Tell Me You're Mine

by Elisabeth Norebäck

  I take a step forward, but Kerstin grabs my arm.

  I try to pull free and take out the stone. She digs her nails into me and holds on. Kerstin is strong, her nails are sharp as claws. She raises the knife toward me. The tip is an inch from my neck.

  “She belongs to me now. She is mine.”

  Isabelle

  The room is darker than before. I can hardly see anything anymore. And despite the coat and blanket, I’m shaking from cold. The heat from the woodstove doesn’t reach here. But I’d rather be here than in the same room as her.

  She wept at Dad’s funeral. How could she, when she was the one who’d killed him? I don’t know who she is. What she is. And I don’t know what she’s planning to do with me.

  If I had strength left, I’d resist. Struggle. Try to escape again. But I have nothing left.

  If I say I’m her daughter, will things be okay again? If I pretend I belong to her and no one else?

  In the dark, it’s easy to hear things. I thought I heard a choir of voices. Hundreds of people whispering and singing. It took a while before I realized it must be waves.

  Then I imagined a car was approaching. And I heard a dog barking. I thought about Stella, about how she never gives up. I thought maybe she was coming to get me. My real mother. I crept over to the wall, pushed my ear against the wallpaper, and listened. All I heard was my own breath and my heart pounding.

  I felt angry with myself. Disappointed. So like me to fantasize, to escape into dreams, to make things up so I’ll feel a little better. Stella has no idea where I am. And she won’t show up to save me. No one will. Not Fredrik, either. He won’t find me here.

  I’m alone.

  When I think about Fredrik, I can see in my mind’s eye how the rest of my life would have been. A life filled with lovely people. I would have become a civil engineer, got an exciting, well-paid job. Married the love of my life and been happy. We’d travel, see the world together. We’d have children someday. A boy and a girl, maybe.

  None of it will ever happen.

  I’m alone and nobody knows where I am.

  My friends are worried; the police are looking for me. But time is running out. And I’ve vanished without a trace. Maybe I’ll be in the news for a while. On TV, in the newspapers, on the Internet. But nobody will ever find me.

  Lost forever.

  * * *

  • • •

  A dim light creeps in under the door. I’ve been sleeping again.

  I hear her voice.

  Distant and faint, but I hear it. Stella is here. She came for me. She didn’t give up, she kept searching.

  But I hear Mom’s voice as well. Cold and scornful. I hear the rage just below the surface.

  The door opens. I don’t dare look up. I wait.

  Stella asks Mom what she’s done to me. Mom answers triumphantly that I belong to her.

  I push my hair away and look up. Kerstin is holding tightly to Stella’s arm. I loathe when she does that. When her nails dig in.

  And she’s holding a knife. The same knife she threw at me earlier. She lets go of Stella, walks over to me, and pulls me up on my feet.

  “Are you hurt?” Stella says, sounding dismayed.

  “It’s not my blood, it’s—”

  “Are you awake now, my darling?” Kerstin interrupts. “Come, there’s coffee and buns.”

  Stella clenches her hands, as if she’d like to rush forward and throw herself over Mom.

  But no—Kerstin is not my mother. She never has been. I will never call her that again.

  I want to warn Stella not to do anything hasty, warn her that Kerstin is unpredictable and more dangerous than she could ever imagine.

  Don’t you see that glimmer in her eyes?

  I try to make Stella understand by staring at her as intensely as I can. And she does, she understands. She gives me a quick nod, which means she knows what I want to say.

  I lean against Kerstin as we walk down the hall. I glance at the knife in her hand, but Kerstin is holding me in a viselike grip. A warning.

  We go back to the kitchen. There are kerosene lamps here and there, but the light they offer is dim. Outside, a full moon hangs like an unpolished silver coin above the ocean. Stella sits opposite me at the table. Kerstin puts a coffee cup in front of each of us. She sits down and watches every move Stella makes.

  I don’t drink the coffee. It took far too long for me to realize she was drugging me. Every time I ate, every time I drank. Stella mustn’t drink it, either. If she does, neither of us will get out of here.

  I hold the cup in my hands. When Kerstin stands up to fetch the sugar bowl, I tap it a few times and make a face. Stella looks at her own cup and pushes it away. She shapes her mouth to a noiseless question: Are you okay?

  I nod, but can’t stop the tears. I wipe my cheeks with a clumsy movement. Stella stretches out her hand toward mine.

  “Stop it!” Kerstin screams. The marble mortar crashes onto the table, close to Stella’s hand.

  “Drink,” Kerstin says. “Drink your coffee.” She puts some candles on the table and sits down. She holds the knife in front of her. “I want to give you a chance to make everything right, Stella.”

  “What should I do?” she says.

  “Ask her for forgiveness.” Kerstin nods toward me.

  “Forgiveness?”

  “Ask her to forgive you for being such a worthless mother. Take this opportunity. While you can.”

  Stella says nothing. Instead she rises slowly, takes a candle, and walks over to the wall. Kerstin keeps her eyes on her the whole time. Stella holds the light in front of a framed newspaper clip. A picture occupies the upper half of the spread, a smiling man standing in front of a building. Flowers fill the porch behind him.

  “Your father, right?” Stella turns around. She puts down the candle again. “Roger Lundin. He knew what you did, and he was about to tell the police. But he died. Before he could.”

  “He was a traitor,” Kerstin says. “A drunk, just like my mother. He never should have taken my girl from me. She didn’t need burying. And thank God she came back to me again.”

  What is she talking about? Who is the girl, and why was she buried? And what do I have to do with it?

  Stella roots around in her jeans pocket. She takes something out and puts it on the table in front of Kerstin.

  “Is this your girl? Is this Isabelle?”

  I see the photograph I found in the cabinet under the desk at home. I don’t understand how Stella got hold of it.

  Kerstin looks at the photo.

  “The real Isabelle.” Stella speaks softly. “Your daughter.”

  “My baby,” Kerstin says. “My beloved little girl.”

  “Your girl, Kerstin. Not mine. Not Alice. This is the real Isabelle, right?”

  Kerstin looks up at Stella with a questioning look.

  “The real Isabelle,” she says, pointing the knife toward me. “She’s sitting right there.”

  “My name is not Isabelle,” I say. “And I should have grown up with Stella. You stole me from my mother. You stole my life.”

  Kerstin turns to me. “That’s not true. You’re speaking lies now,” she whispers.

  “You’re the one who’s lying. You always do. None of what you say is true. None of it. My whole life is one big lie. I’ve grown up with a psychopath. A murderer.”

  Kerstin pleads, “I love you, Isabelle. But you’ve never loved me. Oh, how I’ve tried, how I’ve struggled to do my best for you.”

  Stella pulls a stone out of her pocket. She rushes toward Kerstin and aims a blow to her head. Kerstin bends away and drives the knife into her arm. Stella screams and drops the stone. She holds her arm and stares at Kerstin with a furious look.

  Kerstin stands behind me. She’s holding the knife to my neck.

>   Its sharp edge slides across my skin.

  Stella

  Alice is paralyzed. She’s deathly pale and stares at me with terror in her eyes. Her face is bruised and she has a Band-Aid on her forehead. A childish, colorful Band-Aid, too small for the cut. Kerstin stands behind her with a knife pressed against her neck. I have to find a way to divert her.

  “I just want to know one thing,” I say, holding up my arm and pressing my left hand against the wound.

  “What’s that?”

  “Is Isabelle buried up by the stone deer?”

  Kerstin pulls Alice by her arm, holds her close to her as they walk toward the door.

  “Grab a lamp. I’ll show you.” She keeps the knife at Alice’s throat as she exits. I grab a lamp and follow them.

  The sky is an enormous dome of black crystal. The stars shine like shards of crushed ice. A cold wind sweeps in from the ocean and our breath turns to smoke. We walk in silence, side by side, through the darkness. Kerstin keeps Alice between us, with a tight grip on her arm. The moonlight glitters on the blade. Not for a moment does she lower the knife, just keeps it pointed straight at my daughter’s throat. I can’t do anything. It’s too risky. I wonder how far Kerstin is prepared to go.

  I can barely use my right hand. I have difficulty moving my fingers, and the pain will soon take over. It feels like the wound is on fire, and it radiates up toward my elbow and along the whole inside of my arm. Kerstin throws me suspicious looks, but I pretend not to notice them. Don’t know if it’s working, but I want her to think I’ve stopped fighting.

  Doubtless Kerstin was hoping I’d know where she took Alice, and that I’d follow them to the Strandgården. But what’s going to happen now is impossible to know.

  We arrive at the stone deer that sits next to the cliff. A full moon shines on the sea and the wind tears at the branches of the trees, at my hair and my clothes.

  “This is a wonderful place,” Kerstin says. She sounds happy, as if we were out on a brisk evening walk and had found a beautiful view.

  The stone deer stares out over the water. Kerstin pulls Alice down toward the ground, squats and strokes the animal’s back before getting up again. She points the knife toward the sea.

  “She rests down there. My little girl.”

  I put the lamp on the ground. Try to stretch my arm. The pain is worse now, and I can’t move my fingers anymore.

  “How did she die?” I ask.

  “She slept and slept and slept. She never woke up. Dad didn’t understand. He rowed her out there and sank her into the water. But I took back what was mine.” Kerstin looks at Alice, then at me. “She became mine. She became my Isabelle, who came back.”

  “Alice has never been yours,” I say. “You took her from her stroller when she was sleeping.”

  Kerstin grabs hold of Alice’s hair and pulls her up to her feet. Alice whimpers and clutches her head.

  “And you’ve never been her mother,” Kerstin hisses. “She doesn’t want anything to do with you. She wants you to disappear and leave us alone.”

  I move closer.

  “We love each other,” Kerstin says, backing up with her arm around Alice, pushing the knife to her throat. “She’s my child. I’m her mother.”

  “Then take the knife away. You’re hurting her.”

  “You’re still just as full of yourself. You didn’t deserve her then, and you don’t deserve her now.”

  They’re close to the edge now. Alice stares at me and the look in her eyes says it all. This is the end.

  Isabelle

  The knife scrapes my neck. I hold my breath as the razor-sharp blade presses against my larynx. I don’t want to die.

  “There’s a reason for everything,” Kerstin whispers into my ear. “You and I have always been on our way here, Isabelle. We never left this place.” I try to pull free, but don’t have the strength.

  Stella comes closer. She stretches out her unhurt hand and points to the knife.

  “You’ve proven your strength to me. It’s enough now.”

  Kerstin sounds disappointed. “You haven’t understood anything,” she replies. “Why aren’t you listening? Isabelle’s father made the same mistake. My own dad, too. And Hans. None of them listened.”

  “Give me the knife.” Stella still holds her arm outstretched.

  “If you want it, you’ll have to take it from me.”

  I can see on Stella that she knows: it’s over now. I try to tell her I’m sorry for all this, but can’t get out a word. Kerstin’s grip tightens. She takes another step back. I glance to the side and see how far down it is to the water. One more step, and we’ll both be crushed on those rocks.

  “We were happy!” she screams. “You should have let us be.”

  Stella throws herself at us. She grabs hold of Kerstin’s hair and jerks her to the side. Kerstin loses her balance and lets go of me. I stumble away from the edge and collapse on the ground.

  They hold on to each other, a still embrace. Kerstin has an arm around Stella’s back, Stella has both arms around Kerstin. A slow dance under the full moon.

  Then Stella turns her face to me, her eyes widen, and she gasps.

  Kerstin has buried the knife in Stella’s stomach. She pulls it up to land one more vicious stab, pulls back her arm again, but Stella breaks free. Kerstin loses her balance. She grasps at the air for something to hold on to.

  Stella pushes her and she totters on the edge.

  Kerstin holds out a hand toward her, but Stella does nothing. Just watches as she falls.

  Kerstin’s scream stops when she lands on the rocks below. I crawl forward and look over the edge. She’s stretched out with her body in an unnatural position. The blood flows from her head, her eyes are wide open, and the water washes over her legs.

  Stella sinks down next to me.

  “How are you?” she asks. Her voice is no more than a whisper.

  I lean against her without answering. Stella twitches and whimpers from pain.

  I straighten up and look at her.

  She tries to smile.

  Stella

  We stay there, looking out over the sea. The waves break against the rocks below where Kerstin lies.

  I pushed her. I killed her. Let her fall without taking her outstretched hand.

  Alice says she’s happy Kerstin is gone. She asks if that makes her a horrible person. I tell her it doesn’t.

  My body has started to shake. I breathe in short, intense bursts, and my heart is racing. I’m terribly thirsty, wish there was something to drink.

  Alice asks how badly I’m hurt. I open my coat to see. A black flower of blood has spread over my stomach and down onto my legs. She puts her hands to her mouth, and I see the shock in her face. We both know it’s bad. Then she pulls off her jacket and presses it to my stomach. She feels my brow, says I’m ice cold and have lost all color.

  I hear the sirens approaching. See the blue lights shining in the dark. Alice asks me to hold on, says help is on its way.

  I fall to the side. I lie on the ground looking out over the water as it glitters in the moonlight. Alice leans over me, and I want to tell her that this is the second time we’ve looked at the full moon together here. But I can’t move my mouth anymore. All that I want to say to my daughter. But no words will come.

  Alice holds my face between her hands and looks into my eyes. She says something, but I can’t hear.

  She puts her head against my shoulder, and I feel her sob. I wish I could comfort her.

  Isabelle

  The sun-dappled meadow is dotted with poppies and yellow buttercups. Cornflowers and flax and pink clover. Oxeye daisies and wild chervil. Everything is in bloom.

  I walk through it slowly, running my fingertips along the high grass. The sun is on my back, a lazy wind in my face. The smell of newly cut hay. In the distance,
I see the horizon lying like a blue ribbon.

  I want to stay here forever.

  “Alice.”

  I turn around.

  You’re sitting on a horse. The sun streams from behind your face and blinds me. I shade my eyes with my hand.

  The sun is shining brighter and brighter. I squint but it doesn’t help. The sun is coming closer; it changes and spreads an icy cold instead of heat. That corrosive light obliterates everything.

  I call after you. Shout your name as loud as I can, but you’re already gone. The sun is growing, burning into me.

  I scream.

  “Isabelle?” Another voice.

  I can’t move my body. I try to close my eyes and turn my head away.

  “Calm down, Isabelle,” a man says. “Can you see me? Do you know where you are?”

  The man holds a flashlight in one hand, and he’s lifting my eyelids with the other. He’s wearing glasses and a white coat.

  “My name is Björn Söderberg, and I’m a doctor here at Oskarshamns Hospital. This is Lotta, your nurse. How are you feeling?”

  “Where is Stella?” I want to sit up, but something is hurting my hand. A needle sits there, connected by a tube to a clear bag of liquid. There’s another needle in the crook of my arm.

  “Where is Stella?” I ask again. “How is she?”

  “Who can we contact to tell that you’re here?” the doctor asks.

  “How is she?”

  “Let’s just focus on you for now, make sure you recover.” The doctor looks down at a few papers. “Maybe you have some . . .”

  “Why won’t you answer me? I’ve asked several times since I got here, but nobody will tell me anything. What’s going on?”

  “She was operated on during the night,” Lotta says.

  “Is she gonna make it?”

  “It’s too early to say anything,” the doctor says. “She hasn’t woken up yet.”

  There’s something about his voice, how he avoids looking at me. It scares me.