Glenda

– No, I just hate hospitals. – the short cop frowned.

– Come here, I’ll fix your teeth and give you an injection. – Iver, like a teenager who wanted to have fun with his friend, stretched his hands towards him, playing himself as a creepy doctor. He began to imitate a dentist who is reaching into a patient’s mouth, and the “youngsters of one minute” were almost fighting, joking with each other about who would inject whom first, when suddenly someone’s voice was heard.

Mr. Johanson, like a strict professor who caught two rowdy students before class, cleared his throat and said:

– Gentlemen, please come to my office.

The adults quickly put on a decent appearance, and Glenda rolled her eyes.

“Like little ones. This is probably the only way they manage to maintain a healthy psyche, constantly working among corpses and cruelty.”

– I'm listening to you, Mr. Larsen. I was informed that you need information on all students who were assigned to the hospital.

– That's not entirely true. We only need a specific person.

– And who?

– Jornas Kronwood.

– Oh, a completely stupid young man. No desire for medicine. Only a constant desire for power and money. In our business this is impossible. If you have no desire to treat people, then even if you are the most skilled neurosurgeon, you will not see money. Sooner or later, medical error or negligence will close the path to freedom, wealth and fame forever.

Glenda almost began to defend the deceased, because he did not seem to her either stupid or vain, this old administrator thought a lot about himself: to make such conclusions without knowing the full picture is where arrogance lies, but Iver got ahead of her.

– Tell me, who paid for his education, since he is still at the faculty?

– What kind of rudeness do you allow yourself, Mr. Larsen? Only incorruptible people work in my hospital! No bribes, everything is done through exams. – the manager, red as a lobster, hissed with anger.

– We are well aware that last year Mr. Cronwood failed his annual exams. But as we know, he continues to study to this day. – the tall Scandinavian continued unshakably. – What do you think, Mr. Johanson, what will the University College do with you if it finds out about such illogicality? Will it hardly consider it a misunderstanding?

– How dare you threaten me? – the man at the table was literally exploding.

– Mr. Johanson, we only need the name of the person who paid for his studies. Give us a name and we won't tell anyone. – Barely keeping calm, Glenda intervened.

– I won't say anything. Look among politicians, period. – the administrator said more calmly and called security. A couple of seconds later, that same sniffling man entered the office and silently led the trio outside.

– Look among politicians? Now our trail has gone in a different direction. Those three people are not politicians, they are not suitable for us at all.

– You are sure?

– Yes. None of this trio was even close to politics. We're at a dead end.

– What about their relatives?

Glenda's question was new, but incredibly accurate. Iver looked at his friend with such admiration that it was not enough to think about friendly respect, everything looked like love.

Having requested data on their mobile phone, the three with hamburgers and hot coffee from a nearby eatery silently waited in the car for a response from the police station.

– Larsen, you're right. According to our secret sources, Katherine Anderson’s father, Karl Anderson, is going to become the Prime Minister of Denmark, he is from the Social Democratic party. This is my second week in Courchevel. So he definitely has an alibi for last night.

– Got it, bro. Thank you. – Iver hung up the phone and looked dejectedly at Glenda. – What did he tell you?

– Who is he?

– Well, Kronwood? Where do you fly? Or is it still the effect of the sedative? I hope you realized that this was the last time you took this stuff?

– Ugh, you're serious, daddy. – a girl in a purple Armani T-shirt and a black jacket teased him. The movement of the brush added richness to her sarcasm. This is what they do when they accidentally burn their palm.

“I actually forgot for a while about our conversations with Jornas. Surely they have a clue. Did the fear of my house, on which I wasted a tenth of my fortune, damn it, make me forget everything that happened in the last three days before?! But there was something interesting there.”

– Jornas has a brother.

– So. We know he is in the house of prosperity. And what? How can a madman help us?

– Let's find out. I suggest you talk to him right now.

For a long time, Glenda again wanted to enjoy life, to believe that there was still hope, but these visions of mutilated body parts could not leave her even for a minute: either the memory of them, or new hallucinations haunted the girl’s tired mind.

A gray day, dank like an autumn day, forced me to admit to myself that there is little light in this world, that these are thickets of thorns and nettles that have grown to the very sky, you cannot get out of them or break through without the help of friends and relatives. There is only one way, to fight yourself and make others fight.

The persistent rain poured down on the car windows, only occasionally allowing one to see passers-by, buildings, and other cars. Glenda, who had never visited a single museum in Denmark during her stay here, was now trying to look at at least something along the way.

Beautiful old houses alternated with modern high-rise buildings. People crowded at crossroads under umbrellas, in plastic raincoats, and some patiently endured the heavenly streams without anything.

Suddenly, at the crossroads, Glenda once again saw a frightening sight. She was numb.

Horror forced her to let out a short, sonorous breath.

Neither Iver nor his partner noticed such a reaction; the car was noisy from the rain drumming on the roof.

A man near a traffic light in a cap stood without a face or hands and stubbornly looked into her face. Next to him, a little girl with a grinning face looked more like a freak after a failed operation, but still without a superficial layer of skin. “Like a burn? But from what?”

Thoughts began to fill her frightened mind, and gradually Denmark’s guest finally came to her senses.

"What am I doing here? Why do I feel so bad here? Maybe it's the north wind that's bad for your health? Meningitis seems to cause problems with the brain.”

Tormented by thoughts about her visions, Glenda was driving in a car with two men, one of whom she had already seriously fallen in love with. And Jornas will forever remain in her memory as a kind and vulnerable boy, but who taught her to restrain his malice. If she hadn’t pressed him so hard that evening, they wouldn’t have argued and nothing would have happened.

– We've arrived.

The Grundtvig Church, built in the style of expressionism mixed with late Gothic, met with its severity and seemed to say: “Everyone who enters will never leave the same. Your sins will remain here forever.”

Covering their heads with jackets, the trio ran up the stairs and burst through the brick-red door. On Friday at four o'clock in the afternoon there was a communion service for tourists. A pastor in a white alb and green fabric with yellow stitching, in Lutheranism this is called stola, stood at the altar and distributed bread and wine to everyone who knelt near the fence.

A man in a black shirt and trousers, with a white insert on the collar, apparently a deacon, approached the guests.

– Greetings, brothers and sister. How can I serve you?

– We would like to get to the House of Welfare, our relative lies there.

– It will be my pleasure to accompany you. But first you need to cleanse yourself of your sins, leave them to Jesus our Lord. Everyone needs a Savior. – the slow, peaceful communication of the servant of God irritated Glenda. She didn't like churches.

– What does it mean?

– This means that you need to take communion.

– Oh no, thanks. I'm not very pious.– the girl giggled nervously. – Christ, Buddha, Mohamed, all good guys, but, unfortunately, I didn’t know them, and I won’t trust them with my sins.

Here Iver not very delicately poked her in the side with his elbow, hinting with all his appearance to shut up.

– Yes, of course, we will definitely take communion. – Jack concluded, and all three took their turn at the altar.

– I am an atheist. – Glenda whispered to her companions when the intrusive deacon was no longer around.

– We do too, but this is the only and easiest way to get to Yornas’s brother.

The girl just sighed resignedly, but agreed.

The pastor's hands touched her neatly laid head and he muttered something in Danish. “Prayer,” Glenda concluded. Then he asked her in English if she agreed to accept the body of God and drink the blood of God to atone for her sins. Glenda nodded.

The dry, thin flour tablet—prosphora—quickly melted on the tongue, leaving behind a pleasant aftertaste, and the cold monastery wine flowed down my throat, parched from fear.

"And it's all? And I was afraid. Nothing wrong, very tasty.” As soon as she calmed down, she suddenly felt a salty metallic taste in her mouth and the smell of rotten meat. She tried to swallow, but her gag reflex took over and the food she had eaten came out.

Bloody vomit with some contents very reminiscent of a tongue lay on the stone floor, causing Glenda to have a new attack of primitive horror.

– Forgive our friend, she is not feeling well today. – Iver stood up to the deacon running up with questions. – We'll clean everything up now.

The girl looked again at the puddle under her feet, but saw nothing there except the hamburger she had eaten for lunch, which began to dissolve under the stomach juices.

– It’s okay, we’ll clean up ourselves. Go to the neighboring building in the courtyard through this corridor.

The deacon, embarrassed by the unusual situation, hurriedly escorted the guests to the hospital building.

– Yes, there is an inveterate atheist in you. You couldn't even go through the simplest ritual. – Jack joked with Glenda.

The small rooms to the left of the corridor, and the spacious garden to the right, looked very much like a Catholic monastery, the only difference being the people in white coats. The girl, pale as death, was still shaking from the experience, but she continued to confidently walk forward.

– You have no face. Maybe I should take you home?

– No, we are too close to the goal to give up. – with all the seriousness that could only be spoken now, she answered Iver.

Finally, the three “detectives” approached a low door at the end of the corridor.

– This is Mr. Crownwood's room. Please don't bother him too much, he is very timid, and if something bothers him too much, he can even become violent.

– Fine. – the guests answered in unison, and the man in black robes disappeared into the next room.

The creaky door opened, and an unpleasant, slightly stinking air hit my nose.

Dirty men's socks lay on the bed, under the table and right next to the entrance on the floor. A rotten orange with thick green mold stood in the middle of the table, and a young man in only a shirt, biting his upper lip, sat with a tablet, apparently drawing it.

– Still life! – he shouted to his guests, jumping out of bed. The naked genitals were barely covered by a long-skirted robe.

– Great. – the girl smiled. – I'm Glenda, your brother's friend.

– Jornas? Where is he himself? – a frowning fifteen-year-old guy began to look through his guests into the doorway, looking for a fourth person there.

“He didn’t come because…” the girl stopped, she looked at her companions and caught a unanimous agreement that there was no need to inform Graham about her brother’s death right now. – because he is taking an exam at the University and will definitely come to see you after.

“How disgusted I am with myself now. Lying to a little mentally ill person is low even in these circumstances.”

– It's clear. Will Miss Catherine be there today?

– Who, excuse me?

– Katherine is a fairy from a fairy tale.

“I don’t know, maybe it will be,” all three looked at each other, it seems their assumptions were confirmed. – Tell me, is this her? – Glenda showed a photograph of a blonde in a red dress.

– Yes. – the young man burst into a loving smile.

– What does she do here when she comes?

Here a young man who looked like Jornas suddenly laughed nervously and embarrassedly. This happens when parents ask a small child to talk about where he thinks children come from, and he knows this from his friends, but is afraid to tell adults, he feels embarrassed.

– Is she raping you? – the angry guest could not stand it.

– Yes. – Grem smiled, but somehow strangely, stupidly. – She loves Me.

– Is that what she says?

– Yes, if I cry and it hurts, she constantly repeats that it is for the sake of love. – Grem spoke not like a weak-minded person, but rather like a stupid lover who is being deceived, and he blindly believes in the holiness of his object of adoration.

– Can you repeat this now on camera?

Jack took out his smartphone and wrote down every single word, he took pictures of the situation in the room and all the details so as not to miss anything.

On the way back, Iver turned to the deacon again.

– Tell me, does Miss Catherine Andersson often come to you?

– Yes, every day.

– What for?

– She is one of the sponsors of the House of Welfare. You know how difficult it is to support a thousand people, making sure that they eat well and do not freeze from lack of heating and clothing for the season. Dearest person. And what?

– It's clear. Why is she visiting Mr. Crownwood?

– She fell in love with Mr. Cronwood as if she were her own. They cannot be separated. He’s not even as happy to see his brother as he is to see her.

– Do you know that she rapes him?

– What?! – the man in a black suit pursed his lips, his eyebrows knitted together, and his composure disappeared somewhere? “This can’t be true, Miss Anderson always takes Holy Communion before going to the hospital!”

– Understood. But, unfortunately, this is so.

– Did Graham tell you this? – the deacon suddenly calmed down.

– Yes.

– Then forget it. He is sick. This guy has a rich imagination and a problem with reality. Sometimes he doesn't see the difference between them. He sees ghosts, now rape. Just a sick person, what can we take from him?

– But you won’t deny that you don’t know what’s going on behind the closed door in his room?

– Go away. I will not allow the name of the best woman among our parishioners to be defamed. Ms. Anderson may not be a saint, but I'm sure you're maliciously trying to smear her name.

Iver, Jack and Glenda got everything they needed. It is pointless to prove to a saint blinded by the charm of a beauty that he is wrong. Or maybe it's all about money? Then it is all the more necessary to quickly find this pervert and stop her lawlessness.

– We didn't tell Graham about Jornas's death. Do you think this is very bad, he will be waiting for him, right? – Glenda was alarmed.

– Badly. But we'll come back for it. And now hurry up to the police station.