The Disciple by Michael Hjorth Read Free Book Online

the feeling of doing something adventurous, something forbidden.
    Then he looked at the ground and realised that even from this height he was going to have considerable difficulty getting back down, at least without injury. Agility and speed were no longer the first qualities that came to mind in connection with Sebastian. Just as this startling and terrifying insight hit home, his jacket caught on a sharp protruding branch behind him, and he lost his balance. Suddenly the young boy on his way to an adventure was replaced by an unfit middle-aged man, dangling several metres above the ground as the lactic acid built up in his arms. Sebastian was forced to sacrifice both the illusion of youthful daring and his jacket; he edged his way laboriously over to the trunk, then shuffled, or rather slithered unceremoniously, down to the lower branches, where he managed to put a rather painful stop to his rapid descent. He clambered to the ground; his legs were shaking, his jacket was ripped and he had long, painful grazes on the inside of his thighs.
    After that he made do with standing on the now familiar hillock to observe Vanja’s apartment.
    That was enough.
    It was certainly crazy enough.
    He didn’t even dare to think about what would have happened if Vanja had looked out and seen him dangling from a tree outside her apartment.
    The place where she lived looked so lovely. Modern curtains. Red and white flowers in the windows. Small lamps with dimmer switches on the windowsills. A north-east-facing balcony where on fine days she drank her coffee between seven twenty and seven forty-five in the morning. This meant that Sebastian had to crouch down behind some juniper bushes; he had never imagined he would become quite so familiar with them. She was obviously a woman who stuck to routines, his daughter. Up at seven on weekdays, around nine at weekends. On Tuesdays and Thursdays she went jogging before work. Six kilometres. On Sundays she doubled the distance. She often worked late, and rarely got home before eight. She didn’t go out much; she went for a drink maybe once or twice a month. With the girls. No boyfriend, as far as Sebastian could tell. On Thursdays she had dinner with her parents on Storskärsgatan. She went there alone, but Valdemar Lithner usually walked her home.
    Her father.
    They were close, that was perfectly obvious as they strolled along together. Very close. They were often laughing, they always parted with a tender, loving hug, and Valdemar would kiss Vanja on the forehead before he left. Always. The signature of their relationship. It would have been a beautiful picture, but for one thing. Her real father was standing a short distance away, watching them. Those moments caused Sebastian the most pain. It was a strange pain.
    Worse than envy.
    Greater than jealousy.
    Harder than anything else.
    It was the pain he felt for a life that had never been lived.
    Two weeks ago, when Sebastian had seen Vanja and Valdemar having lunch together at an Italian restaurant not far from police headquarters, he had had an idea. It wasn’t the most sympathetic idea he’d ever come up with. Quite the opposite, in fact. But it felt good. At the time, anyway.
    As the weeks went by, the envy he felt towards Valdemar had slowly morphed into anger, then into something that could only be described as hatred. Hatred towards the tall, slender, elegant man who was able to stroll along beside Sebastian’s daughter. His daughter! He was the one who should be getting those hugs, that tenderness. He was the one who should be getting the love.
    Sebastian!
    No one else!
    Several times he had considered telling her everything, but he always changed his mind at the last minute. He was nurturing the idea of getting close to Vanja in some way and then, when they had built up a relationship, telling her the truth. At least that would enable him to spend time with her. Get to know her. Perhaps she would think he had deceived her, but that