Shadow of Fog Island

by Mariette Lindstein

He heard a dog barking in the background. ‘Are you outside?’

  ‘Nope, I’m at home.’

  ‘Did you get a dog?’

  ‘No, Benjamin got the dog. He thinks it’s going to protect me. This pup is ugly as sin, but there’s something about him… he seems to have decided to take care of me.’

  ‘Well, there you go. It’s nice to know you have a dog now.’

  Simon told her about the package and she laughed.

  ‘Soon you’ll be able to get a job as one of those snooping private eyes.’

  Simon would remember this conversation, because it would be the last time he heard Sofia sound so bubbly and happy for a long time.

  Since spring had come for real, Simon’s workdays were long and he often worked seven days a week. Now he had the outdoor garden plots to take care of, in addition to the three greenhouses. What was more, everything had to be in perfect order for the organic farming competition he had entered.

  One night in late April, Simon didn’t return to his cottage until nine. It was already getting dark, and he couldn’t wait to rest his head on his pillow. He knew he would fall asleep in no time. After a long, hot shower he put on his robe and sank onto the sofa to glance through the paper before bed.

  There was a knock at the door. At first he thought it was Inga Hermansson, but the knock was too brusque and impatient. He hesitated for a moment. There was no one at the pension who would bother him at such a late hour, and he had no desire to put down the paper to answer the door. But he did so anyway, with a heavy sigh.

  Outside was Benny from ViaTerra.

  23

  Sofia felt like she was being followed every time she went out for a walk. It started with a shiver on the back of her neck that spread down her spine. The feeling was so strong that she had to stop and look around. But everything seemed normal. People going about their business, not a single set of eyes on her. At first she thought she was just being paranoid. But then, one day, she saw the car.

  She got home late that evening – it was already dusk. Dilbert had been alone for too long and she hurried to get inside. Yet something made her stop in the parking lot. There was that feeling again. A chill on the back of her neck.

  The car was parked outside her building. A black Volvo, nothing out of the ordinary at all, but for some reason her eye was drawn to it. The roof light was on inside and she could make out the vague contours of a man. The vibes he was giving off made her shudder.

  She went up to her apartment and as she put the key in the lock she noticed her hand trembling. Dilbert jumped on her with his usual enthusiasm. She didn’t stop him. The dog baffled her – it was like he had adopted her and not the other way around. He followed her like a skilled dance partner, always by her side, never in her way, yet so close. After just a few days he had learned to recognize the footsteps of the other tenants and the sound of the mail carrier, so he didn’t bark when they arrived. It was like the pup was programmed to react to unfamiliar noises, like he had a built-in sensor that could sense danger. If she knew him, he would bark now.

  She left her shoes and clothes on and took a notepad and pen from the coffee table. Grabbing the bag of trash from its bin under the sink, she went out with Dilbert tripping at her heels. As soon as they walked out the front door, the dog pricked its floppy ear and headed for the car. He threw himself at the passenger-side door and started barking furiously. Sofia went over to grab his collar. The man had turned out the roof light, but light from outside lit up his face: he was thick-lipped and fat, and bald aside from a ring of hair around the crown of his head.

  He aimed an empty, sunken gaze at her. Dilbert kept barking, and she told him to be quiet. The man turned his face away so all she could see was his bald pate and the fat rolls on the back of his neck.

  Sofia knocked gently at the car window. ‘Excuse me, can I help you?’

  The man shook his head slowly, his face still turned away.

  ‘This is a private parking lot.’

  Not a sound. Not a movement. He just sat there, mute and still.

  ‘If it’s my trash you want, here it is,’ she said, holding up the bag, but he didn’t move a muscle.

  She walked around the car and took down the licence plate number as Dilbert peed on one tyre. Then she went to the dumpster, tossed the bag in, and slammed the lid. When she got back to her apartment, she dialled the number to Andrea Claesson, the police officer, who answered immediately.

  ‘There’s a man in a parked car outside my apartment. Looks shady. He refused to talk to me.’

  ‘Is he still there?’

  Sofia went to the kitchen window and looked down at the parking lot. The car was gone.

  ‘No, ugh, he drove off. But I have a description and the licence plate number.’

  ‘Good. Text them to me.’

  Once Sofia had sent the text, she lowered all the blinds and locked the front door and the one to the balcony. She went to the kitchen and gave Dilbert some food, but he didn’t want to eat. Instead he followed her around and hopped onto the sofa when she sat down. He lay on his back in an attempt to get her to scratch his belly. He was starting to look a little round; Sofia suspected that Alma liked to give him a treat or two during the day. She kicked off her shoes, lay down on the sofa, and closed her eyes. Tried to ignore the unease that was crowding in on her. She had felt safe in her apartment, until now. The sensation of being watched no longer dissipated when she got home. Now she felt the same unpleasant feeling she had felt back in the cult. Eyes watching. Eyes monitoring her every move.

  She figured she should try to eat something, but she had lost her appetite, just like Dilbert, and lay there for a long time, Dilbert’s body stretched out alongside hers. He was warm and reassuring, and she fell asleep almost immediately – but then her phone rang. It was Andrea Claesson.

  ‘The owner of the car is named Gunnar Wahlin. I know who he is. A private detective. He’s a real pig, if I may say so. Any number of reports from people he’s harassed. He’s not violent, though, just awfully aggravating. I can’t arrest him for sitting in a car in front of your building, of course, but at least now we know someone hired a private eye. Do you think it’s the cult?’

  ‘Definitely. But what can he do?’

  ‘Hopefully nothing. I’m sure they’re just trying to put pressure on you. But I’ve talked to your landlord, and he’s promised to put up a security camera.’

  Sofia wondered why the police were suddenly being so helpful, and whether it had anything to do with the article in Dagens Nyheter. But it didn’t matter; she was grateful for any help she could get. And there was something in Andrea’s voice to suggest she actually cared.

  She decided to ignore Wahlin, but it didn’t work – he popped up again and again. The car would roll slowly past her on the street, or it would be parked outside when she came out of the library. It appeared out of nowhere time after time, plaguing her no end. She had never been followed like this before, and now she understood why it was so unpleasant. The feeling that there were always eyes on her; the foreboding sense that it would lead to something more, something much worse. And when nothing else happened, the tension was unbearable. She was able to vent a little by making faces in his direction, giving him the finger, or taking a picture of him on her phone. But his expressionless face didn’t change, no matter what she did.

  At the end of the week, when Benjamin arrived, Wahlin vanished. It must have been his weekend off. It was annoying, though, because she could only show Benjamin the blurry pictures she’d taken on her phone. Gunnar Wahlin didn’t show up again until Monday.

  And so it went for a few weeks. Nothing else happened, just this constant shadow that drove her insane. She felt more and more paranoid when she was alone in her apartment. She lowered the blinds and locked the front door, even using the chain Benjamin had installed, but it didn’t help. When she slept, she left a small piece of her consciousness awake. Sometimes she dreamed that someone was sitting on her bed an
d watching her, which made her wake with a start.

  The blog had grown into a project that kept her busy a few hours each night. She used it as a diary where she recorded the harassment, but she also wrote about memories from the island. She had a lot of followers, and some felt almost like friends. But then there were the trolls, the ones who were obviously sitting in the guard booth on Fog Island and writing negative comments. Although they were easy to spot thanks to their nearly illiterate responses. And no one seemed to care about them.

  One weekend in early May, she went up to Gothenburg to visit Liseberg with Benjamin. She tried nearly every attraction at the amusement park – Helix, Balder, the Ferris wheel, and Atmosfear – and got dizzy and giggly and almost felt free. But her joy clouded when they ran into a tanned, rail-thin blonde woman who Benjamin introduced as ‘Sienna, a friend from work.’ She couldn’t have been more than eighteen and was wearing denim shorts that started a centimetre below her navel, sandals with four-inch stiletto heels, and a dove-blue leather jacket. Her hair was short and her blue eyes were huge. She was gorgeous! Sofia was immediately annoyed with her. Even her name, Sienna. It was like being named Turquoise or Maroon, and it seemed somehow to confirm how naïve and incurably dumb this individual must be. Sienna gazed adoringly at Benjamin and shot disdainful looks at Sofia. Benjamin swore she was only a colleague, but it seemed to Sofia that he spent far too much time staring at her bare stomach. Benjamin was way too rash and irresponsible to withstand a whirlwind like Sienna. And Sofia wasn’t stupid. It was only a matter of time.

  She felt despondent and melancholy when she said goodbye to Benjamin. She loved him deeply and tenderly. But Benjamin was so straightforward and uncomplicated. Sometimes she wondered if an entire life with him would be boring. If they would one day realize that they didn’t have much in common.

  He followed her to the train station and they shared a long kiss on the platform. Benjamin’s hand slipped under her blouse and she pressed herself hard against his crotch until he let out a quiet groan. Suddenly she didn’t want to go home. She thought about going back to Benjamin’s little room in his sister’s apartment. But she was still a little grumpy about that Sienna girl. And, of course, she had her job.

  On the train on the way home she mulled and mulled. Dilbert, who she had managed to sneak into the park in her bag, could sense her gloomy mood. He grew restless and wanted to jump into her lap, even though Sofia kept setting him down on the floor.

  The air in Lund was chilly and raw and crept under her thin blouse. She walked faster, tugging at Dilbert, who wanted to stop and smell every patch of grass. Once they were through the door of her building, the dog seemed to transform. He tugged at the leash and sniffed as though he’d caught the scent of an animal in the stairwell. In the end she had to pick him up and carry him into the apartment.

  She picked up Friday’s mail from the doormat and placed it on the coffee table. There was a small, hand-addressed envelope among the advertisements, but she decided to open it later. Now Dilbert was sniffing intently at the crack under the door. She couldn’t even distract him from his odd behaviour by pouring food into his bowl.

  ‘What’s with all this damn sniffing?’ she said to the dog. But he paid no attention to her; he was too fixated on whatever new smell he had discovered.

  She heated noodles and ate them at the counter, then showered and put on her robe – but she still felt sticky and dirty. When she called Benjamin, she only got his voicemail. An image of Sienna’s bare stomach flickered through her mind. She left a message to say she already missed him. Exhausted, she lay down on the sofa and dozed off.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but she woke to the sound of Dilbert growling and barking. The hair on his back was standing up. She knew something must be outside her door. Then there was a heavy thud and a terrified whine from the dog, followed by a crackling sound. Smoke spread so quickly through the entryway that she didn’t even have time to see whatever had been tossed through the mail slot.

  Her body moved on autopilot – she rushed up and grabbed the dog, then darted through the smoke and out the door. She didn’t stop until she was outside the building. She was barefoot, wearing nothing but a robe, holding the still-barking dog under her arm.

  Once she reached the lawn, the shivers overtook her. Her body wouldn’t stop shaking. All she could think about was the moment the smoke spread through the apartment, and it made her head spin. She wobbled and fell forward, her knees striking the asphalt. Sitting on the ground, she wrapped her arms around her knees. The cold air nipped at her cheeks and burned her lungs. Suddenly her teeth were chattering. Her muscles wouldn’t obey; her whole body was out of order.

  Her cheeks felt wet. She was crying. Why was she crying?

  Through her window she could tell that the smoke had spread through her whole apartment. A painful sob escaped her, and she fumbled for her phone in the pocket of her robe. She let go of the dog and called the emergency number. Her voice was raspy – it was as if flames were licking at her lungs – but she managed to make herself heard above the blaring alarm and report that her apartment was on fire. What had happened? She was still stuck in the instant when she woke up to that thud. When she thought about all her belongings, the fear got a stranglehold on her. Her computer and purse – would they burn up? It seemed strange that there had been no fire, only smoke.

  She had to stop shaking.

  The police arrived quickly, and then a fire truck. Curious faces appeared in the neighbours’ windows. Eventually it became clear that someone had tossed a small smoke bomb through her mail slot. Andrea Claesson had responded as well, and suggested that she sleep at a friend’s place, or at her parents’, while the apartment aired out. They would have an officer keep watch overnight. Andrea tried to understand what had happened.

  ‘Did you see anyone when you got home?’

  Sofia shook her head.

  ‘Try to recall when you walked across the lawn here. Did you see or hear anything unusual? Something out of the ordinary?’

  Sofia shook her head more firmly, and then she caught sight of the smoke trailing out of her kitchen window like a poison cloud and began to sob uncontrollably.

  Andrea embraced her for a moment.

  ‘What the hell am I going to do?’

  ‘The landlord said they’ve just installed a security camera. I’ll take a look at it tonight. We’ll get whoever did this.’

  Sofia called her parents. Her father answered and promised to come pick her up right away.

  She went up to her apartment to pack a few things for overnight. A firefighter was squatting in the entryway, analysing a small object that was still smoking unpleasantly. Some of the smoke had cleared, but a haze still hung in the air. Dilbert, who was at her heels, began to sneeze as he stepped into the apartment.

  ‘Please be quick,’ said the firefighter. ‘It’s not healthy to be in here right now.’

  She went to the bedroom and put on underwear, jeans, and a sweater, and tossed her robe on the floor, then grabbed her purse, computer, toothbrush, nightgown, and a set of clothes for the next day. Just as she was leaving she caught sight of the little envelope on the coffee table, so she brought it too. All at once, it seemed important. That sprawling cursive. No address or stamp, just her name. Her thoughts were still all over the place, but now it was sinking in: someone had done this to her on purpose.

  As she stood waiting inside the building’s front door, she slit the envelope with her finger and took out its contents. There was no letter. Only a single photograph.

  A picture of her parents.

  24

  ‘No thank you!’ he said, slamming the door in Benny’s face, as you might do to a pushy door-to-door salesperson.

  But Benny kept pounding at the door.

  ‘Open up, Simon! I just want to ask you for some help.’

  So this wasn’t about the package he’d sent Jacob. Simon’s curiosity was piqued, so he opened the door.


  ‘What with?’

  ‘I just want to talk, Simon. We think there’s something you can help us with.’

  ‘I am done with ViaTerra, completely and forever.’

  ‘We know. It’s not about that. Can I come in for a minute?’

  Simon was in two minds. On the one hand, he wanted to tell Benny to go to hell, but on the other, something made him want to let him in. It would be a chance to pry a little, to find out what they were up to at the manor. He wasn’t afraid of Benny; Simon was bigger and stronger.

  ‘Hold on while I clean up a little.’

  He shut the door without waiting for a response. Then he straightened the shoes on the floor and hung up a sweater that had fallen off its hanger. He looked around. The cottage was as neat as usual. Really, he had just wanted to give himself a moment to breathe.

  Benny’s impatient ‘ahem’ came from outside. Simon opened the door. As Benny stepped in, his gaze roamed about the place as if he were looking for something. He was carrying a fat binder under one arm and didn’t remove his jacket or his shoes, just stepped onto the living room rug. When Simon saw the wet leaves and smudges of dirt, he regretted letting Benny in. But now all he could do was try to make the visit as brief as possible.

  ‘Have a seat, but I don’t have anything to offer.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  Benny sat down in Simon’s favourite chair, and Simon was immediately annoyed. He selected a chair across from Benny, who looked tired and worn out. His eyes were wandering more than usual. His hair was greasy and uncombed; his skin was pale. He obviously hadn’t been able to spend much time on his motorcycle in the spring sunshine. And angry pimples had erupted from his face.

  ‘So, what do you want?’

  ‘Look, we get that you don’t want to come back, that you have a job here. But we know you still support ViaTerra, right? At least, Franz said he thinks you do. That you only testified against him because Sofia Bauman pressured you to.’