Cabin Fever

by Alex Dahl

  ‘Wait, last Saturday? When I was at Camilla’s? That’s why you didn’t come?’

  Eirik nods. ‘The week passed in a blur and I was consumed with work. Every goddamned minute of my days were filled until late in the evening and I had no chance to get back here, so I decided to just wait until she got back to Oslo to try to reason with her again, or pay her off or something. But then, on Friday, when you told me she was one of your clients, and that she’d begged you to come here so she could tell you the so-called truth, I realized I had to get rid of her. So I did.’

  ‘The Saturday when I was at brunch.’

  ‘I came up here again. She was a fucking mess. I only did what she would have done herself. She’d clearly even planned it. You said so.’

  ‘So you came up here and found Leah alone, having lost her baby. And you shot her.’

  He stares at me hard.

  The enormity of what Eirik has just said dawns on me and my mouth must drop open, and it’s as if my husband suddenly notices me again after being lost in his own moments of confession. ‘Write it, I said. I can’t bear it any—’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you mean, no? I said, fucking write it. You know, I still didn’t think I’d have to do this, even after you came here and I came after you. She was dead by then, after all, and I didn’t have to worry that she’d talk. It would get ruled a suicide for sure, especially after you told me about the note. So I told you she’d taken her shoe off and fired the weapon with her toe. That could have been that, Kristina. Leah’s therapist testifying she was suicidal, the note, all of it. It wasn’t until this morning when I came back inside and saw you with her laptop that I realized it was too late. You’d have to go. Look. On the side, there. Yeah, that little dent. I recognized it. I knew you were lying when you said the laptop was yours and when I saw how hysterical you were. I’d feared that she would write something to you, especially when you said she’d begged you to come here, but I assumed I’d shut her up in time.’

  ‘She actually tried to email me what she wrote on Saturday, when I was still at home. But it never came through, only her email.’

  ‘Wait. What? There is no phone reception here.’

  ‘Where is her phone?’

  ‘I took it with me. When I got to the main road, I messaged her mother. Then I threw the phone into one of the lakes I passed on my way to Bergen.’

  ‘She must have tried to send it to me earlier and when you brought the phone from here it picked up reception and processed her outbox, sending it.’ We stare at each other again, the shock of the past week hanging on the air between us.

  ‘If only you hadn’t read it. If only…’

  ‘You know, what she wrote was all about me and her and how she was obsessed with me. Whatever happened between you and her wasn’t the focus of what she wrote.’ I’m acutely aware of talking Eirik down here; there is no doubt in my mind that he is set on silencing me.

  ‘She threatened to ruin my career, my marriage, everything. My whole life. I won’t let her. It didn’t mean a thing, she was just some girl. She reminded me of you when we were young, you know? That was all. She was a diversion. And she’s fucking cost me everything. Now just do as you’re told and write what I said.’

  ‘What are you going to do? Get rid of me and tell everyone that you came up here to look for your wife and found me dead, having killed myself like Elisabeth and Leah?’

  ‘Precisely. Now write it.’ Eirik grabs my arm hard with one hand, and holds me by the back of the neck with crushing force with his other hand. It feels as though I am going to black out. I think fast. I can get out of this, I know I can. I pick up the pen.

  I can’t bear it any longer, I write. I’ve failed as a friend and as a therapist. And as a wife. I love you, Eirik, more than life itself. I push the little book over to my husband and as he reads the words, fresh tears gather in his eyes.

  ‘Come,’ he says.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Outside.’ He picks up the coil of blue rope from where he dropped it on the floor and then he stoops down and gently picks me up from the sofa. It’s his gentleness that breaks my heart, he thinks he has no choice in this moment other than to kill the woman he loves. I need to give him a choice.

  ‘It was me who killed Trine Rickards,’ I say, straight into his ear, as he carries me toward the door. ‘I shot her. Point-blank. Like you shot Leah. We played Russian Roulette and it was me who pulled the trigger. I saw her go from everything – every beautiful, living, irreplaceable thing, to nothing at all. I didn’t have a choice, Eirik. My mind blanked it out and Elisabeth told everyone that it was the man, Rodriguez, who just randomly shot her, but it wasn’t, it was me. He’s still doing time, for fuck’s sake. And all those years, Elisabeth kept the truth quiet, trying to protect me and it killed her, really. No, actually, that’s not true; it was basically Leah who killed her.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Leah. You and I are both Leah’s victims, Eirik. She set you up, and me. None of this is your fault. None of it. You have to listen to me. She infiltrated my life, holding the twisted beliefs that she was somehow freeing me by telling me the so-called truth. But her truths were all lies. Can’t you see? It’s all Leah’s fault. She went and found Elisabeth at Villa Vinternatt and convinced her that she should speak out about what happened to Trine, that it was me who shot her. Elisabeth then came to me, wanting to speak about Carúpano, saying she couldn’t bear to carry it alone anymore. She left me no choice, Eirik. And it was all because of Leah. It’s her fault.’

  ‘What do you mean, she left you no choice?’

  ‘I couldn’t let Elisabeth use the most personal, painful thing that has ever happened to me, a terrible trauma that’s ruined so many lives, as some kind of entertainment. And fucking stupid Leah got it all wrong. She thought that Elisabeth killed herself because she couldn’t bear keeping Carúpano secret any longer and wanted to protect me from knowing the truth. But she did tell me, and that’s why she died, not because she didn’t. And she was going to tell everyone else, splashing it out for all to see in some lurid art house picture book. Think about it. It would have cost you the elections, Eirik. Imagine the headlines – Conservative Party’s PM candidate’s wife is a teenage murderer? And think about the poor Rickards; it would have killed them. She left me no choice.’

  ‘No choice for what.’

  ‘I got rid of her, Eirik.’ He stares at me, sheer shock etched on his face. ‘I killed her. For us. Just like you killed Leah for us.’

  ‘Shut up, Kristina,’ he says, kicking the cabin’s door open, letting a gust of icy air inside. ‘Shut up. I need to think. I don’t… I don’t believe you.’ Eirik steps outside and begins to drag me toward the trench he’s dug in the snow, up toward an inky black night sky throbbing with stars. I bite my lip to stop myself from screaming out loud from the pain in my leg; I don’t want to antagonize him more than I have to.

  I glance at the rifle cabinet on the wall in the hallway and notice that it is still open and empty. Where is the rifle? Last night when Eirik came back inside the cabin from inspecting Leah’s body, he said he’d brought the weapon back with him and secured it in the cabinet. Smart – that would justify to the police why his fingerprints are on it. So where is the rifle? Is he planning on giving me the same ending as Leah – a shattered skull, a bared ice-blue toe on the trigger, a spray of blood in the snow?

  ‘I killed her, Eirik,’ I say, my voice trembling, then breaking as I speak the words out loud. ‘I killed them both.’

  ‘You’re fucking with my head, Kristina. I know you are. You’re trying to manipulate me, just like you always manipulate everyone, knowing full well that your calm demeanor falsely makes everyone trust you, but it doesn’t work on me, not anymore—’

  ‘I killed Elisabeth, Eirik,’ I say again, louder this time, practically shouting the words, letting all the horror of that night loose into the night air. Her sweet face. The way she spoke
about the future. She looked forward to it. The way she tried to fight me off, but couldn’t – she didn’t stand a chance. ‘I fucking killed her,’ I scream. ‘I killed my best friend for us, and you need to listen to me, right now! I know why you did what you did. I know that you fucked Leah and I believe you when you say it meant nothing. But you and I, Eirik, we are so much more than that. So I don’t give a flying fuck that you screwed her. She’s dead, and can’t hurt us now. We have a life together, a whole, beautiful life in Incognito Gata, and soon we’ll have an even better one in the prime minister’s residence. With our baby. Think about that, goddammit! Are you going to let all of this be for nothing? Think about it, Eirik. Even if you get away with it – a wife who kills herself in the middle of your electoral campaign? It’s not going to look good. I’m telling you right now, I’m no better than you. I’ve done the same, if not worse. And I can keep my mouth shut if you can. We can get off this mountain together. We can go home. Eirik, Jesus Christ, no, stop it, what are you doing, don’t, baby, please don’t.’

  I pause for breath for a brief moment, adrenaline coursing through my blood at the sight of my husband looping the blue acrylic rope around a tree branch at the edge of the clearing. I remember the vivid vision I had of Leah hanging, of her twisted and stiff body swinging slowly back and forth on the breeze, her neck at a strange angle, the milky white palms of her hands turned outwards. Perhaps it was myself I saw there all along, hanging beneath the branches.

  Eirik moves slowly toward where I’m lying in a heap on the ground, gathering the other end of the rope into a noose, expertly tying strong, unbreakable knots. I’m running out of time. Is this really what the last few minutes of my life will be like? No. I won’t allow it.

  ‘Your mother would be so ashamed of you,’ I say, using the last of my strength to keep my voice strong and unfaltering.

  ‘Shut up,’ he hisses, a look of surprise and pain washing over his face.

  ‘She wouldn’t believe that you could do this to me. That you’d be able to. She just wouldn’t believe it. It’s not too late, Eirik, it’s not too late to make Juliane proud of you still. Think about it. You’ve spent your whole life trying to make her proud. Did you think I didn’t know that about you? But it’s not too late. It’s up to—’

  ‘Shut up, Kristina, Jesus Christ.’

  ‘Juliane would have been the proudest mother on Earth to see you as prime minister. With me by your side. It’s why you chose me, isn’t it? Because I’m the kind of woman your mother would have chosen for you. If only she’d lived. But she lives on in you, and you’re right to honor her in everything you do. If you do this to me, it will all be for nothing. All of it. Her life, and yours, and mine. All of our sacrifices. Think about the promise eleven-year-old Eirik made to himself that night, on her deathbed. You would make her proud. You promised. It was the last thing she ever heard…’

  My desperate words are having the right effect; Eirik is sobbing openly now and has dropped the rope to the ground, but just then a gunshot tears through the night and my husband falls to the ground.

  75

  Elisabeth, August

  ‘Look what I got you,’ she says, pressing the bag into Elisabeth’s fist. The words sound distorted and far away, blurred with all the alcohol. Elisabeth doesn’t understand at first, but she recognizes the feel of the smack in the palm of her hand, the fine powder taking the shape of her hand as she grips it through the plastic.

  ‘No,’ she whispers.

  ‘Yes,’ whispers Kristina. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let me help you.’ Kristina takes the little plastic bag back, zips it open, sets about preparing the hit. The room is swimming and Elisabeth is face-down on the bed, trying to focus on the chair in the corner to regain control of herself and the situation. How does Kristina know how to do this? Elisabeth turns toward her, but the movement makes the room lurch, vodka-vomit splashing from her mouth and onto the bedsheet. She can’t fully focus, but she registers Kristina’s fluid movements as she holds the flame under the spoon and she hears the hiss of the smack as it crystallizes, then runs clear. It’s as though all her senses are heightened; she can even hear the little sound as the heroin is sucked into the syringe – it sounds like a kiss.

  ‘No,’ she whispers again, but her tongue feels thick and foreign in her mouth and the word comes out distorted and faint. ‘Please.’

  But Kristina doesn’t look at her or pause for a single moment. She flicks her fingernail against the syringe, dislodging air bubbles, Elisabeth can hear the tap tap tap. She picks Elisabeth’s arm off the bed where it lies flung, immobile. Elisabeth tries to retract it, but finds she can’t. Kristina looks for a vein, prodding her skin hard, angling the arm into the light from the hallway. When she doesn’t find one, she tries the other arm. Elisabeth writhes in pain, but the movement causes more vomit to flow into her mouth, making her splutter and choke.

  The other arm is examined, twisted toward the light, hard, but there isn’t a single viable vein; they’ve all collapsed too many times, leaving the arm a strange overall shade of light blue, but with no discernible veins. Kristina swears under her breath. Elisabeth tries again to move and to speak, to fight, to do something, anything. But her limbs are dead and heavy, so heavy she can’t even move her toes. Still, she can feel it when Kristina pulls her left shoe off, then the sock, and when she finds what she’s looking for – that one, big, clear vein that travels straight from Elisabeth’s foot to her heart. She can feel it when the syringe goes in, when the heroin rushes hotly through her blood, so much of it she’s dead in less than a minute.

  76

  Kristina

  My screams bounce across the clearing and return in echoes. I can’t move or get away or defend myself; all I can do is wait for a volley of bullets to hit me. I hear the crunch of the gunman’s shoes on the snow as he comes closer, but I’m face-down and can’t muster the strength I’d need to roll over and face him. Eirik is whimpering and muttering to himself somewhere nearby. I feel about me in an attempt to touch him and comfort him and reassure him that I meant every word I said, I wasn’t just saying it to save myself. Hang in there, I want to say, but no words will come.

  I hear a crackling sound followed by several loud voices shouting. I try to turn my head to discern where they are coming from, but even the slightest movement brings another onslaught of terrible pain. Five oh one, says someone. Or am I imagining it? Could it be that I’ve already died, that these moments are just the remnants of a life already over? Crackle, crackle. Five oh one, Dragonfire has a visual. Copy. There is a kind of chopping noise, as though someone were drilling holes in the earth.

  ‘You fucking psycho,’ I hear someone say close to my ear. I follow the sound with my eyes and look into the mouth of the rifle, and at the other end of it, Anton’s icy, cool eyes. For a long while, he holds the weapon trained straight at my face and I make myself look him in the eye, daring him to pull the trigger, knowing he won’t. Behind him, the nimble body of a black-and-white police helicopter comes into view, lowering itself into the clearing.

  Epilogue

  Anton, hours earlier

  He feels a growing restlessness every day when he wakes up, gasping for air, feeling as though he is emerging from a dream in which someone was trying to drown him. Today is no different. It’s already past midday and he can taste yesterday’s booze in his mouth. The bed is empty next to him and he runs his hand across the cool sheets.

  He’s been waiting for many days now. He considers going back up there to Bekkebu, but after the last time, the day after he lost it completely and hit her, finally turning her lie about him into truth, he’s not sure it’s a good idea. When she opened the door to him she held her head high, letting the golden rays of the autumn sun settle on her deep violet skin, and he realized that his apologies just wouldn’t cut it. Still, she let him in and they talked. He had the sensation of having driven down a dead-end road – that there really wou
ld be no more going back this time. I’m sorry, he kept saying. She kept nodding, but her eyes were miles away. What are you doing here? he asked, looking around the sweet, familiar cabin. Writing, she said. Waiting. She wouldn’t say what for, or for whom. I’ll be back on Thursday, she said. I’m going to need you to be out of the apartment when I come.

  No.

  Yes.

  He doesn’t like to think about what happened next. He can’t fully remember, anyway, besides screaming at her so loud his voice broke. He’s still hoarse now, several days later, that’s how loudly he screamed at the woman in front of him. She doesn’t get to do the leaving. It’s not how it works between them. He leaves, she begs for him to return, he hates her for being so pathetic, but he misses her too, and he’s learned to call those emotions love. So he returns to her and they have a few weeks of relative peace after whichever drama came before. They do this again and again. Until now.

  She didn’t come back on Thursday like she said she would. Anton didn’t leave her apartment like she asked him to, because he doesn’t have anywhere to go. He doesn’t know that after he left Leah at Bekkebu, she felt liquid and unsettled, as if Anton’s voice were still hollering inside her head, so she decided to go home. Only she couldn’t, because Eirik Moss had slashed the tires of her car while Anton was at the cabin. He doesn’t know that she slipped on a wet root looping from the earth on her way back up to the cabin, or that she fell hard to the ground and while she was able to get back up and return to the cabin, the impact caused a small rupture in the developing placenta. He doesn’t know that she began to bleed that evening.

  Anton doesn’t know any of this. It’s been a week and he is growing increasingly restless. Maybe he really was right about there being someone else; maybe they weren’t just empty accusations to undermine and humiliate her.