Shadow of Fog Island

by Mariette Lindstein

  All at once, Simon was on the alert. Benny seemed to know something about what Oswald was up to.

  ‘Tell me what you really want from me.’

  ‘Well, you know, everything Elvira and Sofia said about Franz during the trial was a lie. Just so you know. I have documents here that prove…’

  He began to flip through the binder. Simon held up one hand.

  ‘No, put that crap down and get to the point.’

  ‘We were wondering if you have any contact with Sofia.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, there ended up being a lot of misunderstandings between her and Franz. Things he wants to get to the bottom of sooner or later. To clear the air.’

  Simon sighed. They thought he was so damn stupid. A big, dumb farmer they could dupe as easy as pie.

  ‘We know she liked you.’

  ‘What is it you want me to do?’

  Benny squirmed, wringing his hands nervously. His forehead was beaded with sweat, which Simon hoped would not drip onto his chair. Furthermore, an acrid stench emanated from Benny, probably a result of stress. Simon saw in his mind what must have happened: Oswald had a meeting with Madeleine, furious that the Sofia Bauman project wasn’t going as he wished. Madeleine chewed Benny out. Go see that dolt Simon right away! Before you go to bed!

  He supposed Benny didn’t exactly have it easy.

  ‘Do you have any contact with Sofia?’ he asked again.

  ‘Of course not. You know me. I keep to myself.’

  ‘I mean, we were thinking maybe you could contact her. Do some prying. Surely you use email?’

  Simon ignored Benny’s vaguely condescending tone of voice.

  ‘Do some spying, you mean?’

  ‘No, not exactly, just get in touch. Give us some information.’

  ‘Isn’t that called being an informant?’

  Benny responded with a nervous yelp of laughter that sounded fake.

  ‘Call it whatever you want. Look, we know it’s hard to manage on a gardener’s salary. This is your chance to earn a nice chunk of change. Consider it an extra gig.’

  ‘I still don’t understand what you want me to do.’

  ‘Get back in touch with Sofia. Find out what she’s up to these days. And next year, when Franz gets back, maybe you can invite her to visit. I’m sure she’ll want to see your plants. You’ve been in the paper, for Christ’s sake. While she’s here, Franz can take the opportunity to contact her, see?’

  ‘Why doesn’t he just call her? Surely he has access to a phone in prison.’

  ‘He believes in direct confrontation, if you know what I mean.’

  Simon didn’t want to ask any more. He didn’t want to hear another word. All he wanted to do was stand up and punch the sweaty, stinky individual that was sitting in his good chair. But he kept it together. He stood up so quickly that Benny, too, rose automatically.

  ‘Listen, I have to think about this. Is there a number I can reach you at?’

  Simon gave him a notepad and a pen, and Benny wrote down a number.

  ‘And this will stay between us, right?’

  ‘Who would I tell?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good question.’

  Simon heard the motorcycle roar to life outside. He watched from the window to reassure himself that Benny really was gone, then sat down in his easy chair and exhaled. He realized that his cheeks were burning. This is bananas, this is absolutely fucking bananas! Once he had pulled himself together, he called Sofia.

  She started to cry the second she heard his voice.

  ‘What is it, Sofia? Is something wrong?’

  ‘Those bastards threw a smoke bomb through my mail slot.’

  She told him the story in one very long sentence, then drew in a breath and started crying again.

  ‘Maybe you don’t want to talk right this minute, I mean…’ Simon said.

  ‘There’s no one I would rather talk to. I’m at my parents’ place. I can’t even deal with going back to my apartment. I haven’t been to work in two days.’

  ‘Shit! What are the police doing?’

  ‘They got the landlord to put up a security camera, but whoever threw in the bomb hung something over it. From the side. You can’t tell who it is.’

  ‘This is just nuts!’

  ‘I know, right? But that’s not the worst of it. They took a picture of my parents and sent it to me. What does that mean? Is it some sort of fucking threat, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I think you should quit blogging. It’s not healthy for you – you can’t keep going like this.’

  ‘I have no intention of doing that.’ She was already gathering up her courage again; her voice had regained some of its steadiness. ‘But what do you suppose they want from me?’

  ‘I think they mostly want to mess with you, in every way they can.’

  ‘Yeah, but a smoke bomb? That’s the sort of thing you expect from hooligans.’

  ‘Exactly. Speaking of bombs, are you ready for another one?’

  He told her about Benny’s visit. For some strange reason, Sofia burst out laughing. This was always the way with her. She was full of unpredictable reactions. Her sense of humour was variable, like the swinging of a metronome. It was one of the traits Simon found so irresistible in her, this constant emotional turmoil. But right now, it almost sounded creepy.

  ‘Well, damn! We can use this to our advantage.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Don’t you see? You can trick them, pretend that you’re spying on me, and give them false information.’

  He considered this for a moment, unsure whether he liked this new role she was trying to foist on him. Life was busy now; he had the whole summer ahead of him, and he hadn’t thought to focus on anything but trying to win that competition. Yet there was something to her idea. He wouldn’t have to put a lot of effort into it. Just play dumb and pretend to misunderstand what was going on.

  ‘Are you still there, Simon?’

  ‘Sure am. Just thinking.’

  ‘Listen, it sort of sounds like Oswald is planning to kidnap me.’

  ‘Is that even possible these days? In Sweden?’

  ‘He already tried once. Don’t you remember? He sent Benny and Sten to pick me up when I was hiding out in the cottage in Norrland.’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t think he’ll try that again. No way he’ll take that kind of risk after he’s been in prison.’

  ‘Oswald will try anything. He thinks he’s God. Omnipotent.’

  ‘Why do you sound so excited? You were so sad just a few minutes ago.’

  ‘It’s only when I don’t know what’s going to happen that I get so upset. Look, we have to turn this to our advantage!’

  Just a little bit ago, she had been overwrought. Now she was all keyed up. For Simon, this would have felt like going from dead to alive in a matter of seconds. He had an unpleasant feeling that he was about to be dragged into something he wouldn’t like. A speck of dust being sucked into a maelstrom.

  ‘Listen, can I think this over and call you back?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He sat in his chair to reflect on everything. A crescent moon glowed beyond the pine trees outside his window. Everything was calm; the air was no longer trembling as it had in Benny’s presence. Simon closed his eyes and let his mind wander. He replayed the conversation with Benny several times and found that it made him angry. The way Benny had treated him. Like a village idiot they could trick into anything.

  His thoughts were drawn to the time Oswald had beaten him in front of the whole staff. Now he wished he had hit back. Crushed Oswald. Done away with that monster on the spot. Everything that had happened recently seemed too random. Hacked email accounts, threatening words spray-painted on doors, smoke bombs. Oswald was more systematic than that. He had to be the one behind it all, but it must be part of some overarching plan. Now Simon wondered what Oswald wanted from Sofia. Why she was so important to him. He suspected there was a reason h
e couldn’t comprehend.

  The thought of this inexplicable thing made him shudder.

  25

  June began with a heatwave. The temperature rose steadily until it was over thirty degrees. There was no breeze, and the heat settled like a quivering blanket over streets and parks. The scents of early summer competed with fumes from traffic; the air was stifling. Even in the shade it was stuffy and hot. The elderly suffered from heatstroke. The grass, so recently turned lush and green, dried out and turned yellow, burnishing the city in a strange, pale glow. People were driven to extremes in their attempts to cool off. They waded into fountains, walked around with umbrellas, and bought so much ice cream that shops ran out and the phrase ‘ice cream crisis’ was coined by the media. On the beaches out at Lomma, people fried like bacon in the sunshine. Those who lacked the energy to drag themselves to the coast sought shelter indoors. The number of library patrons doubled, because it was still relatively cool within the thick stone walls of the old building.

  Sofia had so much to do that she hardly had time to worry. Even Wahlin seemed to have capitulated to the heat – the black car had disappeared. Most days, when she got home after work, she was beyond tired and spent her evenings drinking iced tea and blogging.

  But she wasn’t sleeping well. It was hot in the apartment, and she didn’t dare leave the windows open. She bought a fan, but all it did was blow the air around and keep her awake with its humming. She found herself waking and gasping for air during the long, sticky nights.

  The heat turned into fuel for her nightmares, which had returned with renewed intensity. It was always the same dream: Oswald was pinning her to the wall. Only the details varied. Sometimes he was panting; sometimes his breathing rattled and rasped. In this dream, her senses were always painfully sharp. The pain when he bit her neck. The sound of the buttons striking the marble floor when he tore her blouse open. She felt exhausted by the time she woke up. She tried to convince herself that the nightmares would end someday, that she would stop replaying the scene in her mind.

  She had never written about that night. Only Benjamin and Simon knew what had happened. Yet she suspected that the key to Oswald’s deranged pursuit of her lay in his panting breaths that time. Maybe she had to write about it.

  She hesitated at first, because she sensed a pattern. It was when she spoke out that the attacks came, with ever-increasing intensity. There was something to what Benjamin and Simon were always nagging her about. All she had to do was shut her mouth, and Oswald would leave her alone. But the same wasn’t true of the nightmares, nor the feelings of guilt. She still had friends in ViaTerra. Friends who were forced to jump off cliffs into freezing cold water and eat rice and beans every day. She thought of Elvira and just knew that she wasn’t doing well. Magnus Strid’s words came back to her: Some of us can’t just sit by and watch as the big guys attack those who are weak.

  One particularly hot and steamy afternoon, she composed the entry. Writing and deleting, rewriting and editing. She turned a critical eye towards her words until she could find nothing else to change, and by then Dilbert had been snoring on her bed for hours.

  When she checked the blog the next morning, there were lots of comments. Most of them said things like Poor you and So brave of you to share your story. But one comment made her burn inside. You should have kicked that bastard in the nuts. It’s your own fault, you never said no.

  The commenter’s handle was Ultrafemina. Sofia was immediately annoyed, mostly because she thought there was a kernel of truth to the comment. But then she decided that Ultrafemina could go to hell – she had no idea what it had been like out on the island. Or what the consequences would have been if Sofia had defied Oswald. She made up her mind that Ultrafemina was an old hag who had never had sex, and was taking out her frustrations by leaving mean comments on the internet.

  What Sofia hadn’t expected was for the evening papers to jump all over her disclosure a few days later, blaring twisted, sensational headlines.

  OSWALD’S BRUTAL RAPE OF SOFIA

  SOFIA BAUMAN SPEAKS OUT ABOUT RAPE

  They had essentially copied the blog entry, and added sordid headlines and a picture of her. Benjamin called her at work, even though he knew it was strictly forbidden.

  ‘What’s all this?’ His voice sounded weak and anxious.

  ‘Ask the newspapers who published it. They just copied my blog. For Chrissake, I can write whatever I want on my blog, can’t I?’

  ‘But he never raped you, did he?’

  ‘No, and I never said he did.’

  There was a sigh of relief on the other end of the line.

  ‘But listen, he could sue you for this.’

  ‘No, he can sue the papers. Will you quit picking on me? It’s not my fault the media got it all wrong. I have to work. See you this weekend.’

  ‘Hey wait, something came up…’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Work party on Saturday. You’re welcome to come, but it’s mostly for the staff.’

  An image of Sienna flashed through her mind even as she noticed Edith Bergman shooting her a look of warning. Several people were lined up in front of her counter.

  ‘I have to go. Have fun at the party.’

  She hung up on Benjamin before he could respond.

  It’s only a matter of time…

  She gave the first man in line an apologetic smile. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Well, there’s this book I can’t find, but tell me – weren’t you on the front page of Expressen today?’

  And so it went. All goddamn day.

  At last the heat gave way to cooler air that streamed into the city, bringing relief and comfort. Then the air turned heavy and humid, and the rain came. Small, stubborn drops in the evening, and a serious downpour the next morning. By lunch the sky had cleared and the air was clean, fresh, and bright.

  It was Friday. She’d managed to swallow her anger over her conversation with Benjamin, but now that the weekend was upon her she couldn’t hold it in. He hadn’t called again, and she wasn’t about to go crawling back. The animosity between them was so strong it ran like an electric wire between Gothenburg and Lund. As she walked through the park toward her building, she kicked pebbles on the gravel path so hard they bounced across the lawn. She looked up at the building and caught sight of Alma. She couldn’t see her face, but she could sense the worry pouring from her. Sofia jogged to the front door.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s Dilbert – someone has taken him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s my fault, please forgive me. I needed to buy milk and I tied him up outside the store. It was only supposed to take a few minutes, but there was a long line and the credit card machine was acting up. When I came back, he was gone.’ By now she was crying. ‘I never thought… his leash was gone too. He just vanished into thin air.’

  Sofia figured Alma had just forgotten where she had left the dog. Dilbert was probably sitting outside the convenience store, looking silly, waiting.

  ‘Come on, Alma. Let’s go have another look. Maybe he got loose and by now he’s back.’

  But there was no dog outside the store. Alma showed Sofia where she had tied Dilbert’s leash to a bike rack. Sofia was worried, but she tried not to let the panic overtake her. She was convinced that Alma simply hadn’t made a secure knot. The dog must have gotten loose, found the scent of something exciting, and gotten lost.

  The panic didn’t come until later. Once she’d helped Alma home she walked around calling for Dilbert and realized how much she loved that little beast. A void formed inside her, and she filled it with horrible images: Dilbert, run over on the highway. Dilbert, his leash caught on a tree or stump. Dilbert, lured away with poisoned meat, now in agony. Dilbert, stoned to death by a gang of thugs.

  She called her dad, who brought the car. They drove in endless circles searching for the dog. Her eyes were riveted to the edge of the road, where she feared Dilbert’s li
feless body would turn up at any second. In the end, they drove to the police station and reported the dog missing. When her dad dropped her off at her apartment again, he tried to reassure her.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon. Dogs have an incredible ability to find their way home. And after all, Dilbert seems to have a keen sense of smell.’

  Back at home, she posted to her blog, plus Instagram and Facebook. Has anyone seen my little dog?

  Darkness had already begun to fall, but she headed out with a blurry picture of Dilbert, which she posted at the convenience store and on trees and buildings nearby. She realized she didn’t even have a good picture of Dilbert to remember him by, and her throat constricted.

  She couldn’t sleep, and lay there staring at the wall late into the night. Imagining that she heard barking, she went to the window and gazed out at the dark, deserted neighbourhood. She hadn’t called Benjamin – she was still angry at him and his stupid work party that was more important than she was.

  The next day, she kept looking. Biking around, talking to people. Everyone was friendly and helpful, but no one had seen Dilbert. She forgot to eat lunch and made a silent vow to God that she would do anything, if only Dilbert came back.

  The day was overcast and the slate-grey sky hung over the city and made everything seem even more dismal. When tiny droplets of rain began to speckle the ground, everything felt so miserable that she sat down on a park bench and cried for a while. She pulled up her hood and gritted her teeth and decided to stop at the park by the store where Dilbert had vanished.

  She whistled and called his name. Her phone dinged. At first she thought she would ignore it, because she was exhausted – she had drained every reserve of energy. But then she sank onto a bench, took her phone from her pocket, and brought up the text. It was an image. Dilbert, sitting on a set of stone stairs. Her heart did a cartwheel. Had someone found him? Was there a message? But no, it was just a picture, and it had been sent from a hidden number. Her hope plummeted like a bird shot from the sky. Was it a threat? Her phone dinged again – another image. She opened it, trying to figure out what she was looking at. And then she dropped her phone on the grass. But the image was burned into her mind. A face covered in a black hood, only its eyes visible. A message in capital letters: ONE MAIMED DOG FOR EVERY TIME YOU TELL LIES ABOUT US.