“Come on, Prince,” she says, disappearing around the corner as if Ove had physically shoved her from behind.
Ove stays where he is, breathing heavily. He presses his fist to his chest, feels the uncontrolled beating of his heart.
He groans a little. Then he looks at the cat. The cat looks back at him.
There’s a new wound down its flank. Blood in its fur again. “Nine lives won’t last you very long, will they?” says Ove.
The cat licks its paw and looks as if it’s not the sort of cat that likes to keep count.
Ove nods and steps aside. “Get inside, then.” The cat traipses in over the threshold. Ove closes the door.
He stands in the middle of the living room. Everywhere, Sonja looks back at him.
Only now does it strike him that he’s positioned the photographs so they follow him through the house wherever he goes.
She’s on the table in the kitchen, hangs on the wall in the hall and halfway up the stairs.
She’s on the window shelf in the living room, where the cat has now jumped up and sits right beside her.
It sends Ove a disgruntled look as it sweeps the pills onto the floor, with a crash.
When Ove picks up the bottle, the cat looks at him in horror, as if about to shout, “J’accuse!”
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