Harbor John Lindqvist (grave mercy TXT) 📖

With his free hand Joel hit out at Björn, who had grabbed hold of his shoulders. When he couldn’t manage to shake him off, he shouted to Martin, ‘For fuck’s sake, come and give me a hand!’

Martin rushed forward and used his considerably greater weight to pull Björn away and force him down on to the ground on his stomach. Henrik was still coughing after the vicious blow to his stomach, gasping for breath between coughs. Joel hit him on the head and shook him as he hissed, ‘You want to fuck, do you? In that case I think you ought to fuck somebody who wants to be fucked, you bastard.’

He hurled Henrik down on top of Björn. Martin stood on Björn’s hands so that he couldn’t move.

‘There you go, now you can fuck,’ screamed Joel; he stood astride Henrik’s body, grabbed his hips and pulled backwards, then pushed down again. Henrik tried to wriggle free, but Joel got hold of a stone the size of an egg, and using its extra weight he slammed his fist into the back of Henrik’s head.

‘Enjoying yourself, are you? Maybe you haven’t got it all the way in yet…’

Henrik lay helpless on top of Björn, who was now weeping, and Joel groped around his pale backside to direct him the right way.

‘Pack it in Joel, pack it in for fuck’s sake!’

Anders let go of Cecilia and went over to the naked bodies,twisted around each other. He said it again. ‘Joel, pack it in! That’s enough!’

When he was a step away, Joel turned his face to him. Saliva was dribbling from the corners of his mouth. His eyes were inhuman and expressed only one simple emotion: Touch me and I’ll kill you. Joel raised the hand holding the stone ready to strike, and Anders backed down. The nausea rose from his stomach he stepped back. And turned away.

The others stood as if paralysed, following the drama with eyes wide open. Only Elin’s face betrayed anything other than incredulous horror. She was smiling. A stiff smile curled her lips, and her eyes were…avid. Behind him Anders could hear Joel struggling with Henrik, unable to achieve the result he desired. Perhaps the humiliation had finally forced the guilty erection to subside.

Björn was weeping in despair, howling like a whipped animal. Joel panted and swore, but finally gave up. He turned away from the bodies on the ground and spat. As he walked past the remains of the fire he kicked a few glowing embers over Henrik’s back with his bare foot.

Henrik jerked and rolled off Björn. Joel went into the boathouse, and after a few seconds he was back with a bottle of Bacardi. His eyes were still hazy, flickering with excitement, and Anders noticed that the fight and the punishment had given him a hard-on. The scrap of fishing net was draped over his cock as if it had been hung out to dry.

He walked up to Elin, grabbed her hand and said, ‘You and I are going to have a little chat.’

Elin went with him. The half-finished fishing net sarong trailed after her like a bridal veil as they went around the corner of the boathouse and disappeared into the forest.

There was silence now. Martin had stepped off Björn’s hands a long time ago, and now looked guilty as he stood there gazing down at the huddled, weeping boy. He glanced around as if he hoped someone might tell him why he had done it. Everyone was avoiding each other’s eyes.

Cecilia went into the boathouse and dug out Henrik and Björn’s clothes. By that stage they could hear noises from the forest, where Joel was either taking or being given his reward. From the sounds Elin was making, it sounded as though it was more a case of the latter. Samuel went inside and turned up the music.

The tape had gone back to the beginning, and Henrik and Björn were slowly pulling on their clothes to the sound of the fanfare from ‘The Final Countdown’. Anders would never be able to hear that song again without a flush of guilt.

He saw Björn’s face, wet with tears, his slender, trembling hands pulling on the ugly underpants, he remembered the snow fortresses they had built together and the chocolate Björn’s mother had given them, the children’s programs they had watched and the things they had laughed at. He wished he had picked up a bigger stone and thrown it at Joel’s head.

But he hadn’t, and now Björn was weeping even more violently as he discovered that his Morrissey-glasses were snapped in the middle.

Anders went over to him, crouched down and said, ‘Are you OK?’

Björn’s hand shot out and hit him on the forehead. Not hard, but enough to make the point. He didn’t want anyone to look at him or speak to him. After a couple of minutes Henrik and Björn were dressed and set off along the shoreline, past the boats.

Later on Anders found out they had swum across to Kattudden.

The final week of that summer passed in a state not unlike a hangover. Once the real hangover after the party in the boathouse had gone, everyone still talked more quietly than usual, laughed less often, and went around with a gnawing little pain. Except for Joel and Elin.

They had finally found each other seriously, and wanted to show off that fact. They crashed about paying no heed to anyone else, and gathered people together mainly so that they could have an audience as they groped each other. This might possibly have been their way of dealing with their feelings of guilt, but nobody took it that way. It was hard work, mostly. A couple of times Joel gave Elin a slap as a kindof joke, and it is possible that his later career as an abuser of women started that very summer.

Nothing was heard of Henrik and Björn, nor did anyone seek them out. Their exclusion from the gang was