Burned

He recognises the buzz immediately. Foreign TV stations, all reporting the same news over and over. Everything is breaking news. Stock exchange figures scroll along the bottom of the screen. A collage of TV screens show what NRK and TV2 are reporting on their strangely antiquated, but still viable text TV pages. The news channel runs its features on a loop. It, too, has a ticker which condenses a story into one sentence. He hears the familiar crackle of a police radio, as if R2D2 from the Star Wars movies intermittently makes contact from a galaxy far, far away. NRK News 24 can just about be heard from a radio somewhere.

Bleary-eyed reporters tap on keyboards, telephones ring, stories are debated, angles suggested. In a corner by the news desk, where every story is weighed, measured, rejected, applauded, polished or heavily edited, lies a mountain of newspapers — new and old — which the newly arrived reporters seize upon while they sip their first coffee of the day.

It is the usual controlled chaos. And yet, everything seems alien. The ease he felt after years of working in the streets, of being in the field, of showing up at a crime scene, knowing he was in his element, has completely disappeared. It all belongs to another lifetime, another era.

He feels like a cub reporter again. Or as if he is taking part in a play where he has been cast as The Victim, the poor soul everyone has to take care of, help back on his feet. And even though he hasn’t spoken a single word to anyone, except Solvi, his intuition tells him no one thinks it’s going to work. Henning Juul will never be the same again.

He takes a few, hesitant steps and looks around to see if he recognises anyone. It’s all faces and fragments from a distant past, like an episode of This Is Your Life. Then he spots Kare.

Kare Hjeltland is looking over the shoulder of a reporter at the news desk. Kare is the news editor at 123news. He is a short, skinny man with messy hair and a passion which exceeds anything Henning has ever known. Kare is the Duracell bunny on speed with a hundred stories in his head at any given time and an arsenal of possible angles for practically anything.

That’s why he is the news editor. If it had been up to Kare, he would have been in charge of every department and worked as the night duty editor as well. He has Tourette’s Syndrome, not the easiest condition to manage when you’re trying to run a news desk and have a social life.

However, despite his tics and various other symptoms, Kare pulls it off. Henning doesn’t know how, but Kare pulls it off.

Kare has noticed him, too. He waves and holds up one finger. Henning nods and waits patiently, while Kare issues instructions to the reporter.

‘And stress that in the introduction. That’s the hook, no one cares that the tent was white or bought from Maxbo last March. Get it?’

‘Maxbo doesn’t sell tents.’

‘Whatever. You know what I mean. And mention that she was found naked as soon as possible. It’s important. It plants a sexy image in people’s minds. Gives them something to get off on.’

The reporter nods. Kare slaps him on the shoulder and bounces towards Henning. He nearly trips over a cable running across the floor, but carries on regardless. Even though he is only a few metres away now, he shouts.

‘Henning, good to see you again. Welcome back.’

Kare extends a hand, but doesn’t wait for Henning to offer him his. He simply grabs Henning’s hand and shakes it. Henning’s forehead feels hot.

‘So — how are things? You ready to chase web hits again?’

Henning thinks earmuffs might be a good investment.

‘Well, I’m here, that’s a start.’

‘Super. Fantastic. We need people like you, people who know how to give the public what they want. Great. Sex sells, coffers swell! Tits and ass bring in the cash!’

Kare laughs out loud. His face starts to twitch, but he carries on all the same. Kare has coined a lot of rhyming slogans in his time. Kare loves rhymes.

‘Ahem, I thought you could sit over there with the rest of the team.’

Kare takes Henning by the arm and leads him past a red glass partition. Six computers, three on opposite sides of a square table, are backed up against each other. A mountain of newspapers lies on a round table behind it.

‘You may have noticed that things have changed, but I haven’t touched your work station. It’s exactly the same. After what happened, I thought that you — eh — would want to decide for yourself if there was anything you wanted to throw out.’

‘Throw out?’

‘Yes. Or reorganise. Or — you know.’

Henning looks around.

‘Where are the others?’

‘Who?’

‘The rest of the team?’

‘Buggered if I know, lazy sods. Oh yes, Heidi is here. Heidi Kjus. She’s around somewhere. In charge of national news now, she is.’

Henning feels his chest tighten. Heidi Kjus.