This had come from someone who didn’t know Sofia. And that certainty made Simon feel sick. Worse than he’d felt since leaving ViaTerra.
It was night-time; he’d just finished eating and was sitting in his easy chair. He had avoided his computer all day, until now. Just to have some space to think. But really, there wasn’t much to think about. The feeling of distaste in his stomach got worse. Oswald had got his claws into Sofia. That was the only explanation, but it was such an unpleasant one that he frantically tried to come up with other reasons. Reasons that didn’t really exist.
His phone rang and Benjamin’s name popped up.
‘I got it too,’ Simon said.
‘What should we do? It’s not her, is it?’
‘Is that other girl with you today?’
‘No, why? Shit, Simon, she’s just a way to pass the time. To get back at Sofia, kind of.’
‘Crappy for the girl, and totally irresponsible. That’s you in a nutshell.’
‘Lay off me! What are we going to do?’
‘I think you should go to the police.’
‘Oh yeah? What am I supposed to say?’
‘Tell them about the emails and tell the truth. That you don’t think they came from Sofia.’
‘Maybe. But we don’t need to get her parents involved yet, do we?’
‘If you don’t want to, okay.’
‘Do you think Oswald’s behind this, Simon? Do you think he’s capable of hurting her?’
‘He’s capable of anything,’ Simon said, but when he heard Benjamin draw a sharp breath, he added, ‘Don’t worry. It’s probably not that bad.’
Day after tomorrow, he thought after he hung up, I’m going to see Jacob. Maybe he will have seen or heard something. Until then, I have to stop worrying.
His phone dinged. It was a text from Anna.
Thanks, Simon! it said, with a dozen hearts, thumbs up, and smileys.
47
Oswald called the staff to a meeting when they got back from the pond. They had been milling around the courtyard shivering in the early spring evening, hungry and tired, but this couldn’t wait. Jacob slipped in and found a seat in the back row. His head was full of troublesome thoughts. Who had been screaming? What was that mysterious delivery about? Maybe Oswald would explain everything. And hopefully he wasn’t angry. Jacob had gotten the barn in order, but there was no room for further disasters.
Oswald’s lecture didn’t start out so well. He gripped the podium and didn’t say anything for a long time, which typically meant he was collecting himself and trying to hold back an outburst of rage. The room was quiet aside from a few scattered coughs. His voice thrummed with irritation when he finally began to speak.
‘It’s truly unforgivable that you made such a mess of everything while I was gone. Today I actually thought about firing the entire staff, sending you back to the mainland, and finding new workers. I’m serious. I’m at a loss for words, here.’
The staff squirmed in their chairs. Shame spread throughout the room. Jacob snorted inwardly – no one had ever been allowed to leave ViaTerra voluntarily. But most people were tormented by the idea when Oswald threatened it. Then again, Jacob wondered how many secretly hoped he would make the decision for them. End their suffering in one fell swoop.
‘There was an inspector here today while you were away,’ Oswald went on. ‘I thought there was an odd smell in the cellar, and sure enough, it’s gone mouldy. You let the rain come in last fall, no one did a thing about it, true to form. So now it’s crawling with mould. Nice, huh?’
Jacob couldn’t help but picture the whole staff scrubbing the cellar. But now he wondered if the object under the sheet could have been some sort of mould-destroying apparatus.
‘It’s too late for you to do anything about it,’ Oswald continued. ‘And besides, I don’t trust you. A company will come and take care of it. Until then, the cellar is off limits. No one is to go down there. Or even go near it. Understood?’
Jacob felt himself relax. They wouldn’t have to work in the cellar. That meant time to care for the animals. Time to sleep. Maybe only a few nights, until the next disaster happened, but still. At ViaTerra, time was more precious than gold.
Oswald shook his head and shrugged in resignation.
‘And do you know what the worst part is? The way you stare at me. Like a bunch of goddamn vacant zombies.’
He turned to the blackboard that hung behind the podium, picked up a piece of chalk, and drew a smiley face without the smile. A circle with two eyes and a straight line for a mouth.
‘This is how you look. Like blank, expressionless lumps of dough. So today we are adding a new word to ViaTerra’s vocabulary. Doughface. And yes, it will count as a transgression to respond to me with doughface. And the water at Devil’s Rock is pretty fucking cold right now.’
Jacob frantically tried to rouse the muscles of his face to life, but it was all wrong – now he was smiling, and surely that didn’t fit the situation. Instead he tried to bring some fervour to his eyes, but now he was certain he must look insane. Luckily Oswald wasn’t looking in his direction. He just shook his head and sighed.
‘No food for you tonight. I can’t stand the thought of you all sitting around the dining hall and laughing. In fact, I can’t stand the thought of you being on my property at all.’
So they would be sent to bed without their supper, like disobedient children.
But Jacob had made an extra sandwich in the kitchen earlier that day, to be on the safe side. And he could always get milk from the cows.
He stayed put as the staff rambled out. Typically, everyone stuck around when Oswald was in a rage, but after Bosse’s escape no one had taken charge of the staff. Besides, everyone was tired and cold and no one had the energy to order anyone else around.
Jacob was last to leave the dining room. He didn’t rush as he walked across the courtyard; he soaked in the chilly air. He felt that it was time to leave. The day after tomorrow I’ll see Simon, he thought. And we’ll make a plan. I’ll go to an animal-rights organization when I get out. Get them to rescue the animals.
He imagined what it would be like to be free. To be able to call his parents and tell them that this hell was over, that he was no longer a cult member whose only contact with them was found in cryptic, meaningless letters.
Just as he turned the corner around the manor house, he noticed that there was a light on in the cellar.
And then he saw something that made his skin crawl.
48
A ray of sun found its way through the window and tickled her face, waking her up. At first the warmth felt nice, but it was only a stray beam that had snuck into her prison, only to disappear soon after. A deep disgust rose in her stomach as the puzzle-pieces of yesterday fell into place. The fleeting pleasure burst like a bubble.
She screwed her eyes shut in an attempt to keep reality out. Pretended that she had only fallen asleep on the plane and was having a nightmare. Soon she would land at Landvetter. Tell Mattias she had changed her mind and take the train straight to Lund. She simply couldn’t be back at ViaTerra. People didn’t kidnap their enemies, not here in Sweden. But then again, Oswald wasn’t a normal person.
The ray of sun had found the floor, and dust danced up into the light. It was quiet outside, aside from a bleating sheep. She thought of Benjamin. Her longing for him ran through her body like a shock. Each time she tried to quell any thoughts of him they just came back, like when you can’t help but pick at a scab. What if she never saw him again? Her anguish was a melting ice cube in her stomach; it spread through her body like poison. She stared straight ahead. Breathing slowly. Managed to gather enough strength to sit up in bed.
Get it together, Sofia. For God’s sake, get it together.
Today I will escape, she thought. I did it once, so I can do it again. She found it odd that she’d managed to get any sleep, but it must have been the drugs. Her body had been so weak, but today it was stronger. When she s
tood up her legs felt steadier, although she was a little dizzy.
There was a tray on the table by the door. So he had been there. Cold eggs and soggy toast. The butter had melted and hardened again. The first bite made her feel like throwing up, but she needed the energy to run if she was going to escape.
Once she’d used the toilet, washed up, and brushed her teeth, she decided to put on a dress. It was that or run through the forest wrapped in a towel. At the wardrobe she glanced through the short, tight dresses and chose the only one that went past her knees. The fabric was thin, but there was no helping it. She put on the ballerina flats.
There were two ways out of the cellar. Through the door, which was locked, or through the window. It was so high up that she would need to stand on something to reach it, but it looked like she could squeeze through. She went over to the cleaning closet and took out the ladder she’d noticed when she first peeked in. She hauled it to the wall and set it up. Trembling with anticipation, she climbed to the top. The courtyard came into view beyond the glass. It must have been early morning – the sun was still rising. It wasn’t as lovely as she recalled: the water in the big pond was nothing but brown goo. The lawn hadn’t been mowed. The flowerbed under the cellar window was an overgrown tangle of weeds and flowers, with bees bouncing from blossom to blossom. But the very sight of the open landscape made her heart skip a beat. Freedom was so close. If only she could get the window open.
She wiggled the latch and got it loose, but she could only open the window a tiny bit before it caught on something outside. The tree-like scent of damp spring earth struck her. She shoved at the window, but it wouldn’t give way.
‘It’s locked from the outside,’ came a voice behind her, causing her to jump and nearly lose her grip. She didn’t have time to turn around before he was there, grabbing her by the hair. He yanked and she fell backward, but he caught her by the armpits with an iron grip. The ladder fell over with a crash. He dragged her onto the floor and let go of her so fast her head struck the floor. The blow was so hard her vision went black. When she opened her eyes again he was looming over her. The sun shone through the window, outlining his silhouette with a fiery aura. Her forehead was pounding and her ears were buzzing. For an instant she thought she might faint, but then he bent down and pulled her to her feet. His eyes were burning with rage, a wrath that exploded from his pupils.
He boxed her ear, a move so fast and so hard that her ears rang. A shove sent her backwards and she landed on the bed. Her brain couldn’t keep up with what was happening; she tried to get up, tried to protect herself as his body fell on top of hers. But he was strong, much stronger than her, and he locked her hands above her head. Her legs flailed and she tried to kick him, but she missed; she spat at him but he turned away and looked down at her with his face full of scorn.
He slapped her cheek hard, saying nothing, just breathing heavily through his nose. It was clear that her resistance was turning him on. She could feel him getting more and more excited the more she struggled. He turned her onto her stomach and lay on top of her as he used something soft to tie her hands to the bedstead, tightening it so hard that her wrists burned. She was caught under the weight of him and could hardly breathe, but she whimpered, aware that she needed to scream, and managed the start of a roar. But then he shoved her head into the pillow until she was gasping for air. He took her by the hair and pulled her face back up again.
‘Stop, stop!’ she shrieked.
‘Scream as much as you want. No one will come down here.’
He yanked at her dress. The fabric ripped loudly. She tried to kick him but he got to his knees between her legs, pulled her up, and shoved her thighs apart. She couldn’t move. She was stuck, and suddenly ashamed of her naked body. Then came a burning pain as he spanked her buttocks. He struck her hard, senselessly. The fury streaming from him now was of a type she had never before experienced. Pent-up hate that he projected at her body in quick, violent blows. But worst of all, worse than the pain, was his silence. Not a word, not even a moan. Only his breathing, heavy and rasping. When he was done hitting her, he pushed her forward, causing her head to strike the headboard. For a moment he was still. She thought he might stop. But then she heard him unzip his pants. She considered begging and pleading but knew it wouldn’t help. He wrapped an arm around her stomach and pulled her ass into the air. She squeezed all her muscles, trying to keep him out. The pain was so sudden that she screamed. It burned like fire. Her hands squeezed at the sheets convulsively. It seemed like he would rip her to shreds, that something had ruptured inside her. But he kept thrusting into her, harder and faster. His breathing came in sharp bursts. She might have been a blow-up toy. Or dead. Her screams died back into a long, drawn-out whimper. The pain was a constant wave tearing at her body. He kept going for a long time. Whether it was ten minutes or half an hour, she would never know – all her strength had drained away and she hung like a lifeless doll, waiting for him to be done. The pain had become part of her and was drowned out by a recurring thought.
I don’t want to die like this.
Once he had come, he grabbed her waist and pressed her into the bed. He collapsed on top of her, heavy as a boulder. She couldn’t breathe and began to struggle; it felt like she would suffocate until he rolled off of her. She could hear him zipping up. He hadn’t undressed, only pulled down his trousers.
Later, a peculiar thought would pop into her mind and hang around. He hadn’t even taken off his clothes. Because it wasn’t about sex, only about humiliating her in the worst imaginable way. He had only gotten hard because of her fear. She would understand that he, with his heart black as coal, was incapable of enjoying sex – he only got off on the violence. A moment of clarity would come to her; it would explain why he had constantly bothered her in the office but had never gone all the way, why he rejected all the girls who hit on him. Because the only thing he wanted to do was torture and degrade women. But that insight came later. At the moment when he was finished with her, there was only one thought in her head: that she didn’t want to die.
He untied her hands and turned her onto her back. For a long time he gazed at her, sneering. The bed bounced as he climbed off. She lay there motionless and silent. Her body was throbbing with shame, and it seemed to her there was no coming back from this. Everything was ruined and would never be the same again.
‘We’re done here, but it’s not over between us. It’s only just begun, you see,’ he said.
‘You sick bastard,’ she managed. She steeled herself for a blow to the head, but he just laughed and threw up his hands like it was all a game.
‘To be honest, it doesn’t help that you talk to me like that. If you want a tip, that is. It will only prolong your suffering.’
His steps echoed against the floor. She turned her head away to hide the fact that her eyes were swimming with tears. But he didn’t turn around. The key turned in the lock and everything went quiet. She curled up in the foetal position and cried. Her sobs were thick and hiccoughing; her nose began to run, mixing with the tears to form a disgusting mess. She cried until it hurt to breathe, then rolled over and sat up, whimpering – there seemed to be ripping and tearing between her legs. Sharp, pulsating waves of pain. Her legs almost couldn’t hold her as she stood up, and she felt a stabbing pain inside. Shuffling to the bathroom, she looked in the mirror. An angry bruise on her forehead. The semen trickled out of her as she sat on the toilet, and then came a few drops of blood. Her stomach turned. She knelt in front of the toilet and tried to throw up, but all that came out was something thick and slimy. She rested her forehead against the cool seat for a moment.
Strange thoughts came to her. Everything had gone wrong. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. When she’d worked with Oswald in his office, she’d always imagined that she would kick and claw at him if he attacked her; she would fight back like a wildcat. She’d even kept a little pocketknife in her skirt pocket, a silly little way to defend herself if things go
t out of control. But now it turned out he was too strong and violent and he had rattled her completely. It had been a piece of cake for him, and she was ashamed of that.
She lay down on the cold bathroom floor and cried, then dragged herself back to the bed and pulled the covers over her head. She fell asleep almost immediately, even though it was the middle of the day.
When she awoke, it was dark. The sky outside was black and the moon shimmered between the ragged, passing clouds. She flung herself back and forth in the bed, screaming. But nothing happened. No one came.
She fell asleep again, and must have slept the whole night – the room was bright when she woke up. How long could a person sleep, really? She realized she was empty; no more feelings. All that was left was a vague sort of weight somewhere inside. I have to pull myself together, she thought. But there was nothing to hold onto. Her head was pounding, her crotch ached, and her buttocks burned.
What should I do? Please help me, God!
A glance at the table told her there was no food on it. So she was going to starve on top of everything. She was thirsty, but didn’t have the energy to drag herself across the room. She turned her head to face the window and felt sleepy again and dozed off.
Some time later she became aware that he was back again. She hadn’t heard him arrive, but there he was, sitting on the bed. She pretended to be asleep, breathing evenly and slowly. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, awaiting his touch, which she knew would come. His cold fingers ran down her back, stroking her tenderly, almost lovingly. It was so awful and out of place that she shivered and began to tremble. She quashed the impulse to pull away. His cold lips brushed her cheek, which only made everything worse. Because he was absolutely unpredictable.
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