Shadow of Fog Island

by Mariette Lindstein

  They heard Edwin Björk calling from the wheelhouse.

  ‘That’s true, what she said about how the manor was built. But I still hope he kicks the bucket.’

  Simon and Jacob were sitting down now. Simon began to chuckle.

  ‘Jesus, Simon. Stop laughing like that, it’s creepy,’ Benjamin said. ‘He could pin everything on us. The guard saw us, after all.’

  ‘No, he can’t,’ Simon said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We were never there. Sofia has a watertight alibi – Oswald made sure of that. Jacob ran away this morning and hid at Edwin’s. Elsa has been with him all day. Benjamin wasn’t on the ferry this morning, as Edwin knows. And I’m just a damn farmer who spends all his time poking around in the dirt. Inga Hermansson can attest to that.’

  ‘There is someone who knows I was there,’ Sofia said. ‘That pig Mattias, who I met in San Francisco. He’s got control of my email.’

  ‘He could confess to everything,’ Benjamin said.

  ‘He won’t,’ said Simon. ‘Surely you don’t think he’s going to admit to kidnapping Sofia and hacking her computer and all that. People like Mattias are just pawns in this game. He’s in a delicate position right now. He may be an idiotic Oswald clone, but he’s not that stupid. We’ll contact him when we get where we’re going. He’s going to be really useful.’

  Benjamin gave a hoarse laugh.

  ‘Simon, you’re amazing! But Sofia, you have to report Oswald for rape,’ he said.

  Sofia made a face. The very thought of standing in a courtroom again, face to face with Oswald’s snide smile, was so deeply repulsive that her knees felt weak.

  ‘No way am I doing that. He already raped Elvira, who was fourteen at the time, and all he got for that was the chance to rest up for eighteen months while he wrote his awful book. This will be better, with the whole fucking thing burning to the ground.’

  They heard sirens and could spot flashing blue lights on the last bits of the island that were still visible. Sofia pressed the family history to her belly. It seemed like a miracle that she hadn’t dropped it during her escape. Part of her was still back in the cellar, her heart pounding; another part was full of an inner peace.

  The sea stretched out before them. The rain had stopped. The damp air seemed to be breathing, stroking the heat away from her cheeks. The wind whispered in her hair, in the voice of Sigrid von Bärensten: That bastard is going to get what he deserves.

  A plan began to take shape in her mind, a scenario that brought a tiny taste of triumph, although she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Oswald would wriggle out of this again, as usual. But then she had a mind-boggling thought. The pieces fell into place. The doors opened wide. She felt herself break into a smile.

  Of course it was that simple.

  They had almost reached the harbour by now. She had to remind herself again and again that this was all real. The hard deck of the boat, Benjamin’s warm embrace, the dark sky above them. There was a lot left to do. She thought of how she would recover her email account and put the screws on Mattias; of how it would feel to see her parents again; of where she would get her hands on some clothes; of the fact that she really was starving.

  And then she wondered how on earth it would be possible to be separated from Simon, who was sitting there looking at her so tenderly. A warm, loving feeling spread through her. Simon began to chuckle.

  ‘Damn, this was really fun!’

  The fire was a ball of red against the sky on the other side of the sound. Like an early sunset.

  It’s almost too bad that that beautiful old manor house is burning, she thought.

  ‘But of course, I wasn’t there,’ she mumbled quietly to herself.

  Epilogue

  Detective Superintendent Titus Berg pulls down the blinds in the interrogation room, adjusting them meticulously and thoughtfully. It’s not even sunny out. He just wants to show Oswald that this interrogation will proceed at Berg’s pace and on his terms.

  In the autumn of his life, Berg has grown a little cranky and gruff. But that only makes him better suited to questioning suspects. And he’s going to crack the nut that is Oswald. About time.

  Oswald has been irritable and impatient since he stepped into this room. He’s practically steaming. Greed, Berg thinks. Look what it’s done to him. Strange that people can never seem to have enough money.

  Now Oswald is sitting before Berg and glaring. The fact that one of his eyebrows is almost completely burned away lends a touch of the amusing to his otherwise symmetrical face. His entire presence screams bully.

  ‘Isn’t it about time for us to get started?’ he asks, annoyed.

  ‘You know, I was about to ask you the same thing. Isn’t it about time you tell us what really happened out on West Fog Island? We know that fire was set on purpose. Only you and the guard were there. The guard corroborates your story, but there’s just one problem.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That it’s all one big lie.’

  ‘But I told you: there was a group of people who came to set fire to the manor. Benjamin and Simon, and Jacob who worked in the barn, and that slut Sofia Bauman.’

  ‘Now, now. Let’s not be so careless with our language,’ Berg says dryly. ‘A religious man like you…’

  ‘I’m not a goddamn priest. Could you just listen to me?’ His voice is shaking. He’s about to lose control.

  Berg fixes his eyes on Oswald, who stubbornly stares back.

  ‘You know as well as I do that all those people have watertight alibis. Sofia Bauman was in Copenhagen, on her way back to Lund from Paris. Surely you aren’t suggesting that she stretched out a very long arm and set fire to your place from down there?’

  ‘But she was at the manor! I told you to talk to Mattias Wilander, but obviously you haven’t.’

  ‘Yes, we have. We talked to him and Sofia Bauman together, actually. An attractive couple, although it seems they’re going to break up. In any case, they’ve been living it up in Paris for a week, and they got home a whole day after the fire. We even verified this with the staff from the hotel they stayed at.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Oswald interrupts. ‘Mattias works for me. There’s been some sort of misunderstanding. For fuck’s sake, he lives in my apartment in the city.’

  ‘Oh yes, we know. But it seems you’ve got another defector on your hands. He said he can’t deal with all your bullying anymore. That everything changed when he met Sofia Bauman.’

  Oswald’s eyes dart furiously around the room.

  ‘Sofia Bauman is a criminal. She tricked him, don’t you see this is a conspiracy?’

  Berg shakes his head.

  ‘Could you stop bringing up Sofia Bauman? I must say, you seem a bit fixated on her.’

  It’s in this instant Berg sees a transformation in Oswald, or maybe it’s only a feeling. A crack appears in his obstinate façade. Something has cracked, almost imperceptibly, but it makes the air between them quiver. Berg has experienced this feeling during other interrogations. He has seen the fear deep down in the target’s eyes when he realizes he has been caught in his own trap. Is it only an illusion, or has Oswald really gone pale beneath his fake tan? He’s probably at the breaking point. Just where Berg wants him.

  ‘Know what I think?’ Berg asks.

  ‘No, how the fuck could I know that?’ He’s shouting now. Tiny bubbles of spit have gathered in the corners of his mouth. A vein at his temple is pulsating.

  ‘I think you have a grudge against those people because they defected from your cult. I’ve spoken with them. The whole bunch. Really nice folks. It’s unusual to find such straightforward and honest young people these days. Lucky for them that they left while they still had a chance.’

  Oswald leans across the desk. For an instant, Berg thinks he’s about to fly off his chair and punch him.

  Berg stands up. He doesn’t want to end up in a fight with Oswald. Not yet, anyway. He fingers the folder in front of him
. The one from the insurance company.

  ‘How much insurance have you got on that place on the island, again?’

  ‘You know that already.’

  ‘It’s a hell of a lot of money, isn’t it? But what I don’t get is why you took the risk. You’ve already got more than you need. Why do people like you have to be so goddamn greedy? Naturally, the insurance company is keenly interested in the outcome of this investigation.’

  Oswald stands up so hastily that his chair tips over and hits the floor with a bang.

  ‘Fuck you!’ he screams. He turns around and stalks out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

  Berg sighs. Oswald won’t be going anywhere. There are two guards outside the room.

  As Berg listens to the agitated voices outside, he considers the life ahead of him. This is going to be a great end to his career. It’s almost a miracle that this case popped up right before his retirement. The media will drool all over the trial. And one thing’s for certain: this time, Oswald isn’t getting off so easy.

  The door opens and the guards lead in a sullen Oswald and force him into the chair.

  This is going to be good, Berg thinks. Really, really good.

  About the characters and events

  All people and events in this book are fictional. Franz Oswald, West Fog Island, and ViaTerra are products of my imagination. At the same time, of course, I have been inspired by real-life incidents from the twenty-five years I spent as a member of a cult, and from my time as a defector.

  I have taken certain liberties in my descriptions of the University Library in Lund and the Skogome prison facility. The staff who appear in the books are also fictional.

  I hope my story can bring a deeper understanding of how a defector’s life may look. Cults and religious sects are not the only groups from which a person might need to flee. The cult mentality, when one person seizes power over a group or an individual, is found in many places in society, from abusive relationships to bullying situations to dictatorships.

  It takes time to heal wounds after such a life. But it’s possible, and it’s never too late to create a new life for yourself and find freedom.

  Thanks!

  Thank you to everyone who has given me help, support, and encouragement as I was writing this book and its predecessor Fog Island.

  My wonderful parents, and my son John and his family in the United States.

  My husband Dan, whom I tortured through every page, several times.

  Ann-Catrin Sköld Pilback, my mentor, language police, and friend who believes in these books as much as I do. Sometimes more.

  The test readers for this book, Johan Zillén and Britta Larsson.

  Jonas Ornstein, who has encouraged me from the start and helped me be brave enough to take risks.

  Ulla McLean at Skogome Prison, who showed me around and patiently answered all my questions.

  Eva Sköld, who gave me better insight into the Swedish justice system.

  All my friends who work to help survivors of the injustices of cults: Anna Lindman, Håkan Järvå, Noomi Andemark, and everyone else. And a special thanks to all the defectors in the United States, my former colleagues who have had to deal with endless harassment but have never allowed themselves to be silenced.

  All the readers who have contacted me with comments, questions, and cheers of support.

  Other authors who have given me pointers and support: Jenny Rogneby, Emelie Schepp, Elisabeth Akteus Rex, Caroline Eriksson, Tove Alsterdal, Rebecka Aldén, and many more.

  Maria Enberg and Edith Enberg at Enberg Literary Agency for all their encouragement and help.

  Thanks to my first publisher, Frida Rosesund, who worked so hard on this manuscript.

  And a big thanks to everyone at my new publishing house, Forum: Karin Linge Nord and Lisa Jonasdotter Nilsson, you are magical!

  And thank you Johanna Rydergren for your superb editorial work.

  And thank you to HarperCollins and to my fantastic publisher Kate Mills, and copyeditor Jamie Groves. And last, but not least, to my translator Rachel Willson-Broyles for doing a splendid job as usual.

  About the Publisher

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