Chapter 3 - Lars

I pushed open my front door and stepped inside. The hallway seemed dark and foreboding after the bright, warm sunshine outside. Prickles rose on my skin from a slight chill in the air, a feeling out of place on that warm, spring day.

The hallway extended before me, with its polished wooden floor guiding the way into the lounge. Doors on either side led to the study on the right and the kitchen on the left. Just before the kitchen door, the staircase wound its way upstairs, leading to the bedrooms.

The walls of the hallway were painted in a light, spearmint green and hung with framed pictures. Pictures of family holidays, childhood birthday parties, beautiful memories from a simple and happy time which hardly seems real to me now. Alongside those photos were also a number of my own artworks. A family portrait which I’d painted as a gift to my parents on their wedding anniversary, a pencil drawing of Bella lounging sleepily in front of the fireplace.

I remember looking around for Bella, usually when I got home I’d be greeted with an excited wagging tail and a slobbery lick. Not on that day however. I guessed she must be sleeping upstairs. Knowing her, she would have snuck into one of the bedrooms and curled up on the bed. My room seemed to be her favourite, I was forever having to brush off the dog hairs from my duvet in the evenings.

I swallowed hard, my throat felt dry so deciding to get myself a drink of water I walked along the hallway, towards the kitchen door. My footsteps, echoing softly as I went. Upon reaching the kitchen door, I pushed it open and stepped inside.

In contrast to the narrow, dimly lit hallway, the kitchen was large and airy. Bright white tiles covered the floor with a red, geometrically patterned carpet at the centre of the room. The walls, a mix of white paint and pine cladding, contributed to the bright and spacious feel. A large window overlooked the front of the house, while double doors led to the garden at the back.

Whitewashed, pine cupboards lined the walls and a thick marble worksurface extended along the far side of the room.

Just in front of the double doors stood our dining table and chairs. Made from oak, they were heavy and solid. They had originally belonged to my grandparents and were well worn, with an old world charm. This vintage furniture provided a lovely contrast against our otherwise modernly decorated home.

It was then when my eyes fell on Lars, sitting at the far chair. He was leant over, his elbows resting on the table and his chin in his hands. He fixed his gaze on me, his deep blue eyes seemed cold and icy. His face was expressionless except for the very slight turn of a sneer at the corner of his mouth.

My twin brother, Lars. He stood only slightly taller than me with blonde hair cut short into a crew cut. He was of a quite large build although slightly overweight and his skin had a rough, textured appearance.

At the time I’d have described our relationship as strained, although that would have been an understatement. We had been close as children but from the age of around 12 years old, things started to deteriorate between us.

It all began when we started at lower secondary school. Lela, having a brother a few years above us, already knew a number of the older children at our new school. I was in awe of them, I wanted to be like them, to be popular with them.

I settled into school very quickly. The girls accepted and welcomed both Lela and myself, we joined their groups and quickly made new friends. Being attractive as we were back then, we also found ourselves popular with the boys.

Unfortunately for Lars, things weren’t quite so simple. He didn’t find making friends very easy, he struggled in social situations and was awkward in conversation. Up until that point however, he’d always had me there by his side to help him through when things were difficult.

Struggling to fit in and having not managed to make his own friends, Lars started doing what he’d always done and that was to come to me for friendship. He would sit with me at lunchtimes and seek me out during break.

It was a bitterly cold day in February, myself and Lela were huddled outside the front of the school talking to a group of boys, a year or two older than us. Lars had been wandering around on his own, as usual. I remember watching him as he spotted me from across the playground, a big smile spread across his face and he turned and started walking towards his sister.

That was when the bullying started.

I was about to wave to him and beckon him over to me when a couple of the older boys also saw him coming. A malicious look crossed their faces as one of them shouted out loudly, “oh look Heidi, here comes that little lost puppy of yours”.

Another of them added at the top of his voice, “yeah Heidi, perhaps you need to get him a lead and collar, so he doesn’t keep getting lost”.

The children around us all erupted in laughter, more unkind comments and puppy dog jibes could be heard muttered around the group.

Lars’ smile faded, his eyes widened in shock as the taunts registered with him. His eyes met mine, glistening from the tears that were beginning to well up.

My heart twisted in my chest as I watched the colour drain from Lars’ face. A face that just moments ago had been lit up with brotherly love and happiness at seeing me, now quivered. His shoulders slumped and with his feet shuffling nervously, he looked to me. Pleading with me silently for reassurance and comfort.

My eyes met his, I considered running to him, taking him in my arms and comforting him. I looked at him, hesitated for a second or two and then I opened my mouth and laughed.

It was a forced laugh, it sounded hollow to me. But it was a laugh.

As I laughed along with the other children, Lars stumbled backwards as if he’d been struck. His eyes filled with tears as he turned and ran. And I, his sister, I just continued laughing and jeering with the others. What I wouldn’t give now to be able to go back to that moment, I would run over to Lars, pull him into my embrace and return the love that he’d shown to me. If only I could go back and be a sister to him, instead I betrayed him in a horrible way. Things could have turned out so differently.

Betrayal of those closest to me seems to be something that I have a bit of a habit for.

But I didn’t, I didn’t go to him, I didn’t make it all better. To be honest, I wanted to but at the same time I desperately wanted to be popular, to fit in. In that moment I felt that I had a choice to make, a choice between my brother and popularity.

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The lure of acceptance was too strong.

That was the day that something changed in me. Looking back now I can see it clearly, feel the darkness creeping into my mind and soul.

From what started as a bit of jeering quickly escalated. Name calling turned into stone throwing and as if that wasn’t enough, it soon became physical beatings. And where was I while all this was going on? Was I looking out for him? Was I protecting him? No, I was right in the middle of it all. More often than not, it was me who would hurl the first insult, throw the first stone and as much as it pains me now to admit it, when my brother lay in the dirt, curled defensively into a ball, shielding himself from yet another beating, I too would lash out. A passing kick as I walked past him. Leaving him, my own twin brother, laying bruised on the ground.

I don’t remember exactly when it happened or how it happened but somewhere along the way I became toxic towards my brother.

Any time that something positive happened in his life, I’d do my best to destroy it. When he got his first and only girlfriend, I spread vicious about him, determined to destroy that relationship. They were lies of course but that didn’t matter to me, all I wanted was to stamp on any little piece of happiness that he’d found.

When he won a school science prize, I laughed at him, belittled him for it and then cheered when a boy from the oldest year knocked the book that had been his prize, out of his hands and into a puddle. I was the first to start jumping and stomping on that book. I was quickly joined by the others and we didn’t stop until my brother’s prize was little more than a pile of torn pages and soggy mush.

All this had a big effect on Lars. He became a recluse, retreated further into himself. His days at school would be spent sitting on his own, trying to avoid myself and the other children who would torment him. After school, he would run home as quickly as possible as not to be subjected to another beating. Once home, he’d go straight to his room and rarely venture out.

On that day however, the afternoon of the 14th May 1990, as Lars looked at me, as he met my gaze I saw something different in him. It had been there earlier, I’d not paid any attention to it but now I saw it. There was none of the usual downtrodden defeat. That defeat had been replaced by something else. Something dark and chilling. All I saw in his eyes that afternoon was hate. Hate and malice.

He looked at me and smiled, it was a smile that carried no warmth however. It was cold and cynical, a smile that sent chills down my spine.

“Good afternoon, Sister Dearest. It’s so nice to see you, I hope you had a wonderful day out with Lela?”, the way he spoke made me shudder. His tone was empty of emotion, the use of the phrase ‘Sister Dearest’, a reversal of the phrase ‘Brother Dearest’, the phrase I’d use to address him when I was being particularly venomous towards him, the words felt like an icy dagger plunging into me.

It was then that I spotted it. I felt my heart skip a beat. Sitting there on that table in front of Lars was a small wooden box with a silver catch. My body broke out into a cold sweat, my stomach was a twisted jumble of emotions, anger bubbled up inside me. Anger towards Lars, anger at him for going into my room, invading my private space and taking that box from my dresser. But that anger was edged with horror and fear, fear that he’d opened that box and a horror at the thought of the sort of damage that its contents could do to me.

I unleashed a torrent of insults at him as I lunged forward, grabbing the box from his grasp. Holding it tightly against my chest, I retreated to the far corner of the kitchen like a wounded animal, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and fury.

The box was nothing special, it was a small wooden box held closed by a tiny silver catch. My hands shook as I tried to unfasten the catch. Lars just sat there smiling at me as I struggled with the small hook, my quivering hands unable to release it from its eye. Eventually after what had felt to me, an age I managed to release the catch and throw open the lid.

Hurriedly I searched through the contents of that box. It held all manner of my keepsakes. Letters from past boyfriends, notes from Lela, various little trinkets each with some sentimental value that I’d picked up over the years. But these things weren’t the things that I was frantically searching for. Deep down in my heart I think I knew that they weren’t going to be there, that Lars had already found and taken them.

I heard my brother laughing softly, “I don’t suppose it’s these you’re looking for is it, Sister Dearest?”.

My body shook uncontrollably as I looked up and saw him waving a small bundle of Polaroid photos. At the sight of them, my heart sank deeper, the air froze in my lungs.

To call those photos private would be a major understatement. The damage that they could do if they were ever exposed would be catastrophic. They captured very personal and intimate moments between myself and Asmund Hansen. The fact that my brother had got his hands on incriminating photos of me was bad enough but that was only a small part of the true scale of the situation.

Asmund Hansen was Lela’s boyfriend.

The pair had been together since they were 13 years old and she absolutely doted on him.

While I wasn't the only girl Asmund had been with during his relationship with Lela, she always seemed oblivious to his infidelities. That doesn't however, excuse what I did.

Why had I kept those photos? I really couldn’t tell you. It wasn’t something that I was proud of, it was a stupid mistake, a moment of weakness, a silly one night stand. It happened after one of Lela’s parties, Asmund and I had both had a little too much to drink. He had offered to walk me home, to which I accepted thinking nothing of it. I had no intention of anything other than to go home but for one reason or another we ended up back at Asmund’s flat for one last drink. I honestly can’t remember who made the first move, but I do remember him placing a hand on my thigh and the situation spiralling from there.

Asmund was, like myself studying art. He had been working on a project, a photographic study of everyday life captured through his Polaroid camera. I remember, though the night is hazy, him pulling out his Polaroid camera and suggesting we take some intimate photos. I still don't know why I agreed. I suppose I was caught up in the excitement and exhilaration of the moment.

That was the first time that I was to betray Lela, my beautiful, dearest friend. If she’d known what had happened between myself and Asmund, it would have destroyed our friendship. I feared that it would have destroyed her.

Now those photos were in Lars’ hands. I screamed at him to give them back to me, shouted until my voice was hoarse and the whole time he just smiled at me. He didn’t say a word, just sat there smiling.

Eventually he did speak, he spoke in a cold, toneless voice, it was a voice that I barely recognised. “Such strong emotions, Heidi, it’s really quite touching. Please now, do come, sit down. I wouldn’t want you getting yourself too flustered.” Lars gestured to the chair beside him.

My head shook slowly, my feet rooted to the ground. I couldn’t have moved if I’d wanted to.

Lars watching me falter, smiled slightly, his voice soft, “Now, Sister Dearest, I think we’ve got a few things to chat about, haven’t we? These photos of you for starters, they really are quite revealing, wouldn’t you say?”.

His cold gaze was fixed on me, he watched as I struggled to speak, tried to form the words that just wouldn’t come. “Don’t you think it’d be a terrible thing if they somehow found their way into your delightful friend’s possession?”, watching me visibly flinch at the vision of Lela’s face, hurt and betrayed which came into my mind.

“Anyway, enough of those silly photos, I was thinking that it’d be quite kind and sisterly of you to do a few things for me?”

“What, Lars, what do you want from me?”, I spoke, my tone quivering with the mix of emotions that I felt in myself.

What did he want? Was this purely just revenge for the hurt and suffering that I’d caused him?

“Oh my dearest Sister, I’m sure I can think of a thing or two”, that thin smile returning to his lips as he spoke.

I staggered back as if struck. I could hardly believe what was happening. My stomach tightened, pulse quickening noticeably. Would he really carry out his threat? Lela had been a friend to him as well, before things had changed and despite being constantly by my side, one thing that she never did was to take part in the bullying.

Part of me was tempted to call his bluff, to try to snatch those photos out of his hand but something about that chilly demeanour held me back, told me not to push him.

“Please don’t do this Lars, please don’t do it me, please don’t do it to Lela. You know what seeing those photos would do to her? She has never hurt you, she doesn’t deserve this!”, my voice desperate and pleading.

Lars looked at me for a second, I felt a surge of hope that he might have listened to my words. But then his face settled back into that cold, expressionless mould, he leant back in his chair and he simply shrugged.