Slowly We Die. Emelie Schepp

of meeting his gaze, she stood in the middle of the room without moving a muscle.

      The entire room was yellow. The linoleum floor, the walls, the ventilation shaft. There were a table and two chairs, and a print on the wall depicting a blue sky over a valley. Otherwise the room was void of personality.

      A room for death.

      Her mother, Margaretha Berzelius, lay on a gurney with a white sheet covering her body. Her small, pale hands lay by her side atop the sheet. The tendons were visible under the skin. Her thin-rimmed glasses were missing. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth was gaping open. Jana noticed the slight bruise marks on her mother’s nostrils and thought it must have come from CPR.

      “I am terribly, terribly sorry,” the chief physician said, pulling a chair forward. Jana shook her head.

      “Are we done?” she asked.

      “There’s no hurry,” he said. “Take your time.”

      Jana felt her jaw muscles tighten.

      “Thank you,” she said. “But I would like to leave now.”

      * * *

      Philip Engström unlocked the door of his single-story house in Skarphagen, stepped inside, flicked on the light and stood there as the door swung shut behind him with a thud.

      From the silence, he could tell that his wife, Lina, wasn’t home. Did she have a lecture? Or was she at the library working on her thesis? He couldn’t remember what she had told him when he left for work the day before.

      He yawned as he took off his shoes and jacket. He continued into the bathroom and took a pill from a blister pack of Imovane—a sleep aid—and swallowed it with a sip of water. Then he popped another sedative, Sobril, into his mouth and pushed it far back on his tongue to avoid its terrible taste. He swallowed that, too.

      He’d been having trouble sleeping for at least ten years now. But he was able to get by as long as he took the pills that his doctor prescribed for him. He could only sleep when medicated, and so his sleep was never really deep or refreshing. But at least he slept.

      As he dried his hands on a towel, he realized that his ring finger felt naked. He held up his hand and saw his wedding ring was missing. Where had he had it last? In the crew lounge? In the ambulance? In the locker room? He hadn’t the faintest idea.

      Damn it!

      Philip went into the bedroom and lay down, pulling the comforter over himself and closing his eyes. He tried to relax but couldn’t. He tossed and turned, kicked off the comforter, then quickly pulled it back over his body again.

      Shit!

      The conversation with his colleague Sandra hadn’t exactly made him feel calmer. He knew that she meant well, but it unnerved him. If she hadn’t become a close friend of Lina’s, he would never put up with her intrusiveness.

      Sure, sometimes you might want to process something by talking it through. But in this case, what was there to talk about? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. A patient died on the way to the hospital. Period. No one’s fault. It happens. Not everyone survives a heart attack.

      Truth be told, there was only one person he could really talk to these days. Not about his feelings, of course, but about everything else. His colleague Katarina Vinston, who was six years older than him and who was not only incredibly supportive, but also a skilled paramedic and ambulance driver.

      He and Katarina had spent a lot of time together on the job. They had long conversations in the rig, and often ate and even exercised together in between calls. Their professional relationship had gradually spilled over into a more personal one. Katarina was the only person he could fully confide in. She was his best friend.

      Philip reached for his pants on the floor, and although he knew the pills would take effect any minute, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Katarina on FaceTime. When she answered, he immediately wrinkled his forehead in worry. The beautiful, dark-haired woman he knew was now pale-faced, her cheeks sunken in.

      “It seems as if you’ve been out sick a long time,” he said.

      “Only a week,” she said softly, “not that long.”

      “You don’t look like yourself,” he said, “but I’m still glad to see you.”

      She laughed out loud.

      “I take it I should ask how you’re feeling,” he said.

      “I’m better,” she said.

      “Better, meaning healthy?”

      “Yes. I’ll be there for our workout tomorrow.”

      “Are you sure?”

      She laughed again, louder this time, and Philip saw her eyes glitter.

      “But I would’ve liked to stay at home a bit longer,” she said.

      “Why? Aren’t you feeling well enough?”

      “Oh, that’s not it. I’m just getting tired of working, of the routine. Aren’t you?”

      “No, actually. I could work forever as long as the job stays interesting.”

      “And you think it is?”

      “Yes, I do. I like my colleagues, and enjoy being with them and they...well...”

      “They like being with you?”

      “Yes. At least I think so.”

      “And that’s important to you?”

      “What can I say?” Philip said, his voice steady, meeting her thoughtful gaze. “I’m reliable. Without me, the whole place would fall apart.”

      “What about Richard Nilsson?” she asked suddenly.

      “What about him?”

      “I was asked to take his shift tonight, but I said no. Is he sick, too?”

      “No idea. Either he has a bad cold, or he’s sitting at home with his old lady and kids. Doesn’t matter to me.”

      “So did you take the shift, Philip?”

      “Yes. I clock in again at eight tonight.”

      “And that’s the start of a twenty-four-hour shift?”

      “It’s not against the rules.”

      She held her pale blue eyes on him for a long time before saying: “I don’t understand how you can do it. Don’t you get exhausted?”

      “Not really,” he said, and now it was his turn to smile. He grinned widely but not convincingly enough.

      She shook her head. “It’s never a problem for you, is it?” she said.

      “Nope. I like to keep busy and I like my job.”

      “Well, I’m going to have a problem with you if you don’t go to sleep now.”

      “Why? What do you mean?”

      “I mean that I want to work alongside a well-rested colleague at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Especially if you’ve already been working the previous twelve hours. So go to sleep now.”

      “It’s hard to sleep when it’s still light out.”

      “Try anyway.”

      “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “See you in the morning, then, Katarina.”

      And then she was gone.

      Philip put the phone down on his stomach and observed the numbness starting to flow through his body from the pills. He looked at the potted plant on the windowsill, watched the leaves swaying back and forth, and relaxed, relieved that the pills had started to take effect.

      * * *

      Jana Berzelius