Excerpt from The Frank Benjamin-series:
From as far back as I can remember, I have memories of the buzzing from the bathroom in my childhood home. I often woke up to that buzzing. Or the droning. Or the rumbling. The sounds came from my father. He prayed, very early in the morning before going to work, with his face buried in his hands. He prayed for a long time. It gave him strength for the day ahead, he often said. He prayed ordinary prayers, and he spoke in tongues in there, in the bathroom. I liked those sounds. They felt safe. My powerful father – and God – were watching over me. They did not do that in my dreams. Or nightmares. In the Hartvedt home, it was not up for debate whether a gruesome perdition – a hell of glowing heat – existed. If I abandoned the faith, I would not only lose Mom and Dad. I would also be burned alive.