Chapter 1.75

Chapter 1.75: In which (Spoiler Alert) Arinbjörn Predictably Dies So The Plot May Advance

Jakob was quick to pick up on Arinbjörn's flashback. Arinbjörn was busy staring at the picture of a warm Icelandic landscape on the far wall to notice Jakob getting up to use the bathroom. Nature was calling Jakob, and she had just logged his number in her speed dial. He could feel not only the beer he had recently drank pulsing through his bladder, but also the beer he had drunken earlier on in the night as well. All of this liquid was being moved along by a metaphysically liquidated form of the great shame he was feeling for the act he had committed while drunk to get him kicked out of his usual bar. Jakob excused himself and headed for Arinbjörn's downstairs bathroom, which he had long since marked as his own.

Arinbjörn sat at his simple wooden table, his breathing drowned out in the ambient patter of outside rain. The single overhead light bulb cast unusual shadows among the empty bottles on his table.

It was the fridge slamming that finally snapped Arinbjörn of his flashback, saving his the imagery of Magnus shirtless and covered in blood, a small river running from his mouth in a triumphant fashion, his Pecs glistening in the fresh light of the Aurora above as he grasped his wooden club in one hand and started to tu- Arinbjörn went to investigate the fridge.

The fridge closed with no trouble when Arinbjörn approached it. Satisfied with his fridge-closing ability, Arinbjörn turned and began to pace back to the table. A creaking behind him indicated that the fridge was once again open, causing Arinbjörn to once again close it, this time with a more furious slam. By the time the fridge opened a third time, the Icelandic alcohol in Arinbjörn's veins had cultivated a deep aggression towards the fridge. With a yell, he tore the cheap wood-veneered door off and tossed it to the ground.

Arinbjörn returned to the table, satisfied with his act of violence against his fridge. He began to peer through the bottles on the table, looking for ones that weren't quite empty. His search was interrupted by a horrible noise behind him. The television had started on its own, blasting a sickening sounding static across the room and filling the room with jittery flashes of white illumination.

Arinbjörn got to his feet and turned to investigate. He approached the television, cautious as anyone would be in the situation before jamming the power button to turn the television off. However, try as he would, the screen would not lose its static. Feeling another burst of Norse alcohol driven anger, Arinbjörn ripped the cord from the wall.

When the television ceased to air its static broadcast, Arinbjörn began to panic. He felt all strength leave his knees as he dropped to the ground, his rage fully replaced with a curious fear. His breath stilled and heart jumped when he saw an all-too familiar image appear on the screen. His gaze was so captivated by the moving picture unfolding on screen that he failed to notice the snow blowing into the room from the bottom of the television.

By the time the gunshot rang out, Arinbjörn was near paralyzed with fear, a sense of mystified helplessness overwhelming him. Arinbjörn never heard the shot before going limp, a small pool of blood beginning to amass in his wool sweater.

It was mere seconds before Jakob was in the room, his pants still around his ankles. It took him a second to process what was going on. His gaze darted to the television, then to Arinbjörn lying bleeding on the ground, to the sound of the gunshot, to the small amounts of snow on the floor.

By some strange act, something in Jakob's impaired brain snapped into place as a horrific realization rushed over him. Finally regaining control of his body, Jakob dropped to his knees and waddled to Arinbjörn's side, his understanding of the scene terrifying him. Mustering up his will power, Jakob lifted Arinbjörn up, checking for a pulse. There was none. Jakob didn't notice Arinbjörn's blood dripping onto him and he turned upwards, as if to scream at the heavens themselves.

"What kind of television has a gun?," Jakob screamed, his words echoing once, unheard, throughout the house before falling silent, lost in the near mechanical and empty patter of rain outside.