When The Devil Holds The Candle

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If you had never existed, you wouldn't have read this.

And it wouldn't have made any difference. And when you no longer exist, it will be as if you had never read this. It makes no difference. But now, as you are reading , something happens: it eats up a few seconds of your time, like a tiny gnawing animal  furry with letters, blocking the path between you and your next minute. You will never get it back.

Undisturbed, i t chews on the micro - organisms of time. It never gets its fill.

Nor do you.

– Tor Ulven

C H A P T E R 1

The courthouse. September 4, 4 p.m.

Jacob Skarre glanced at his watch. His shift was over. He slipped a book out of his inside jacket pocket and read the poem on the first page. It's like playing Virtual Reality, he thought. Poof! – and you're in a different landscape. The door to the corridor stood open, and suddenly he was aware that someone was watching him. Whoever it was was just beyond what he could see with his excellent peripheral vision. A vibration, light as a feather, barely perceptible, finally reached him. He closed his book.

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