The Silver Road

by Stina Jackson

  ‘You’re welcome to hunt with me and the lads if you feel the urge.’

  ‘Thanks, but I think I’m done with moose hunting. I’m after bigger prey.’

  Birger smiled, tight-lipped.

  ‘I understand, and I want you to know that we would be happy to help look for your girl. Just say the word. We have good equipment and my boys don’t give up easily.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind.’

  Birger slapped the car.

  ‘Take care, now.’

  ‘You too.’

  Lelle turned in the drive, taking the curve carefully and waving his hand. He kept the lights on full beam and drove as fast as he dared between the spruces lining the drive. The coffee was still burning his throat and he held his breath until he reached the gate. He sat there with the engine ticking over and looked back at the farmhouse, watching the shapes move behind the lighted windows. It felt like an eternity before the gate rattled and swung open.

  ‘Why did that teacher give you a lift home?’ Carl-Johan asked.

  ‘I was waiting for the bus and he offered.’

  ‘And you said yes, just like that?’

  ‘What should I have done?’

  ‘I think he seems a bit shifty, that’s all. Best you get the bus.’

  Meja glanced at him. ‘Are you jealous?’

  Carl-Johan’s laugh blew warm air on to her neck. ‘Not of that old man!’

  Meja broke free of his arms and the duvet and climbed out of bed. The warm stickiness ran between her legs and it occurred to her that she missed sleeping alone. Having a bed to herself.

  ‘I feel sorry for him. He seems so alone. So abandoned.’

  Carl-Johan reached out for her. ‘He’s not the only one to feel abandoned.’

  Meja went into the bathroom and peed. She tried wiping away the pee and the stickiness with toilet paper, but gave up and turned on the shower. She pulled off her top and stepped under the cold stream of water. Soon Carl-Johan’s shadow appeared on the other side of the shower curtain. She heard him lift the toilet seat and pee noisily. She should have locked the door. He didn’t seem to have a clue about respecting another person’s space. It took a long time for the water to run warm and she stood completely still, letting it flow over her. She wished it was morning, so she could go to school. Through the water she could hear Carl-Johan brushing his teeth. She shut her eyes to avoid seeing him, but then the shower curtain swung aside and he stepped in beside her, pressing up against her and taking most of the water. His eyes shone through the steam.

  ‘I think you should keep away from that man.’

  ‘He’s my class teacher.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean you have to ride around with him out of school.’

  ‘He wanted to be kind and he gave me a lift home. That’s not so strange considering his daughter disappeared waiting for a bus.’

  ‘I think you should be careful. And Mum and Dad don’t like people coming here.’

  ‘You never told me that.’

  Meja jerked the shower curtain aside, stepped past him and grabbed a towel from the hook. She quickly wrapped it round her, ignoring the water dripping everywhere. Carl-Johan called out something, but it was obliterated by the noise of the shower. Meja walked to the window, leaned her wet head to the narrow opening and inhaled deeply.

  Anita was walking down below. Meja squinted at the shrunken figure with the tired shoulders. Her short legs raced over the gravel and she was holding something tightly to her body, as if she were afraid of dropping it. A black cat followed her over the drive like a shadow, winding itself between her legs. Anita kicked out at it and it leapt into the flower bed. A moment later she looked up and her eyes met Meja’s. In the dusk her face looked like dough, her cheeks drooping as she raised a hand. Meja waved back and stayed where she was with her fingertips against the glass. She wondered why Anita had kicked the cat. Wondered who she was really angry with.

  Light became scarce, days shorter. Even so, time was a lonely eternity. Lelle felt sick in the mornings and had to take his coffee in small sips, all the time trying not to throw up. He forced himself to look on social media, even though it only increased his feeling of nausea. On Lina’s Facebook page Anette had posted an ultrasound picture and written: Hurry home, Lina. Soon you’ll have a little brother or sister waiting for you. The picture had two hundred and thirty-two likes and over a hundred comments, all with exclamations of delight and pastel-coloured hearts. Lelle sucked the coffee between his teeth and grimaced.

  At school he walked around in the usual daze, taking whole lessons without being able to say what he had talked about. The students’ faces were like A4 sheets of paper, blank and unrevealing. In the staffroom he kept to the standard small talk about the weather and the approaching weekend. He drank coffee and ate bananas on autopilot. He avoided Anette and her growing stomach as much as he could. No one asked about Lina any more, and that made him angry if he allowed himself time to think about it. The school nurse was the only one to ask how he really felt and even that annoyed him, the fact that she couldn’t find the words to ask what she wanted to know. She seemed to enjoy putting her head on one side and touching him with her cold fingers, and at times he made a U-turn by the coat hooks if he saw her sitting in the staffroom.

  Outside the fluorescent lighting of the brick building the world was in constant dusk. It was dark in the morning and dark again in the afternoon. Sometimes he went out in the lunch break and walked among the puddles and cigarette butts, the sticky blobs of chewing gum and the rustling leaves. The clouds were at bursting point, but it wasn’t cold enough for snow. Not like when he was a lad, when the snow was deep already in October. He had tried explaining that to Lina, that winter wasn’t as real these days. Only a few bitingly cold, record-breaking weeks, which made people lose their grip. Not like before, when it was the norm and no one would even think to moan. Lina liked the winter, especially fishing through the ice and rides on the snowmobile. The last time they were out fishing there was coffee in both flasks. She had outgrown the hot chocolate. It felt such a long time ago.

  The only one he looked out for was Meja. She seemed so alone as she sat, pale and huddling at her desk, always with her jacket on as if she were constantly cold. She seemed to find it hard to make friends. He thought he ought to reach out to her, ask how she was feeling. Really feeling.

  The opportunity came when he was on his way home. Meja was sitting on one of the rotting school benches by the car park, her feet in a pile of leaves and her hands deep in her pockets. Her breath was white in the cold. She wasn’t wearing suitable clothes, only a black hoodie. No hat or gloves. He walked over to her without thinking. The scrunching leaves made her lift her eyes and look straight at him. In fear, it seemed, as if she had been found out. Lelle tried to smile.

  ‘Well, so here you are.’

  It sounded stupid. He was almost expecting her to roll her eyes. Close up she wasn’t particularly like Lina, but even so his heart leapt and he found it hard to breathe.

  ‘Is it OK if I sit here for a while?’

  She shrugged, moved up the bench and made room for him. The mouldy wood was damp and he felt it soak through his jeans when he sat down.

  ‘How are you getting on here at Tallbacka?’

  ‘OK, I guess.’

  ‘Have you made any friends?’

  She scowled. It was clear his questions bothered her. Lelle racked his brain for better words. That feeling of fumbling in the dark was all too familiar.

  ‘You said you had a mother. Where does she live?’

  ‘Here, in Glimmersträsk. With Torbjörn.’

  ‘Torbjörn Fors?’

  Meja nodded.

  ‘No way.’

  He filled the gap between them with white breath and tried to hold his tongue. So Hassan was right, Torbjörn Fors had found himself a woman after a lifetime of living alone. That was a miracle if nothing else.

  ‘How come you live at Svartliden? Shouldn
’t you be with your mum and Torbjörn?’

  ‘Silje and I don’t get on. I’d rather live with Carl-Johan.’

  ‘What about Torbjörn? Do you get on with him?’

  She shrugged again. ‘He’s a bit weird, but he’s always nice to me. It wasn’t because of him I moved out. It was time, that’s all.’

  Lelle nodded as if he understood, hoping she would say more.

  Meja turned and looked at him, her eyes wide, as if he scared her. ‘Is it true your daughter went missing?’

  Now it was his turn to be on guard.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But you’re looking for her?’

  ‘I’ll always be looking for her.’

  He dug in his pocket for his wallet and took out the dogeared photograph of Lina. He handed it to her. She was wearing chipped pink nail varnish, he noticed, and her fingers were white with cold. She looked at the picture of Lina for a long time.

  ‘She’s like that other girl who disappeared,’ she said after a while. ‘The girl on the posters.’

  Lelle nodded slowly. When she handed back the picture with her cold hand he resisted the impulse to take it between his and warm it, the way he had done with Lina when she was small. He left his wallet on his lap.

  ‘You’ll find it hard to make friends now you live at Svartliden. It’s so isolated.’

  She turned her head away and kicked at the leaves with the toes of her shoes.

  ‘I’ve always found it hard to make friends, so that’s nothing new. I’ve got Carl-Johan and his family now and that’s all I need. Birger and Anita make me feel really welcome.’

  ‘Sounds good. But I want you to know that I’m here, too, just in case. I know it isn’t easy, starting a new school, especially in a small community like this where everyone already knows each other.’

  Meja looked at him sideways, her chapped winter lips open.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘But I’m used to it.’

  Lelle could see the shiver run through her thin body when she stood up and rubbed her palms over her wet jeans.

  ‘I’ve got to get the bus.’

  Her knees knocked as she walked away, as if they needed supporting between the steps. She was so thin it hurt him to look at her. He hoped at least they had the good sense to feed her up at Svartliden. She stood in the bus shelter and hugged herself, patting her arms with her gloveless hands to get warm. Lelle was also cold, sitting on the damp bench, but he stayed there until the bus came and he was sure she had got on.

  She was woken by him standing over her. The light bulb swung on its cord behind him, giving the impression the whole room was swaying. His breathing was like sandpaper. She propped herself up on her elbow and saw he was holding out something that glittered in the space between them. Slowly, slowly, she saw a pair of handcuffs take shape, dangling from one of his hands. In the other he held a dark-coloured scarf.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m putting these on you.’

  He tied her hands behind her back and fastened the cuffs so tight it hurt. Then he covered her eyes with the scarf. She felt the draught when he pretended to slap her, to convince himself she couldn’t see. Panic came over her immediately, a metallic taste in her mouth and a shuddering down her back that she couldn’t hide. She was afraid he was going to attack her in some new kind of vile game. Her fear irritated him.

  ‘Why are you shaking?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t have to be afraid of me?’

  His face was so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. She clenched her teeth and tried to steady herself. He pressed himself close to her and rubbed her arms with his hands, as if trying to warm her. When she carried on shivering, he took a firm grasp of her waist and began dragging her across the room.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  To her surprise she heard the door open and then felt the cold draught of wind from somewhere above her. His hands pushed her in front of him. Steps felt unfamiliar after such a long time and were even trickier to negotiate with her hands behind her back. When they reached the top she was gasping for breath as if she had just climbed a mountain. She heard him unlock another door and then there was a rush of cold air like a wave over her body. His fingers dug into her arms as they walked over a threshold and suddenly everything was wonderfully alive. She heard fallen leaves crush under their feet and the wind tearing at the treetops. There was a powerful smell of forest, leaf mould and approaching winter.

  They walked a short distance while she gulped the fresh air deep into her lungs, feeling it strengthen her. Through a gap in the blindfold she could just make out the bumpy forest ground under her feet and the darkness of night. Thoughts whirled in her head. This was her chance. She must break free and run. Scream and fight. But his grip on her was as unrelenting as the handcuffs. She didn’t have a chance. Not yet.

  Then a new fear struck her. He was going to kill her. It was over. Perhaps he had tired of her. Perhaps he couldn’t go on keeping her alive any longer. Perhaps it had all been a mistake and his only way out was to get rid of her once and for all.

  She came to a halt. The cold air was getting under her skin, but she felt the warmth radiating from the man, as if not even the weather could get at him.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she whispered.

  ‘You’ve nagged about getting fresh air, so here it is. Make the most of it for as long as it lasts.’

  She breathed deeply, trying to conceal her shivering. She stood absolutely still and listened, but all she heard was the wind sighing in the pine trees. She wondered if anyone would hear if she called out and felt the cry take shape in her chest, but she didn’t dare let it out. Not when he was standing so close. Perhaps he felt her stiffen, because he started to pull her again.

  ‘OK, that’s enough. You’re getting cold.’

  ‘Just a little while longer.’

  ‘I’m not letting you get ill.’

  The disappointment was like something black and swollen inside her as he took her back to the little room. There were livid red marks round her wrists when he removed the handcuffs. She sank on to the bunk and let him wrap a blanket round her. The regret hammered in her head. She should have run, she should have screamed. Instead she was back in this stinking hole. And it really did stink. She smelled it now as she returned from the freedom. It smelled rotten. Like a grave.

  ‘Now you can’t tell me I don’t do anything for you,’ he said. ‘Every single thing I do is for you.’

  Impulses. Since Lina disappeared it was the impulses that controlled him. He did things, his body took him to new places and his brain couldn’t catch up. There was no warning.

  After the conversation with Meja on the damp bench he found himself on Gammelvägen, going through the village. The road that went to the southern edge of the lake came to an end in a turning point at Torbjörn Fors’s property. He realized he was on his way there when he glimpsed the dilapidated house between the pine trees. He stopped the car by an overgrown ditch and sat for a while. They were acquaintances, he and Torbjörn, nothing more. Two lone wolves each on his own side of the forest.

  He found it hard to get his head around the fact that Torbjörn had met a woman. Torbjörn, who had lived alone since his parents died and had collected porn as a substitute for real relationships. There had been a lot of talk about his habit through the years, that he sent money to women he met online, while his own home fell into disrepair, and that he liked to watch girls swimming in the lake. Lelle knew he worked in forestry and liked his drink as a youth. But he had never had a woman.

  Torbjörn was supposed to take the same bus as Lina that morning she disappeared. Lelle could almost picture him standing there, pulling at his moustache.

  She wasn’t there when I arrived. I was alone in the bus shelter. Ask the bus driver. We never saw her.

  The police had judged him credible. In Lelle’s mind nobody was worthy o
f that description.

  The house certainly was run-down, sagging on one side and weeds growing up the windowsills. The front door was half-open and a scrawny dog lay stretched out on the top step of the veranda. It managed a few wags of its tail, but made no attempt to move. Lelle knocked sharply a few times.

  ‘Hello! Anyone home?’

  A few minutes passed before a figure appeared in the dim light inside. It was a woman, wearing a faded dressing gown and matching slippers. Her hair was like a lion’s mane around her head and her cheeks were smeared with make-up. Her eyelids seemed heavy as she blinked at him.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Lennart Gustafsson.’

  He was about to reach out his hand when he noticed she was holding brushes and a palette. The paint was dripping on to the floor.

  ‘Have we met before?’

  There was a pungent odour of rubbish and cigarette smoke coming from inside the house.

  ‘I don’t think so. You must be Silje. I’m your daughter’s teacher at Tallbacka School.’

  She stared.

  ‘Has something happened to Meja?’

  ‘No, no, nothing’s happened.’

  ‘Meja doesn’t live here any more. She’s moved.’

  ‘I know. That’s partly why I’m here.’

  Silje made a gesture with the dripping paintbrushes. ‘Come in. You don’t have to take off your shoes.’

  Lelle stepped into the hall and dodged the shoes, clothes and rubbish scattered on the floor. He breathed through his mouth as she led him into a sitting room where an easel was set up by the window. Beside it was a fraying sofa with red wine stains and a low table littered with empty glasses, ashtrays and dirty plates. A window was open, despite the rain and cold, but not even the smell of pine needles could cloak the foul stench inside. She hadn’t fastened the dressing gown and he could see she was almost naked underneath. He glimpsed her breasts and lacy pants in the opening. He realized he was feeling embarrassed and looked down at the filthy floor.

  ‘Do you want a glass?’ she asked, clinking with the wine bottle.