Silver Tears

by Camilla Lackberg

  “Witch,” he sneered. “You fucking disgusting witch. I hope you’re raped again. You do too, really. I know you liked it.”

  I sighed, got up, and left him.

  While walking through the woods, I could hear the music, the laughter, and the hoarse voices of the partygoers. I knew I would have to silence Sebastian. Mom loved him, but she didn’t know him like I did. She didn’t know what he was capable of.

  The world didn’t need more men like him. Men who hit, terrified, and raped. One day, he would marry, father children, and have them in his violent grip. I didn’t intend to let that happen. I didn’t intend to let Sebastian treat his future girlfriend or his wife the way that Dad treated Mom. I wasn’t going to let a little boy or girl grow up and have to see what I had seen. I was the only one who could break the cycle.

  But most of all, I wasn’t going to let him ruin everything for me. He’d had his chance. He was the one who’d opted not to take it.

  I had intended to let him live. For Mom’s sake. Despite him hurting me in ways that weren’t visible from the outside but that on the inside made me lie awake, night after night, suffering from phantom pain as a result of what had been done to me. We’d held each other’s safety in our hands, and he’d robbed me of the small shard of something beautiful that had existed between our four walls.

  He had taken away from me those memories that had helped me to retain a small, small belief that life contained something that was good and right.

  But he hadn’t just let me down. Mom loved him too. She saw nothing but good in him—none of the darkness and the evil that he had inherited from Dad. He had been given a chance, thanks to Mom’s blind love for him. And now he had proven that he hadn’t deserved it.

  Mom’s heart would break the day she realized that Sebastian was just like Dad. That the horror would continue in the next generation and that her love hadn’t been able to change that. That was why he had to die. To spare Mom that sorrow. She would never find out what he had done. And who he really was.

  The red summer house was in a desolate location at the top of a cliff not far from a lake and surrounded by dense forest. It belonged to Ylva’s parents, who had long ago become too elderly to use it. It had been years since they had used the place.

  Faye examined the metal handle on the front door with satisfaction before nodding and closing the door behind her.

  In the setting sun, she could see contours, shadows of old furniture, could smell the dampness. She fumbled for the light switch and found it. The sound of the switch flicking was not followed by light. A fuse had probably blown, because Ylva had told her the power was usually on. She would have to find the fuse box. Fortunately, she’d brought a flashlight with her.

  The floorboards creaked as she entered what appeared to be a living room.

  Faye put down the jerry can on the floor, and let both herself and the old house fill with silence. She massaged her right arm, which felt tender after dragging the jerry can all the way there.

  This was where she and Jack would finally part ways. Only one of them could leave alive. There was a lot that could go wrong. She might just as easily be the one who lost the battle.

  How long did she have before he arrived? An hour? Two? In order not to leave any digital traces, Ylva was taking care of her mobile. Faye glanced at her wristwatch and saw it was a little after ten o’clock in the evening.

  Ylva had called Jack on the mobile number he had left when he had visited her apartment. She had said in floods of tears that Faye had turned up and taken Nora away. That she had been acting crazy, muttering that she was going to take away the last thing Jack had—his youngest daughter. That she hadn’t said where she was going to take Nora, but that after she’d left Ylva had discovered that the keys to her parents’ cabin were missing.

  Faye pulled the flashlight out of the bag she’d brought, switched it on, and swept the beam around, searching for the basement door. She examined the framed black-and-white photographs on the walls. The people in them looked old. They were probably dead. Other pictures showed Ylva as a child. Ylva without front teeth. Ylva on a horse. Her stomach did a somersault. How well did Faye actually know Ylva? What if she was on Jack’s side? Had she been all along?

  Faye had underestimated Jack. And David. Ylva too? No, there was no chance.

  “Stop it,” she murmured.

  She opened a door that turned out to be the right one and she began to descend the stairs to the basement.

  She caught sight of the final rays of sunshine across the treetops through a small rectangular window. When it returns, I might be dead, she thought to herself. The stairs were steep and protested at every step she took.

  The smell of damp was stronger the farther down she went.

  Once at the bottom, Faye managed to locate the fuse box, and she flicked the main circuit breaker. Using the flashlight, she found new fuses and managed to replace the blown one. When she turned the power back on, the ceiling light came on. She checked her watch and quickly went back upstairs. In the living room, she selected a lamp.

  Faye pulled the cord out of the socket in the wall. She quickly unscrewed the plug and made the necessary adjustments using the screwdriver she had brought. Just like in the video she had watched. You could find everything on the internet, if you knew where to look.

  She got out the steel wire and wrapped it around the front door handle. Loop after loop. Tightly. Then, from the 1.5-liter bottle she’d brought with her, she poured water onto the top step. It formed a small, shallow puddle.

  It wouldn’t be noticeable in the dark.

  By the time she was done, she had been in the house for forty minutes. She turned off the light, sat down on the sofa, and waited in the darkness. She kept an eye on the illuminated figures on her watch, squeezing the screwdriver in her hand. Jack wouldn’t turn up unarmed, and if something went wrong she would have to defend herself against him.

  Fight for her life.

  Perhaps she would die. But she intended to die free—not as a hunted, terrified animal.

  Exactly nine minutes later, she heard the rumble of a car engine.

  The rumble of the engine died away and silence descended. Faye got to her feet. She carefully took off her shoes, left them on the sofa, and crept to the lamp she had positioned beside the door. She plugged it in and glanced nervously at the door handle.

  She sank down to the floor with her back to the wall.

  She could hear footsteps outside the cabin. She licked her lips. She felt her nerves tingling, a fluttering in her stomach. Beyond the walls, Jack was tramping about. What if he didn’t pick the front door but went through a window? Or via the basement?

  But why would he do that? He knew she was waiting for him. He thought Nora was in the house and in mortal danger.

  “Faye,” Jack called out. “I want my daughter.”

  She saw his silhouette outside the window and pressed herself closer against the wall. He couldn’t see her. The next second, he switched on a flashlight and directed it through the window. The beam of light passed inches away from her right foot. She stopped breathing. Did he suspect anything? Was that why he was circling around the house?

  She pictured him out there. Once upon a time she had loved him more than anything, perhaps even more than she loved Julienne. Now she just wanted to destroy him for what he had done to their daughter, and for the humiliation he had heaped on Faye. For all the women who had been in her place, suppressed, feeling worthless, who had taken their lives, been deprived of their dignity. Who had been kept as serfs. Exploited. Women who were still shackled, even if the appearance of those shackles had changed over the centuries.

  Faye was going to strike back.

  She wasn’t going to be a statistic, one more woman killed by her husband or ex.

  “Come out now,” he called out. “If you’ve hur
t her, I’ll kill you, Faye.”

  She heard the suppressed rage. The voice was behind her now, close by, on the other side of the wall. That meant he was heading for the front door.

  Faye swallowed.

  “She’s here.” Her throat felt tight, her voice hoarse. “In here.”

  Jack shifted his weight from foot to foot on the steps outside. He didn’t seem to be able to make up his mind about what to do. He was scared. He knew what she was capable of. That she was smarter than him. That she was dangerous. And that he was the one who made her dangerous.

  “Bring her out,” he shouted.

  Faye didn’t reply. She gritted her teeth and screwed her eyes tight shut. She didn’t want to do too much to tempt him in case it made him suspicious.

  “Do it,” she whispered. “Do it.”

  The footsteps had stopped. He was probably standing still on the steps, two feet or so away. She could feel his presence, his hesitation, his fear.

  Her legs trembled with anxiety. Faye dug her nails into the palm of her hand.

  “Touch the handle, Jack,” she murmured. “Open the door. I’m right here waiting for you.”

  A second later she heard a sizzling sound.

  She smiled and opened her eyes.

  “One, two, three,” she counted before reaching out and turning off the light.

  She heard a heavy thud on the other side of the door. She got up slowly, sniffing the air. There was a burnt smell seeping in from outside.

  Faye slowly opened the door, but it soon jammed because Jack’s body was lying in the way. She saw his legs through the crack in the door. He had fallen backward. She kept pushing and eventually made enough of an opening that she could squeeze through the gap.

  She bent down and examined his face. His eyes were wide open. Empty. She leaned forward and put two fingers to his neck. There was no pulse.

  She looked at the man she had once loved more than anything else on earth and tried to understand what she felt.

  The forest loomed before her like a wall around the house, shutting out the world.

  The silence was dense.

  It was as if they were in another dimension—where there were only Faye and Jack.

  The story that had begun at the Stockholm School of Economics so many years ago was over. The one that had brought her tears. Thoughts of suicide. Humiliation. Abortion. The women he had cheated on her with. But it had also brought her Julienne, the takeover of Compare, the creation of Revenge. Her liberation. Was there anyone more free than a person who had been imprisoned? How else could you recognize the scent of freedom? A person could be someone else’s prison—their rage or contempt could be the shackles that kept them fettered.

  Faye grabbed Jack’s wrists and dragged the heavy body across the threshold and into the living room. His head hit the floor.

  Jack was left in the middle of the floor while Faye, panting with effort, sat down on the sofa and looked at his body. She got up. She went over to him and kicked him. The sound was muffled. No reaction. She took aim. Kicked him again. Thought about the pictures of Julienne on Jack’s computer. His face when she gave him the plastic wallet with the photo.

  She leaned over the dead body.

  “You should have let me go. You shouldn’t have been so stubborn. So proud. You should never have humiliated me. Used my daughter to threaten me. And you should never, ever have done what you did to Julienne.”

  Faye got to her feet. She picked up the jerry can, stood behind Jack, and unscrewed the cap. She moved in parallel with his body, drenching his clothing in gasoline.

  Then she opened the door, lit a match, and let it fall. The next second, fire exploded next to Jack’s body.

  FJÄLLBACKA—THEN

  I caught a whiff of the familiar smell of smoke from Sebastian’s bedroom and heard the clanking of bottles. He was playing music at a low volume so that Dad didn’t wake up. Mom had just gotten home. Yet again, she’d been driven to the hospital by Dad. With excuses about having fallen down the steps, slipped, gosh she was clumsy, so unfortunate. Excuses that no doctor could reasonably believe, but that no one dared to question.

  Mom had made the mistake of saying she was planning to visit her brother Egil, and Dad had pushed her down the stairs right from the landing. Time was beginning to run out. Dad’s rage was escalating. This time she had landed on her arm—next time she might land on her head, and then I would be alone for real.

  It was just after midnight now. Mom and Dad were asleep. He was always a bit calmer just after Mom had come back from the hospital. I knew I’d never get a better chance.

  I wanted to protect Mom. I didn’t care what Dad felt. I’d deal with him later.

  I slammed the book shut and placed my bare feet on the floorboards. I had already planned how I would act, what I would do. I put on the thin white nightie that I knew Sebastian liked. I had noticed that he couldn’t keep his eyes off me when I wore it. I found the three sleeping pills I had stolen from Dad and crushed into a powder three days earlier.

  I left my room and took a deep breath before knocking on his door.

  “What is it?”

  I pressed the handle down and stepped inside.

  He was sitting at his desk, but he spun around and stared at me. His turbid eyes caught sight of my bare legs and slowly worked their way up.

  “I was thinking about what you said.”

  Sebastian furrowed his brow. The black eye from the last time Dad had hit him was very prominent.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “At the party in the forest. About me liking it when you all did me. You were wrong.”

  “Oh?” he said indifferently, turning back to the screen.

  I took a step into the room, standing below the bar that was positioned above the door for pull-ups. I’d never seen him use it.

  On the walls, there were posters of scantily clad women with boobs spilling out of tiny pieces of fabric. The room was untidy, with plates of leftover snacks, heaps of clothes everywhere, and a musty smell of sweat and rotten food. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

  I carefully put the small bag onto the floor and shoved it with my foot so that it ended up in a corner.

  “I didn’t like it when they did it with me. But I like it when you do it with me.”

  He froze.

  “Do you want me to leave?” I said. “Or is it okay if I stay awhile? Mom and Dad are asleep.”

  He nodded, not looking at me. I interpreted that as meaning that he wanted me to stay.

  “Can I have a beer?”

  “They’re warm.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  He lay down on his front by the bed, reached underneath with his hand, and produced a bottle. He opened it and passed it to me. He still had the scars on his arm from the time Dad had cut him with a broken bottle.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed and he sat down next to me. We each took a swig in silence. I glanced at his bottle. It was almost empty. Before long, he’d want another. That was when I’d have to add the sleeping pills. Four empties were standing on the desk, and I hadn’t heard him go to the bathroom even once.

  It would soon be time. Best to be ready.

  “Do you like it when I struggle?” I asked softly.

  His face went red, his gaze fixed to the wall.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  His voice was thick.

  “I just want to know what you like, what’s best for you. You can do whatever you want to me.”

  “Mm.”

  He fidgeted. Through his tracksuit bottoms, I could see his penis swelling. He noticed that I had spotted it and seemed embarrassed.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  I reached out with my hand and placed it clumsily onto his crotch. I felt vomi
t rising into my mouth but I quickly swallowed it.

  He moved on the bed.

  “I need the bathroom,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “I’ll wait here.”

  Faye walked through the forest naked. Behind her, the house was in flames. She had thrown her clothes into the fire—they would be destroyed together with Jack.

  The orange flames licked up into the night sky, the smoke climbing high.

  She didn’t turn around, she just kept going, away from Jack. She was filled with a newly won and strong sense of freedom—it possessed her body.

  The car headlights illuminated the narrow forest track at exactly the spot where she and Ylva had agreed to meet. Her friend had been close by all along and had been instructed to drive to the meeting point as soon as she saw smoke rising from the house. And just as promised, she was there.

  Ylva smiled faintly at her from behind the wheel. Faye opened the passenger door without any expression. The car was red, old, freckled with rust, and had no GPS. Ylva had borrowed it from a guy she knew, no questions asked. He wasn’t the sort to talk to the police. No one would be able to prove they had been here.

  “Is it done?” Ylva asked.

  “It’s done.”

  Ylva nodded and reached into the backseat. She passed over a black bag containing clothes. A clean set. No trace of Jack.

  “Do you want to get dressed before we go?”

  Faye shook her head and climbed into the passenger seat with the bag on her lap. The smell of smoke was beginning to fill the inside of the car and Ylva coughed.

  “No, just drive.”

  Faye saw the inferno in the house between the tree trunks at the very moment that the roof caved inward with a crash. Ylva, who had been about to start the engine, froze and slowly lowered her hand.

  They sat in silence for a while as they watched the old house burn. Then Ylva put the car into gear and they slowly rolled forward.