Death In The Family

Chapter 4

Henrik could count on one hand the number of times he'd been this livid, each carrying with it an action of violence that had always left him sick with regret later. Watching his niece scurry from Anders' room, he had to remember that he detested violence. Rage billowed like smoke in his lungs and he breathed it out slowly through his flared nostrils. Murder thrummed through his muscles, making them flex and tense in the urge to break down the door and strangle Anders.
He was not a violent man. He wouldn't let himself be, no matter how tempting this rare impulse was. He breathed slowly and shut out those savage thoughts until his shaking fists relaxed and he could imagine saying what needed to be said without the accompaniment of pummeling. He banged on the door louder than he'd meant.

Anders stood in a bathrobe, as wet as Simone had been and smelling of the same citrusy soap, bringing Henrik's blood back to a boil as his youngest brother greeted him with a cheery, "Good morning!"

Henrik shoved past him into the room, unable to look at him as he growled, "We need to talk."

"Sure, I think I have some time in my busy schedule," Anders joked, letting the door shut as he followed.

Henrik resisted rounding on him with a haymaker for being so flippant, but he let the rage slide off him with a deep breath before he turned to look at him. Anders wasn't put off by the anger Henrik didn't try to hide, sitting casually on the edge of the bed and taping a clean pad of waterproof gauze over the sutures on his chest. The sight of the wound momentarily shocked Henrik out of his thoughts. The brief account of events from the policemen provided only the roughest idea of what Leif had tried to do to Anders, but the carefully maintained detachment of his brother brought him back to his rage.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Anders didn't look up from his task, gently smoothing the corner of the gauze down before applying the tape as he said, "Aftercare."

Henrik grit his teeth in frustration. "With Simone, stupid."

This time, he looked straight at him, his nonchalance giving way to solemnity as he repeated, "Aftercare."

"Is that what you're calling it?" Henrik jeered. "I have to admit, it sounds a lot better than 'sticking my dick in my blood-related niece-"

"Henrik..."

"-who is barely out of her teens-"

"Henrik."

"- and too fucked up in the head-"

"Henrik!"

"- to FUCKING KNOW ANY BETTER'!" Henrik finished in a shout above his brother's interruption. Both men glared at each other, but Anders' calm was only irking him more. It was all he could do to keep his fists curled at his side and his feet rooted to the floor. "Are you even going to try to deny any of that, or does the truth just not concern you?"

"Did you want to talk, or did you just want to yell?" Anders asked, that annoying calm driving Henrik to look away in disgust.

"What I want is to knock your head off," he answered in a snarl. "But I'm settling for talking."

"Then let me say something: I owe you an apology. You were right. About everything. I did some awful, unforgivable things... but I think I know how I can start making up for them."

Henrik looked at him, the urge to violence finally creeping back at the sign of guilt in the younger man. The anger that had taken hold of him was still there, but quieted enough for him to find the fear of losing another brother. The madness Leif had been rife with seemed to spread to everyone around him like a disease. Simone had long since succumbed to it, Vidar seemed as though his mind might have been permanently tainted, and Anders had lost all perspective on the wickedness he was doing. He leaned against the wall, wringing his hands anxiously in hope that this humble tone his youngest brother had adopted led to sanity.