Shadow of Fog Island

by Mariette Lindstein

  She dug her fingernails into her palms hard, to quash the impulse to turn around and spit in his face.

  He loosened one arm and at first she thought he was going to pull off her underwear, but then she realized he had broken a twig off a tree. He turned around and stuck it in the lock, fiddling with it for a moment.

  ‘Keep all the bastards out,’ he mumbled.

  Daylight gleamed on the gravel outside. Dew had settled; it had cooled her sore heel as they crossed the lawn, but she could no longer feel her other foot. Her fingertips were numb too. Something strange was sticking out of the doghouse – a pair of feet? She turned away, convinced she was so shaken that she was hallucinating. She just wanted to get inside the house, back to her little prison. Never had she wanted something so much. There was still time, if only he went to bed now.

  Dear God, make him go to bed.

  He untied her hands when they got to the cellar room. The light was still on and the warm air hit her. For an instant the world became calm again, gentle and quiet. She almost broke down with relief.

  ‘Now the two of us will get a few hours of sleep,’ he said, his voice soft. ‘Hope you’re looking forward to tomorrow as much as I am.’

  ‘No…’ she bit her tongue. ‘I’m sorry, I meant yes.’

  ‘Yes, what?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  57

  The sky was overcast right above the manor, where leaden grey clouds were piling up, forebodingly heavy. All was quiet; Simon could tell the staff had left the property, but the light was on in the sentry box. He stopped and dialled his own number. Jacob answered almost immediately, his voice soft and mumbling. As if he didn’t know how to answer a cell phone.

  ‘Are you there?’ Simon asked.

  ‘I’m on my way. Are you going to distract the guard?’

  ‘Yes, but you have to let Benjamin in. He’s coming through the forest. Once you’ve got Sofia, I’ll join you. Leave the gate open.’

  Jacob mumbled again, breathing heavily into the phone. He was tense, just like Simon. All the colour had drained from Benjamin’s face on the way over. He’d tried to chicken out as soon as he saw the manor ahead of them. But Simon had trudged onward and chided Benjamin to pull himself together.

  Benny was in the booth and looked surprised when he caught sight of Simon.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘So, I have some information about Sofia. In case you’re interested.’

  Benny seemed more confused than curious.

  ‘Okay, what is it?’

  Just then, Simon felt the phone vibrating in his trouser pocket and took it out. His own name showed up on the screen of Inga Hermansson’s phone.

  ‘Excuse me, I have to take this,’ he said, walking to a grove of trees beyond earshot of Benny.

  ‘The gate,’ came Jacob’s frantic voice. ‘There’s something in the lock, I can’t get it out. There’s no time, oh shit, I don’t know what to do.’

  He heard Benjamin’s voice in the background, a string of curse words, and then:

  ‘Fuck, I have to hurry!’

  Simon thought of Sofia down in the cellar. The staff sent away and how Oswald must have planned this. Just like everything else he ever did. Maybe he was already down there with her. They might be too late.

  ‘Run to the greenhouse and get a ladder,’ he instructed Jacob. ‘There’s a birch trunk Benjamin can lean against the wall and climb up. But you’ll have to help him down on the inside so he doesn’t set off the alarm.’

  Simon glanced in Benny’s direction, but he seemed deeply absorbed in the magazine he was reading. The urgency of the situation gave Simon an idea. He knew it was insane, but he had to try. He took the little card with Oswald’s number from his trouser pocket and dialled it, his fingers stiff. He sneaked another look at Benny, who was still reading. Oswald answered with an annoyed, snappish ‘Hello.’ Simon imitated a Stockholm accent as best he could.

  ‘Am I speaking with Franz Oswald von Bärensten?’

  ‘Yes, who is this?’ Oswald sounded tired. As if he had just woken up.

  ‘This is Peter Ljungman from GQ. As you may know, we run an article about Sweden’s best-dressed man in our July issue, and it so happens we’re considering you.’

  ‘How did you get my private number?’

  ‘I have to admit it was difficult, but we thought you might be interested.’

  Oswald’s voice transformed, becoming supple and ingratiating.

  ‘Well, I must say I’m honoured, but what would the practical considerations be?’

  From the corner of his eyes, Simon saw Benjamin jumping over the wall, and then Jacob and Benjamin rushing across the courtyard toward the manor house. The alarm hadn’t been triggered. Everything was quiet as the grave, and Benny was still reading as he absentmindedly picked his nose.

  ‘Well, we’ll have to do an interview,’ Simon went on, but he was cut off by a click from the phone. He would never know what had happened in that moment. Perhaps Oswald was at the window and saw Benjamin and Jacob. Perhaps he could tell there was something off about the call. In any case, he had hung up on Simon. And now there was no time to waste.

  Simon began to run. He dashed through the woods to the far side of the wall, the bottle and lighter jangling in his pocket. Fir branches and twigs whipped at his face. His eyes tried to find the birch; he found it leaning against the wall and grabbed a branch to haul himself up. He stood atop the wall, swaying for a moment, but managing to avoid the alarmed barbed wire. He got a foothold on the ladder on the other side and climbed down. Benjamin and Jacob were crouching by the cellar window, pounding away at the padlock. He ran up to them, squeezing the bottle in his coat pocket.

  Now they could hear Sofia’s voice down there, shouting at them to hurry. Screaming and whimpering in turns.

  The padlock came away from the wood with a sharp crack.

  58

  She couldn’t let herself fall asleep, but it wasn’t hard – she was on full alert. She sat upright in bed, waiting, wondering if she had ever been so awake. So unnaturally focused, with a buzzing undertone of fear that something might go wrong. At last she knew from the cold light that it was early morning. Voices drifted over from the courtyard. She was curious, but she didn’t want to get out the ladder yet. Instead she pulled over the chair that stood by the door. She gazed up and could see part of the courtyard. Someone was standing there, talking to the guard. A woman with a huge baby carriage. It was Elvira, and yet it wasn’t. She was dressed in a shapeless coat, her hair was up in a messy bun, and her face was so white it seemed to glow against the pale sky. From this strange angle, she looked like a middle-aged lady. The guard said something that sounded like ‘drive you to the ferry,’ and then they vanished from Sofia’s field of vision.

  Sofia recalled Elvira as she had been before: bound and determined to keep fighting. Strikingly beautiful. She remembered the Elvira who had lain on Sofia’s sofa with her big belly, laughing at how they were putting the squeeze on Oswald with their blog. There had been so much life in her back then. Now she looked dead. But behind her cheerfulness, Elvira had always carried a veil of sadness. Fifteen years old, a future in shambles, with no redress in sight.

  My life isn’t the only one he’s ruined, she thought. This isn’t just about me. And he might be here any moment. To sabotage everything.

  It had gotten so quiet outside. She gazed up out the window and saw only the deserted lawn. She was increasingly doubtful that they would be able to pull her through the window. A cold chill went down her spine. What if she got stuck up there, her body halfway in heaven, halfway in hell?

  She climbed off the chair. A decision was forming in her mind. An incredible plan, still taking root, and so reckless that she tried to shut it out. But it kept sneaking back in and growing.

  She pulled the chair over to the door, which seemed thick and heavy, as if it led to a crypt. It would take a lot of strength to kick it in. She shoved the chair under
the handle, then went to the closet and dragged the ladder over to the wall. All her movements were jerky, and she was breathing so strangely. The ladder didn’t want to open. Goddamn piece of shit ladder! She kicked at it furiously until it gave way, pretending it was Oswald she was kicking, and experiencing a certain amount of satisfaction. But that feeling was overshadowed by another thought, darker and more dangerous.

  Something in the closet had etched its way into her memory. And sure enough, there they stood. Two cans of petrol, the type you’d use for a lawnmower. Shoved into a corner, covered in a thick layer of dust. She picked them up and set them in the middle of the room. The sight made her heart leap. She felt that she was experiencing an instant personality change. Her anxiousness was gone; it had been replaced by a sort of callous distance. She was only partially inhabiting her own body; she could see herself from the outside as she moved around the room.

  Her movements were methodical. Her body was like an avatar in a computer game, responding to various commands and performing different tasks. It ate a dry sandwich, which expanded in her mouth, but she stubbornly chewed and chewed, washing it down with water. It put on her dress and pulled the T-shirt over that. It put on her ballerina flats.

  All while the petrol cans stood waiting.

  The thought struck her light a bolt of lightning as she sat there. Matches! She hurried to the closet to look for some. Digging around, scattering things here and there, swearing to herself. But then she found a lighter in the bottom of a bucket. She clicked it and a tiny flame appeared. She stuck the lighter in one side of her bra, then crumpled up a piece of paper that was on a shelf and stuck that in the other side.

  Now she could hear the buzz of the staff gathering in the courtyard. A shrill, commanding voice. Roll call.

  Soon. Soon Benjamin and Simon would come.

  Please, please, for fuck’s sake hurry up.

  She took the family history from beside the bed and stashed it in her clothing. Her bra and the tight dress held it to her body.

  She could hear the staff moving across the courtyard; it sounded like they were marching.

  The petrol cans. She lifted one in each hand, feeling their heft. She wondered how much surface the liquid would cover. What she was about to do was absolutely insane, she thought, but she felt strangely calm.

  Then she opened the first can and inhaled the vapours, which were so strong that it gave her a kick. She began to spread the petrol on the floor, slowly and carefully. She opened the second can and splashed its contents onto the walls, as high as she could. The room smelled worse than a service station now, and she wondered if the smell could make you faint. She sent up a silent prayer that they would come soon.

  Time stood almost still. She sat down on the bed. There was nothing more to do, just wait. And she was no good at waiting.

  There was a thud from the stairs, from inside the house. She went stiff, but then it was quiet again. Then came another noise, outside the cellar window this time. Pounding, like a hammer. Another thud, inside the house. These two sounds were like an outer and inner force, pulling her apart.

  She hurried to the ladder, squeezing the book against her chest, making sure it was secure. A face appeared in the window. They had come. They had really come! She realized that the sound had come from the padlock, which they had broken away. And now there was a sharp, impatient rap at the windowpane. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably. Her hands were sweaty and almost slipped off the steps of the ladder. She was on her way up when she heard the doorknob turning behind her. She froze out of sheer reflex. Impatient rattling at the handle, banging at the door, and Oswald’s voice, roaring.

  ‘Sofia! For Christ’s sake, open up! I’ll kick down the door!’

  The chair under the doorknob creaked, as if at any moment it would give way and fall to pieces.

  ‘Open up, you fucking slut!’

  She grabbed hold, pulled herself up, and all of a sudden she was face to face with the windowpane. She fumbled with the latch and as soon as it was loose the window flew open. Her own voice was bawling: ‘For God’s sake, hurry up! Help me!’ She couldn’t see their faces, only their hands reaching down, and her arms were pulled upwards, like the branches of a tree reaching for the sun.

  She felt herself hoisted up and out the window. Her belly scraped against the windowsill, but she didn’t feel any pain. Only her hearing was painfully sharp: Oswald was kicking the door and the racket was like a sledgehammer on metal. His voice cursing, lengthy harangues; he had completely flipped out. She screeched when her feet hit the ground, shouting up at the sky. Benjamin’s face was right next to hers. It felt like a dream as he tugged her close. Simon was beside him.

  ‘Hold on, there’s something I have to do,’ she managed to say as she stuck her hand under her dress and fumbled for the lighter in her bra. But Benjamin held her tighter. He was pressing her firmly to his chest, locking her arms in place. He shouted at Simon.

  ‘Shit, light it up! The fucking guard is coming!’

  The sound of a motorcycle starting. Simon pulled a bottle from his coat pocket. As if in a fog, she watched him light the rag sticking out of it. She didn’t understand what it was until the bottle was flying through the window.

  ‘Run, run!’ she screamed. ‘I poured petrol…’ Her voice sounded weird, like a stranger’s.

  The crash of the bottle breaking. They had already turned their backs on the manor and were pelting away when the explosion came. A loud sparking and crackling that grew to an inferno of pops and the sound of growing flames.

  They sprinted to the wall and the ladder leaning against it.

  Jacob’s voice came from alongside her: ‘I have to open the gates for the animals. I’ll catch up.’

  Angry shouts came from behind them. But they didn’t turn around.

  They climbed up the ladder. Benjamin first, then Simon, who reached down and pulled her up until she was standing atop the wall. The alarm was blaring. She jumped down and landed hard on the ground. Benjamin grabbed her hand and yanked her along.

  They dashed along the forest paths. A gentle rain was falling from the grey sky, dampening their faces. Her body was so exhausted after her time in the cellar, but she forced it to move. Pushing her muscles. Her heart was racing and her lungs burned. The pain in her heel had returned, and it shot a jolt through her every time she took a step. She stumbled over a root but got up and pressed on.

  Benjamin took her arm and pulled her along. Simon showed up on her right side to take her other arm. They were almost carrying her now. A clearing came into sight, and then the vast sea, spreading out before them like a frothing grey blanket. Simon picked her up and carried her down the rocky slope.

  A motorboat showed up out of nowhere, moored just next to the rocks. Simon helped her aboard, and when he let go of her she felt intensely dizzy. It was like all the blood had drained from her head, sucked down into her legs.

  She sank to the deck but felt Benjamin’s hands pulling her up and into his arms. He rocked her like a baby.

  Jacob had caught up to them.

  ‘It’s fine, they’re not coming after us. They’re trying to put out the fire.’

  She hadn’t turned around yet.

  It wasn’t until the boat had set sail that she saw the smoke billowing from the manor house. Great flames licked at the sky. The wind carried the ash toward them across the dull grey sky.

  59

  Another explosion from the direction of the manor. They were heading across the sound in the little motorboat. Edwin Björk was going fast. The prow whipped up the water, which flew up in sheets and spattered over them. Again and again the boat bounced on the waves, and they all nearly lost their footing.

  ‘Simon, what did you put in that bottle? That place is fucking burning down!’ Benjamin cried.

  Simon scratched his head, puzzled.

  ‘It was me,’ Sofia said. ‘I poured petrol in the cellar. Everywhere. On the floor and the walls.’

&
nbsp; She was still clinging to Benjamin, refusing to let go.

  Simon shot her an odd look and Jacob stared, his mouth agape. All that was visible of Edwin Björk, in the wheelhouse, was the back of his neck.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Benjamin said. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Her eyes burned with tears of anger. ‘He beat me and raped me. That bastard was going to strangle me while he forced me into sex today. What the hell did you think he was doing with me in that cellar, playing Monopoly?’

  She hadn’t quite boarded the boat. In some strange way, she was floating in the air. It still felt like tentacles from the cellar were trying to pull her back, but they were pried away one by one as they put distance between the boat and the island.

  Benjamin held her away from him. He sniffled, close to tears.

  ‘Oh, fuck. Shit, shit. I didn’t know,’ he said.

  They embraced again, mostly to avoid seeing each other cry. She pressed her face to his shirt and inhaled the scent of his sweat. Felt his heart pounding in his chest. Only when the heavy sky opened and they were drenched with raindrops that washed away their tears did she dare to let go and look at him again.

  There should have been something strange between them – jealousy, some sort of scar, or at least an uncomfortable feeling of distance after the time they’d spent apart. But all she saw in front of her was Benjamin as he’d always been: big, calm, and safe. Drops of water clung to his eyelashes and a trickle found its way to the corner of his mouth.

  ‘That bastard is going to pay for this,’ he said. ‘We are sure as shit going to put him away.’

  ‘I don’t want sympathy,’ she mumbled. ‘I don’t want to talk about it yet. He was about to kick down the door when you arrived, just so you know.’

  ‘What if we killed him?’ Jacob wondered in horror.

  ‘We didn’t. Those walls are made of stone. The floor above is wood. The fire will spread upwards,’ Sofia said.