Outside the car, the landscape glides by silently in the dark. Erick's cell phone breaks the silence. Private number, read the mobile screen.

"Erick, hello?" He listens. And then just push it to death.

"Who was that?" asked his mother tiredly.

"Someone from a newspaper."

She sighed. Erick turned in his seat and looked at the car following them.

His father. His face was barely visible in the dark. He turned back again. It is still a long way to Johannesburg. The car lights flow brightly across the tarmac.

Lux est imago veritatis

Erick leaned his head against the passenger window. His tongue felt thick in his mouth.

"I'm not as solid or bullet-proof dead as I thought," he said softly.

A hand on his shoulder. His mother's.

Only now can he cry. For his father, and also for Daniel.

The cell phone rings again. The journalist still hasn't gotten the message that he doesn't want to talk to her. "Just one thing please, Erick," he heard her say, "the guy the police are looking for—I have two na
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