on the table, its soft glow casting dancing shapes on the walls. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The power outages in this part of town were frequent, and she had grown used to the darkness. She reached for her cigarettes—a habit she had picked up during the loneliest months of her life—but hesitated. Smoking usually calmed her, but tonight felt different. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched.

The sound of faint laughter drifted up from the street below, sharp and cutting. She froze, her fingers tightening around the cigarette. The laughter grew louder, then abruptly stopped. Vera stood and shuffled to the window, careful not to trip over the scattered debris of her existence.

Peeking through the curtains, she saw nothing but the faint glow of streetlights and the outline of parked bicycles. She let out a shaky breath, but the knot in her stomach remained.

Moments later, there was a subtle creak, followed by a metallic click. Vera turned toward the door, her pulse quickening. "Hello?" she called out, her voice trembling. She hated how weak she sounded. She grabbed her phone and turned on the flashlight, its narrow beam cutting through the gloom. The door appeared closed, but something felt off.

Her unease deepened. “Is someone there?” she repeated, louder this time. The silence that followed was deafening.

Suddenly, the candle tipped over, its flame licking the edge of the curtains. “No, no, no!” Vera scrambled toward it, grabbing a towel from the armrest of the couch. She beat at the fire, but the cheap synthetic fabric only fanned the flames. Panic surged as the fire climbed higher, consuming the curtains and spreading to the wallpaper.

She ran to the door and twisted the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. She yanked harder, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. "No! Please!"

The heat was unbearable now, and the smoke was thickening, stinging her eyes and throat. She pounded on the door with her fists. “Help! Somebody, please help me!”

Outside, the figure stood motionless in the shadows, watching as the flames grew. The flickering light painted their face with a grotesque smile. They adjusted the scarf around their neck and turned away, their footsteps disappearing into the night.

Inside, Vera’s screams grew fainter, swallowed by the roar of the fire. She stumbled back toward the couch, her body weak and her vision blurry. Her fingers brushed against the cigarette she had dropped earlier, now singed at the edges. She collapsed onto the floor as the flames closed in around her.

The final image was a silhouette framed by fire, her unlit cigarette slipping from her grasp.

 

II.

The acrid stench of burnt wood and melted plastic lingered in the crisp Växjö morning. Yellow police tape cordoned off what was left of Vera Wallin's apartment building—a charred shell of its former self. Polisinspektör Mikael Hansson stood on the icy pavement, surveying the wreckage with a furrowed brow. His wool coat offered little protection against the chill, but his focus was elsewhere: the peculiar burn marks near the door and the faint but unmistakable scent of accelerant.

Beside him, Yezda Rahimi, her hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets, shifted on her feet. "The fire brigade is calling it an accident," she said, her breath fogging the air. "Faulty wiring, they think. But I don’t buy it."

Mikael grunted in agreement. "Faulty wiring doesn’t explain scratch marks on the inside of a locked door. Or the fact that her keys are missing."

Yezda nodded toward the blackened entryway. "The neighbour in 2B said she heard laughter and muffled voices last night. Around 10:30. Thought it was students being obnoxious again." She glanced at Mikael. "Maybe they weren’t just laughing."

Inside what was left of Vera's apartment, the smell was worse. Soot coated every surface, and the air was thick with an oppressive heaviness. Mikael stepped carefully, his boots crunching on charred debris. His gaze swept the room, cataloguing details: the melted remains of a laptop on the table, the crumpled letter lying in a pile of ash, and a scorched notebook on the floor. He crouched to pick it up, careful not to disturb anything. The cover was partially intact, but the edges were singed.

“Looks like a journal,” Yezda said, peering over his shoulder. “Think she kept secrets?”

Mikael flipped it open, scanning the pages. Most were banal, a grocery list, half-finished sketches, random musings. But on the last page, written in shaky handwriting, were the words: "They said this would end."

Mikael showed it to Yezda. "Who’s ‘they’?"

Her face darkened. "Whoever they are, I’m guessing they didn’t mean peacefully."

By mid-morning, Mikael and Yezda were at Växjö University, a modest campus known more for its forestry programs than its academic rigor. The pair sat in the small, stuffy office of Professor Lennart Rydberg, a man whose reputation as an eccentric preceded him. Rydberg was balding, with wild tufts of white hair that stood at odd angles, and his thick glasses magnified his watery blue eyes. He sat behind his cluttered desk, tapping a pencil against his thumb.

“Vera Wallin?” he repeated when Mikael brought up the name. “Yes, yes. Philosophy student. Not particularly brilliant, but… not unremarkable either. She stopped attending classes weeks ago, though. I assumed she’d dropped out.”

“Did she ever mention anyone bothering her?” Yezda asked, her tone direct.

Rydberg squinted at her. “Bothering? No, no. Though…” He hesitated, his pencil stilling. “There was an incident, now that you mention it. A group of students, troublemakers, if you ask me, tied her desk chair to the ceiling during a lecture. She didn’t take it well.”

Mikael exchanged a glance with Yezda. “Who were these students?”

“Ah, let me think…” Rydberg rubbed his temple, muttering names to himself. “Malin Svensson, Fredrik Lundqvist… and one more… a new exchange student, I believe. Alina? Anya? Something like that.”

“And what did you do about this incident?” Mikael asked, his tone steely.

Rydberg waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I reprimanded them, of course. But you know how these things are ...students being students. Vera didn’t lodge a formal complaint.”

Yezda leaned forward, her voice sharp. “Did you ever consider why? Maybe because she didn’t think anyone would take her seriously?”

Rydberg shifted uncomfortably in his chair but said nothing.

Their next stop was the university common room, where Mikael and Yezda found Malin Svensson and Fredrik Lundqvist, lounging on sagging couches with cups of lukewarm coffee. Malin was tall and athletic, with an air of practiced indifference, while Fredrik looked like he had just rolled out of bed, his hoodie rumpled and his hair unkempt.

“Vera Wallin?” Malin said when Mikael brought up the name. “God, is this about the fire? That’s awful.”

Fredrik snorted. “Didn’t even know she lived there. Guess she had to live somewhere.”

Yezda’s eyes narrowed. “You two knew her, though. And you weren’t exactly kind to her, were you?”

Malin shrugged. “We didn’t bully her, if that’s what you’re implying. She was just… weird, you know? Always lurking in the back of the room, like some ghost.”

Fredrik smirked. “And she smelled funny. Like old books and desperation.”

Mikael’s jaw tightened. “You think this is funny?”

Fredrik’s smirk faltered. “No. I just mean… she wasn’t really part of the group. Nobody noticed her.”

“Nobody except you two and your friend… Alina, was it?” Yezda pressed, her gaze cutting.

Malin stiffened. “Anya. She’s not here right now. Exchange program ended last week.”

“How convenient,” Mikael muttered. “We’ll still need her contact information. And yours.”

Malin crossed her arms, glaring. “We didn’t do anything to her.”

Yezda stepped closer, her voice low. “If that’s true, you won’t mind answering a few more questions later. Officially.”

Back at the station, Mikael and Yezda sifted through the fragments of Vera’s life, piecing together her final days. The journal hinted at paranoia and despair, but the voices and laughter from the night of the fire weighed heavily on their minds. The burn patterns on the door suggested it had been deliberately blocked, and the missing keys added another layer of suspicion.

“Someone wanted her trapped,” Yezda said as she pinned a photo of Vera to their investigation board. “But why?”

Mikael stared at the words on the last page of the journal: “They said this would end.” His gut told him this was no accident, and whoever "they" were, they had more to hide than mere cruelty.

“We’re missing something,” he muttered. “Something big.”

And outside, as the first snowflakes of the season began to fall, a figure watched the station from a nearby alley, their breath misting in the cold. Hidden in the shadows, they smiled.

 

III.

The university campus buzzed with subdued energy, students wandering to and from lectures with heads bent against the icy wind. Inside the administrative building, Polisinspektör Mikael Hansson and Yezda Rahimi found themselves ushered into a sparsely furnished room that reeked of stale coffee and academic pretension. They were here to meet a select group of Vera Wallin’s classmates, a gathering of potential witnesses or suspects, depending on how the conversation unfolded.

Amanda Forsberg lounged in a chair, her perfectly styled blonde hair framing an expression of barely concealed disdain. Across from her sat Joel Lindgren, a wiry young man whose restless leg betrayed his nervousness, and Tobias Hammarström, a broad-shouldered rugby player whose silence felt heavier than his bulk. The three exchanged uneasy glances as Mikael and Yezda took their seats.

Mikael began, his voice calm but firm. “We’re here to ask you some questions about Vera Wallin. I assume you’ve heard about the fire.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Of course we’ve heard. It’s all anyone’s talking about. A tragic accident, wasn’t it?”

Yezda’s sharp gaze locked onto Amanda. “What makes you so sure it was an accident?”

Amanda hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. What else would it be?”

Joel shifted uncomfortably. “Look, we didn’t really… know Vera that well. She wasn’t exactly popular.”

“Not popular?” Mikael repeated, his tone edged with scepticism. “Or not treated well?”

Amanda smirked. “She was a loner. Always moping around, acting like the world owed her something. Maybe if she’d tried harder, people wouldn’t have...”

“Wouldn’t have what?” Yezda interjected, her voice slicing through Amanda’s sentence like a blade.

Amanda faltered but quickly recovered. “Wouldn’t have ignored her.”

Joel muttered something under his breath, drawing Mikael’s attention. “Care to share with the group?”

Joel’s eyes darted to Amanda, then back to Mikael. “It’s just… Vera wasn’t easy to get along with. She… overreacted. To everything.”

“Overreacted to being locked in a janitor’s closet?” Mikael asked, watching their reactions carefully.

Amanda’s smug veneer cracked. “That was a joke! She took it way too seriously.”

“She was crying when we let her out,” Joel added defensively. “But we apologized!”

Tobias, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was low and halting. “It wasn’t just the closet. There were… other things.”

Amanda shot him a warning glare. “Tobias, don’t.”

“What kind of ‘other things’?” Yezda pressed, ignoring Amanda’s attempt to silence him.

Tobias swallowed hard. “Stuff went missing from her desk. Books, notes… someone even took her shoes once. And there was… there was the thing with her chair.”

Amanda’s face darkened. “Tobias, shut up.”

“The chair?” Mikael prompted, leaning forward.

Joel looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. “It was a dumb prank. We tied her chair to the ceiling during class. It wasn’t meant to—”

“To humiliate her?” Yezda cut in. “Because that’s exactly what it did.”

Amanda crossed her arms. “You’re acting like we set the fire or something. We didn’t do anything illegal. It was just… campus fun.”

Mikael’s stare was ice-cold. “Vera Wallin is dead. You might want to rethink your definition of ‘fun.’”

After dismissing the trio, Mikael and Yezda made their way across campus to the office of Dr. Gunnar Falk, one of Vera’s philosophy professors. The hallways of the Humanities Building were dimly lit, the flickering fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows on the scuffed linoleum floors.

Falk’s office was a chaotic mess of books, papers, and half-empty mugs of coffee. The man himself sat hunched over a desk, scribbling furiously in a notebook. He looked up as they entered, his pale blue eyes magnified by thick glasses.

“Ah, the police,” he said, his voice a blend of curiosity and detachment. “This is about Vera Wallin, I assume?”

“Yes,” Mikael replied, studying the professor’s face for any telltale signs of unease. “We understand she was one of your students.”

“She was,” Falk confirmed, leaning back in his chair. “An interesting case. Bright but burdened by… an existential heaviness, shall we say. Not uncommon in students of philosophy, though hers was particularly pronounced.”

“She approached you for help, didn’t she?” Yezda asked.

Falk nodded. “Several times. She struggled with the weight of her own thoughts. A classic Kierkegaardian despair.” He smiled faintly. “She wanted answers to questions that have no answers.”

“Did she ever mention being harassed or bullied by her classmates?” Mikael asked.

Falk frowned, tapping his pen against the edge of his desk. “She may have hinted at it, but she was vague. And I didn’t press. It’s not my place to intervene in students’ personal lives unless they explicitly request it.”

“You didn’t think it was worth looking into?” Yezda’s tone was sharp.

Falk’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting I bear some responsibility for her death?”

“We’re suggesting you might have noticed something that could help us understand what happened,” Mikael said evenly.

Falk sighed. “If you’re looking for villains, you won’t find them in this office. I may be eccentric, but I am not malicious. Vera’s struggles were her own to solve. That’s the nature of existence.”

Mikael resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Did she ever mention anyone specific? Someone she was afraid of?”

Falk shook his head. “No. But…” He hesitated, his gaze drifting to the window. “There was a… darkness about her. In the last few weeks, she seemed more withdrawn than usual. I assumed it was the stress of academic life.”

Yezda stood abruptly. “We’ll need a list of students in your seminar. And any notes Vera submitted for your class.”

Falk waved a hand dismissively. “Of course, of course. You’ll find everything you need with the department secretary.”

As they left, Mikael couldn’t shake the feeling that Falk knew more than he was letting on.

Back at the station, Yezda was pinning photos and notes to the investigation board. Amanda, Joel, Tobias, Falk, all potential pieces in a puzzle that was growing darker by the minute.

“Do you think Falk’s our guy?” she asked, glancing at Mikael.

“He’s hiding something,” Mikael said. “But I don’t think he lit the match.”

Yezda tapped a photo of Vera, her face solemn. “Whoever did wanted her to suffer. This wasn’t just about silencing her. This was personal.”

Mikael nodded, his gaze fixed on the haunting words from Vera’s journal: “They said this would end.”

As the day faded into night, Mikael couldn’t shake the sound of Amanda’s laughter echoing in his ears.

 

IV.

The station’s forensics lab was cold and sterile, the hum of machines underscoring the tension as Mikael Hansson flipped through the charred remains of Vera Wallin’s journal. Yezda Rahimi stood nearby, her arms crossed as she peered over his shoulder. The scent of ash still clung to the brittle pages, mingling with the chemical tang of preservation sprays.

“It’s almost like she wanted someone to find this,” Mikael muttered, his gloved fingers brushing over the faint, shaky script.

“Or she didn’t have anyone else to tell,” Yezda replied quietly. Her eyes scanned the burned edges of the pages, catching glimpses of phrases: “the Grin,” “watching shadows,” “no escape.”

Mikael tapped the name “The Grin” with his pen. “This has to be a nickname. Any guesses?”

Yezda shook her head. “Could be anyone. Someone at the university? A neighbour? A stalker? What about that weird professor, Falk? He seemed detached but...”

“But this feels more personal,” Mikael finished. He turned the page and found another chilling entry, dated just days before the fire:

"I can hear them laughing even when they’re not here. My walls aren’t thick enough to keep them out. The Grin is always waiting. Why do they hate me so much?"

By mid-afternoon, the forensics report arrived on Mikael’s desk, confirming what they already suspected: the fire was no accident. Accelerants had been poured near the door, effectively trapping Vera inside. The report added a grim layer to their investigation. Someone wanted Vera dead.

As Mikael read through the details, his phone buzzed. It was an officer stationed at the university, following up on students who might have known Vera.

“Sir,” the officer said, voice tense, “we’ve got something strange. One of Vera’s classmates, Joel Lindgren, just came to us. He says someone sent him an anonymous message. A photo of the burned apartment with the words: ‘You were there.’”

Mikael sat upright, the room’s air seeming to grow colder. “Where’s Joel now?”

“He’s in the lounge here. Looks rattled.”

“Good. Keep him there. We’re on our way.”

The university lounge was eerily quiet when Mikael and Yezda arrived. Joel Lindgren sat in a corner, his hands trembling as he scrolled through his phone. He looked up as they approached, relief and fear flickering across his face.

“Inspector Hansson,” Joel began, his voice shaking. “I don’t… I don’t know who sent it. I swear.”

Yezda sat across from him, her expression neutral but her eyes piercing. “Start from the beginning. When did you receive the message?”

Joel handed her the phone, the screen displaying the photo: a grainy image of Vera’s burned apartment, smoke still curling from the ruins. Beneath it, the words "You were there" glared in stark white text.

“It came this morning,” Joel said. “No sender. Just… this.”

“Why would someone think you were there?” Mikael asked, his tone calm but pointed.

Joel’s leg began its nervous bouncing again. “I wasn’t! I mean, not during the fire. I… I went to her place once, a couple of weeks ago, with Amanda and Tobias.”

“What for?” Yezda’s voice was sharper now.

“It was Amanda’s idea,” Joel admitted. “She wanted to leave a note on Vera’s door. Something stupid about a class project. But I swear, we didn’t do anything!”

“And Vera didn’t see you?” Mikael pressed.

Joel hesitated. “I don’t think so. The lights were off. We thought she wasn’t home.”

Mikael exchanged a glance with Yezda. “What did the note say?”

Joel’s face reddened. “It was… mean. Amanda wrote it. Something about how she should drop out if she couldn’t handle the pressure.”

“Classy,” Yezda muttered, leaning back in her chair. “And now someone’s targeting you. Funny how karma works.”

Joel’s head shot up. “You think it’s revenge? Like, someone who knows what we did?”

Mikael didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned to Yezda. “We’ll need to track the sender. Get tech to run a trace on this message.”

Back at the station, the investigation deepened. Mikael and Yezda poured over Vera’s journal again, cross-referencing entries with information they’d gathered from interviews.

Yezda pulled up Vera’s social media, her face grim as she read old posts. “She reached out to her parents,” she said. “Begged them to visit. Looks like they didn’t respond.”

Mikael sighed, rubbing his temples. “Another dead end.”

“Not entirely,” Yezda countered. She pointed to a series of private messages Vera had sent to someone named Elias Sandberg. “He’s not on our radar yet. Looks like he was close to her.”

The messages were heart-wrenching: “I feel like I’m disappearing.” “They won’t stop.” “Please, don’t leave me alone like everyone else.”

“Find him,” Mikael ordered.

The next day, Mikael and Yezda sat across from Elias Sandberg, a quiet young man with dark circles under his eyes. He fiddled with the hem of his sweater, avoiding their gaze.

“I should have done more,” Elias admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “She told me about the bullies. Amanda, Joel, Tobias… they never left her alone.”

“Why didn’t you report it?” Yezda asked, her tone harsher than usual.

Elias flinched. “She begged me not to. She said it would just make things worse.”

“Did she ever mention someone she called ‘The Grin’?” Mikael asked.

Elias’s brow furrowed. “The Grin? No, but she did say something about feeling watched. Like… someone was always there, even when she was alone.”

Mikael leaned forward. “Did she ever seem afraid of anyone in particular? Not just the bullies—anyone.”

Elias hesitated, then nodded. “There was one time… she said a professor had made her uncomfortable. Dr. Falk. She didn’t say why, but it sounded… bad.”

Mikael’s jaw tightened. “Thank you, Elias. You’ve been helpful.”

As they left, Yezda turned to Mikael. “It keeps coming back to Falk.”

“Yeah,” Mikael agreed. “But Falk doesn’t strike me as the kind to do his own dirty work. If he’s involved, someone else lit that fire.”

The tension grew as Mikael and Yezda pieced together the fragments of Vera’s life. Each lead raised more questions than it answered, and the shadow of “The Grin” loomed larger with every step.

That evening, Mikael stared at the investigation board, the photo of Vera’s charred apartment pinned beside her journal entries and the haunting message Joel had received. The question gnawed at him: Was “The Grin” a person? A nickname for the group of bullies? Or something far more sinister?

As he turned off the lights and left the station, the words from Vera’s journal echoed in his mind:

“They said this would end. But it never does.”

 

V.

The crisp Växjö evening air did little to settle Mikael’s unease as he and Yezda approached the university. They were here to speak with Professor Falk again—this time with more ammunition. Vera’s journal entries and Elias’s account painted a picture of a man who wasn’t just aloof but possibly hiding something darker. The professor’s name had come up too often to ignore.

As they climbed the steps to the faculty building, Mikael glanced at Yezda. “How do you want to play this? Good cop, bad cop?”

Yezda smirked. “You’re too tired to be the bad cop today, boss. Leave it to me.”

Inside Falk’s office, the professor sat behind a meticulously organized desk, his piercing blue eyes scanning them as they entered. His demeanour was as icy as the last time they met.

“Inspectors,” Falk said, folding his hands. “I assume you’re not here for another casual chat.”

“Not exactly,” Mikael replied, taking a seat across from him. “We’ve been looking deeper into Vera Wallin’s life. Her journal, specifically.”

At the mention of Vera, a flicker of something, discomfort, perhaps ...crossed Falk’s face.

“Interesting,” Falk said evenly. “And what did you find?”

Yezda leaned forward, her voice sharp. “Her mentions of feeling watched. A ‘Grin’ that wouldn’t leave her alone. Any idea what she was referring to?”

Falk’s expression remained impassive, but his fingers tapped lightly against the desk. “I wouldn’t know. Vera was… troubled. Brilliant in her way, but fragile. Paranoia often accompanies such fragility.”

“Paranoia,” Mikael repeated, his tone sceptical. “You don’t think her fears had any basis in reality?”

Falk tilted his head, considering. “Vera struggled socially. Some students, cruel ones, targeted her. I reported instances of bullying to the administration, but my influence only goes so far.”

“Convenient,” Yezda shot back. “You noticed the bullying but didn’t think to intervene more directly?”

Falk’s eyes narrowed. “Inspector, I am a professor, not a babysitter. My responsibilities are academic.”

Mikael decided to shift tactics. “Elias Sandberg said Vera felt uncomfortable around you. Care to explain why?”

Falk’s jaw tightened. For the first time, his composure cracked slightly. “I expect students to meet my standards. Vera struggled, and I pushed her to do better. Some might find that ‘uncomfortable.’”

Mikael studied him for a long moment before standing. “We’ll be in touch, Professor.”

As they left, Yezda muttered, “He’s hiding something. I can feel it.”

Back at the station, Mikael and Yezda sifted through Vera’s emails and texts, looking for more connections to Falk. What they found was chilling:

Several emails from Vera to Falk, sent late at night, begging for leniency on her assignments. His responses were curt, dismissive. In one, he wrote:

“If you can’t handle the pressure, perhaps this program isn’t for you.”

But one email, buried in the threads, stood out:

“I know what you did. You can’t keep hiding behind that grin.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Yezda asked, frowning at the screen.

Mikael leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. “Could ‘The Grin’ be him? Or someone he’s protecting?”

“Either way, it’s leverage,” Yezda said. “Vera had something on him, and now she’s dead.”

The next morning, Mikael and Yezda decided to confront one of the students they hadn’t yet interviewed: Amanda Nordlund, one of Vera’s bullies. The girl was sitting outside a café near campus, her phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Miss Nordlund,” Mikael began as they approached, flashing his badge. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

Amanda groaned but nodded, stubbing out her cigarette. “This is about Vera, isn’t it? Look, I’ve already told the other officers ...I didn’t do anything to her.”

“We’re aware of your history with her,” Yezda said coolly. “Leaving nasty notes, making her life hell. Care to explain why?”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “It was just jokes. I didn’t think she’d take it so seriously.”

“Jokes,” Mikael repeated. “Like sneaking to her apartment to leave threatening notes?”

Amanda paled slightly. “Who told you that? Joel? Figures. He’s always been a coward.”

Yezda’s gaze hardened. “Did you send him the photo of the burned apartment?”

“What?” Amanda looked genuinely shocked. “No! Why would I do that?”

“To scare him into silence,” Mikael suggested.

Amanda shook her head, her voice rising. “I didn’t send anything, okay? And I wasn’t at her apartment that night! Tobias and I were...” She stopped abruptly.

“Were what?” Yezda pressed.

“Nothing. Just… forget it.”

Mikael exchanged a glance with Yezda. “We’ll be verifying your alibi, Amanda. Don’t go far.”

Later that evening, Mikael sat at his desk, staring at the investigation board. Vera’s words from her email to Falk echoed in his mind: “You can’t keep hiding behind that grin.”

Could Falk be “The Grin”? If so, what was he hiding?

His thoughts were interrupted by Yezda’s voice. “Boss, you need to see this.”

She handed him her tablet, which displayed a security camera still from a gas station near Vera’s apartment, time stamped the night of the fire. In the frame, a figure in a long coat stood at the counter, purchasing a small canister of lighter fluid.

The face wasn’t clear, but the posture, the way the figure leaned slightly to the right, it was unmistakable.

“Falk,” Mikael whispered.

Yezda nodded. “We’ve got him.”

The next morning, they returned to Falk’s office, armed with the footage and a warrant. But the office was empty. Papers were scattered across the desk, and Falk’s laptop was gone.

“Damn it,” Mikael muttered, scanning the room.

Yezda crouched near the wastebasket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. It was another burned fragment of Vera’s journal.

This one read: “The Grin will never let me go. But maybe the fire will.”

Mikael’s stomach churned as the weight of Vera’s words settled over him. Falk wasn’t just hiding something, he was running from it. And whatever “The Grin” truly represented, Vera had known it was coming for her all along.

 

VI.

The storm was rolling in as Mikael and Yezda arrived at the abandoned summer house just outside Växjö. The tip had been anonymous, a garbled voice on the phone directing them to the isolated property. Mikael’s gut told him it was Falk. The professor’s disappearance had sent shockwaves through the university, and the cryptic clues Vera left behind all pointed to him as the orchestrator of her torment.

“Do you think he’s here?” Yezda asked, gripping her flashlight tightly as they stepped out of the car.

“If he isn’t, we’re running out of places to look,” Mikael replied grimly.

The house loomed ahead, its windows dark and the roof sagging from years of neglect. Mikael signalled for Yezda to follow as they made their way inside. The air inside was heavy, tinged with the faint scent of smoke.

The study was the only room that showed signs of recent use. Books and papers were strewn across a massive desk, and the fireplace crackled faintly, its embers casting eerie shadows. Falk sat in a high-backed chair, his face illuminated by the glow. He didn’t flinch as the inspectors entered.

“I wondered how long it would take,” he said, his voice calm and measured.

“Stand up, Professor Falk,” Mikael commanded, drawing his firearm. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Vera Wallin.”

Falk tilted his head, a faint smile curling his lips. “Murder? Such a crude word for what happened to Vera. I gave her liberation.”

“Liberation?” Yezda spat, stepping forward. “You locked her in a burning building. You drove her to despair.”

Falk’s eyes flicked to Yezda, his gaze uncomfortably serene. “Inspector Rahimi, Vera’s pain was inevitable. Her suffering was… required.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mikael demanded.

Falk rose slowly, his movements deliberate. “Vera was extraordinary. Her brilliance, her vulnerability, it made her the perfect subject. The fire wasn’t the cause of her death; it was the culmination of her purpose.”

“You’re insane,” Mikael said, stepping closer, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“Am I?” Falk countered, his voice rising. “Or am I simply the only one willing to see the truth? The fire was her salvation. It consumed her pain, her fear. It left only purity.”

Yezda scoffed, her fury barely contained. “So, what? You manipulated her into thinking she was part of some twisted experiment?”

Falk’s smile widened. “I didn’t manipulate her. I guided her. She wanted to be free.”

“Free?” Mikael barked. “You locked the door! She begged for help!”

Falk’s expression darkened. “She hesitated. Fear gripped her, as it does all of us. I simply ensured she completed the journey.”

Mikael stepped forward, cuffing Falk’s wrists as Yezda kept her weapon trained on him.

“You’re finished, Falk,” Mikael said. “Whatever you thought you were doing, it ends now.”

As they began to lead him out, Falk turned his head toward Mikael, his voice barely a whisper.

“The fire isn’t done yet.”

The words lingered in Mikael’s mind as he drove back to the station. Falk sat silently in the backseat, his expression serene, as though he had already won.

“What do you think he meant?” Yezda asked, glancing at Mikael.

“Probably just more of his nonsense,” Mikael replied, though he wasn’t convinced.

The radio crackled to life, interrupting his thoughts.

“All units, fire reported at Växjö University dormitories. Suspected arson. Units requested on-site.”

Mikael and Yezda exchanged a look before Mikael slammed on the accelerator, the sirens wailing into the night.

The scene at the dormitories was chaos. Flames licked at the building, students screaming and scrambling to safety as fire-fighters battled the inferno.

Mikael spotted Amanda Nordlund standing near the crowd, her face pale and streaked with soot.

“You,” Mikael called, running toward her. “What happened here?”

Amanda shook her head, trembling. “I don’t know! I was in my room, and then… then there was smoke everywhere.”

Yezda grabbed Amanda’s arm. “Where’s Tobias? Joel?”

Amanda’s eyes widened with terror. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them since…”

“Since what?” Mikael pressed.

“Since the messages,” Amanda whispered, tears streaming down her face. “We all got them. They said we’d burn for what we did.”

The fire was eventually contained, but the aftermath was grim. Joel’s body was found in the wreckage, his charred remains clutching a phone displaying a single message:

“The flames are justice.”

Tobias was missing, presumed dead.

Amanda, hysterical and shaking, was taken to the station for questioning.

Back at the interrogation room, Amanda’s story spilled out in fragments.

“We didn’t mean for it to go that far,” she sobbed. “The notes, the pranks, it was just to mess with her. But then Falk—he said it was a test, that it was for her own good. We didn’t know he’d…”

“Did Falk send the messages?” Mikael demanded.

Amanda shook her head violently. “I don’t know! Maybe? Or maybe it’s her.”

“Her?” Yezda asked, frowning.

“Vera,” Amanda whispered. “It’s her. She’s still here. The fire… it’s her revenge.”

Later that night, Mikael sat in his office, staring at Falk’s cryptic message in the case file: “The fire isn’t done yet.”

The professor had confessed to his role, but his chilling calm suggested he believed something greater was at play.

As Mikael’s phone buzzed, he picked it up, expecting Yezda. Instead, an unknown number flashed on the screen.

He hesitated before answering.

A distorted voice spoke, low and haunting:

“Inspector Hansson… the flames are coming for you too.”

The line went dead, leaving Mikael in the darkened room, the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air.

The End