Slowly We Die. Emelie Schepp

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table and knocking over his coffee cup.

      “Philip!”

      “Hi, Sandra,” he said, drowsily.

      Sandra Gustafsson stood six feet from him, one hand on her hip. Her hair was blond and her eyes the same green as their work clothes. She was the newest paramedic, the most recent in a series of recruits. She was in her early twenties, competent, worked hard and seemed to care about her colleagues.

      “Still tired?” she asked.

      “Not one bit,” Philip said, getting up and wiping the coffee from the table with a wad of paper towels before sitting back down on the couch.

      She looked at him as he attempted to stifle a yawn, then went to the coffee machine, picked up two cups and filled them.

      He couldn’t resist smiling when she held one out to him. He took a quick sip and glanced at his watch.

      “Time to go home soon,” she said.

      “Yep,” he said.

      “Do you want to talk before you go?”

      She sat in the armchair across from him. Her body was trim and fit.

      “About what?”

      “About the patient who died.”

      “No. Why would I want to do that?” he said, taking another sip of coffee, still feeling drowsy and thinking that he really should start taking better care of himself. The nature of his work meant his sleep was often broken, and as a result he didn’t sleep enough. He knew he needed more than an hour or so here or there.

      “It was an unusual situation,” she said.

      “It was your everyday heart attack. What is there to talk about?”

      “The patient could have survived.”

      “But she didn’t, okay?” Philip listened to the hum from the coffee machine as he thought about the woman who had died on his shift. He noticed his hands trembling.

      “I’m just wondering how you feel about it all,” she said.

      “Sandra,” he said, putting his mug on the table. “I know you’re just trying to be supportive, but that psychology nonsense doesn’t work on me.”

      “So you don’t want to talk?”

      “No. I already said so.”

      “I just thought...”

      “What did you think? That we would sit in a circle and hug each other? Should we all put on our comfiest pajamas, too?”

      “According to protocol...”

      “Let it go. I’ve worked as an ambulance nurse here for five years. I know exactly what the protocol is.”

      “Then you also know it’s not okay to fall asleep on a call.”

      Silence filled the room.

      “Just think if someone found out?” she whispered.

      “No one will find out,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, it falls under work confidentiality.”

      “What?”

      He looked around, checking that no one was within earshot.

      “You heard what I said.”

      “What the hell, it can’t be like that!” she said.

      Philip met her gaze. “Why not?”

      “You’re not sane,” she said. “You’re completely...”

      “I know it sounds strange.”

      “Strange? It sounds wrong...”

      He looked at the door and thought about how much he wanted to leave work right this very moment. He wanted to feel the calm, hear the silence, above all be rid of Sandra.

      “I’m sorry, Philip. I can’t let it go. You’re the one who messed up, not me.”

      “I never mess up, just so you know. And that’s not why the patient died.”

      “Do you really believe that?”

      Philip stared at her as he raked his hand through his hair and took a deep breath to calm himself.

      “Okay,” he said after a long moment. “This is what we’ll do. If, contrary to my expectations, anyone finds out that I happened to fall asleep briefly on a call, I promise I’ll report myself.”

      “What about me, if that happens?”

      “You can blame everything on me. Claim you were afraid to say anything because you were new on the job and all of that. Make it all my fault.”

      She just looked at him.

      “Do we have a deal?” he said.

      “Yes, this one time,” she said, quietly. “But you should really get a handle on things. One more incident and I’ll report you.”

      “Thanks,” he said, leaning forward and laying a hand on her shoulder.

      “I’m serious,” she said.

      “I know,” he said, getting up.

      * * *

      Prosecutor Jana Berzelius sat on one of the chairs in the broadcast studio with her legs crossed. She was waiting for her turn to be interviewed by Richard Hansen, the host of the morning program for Channel P4 Östergötland on Swedish Radio.

      When she saw Hansen’s signal, she walked silently to the seat opposite him and put a pair of headphones on. She listened as Hansen smoothly changed topics and announced that next up was Norrköping lead prosecutor Jana Berzelius, here to talk about a rise in criminal gang activity.

      “Extortion, robbery and violent attacks with hammers, knives and automatic weapons. Gang violence continues to increase. Jana Berzelius, you’ve been the lead investigator in many cases of serious organized crime here in Norrköping for many years. What do you think is the reason for the increased violence we’re seeing?”

      Jana cleared her throat. “First of all, we have to remember that we’re talking about the number of reported crimes, that an increase in crime, statistically speaking, isn’t the same thing as an actual increase in crime...”

      “You’re saying that the numbers lie?”

      “What we can see is that gang violence all over Sweden is increasing, at the same time as violence in society in general is decreasing.”

      “And what is causing the increased gang violence?”

      “There are a number of possible explanations,”

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