I. Letting Them In

And this word plunged me into fury and I bared
my teeth under my hood and I leaned towards his
fresh neck and he didn't flinch at all, and I said:
–Why aren't you afraid of me?
Marcel Schwob, The Children's Crusade

A middle-aged man sat at the dining room table, drinking coffee after having finished a simple breakfast. He had not slept well. It would soon be morning, and he could see through the windows that the sky was no longer completely pitch-black.

He heard loud knocking, as if someone were trying to bring down the door. He got up and opened the door.

There were two children outside, both carrying backpacks. One was a boy about thirteen, with long blond hair and very pale, except for his red nose. The other was a girl, slightly younger, with long black hair. He could not get a good look at her, as she was wearing a hood and a large coat, and had her head bowed. The girl... Nicola?

'Please,' said the boy. 'We got lost and we need to... get out of the cold. Please let us in.'

The man hesitated. They did not seem dangerous, and seemed to be alone.

'Sure.'

He opened the door and gestured them to come in. The boy stepped in.

'Come in, come in.'

The girl now stepped in.

'Do you have a cellar?'

In the electric light, he could see a stain on her upper lip. Dry blood.

'Yes, that door over there, but –'

'Thanks.'

She rushed past him, and broke free from his attempt to stop her. She opened the cellar door and ran down the stairs. He was going to follow and the boy grabbed his arm.

'Please. Let her be. She needs to rest. In the dark.'

The man hesitated. She could not go anywhere, that door was the only way out of the cellar, which had no windows, and he had no valuables down there. Despite the blood, she did not seem hurt, at least not seriously wounded. Whether the boy was lying or not, it was probably better to talk to him than to rush after the girl and leave him on his own.

The boy sneezed. The man took a good look at him, and put his hand on the boy's forehead. Impossible to tell if he had a fever, his skin was still too cold from being outside. The boy looked tired, and probably hadn't washed in days.

'Kid, you're going to catch pneumonia if you don't take care. Just drop your backpack anywhere, and then you – what's your name?'

'Per.'

'I'm Esteban. OK Per, you're freezing and if you don't take a hot shower your cold is going to get worse. The bathroom's that door there. Take a bath if you want.'

'But –'

'You can borrow my bathrobe if you don't have a change of clothes. '

'Just – please don't go into the cellar. She –'

'Is she OK? Is there anything wrong with her?'

'She'll be fine. She's not hurt. But please – don't go near her.'

Esteban was taken aback by the pleading, anguished look on the boy's face.

'OK Per, I'll let her rest.'

The boy was staring at him, probably trying to guess his thoughts.

'I promise. But you're going to have a lot of explaining to do once you've showered. So hurry.'

The boy hesitated, dropped his backpack, took out a few clothes and rushed into the bathroom. Esteban sighed. They didn't seem dangerous, but there was something very strange about them, especially the girl. What were they doing out at this time of night, in the middle of winter? And the blood... Was the stain on her lip her own blood? Maybe it was just had a nosebleed, and certainly appeared agile and alert. But it could be something more sinister. He should check she really wasn't hurt, but he was no doctor... Better wait for the boy and question him, he could hear him taking a shower. The girl's hair had looked greasy, and she probably hadn't showered in days, either. She ought to take a hot shower too, but if she was already asleep maybe it was best to let her rest. Were they runaways? In any case, they did not look like siblings. Were they dating and ran away because their parents did not approve? It would be sweet and stupid were it not for the blood. All that pleading not to go into the cellar... Was the boy afraid he'd hurt her? Or that she'd be frightened of him?

Esteban went to the kitchen, took a teapot out of a cupboard and made some tea. He was distracted for a moment gazing at the forest under the early morning light. They must be hungry. He hesitated, took eggs and sausages out of the fridge, cut the sausages, and was making scrambled eggs when they boy emerged from the bathroom.

'Grab a chair, I made some hot tea for you. Are you hungry? There'll be scrambled eggs in a second.'

'Thanks.'

'Is your... friend hungry?'

'Eli is resting and she... just ate. She won't be hungry.'

'Right.'

Was that a foreign name? The boy ate hungrily, not like someone truly starved but not as someone adequately fed either.

'So Per... we should call your parents to let them know you're alright.'

The boy looked up, and Esteban could read the fear in his eyes.

'No, no, it's fine. We'll just catch up with them, as soon as Eli's rested.'

'We should call someone, there's surely someone you can call.'

'Don't worry, we... we'll leave as soon as it gets dark, we just need to rest a few hours.'

So they were runaways. Why else would the boy not want to call anyone? Was he terrified of his parents? Of hers?

'OK... I want to help you. Both of you. Believe it or not, I do know what it is like to... be afraid that if you go home, bad things will happen. And obviously I was once your age... how old are you?'

'I'm thirteen.'

'I too was once thirteen. I want to help you, but I need to know more. About why you are here.'

The boy glanced out the window at the sunlit forest. He sneezed.

'It's OK, we'll leave right after sunset.'

'It's not that. I don't mind visitors. But I need to know... Tell me about the blood on your girlfriend's lips.'

The boy opened his eyes wide.

'It's... not her blood. She's not hurt.'

'So then? Whose is it? Were you attacked by somebody?'

'No, no... We just got lost and we were tired and... We're fine, we just need a place to rest for a few hours.'

'You can stay until tomorrow morning if you like. But... if you're in danger, I can help you.'

The boy was silent.

'Can I take a pillow for Eli?'

Esteban felt stupid. The girl couldn't stay in the cellar, there wasn't even a couch there, just an old mattress.

'We'll have to wake her up and bring her up here, she can sleep in my bed, I just need to change the sheets –'

'No, I don't want to wake her. Just to take a pillow...'

'Follow me.'

They went to the closet in Esteban's bedroom. He took out some blankets and a pillow.

'I'll take them.'

'Per, I should also check that she's alright. That she's not hurt. Because of the blood'

'She's fine. I don't want to startle her. She knows me, but you're new.'

'I'll wait at the top of the stairs.'

The boy switched on the light and went down the cellar stairs. Esteban could see Eli lying on the bare mattress; the boy approached, hesitated, was about to move her head, but then placed the pillow next to it, and carefully covered her with the blankets. The boy gently stroked her hair.

Esteban shook his head.

'Come on, kid, wake her up and bring her up here. She'll sleep better in my bed.'

'No! She has to stay down here!'

There was so much fear and determination in his voice that Esteban decided to let it go.

'OK, but you need to sleep in a proper bed. You've got a cold and you need a good rest. Help me change the sheets and you can have my bed.'

'Sure.'

They did as Esteban had said. He hesitated to leave the boy alone in his room, thinking about the money and documents he kept there, he but he reasoned that with the girl in the cellar they couldn't leave without his knowing.

While Esteban washed the dishes, he tried to think what he should do. They would not have gone hungry, been outdoors in the bitter cold, without a reason. They were afraid, but of what, exactly? Abusive parents? Even in Sweden there could be innocent people with reasons to hide. He had told the boy the truth; he had had to flee in his youth. Alone. At least these two had each other. Of course, others had also had it worse than him, as indeed he'd been reminded of at the time. It's not so bad, at least you're leaving for prosperous Europe, and with a little money. These things are very common, I have heard of cases of parents taking their children to the border to be smuggled across it, without money, without papers, without any connections or anyone waiting on the other side. Your grandfather himself was lucky not to be shot. He had been much older than these kids; the older-looking of the two was just thirteen. He felt so tired...

Esteban woke up, wondering at first why he has lying on the couch instead of in his bed. Then he remembered. He got up and rushed to the bedroom, fearing that the children had robbed him and fled. But he saw the boy in his bed, fast asleep. Esteban returned to the living room, wondering if he should check on the girl. Remembering the boy's face when the subject had been discussed, he decided to wait.

The sun had already set and it would soon be completely dark outside. Esteban had never gotten entirely used to these seasons; it was easy enough in summer, to live in almost permanent daylight. But winters were very difficult at first, not because of the cold but because of the dark. He forced his mind to return to the issue of the children. He ought to call someone, but who exactly? Ideally their parents, but if they refused to give their telephone numbers there was nothing he could do, and in any case they might have good reasons not to want to go back. The boy seemed to be protecting the girl, which made sense as he seemed older. But he should try to see if he could get anything out of her. If not, he would have to call the police; they could find the kids' parents or put them in a care home or whatever is done in such cases.

He was wondering whether to simply let the children sleep until morning or until they woke up on their own, but remembered the girl had not eaten, and would surely be hungry when she awoke. He went into the kitchen and cooked a large pot of noodle soup, adding plenty of lemon juice, remembering the boy had a cold. He tasted it. A bit bland, maybe with a little onion...

When the soup was done, he went to wake up the boy, tapping his shoulder. The boy practically jumped.

'What...? Is it dark already?'

'Pretty much.'

Esteban drew the curtains. Daylight was almost entirely gone.

'Should we wake... your friend? I've made some soup, and she must be hungry.'

'She'll wake up soon on her own.'

'And you? Want some soup?'

'Sure.'

Esteban and the boy were half-way through their respective bowls of soup when the cellar door opened and Eli came out. Esteban watched her carefully, confirming that she definitely needed a shower, and noticed that there was a dark stain on her blouse, not just on her upper lip. He definitely needed to call the police if he couldn't get any clear information from them.

'Did you sleep well?'

'Yes.'

'You're Eli, right? My name is Esteban.'

She simply nodded.

'You must be hungry. I've made some soup, let me serve you a bowl.'

'No. I'm not hungry.'

'But you haven't eaten at least since yesterday night. At least drink some milk or something.'

'I had plenty of food yesterday.'

Esteban again felt very tired. Tired and overwhelmed. He needed to call someone, someone who would take this problem out of his hands.

'Now that you two are awake, we must talk. You realize I think that I must call someone... if not your parents, someone else. So...'

'My parents are dead.'

She said it so calmly, so factually.

'Then... I must talk to whoever your guardian is. Whoever is responsible for you. Did you run away from an orphanage? Is that it?'

'No.'

Esteban sighed.

'Look, girl, you have blood on your face, on your clothes. You two show up here without parents, without an adult, tell me nothing other than implying you need to hide, and now you tell me you have no parents. If you don't want me to call the police this very moment, you need to give me good reasons.'

Eli sat down in front of him, somewhat hunched. She put her right elbow on the table, her forearm raised at an angle, palm outstretched. She signaled to Esteban to approach. Did she want to arm wrestle? He tried to remember the Swedish word for it, but failed. Did she want him to let her win?

He moved his bowl of soup aside and placed his elbow exactly opposite of hers and took her small, warm hand. He pushed gently, and to his surprise found pushing that slender hand was like trying to bend a steel bar. He pushed harder and found it made no difference. Her expressionless face showed no sign of strain or effort. He pushed with all his strength and still her thin arm did not move at all. Esteban could feel a slight trembling in his arm, yet Eli seemed to be making no effort. She calmly pushed his arm towards the table until he felt the back of his hand against the smooth, worn surface. She released him.

'How... did you do that? I must say you could make a lot of money making bets.'

He was surprised by the anger in his voice.

'I have an unusual illness. One consequence is that it makes me strong. But there are... other consequences.'

'If you are ill, then you need to see a doctor.'

'It's incurable. There is more.'

He noticed movement under her lips. She slowly opened her mouth.

The boy observed Esteban's face carefully. He had become pale, and his eyes showed fear, or maybe shock. The boy glanced at Eli just as he closed his mouth.

'There is also this.'

Eli put his hands palm down on the table. The boy glanced at Esteban, who became even paler.

'Touch them, so that you'll know they're real.'

Esteban seemed to hesitate, then reached out and carefully felt Eli's claws, first just with the tip of his middle finger. He pressed and felt in several places, and tugged them carefully. Like a doctor examining someone.

'Lift them up.'

To Oskar's surprise, Eli simply did as he was told. Esteban examined the claws again, particularly where they joined the palm.

'There are still other things.'

'What... type of illness is this?'

'A very rare one. Because of my illness, I have certain needs. I need to rest during the day. In the dark. A place where we will be safe. There are other things. And we need you to help us. We have money, and we can help you as well.'

Eli and Esteban looked at each other in silence. A cellar without windows.

'There is blood on your face. On your clothes.'

'I'm a person. Not... a monster. But I have had to do many things to survive, to live. Yes, I have killed people, Esteban. But there was no other way.'

Esteban silently gazed into Eli's. He remembered that story, about a twelve year old boy, wounded in battle, that his grandfather had cured. They boy had said he's pay him in grain; his grandfather had replied he would treat him on credit, so the boy would not feel humiliated. Once his wounds had healed, the boy had again left for the front. Many years later Esteban's grandfather had heard that the boy had died shortly after, perhaps in battle, maybe even killed by another boy, or perhaps from smallpox or some other disease. This was different, of course. This was prosperous, peaceful Sweden after all. But this was a child who said she had been compelled to kill. If she was... human, then perhaps she was telling the truth, and was like that boy. Or she could be an... inhuman monster.

'I don't know about these things. I have never killed anyone...'

It was true enough.

'... But I have witnessed murder.'

Eli nodded, as if that went without saying.

'I'm strong enough to get... food on my own. But we need help.'

'And if I refuse, you will kill me.'

It was not a question.

'I don't want to kill you. We will give you money. You will need it for his food and things.'

'And is he – are you...?'

'No. I'm not infected.'

They boy seemed strangely ashamed of the fact. Eli stroked his hair. Esteban said nothing.

'My real name is Oskar Eriksson.'

Esteban was not surprised that he'd lied about his name. His real name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

'The Oskar Eriksson that disappeared in a pool in Stockholm.'

'Where those boys were killed? The newspapers said that you had been kidnapped by the killer, some psycho...'

He turned to Eli.

'Was that you?'

'Yes. They were going to kill him, they were drowning him. They had hit him before, just for fun...'

Eli was trembling with rage; Esteban looked into her eyes and found her more frightening that when he'd touched her claws. Oskar placed his hand on her shoulder. She relaxed.

Esteban remembered one article in particular about the pool killings that, citing anonymous sources, claimed that a witness had described the events as an angel descending to kill the other boys, then pulling out the one that was underwater, who opposed no resistance to being taken away. At the time, he had thought to himself that if it was an angel it would have to be a fallen one, but it seemed eminently sensible for the poor boy not to resist such a fearsome killer.

'And I take it you don't want to be found?'

'No. I will not leave Eli.'

'So you two are looking for a place to hide because one of you could be recognized from the news and the other cannot endure sunlight and is a wanted killer?'

Oskar nodded and was about to say something, but stopped himself. He took Eli's hand, and repeatedly touched the palm with his index finger, sometimes just tapping, other times sliding his finger across the entire palm. Then he released Eli's hand and Eli did the same. Esteban remembered a documentary about people who were both deaf and blind, and who communicated by touching hands. But he did not know the language, and could only watch uncomprehendingly as this exchange continued. He couldn't remember the picture of the missing boy. He tried to remember the details of the newspaper article, but could remember little more. A madman who thought he was a vampire. Esteban tried to think clearly. The strength, the claws. She had grown them right there in front of him. If she could also grow wings then it could easily have been her, as the witness had described according to that article. If she washed she would probably look pretty, so even the description of her as an angel fit. Nicola had probably looked like her at that age. Perhaps a daughter of Nicola's would look exactly like her. But that could be just a trick. Or the whole thing could be a trick, maybe she was the best illusionist in the world. But if she was telling the truth... Kill her. To save others. Esteban thought of that boy's superiors, grown men that would no doubt have defended sending children to their deaths because it was for a good cause. There were always reasons. Just like Abundio's killers would no doubt say they were saving the country from subversives. They could have arrested him. They shot him instead. If this... thing could be considered a child at all... At least she had saved another child from drowning. His grandfather had helped that boy, who had surely killed others, maybe other children. Perhaps he had committed atrocities after he's returned to the front.

Tap, tap, slide, slide, tap, tap. Oskar nodded in reply. They turned towards Esteban.

'Are you expecting any visitors soon? I will know if you lie.'

'No. I rarely get visitors.'

'Are you expected anywhere soon?'

'At work on Monday morning.'

'You live alone?'

'Yes.'

Eli seemed satisfied with these replies.

'Then you can... help us. We need your help. And we will help you.'

'What... do you want me to do?'

'Provide a place to rest. Food for Oskar, I will get my own. Your help when we need it.'

'Very well. I choose to live. If anyone should come, you can be... my niece and Oskar can be a friend of yours.'

There was a long silence.

'And is your name really Eli?'

Oskar took Eli's hand in his.

'It's the short form of my name.'

Esteban nodded. Elizabeth?

'OK. I'm going to take a shower. I guess you can do as you please, but I'd suggest you also take one at some point.'

Esteban got up and went to his room. Oskar and Eli listened carefully, in case Esteban used the telephone, but he just went to his room for clothes and then went into the bathroom. They soon heard as he was taking a shower.

'Do I really smell that bad?'

'I can't really tell with this cold, but don't worry, I'm sure you've smelled much worse before.'

Eli stuck out his tongue.