The Swedish Sex Bomb (LSD, #7)

2. Black Night, White Light

Black Night, White Light

"The black night is finally over. The white light of the day always makes me feel better."

I try to keep the conversation light. I'm afraid to say the wrong words, but the words I have said so far didn't cause any reaction from the girl on the other side of the table.

Just to fight a deadly silence, I continue: "I like Sweden, but I'm afraid, if I lived here, those long winter nights would..."

I swallow the words «depress me» and regret the words «I'm afraid». I need to be careful with my word choice. Positive images. Courage. Energy. This girl needs help and I'm supposed to give it to her because I need her help in return.

"In the light, it feels good.", I say, and then I feel even more stupid.

On the other side of the window, a pale, cold sun scares the darkness away. I look around. We're the only visitors in a place, called The Breakfast Club. The waiter-owner has disappeared into the kitchen to prepare our sandwiches. In here, there's not much to see. Cold iron and Formica tables. I prefer looking at Frieda. She's nice to look at, much too nice, causing me to stare. It makes me feel uncomfortable, sitting here with such a pretty girl, not able to compliment her on her looks, and not knowing anything else to talk about. I don't want to jump into the Agneta topic yet. Frieda is tense as the strings of a Stradivarius. I want her to relax a bit, I want the conversation to be light and entertaining, I want to give her a good feeling, and I want to see her smile, but all I do is pick the wrong words and stare into her eyes like an idiot. I can't help it. Her right eye is blue like the Mediterranean and her left eye is green like the Nordic light.

"I like your name. Frieda was the Goddess of Love and War of the ancient Vikings. According to the legends, she was strong, wise and beautiful. She motivated people to get the best out of themselves..."

"That was Freyja, not Frieda. I'm not strong, I'm not wise, and I'm certainly not beautiful."

I put my hand on top of Frieda's hand that lies on the table, but she flinches when I touch her, fearing it is him.

"I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this.", I mutter.

I take my hand back and lift it, together with my other hand, turning them around to show Frieda their innocence: "Some hands hurt. Some hands heal. Some hands help. Sometimes, I wish my hands could heal. All they can do is help. I never learnt anything else."

"What have you learnt? What do you do for a living? Why do you want to find my sister? Who are you?"

Frieda is right. If I want her to trust me, I have to give her my trust first.

"If I tell you a secret, can I trust you to keep it? I mean... We can get into some real trouble if anyone finds out the answers to those questions."

"Tell me first. I'll decide later if I will keep the secret."

Show trust. Take a chance on her. Be brave. She won't eat me. She won't sell me and my story to that awful journalist of Tabloidtidningen.

I drop the silk, feminine voice I used so far: "It's my job to help those who ought to be helped. I work for the LSD."

"What does that mean? Love, Surrender and Devotion?"

"Luxembourg Spy Department. I'm a spy. My name isn't Benny, but I prefer we keep using it. I don't want anybody to find out my real identity and take revenge on my loved ones. You probably already guessed I'm not gay, either. I made that up as a silly attempt to gain your trust. That was wrong. Telling the truth shows you can trust me."