What Did I Do?

by Jessica Jarlvi

  She retraces her steps to when Kristin Smith was born. After Brandon’s funeral, she dyed her hair blonde and bought new clothes; her all-black attire replaced by colourful outfits. One of Brandon’s friends took her new photo and created the passport. He was known for helping people disappear. He suspected she needed to get away from Stanley’s persistent presence in their lives. Now that her protector was gone, she would need to vanish. She packed a bag, booked a flight and left. Did she even wash the dishes before she left? She can’t remember. She just needed to run.

  The phone starts to ring but Niklas only stirs, forcing her to drag herself into the hallway to answer.

  ‘I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!’

  It’s the same loud distorted voice as before, followed by a click. Kristin screams into the phone, ‘Wait!’

  Her words are forceful, saliva splashing onto the handset, but she doesn’t disinfect it. It feels almost cleansing, like vomiting when you’re ill.

  The phone line is dead. No one waits for her. Kristin leans against the wall, drops the phone and slides down onto the floor. First her father turns up here and now this. She lies on the hardwood floor for an eternity. Time seems irrelevant, but the urge to wash herself finally gets her to stand up. She climbs into the shower fully dressed, needing to clean away the ugliness. Lathering and washing her clothes until she’s satisfied that they’re decontaminated, she peels them off, then scrubs her skin until it burns.

  She drapes herself in a towel and lies down on top of her bed. Soon, she’s cold and shivering.

  ‘Kristin?’ Niklas asks groggily. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I received a call,’ she says.

  ‘From?’

  It’s going to sound foreign to Niklas, but she finds herself saying it anyway.

  ‘It was a distorted voice… you know, like a robot?’

  ‘A robot?’ he says, looking baffled, which is justified.

  ‘Yes,’ she says softly.

  He sits up. ‘Kristin, you look upset but… not surprised?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I’ve received these calls before, but I didn’t think that person would be able to reach me here.’

  ‘Should we change our number?’

  ‘Maybe.’ She thinks about it. Will that seem crazy? ‘No, I’m sure it’s harmless,’ she says. ‘Like you said before, prank calls.’

  She doesn’t believe it but maybe Niklas will.

  ‘Someone would prank call you in the US and here? I don’t know. That sounds far-fetched.’

  ‘I know, and only one person has ever had both my numbers,’ she says.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Ursula.’

  Chapter 35

  Frank

  ‘Who are you calling?’

  Frank spins around to watch Birgitta push herself down the hallway. The grey rubber wheels are slow and quiet.

  ‘Who are you calling?’ Birgitta asks again.

  He gently touches the handset to ensure it’s securely on the hook.

  ‘Our son.’

  ‘Really?’ she says, with a look of wonder. ‘How did you get hold of his number?’

  ‘He sent it via text. I haven’t disconnected my US number yet.’

  ‘There’s no point tracing him,’ she says. ‘Did you tell him where we are?’

  ‘Not yet,’ he says. ‘I used an international calling card so the number can’t be traced to Sweden. I don’t want him to know we’re here.’

  ‘Does he know where his sister is?’

  Frank shakes his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Did you tell him what she’s done?’

  ‘I don’t want him to be involved.’

  Birgitta nods. ‘You’re right,’ she says. ‘Maybe we leave him out of it, let him do his own thing.’

  Frank nods but he won’t let his son go that easily. Some chapters in your life are harder to close than others.

  ‘Did he at least tell you where he lives?’ Birgitta asks.

  ‘Of course not.’ The question annoys him; Birgitta should know better. ‘Do you think he would tell his own father that? And even if he did, he could be gone by tomorrow.’

  He’s tired of talking about their oldest son and walks off, crossing the quaint living room, aiming for his sanctuary: the study. Behind him, he can hear the soft sound of rubber on the move. She’s following him.

  ‘We also moved a lot,’ she says. ‘Before we bought the house on Sheridan Road.’

  ‘He’s an adult, Birgitta,’ Frank replies over his shoulder. ‘That means he makes his own choices. He could stay in the same place, get married and have children. What’s stopping him? Certainly not us.’

  He keeps walking and Birgitta doesn’t respond, but he can hear her wheelchair swivel and head in another direction. Turning around, he watches her disappear into the kitchen.

  Frank sits down on the office chair by his desk, his hands fiddling with his laptop. But a restless feeling mixes with anger. He’s not the reason their son won’t settle down. In fact, he did everything that can be expected of a father: he clothed and fed him, provided more than adequate accommodation, helped him get a driving licence, and, not only that, he paid for his education. Unlike many of his friends, his son has no student loans.

  Frank resolutely gets up and marches into the kitchen.

  ‘He could have settled down,’ he says loudly. ‘Lived an ordinary life with a family of his own.’

  A family of his own, that was what he himself wanted when he left Sweden to cross the Atlantic: a family that was his. He’s angry now.

  Birgitta ignores him. She’s by the fridge, her slender fingers gripping a Pripps Blå, pulling the sweating beer towards her. He watches her slam the door shut, not even bothering to use the handle that he’s made sure is low enough. Without so much as looking at him, she opens the can, foam spilling out and over her hand. She sips the beer greedily, summoning up the energy for the ensuing argument, no doubt. He knows the pattern but can’t make himself leave. Then she would win and that’s not how this works.

  Her head tilts backwards and she looks him in the eye.

  ‘Maybe he does have a wife and children,’ she says, her lips wet. ‘Have you thought about that?’

  He leans against the wall, sighs. Of course, he has. Their son could be living a life completely unknown to them, in any state or country for that matter. He might have changed his name and had three sets of triplets by now or he might be a recluse. Alternatively, he could be a criminal on the run. Frank has thought of every possibility.

  ‘The PI hasn’t been able to find anything,’ Frank says calmly.

  ‘Because our son is too smart and too careful. He doesn’t want us to find him.’

  Her words are quick and sharp and he instinctively withdraws from the cool wall to be closer to her. Towering over her should make him feel in control but she plays a good game. She simply stares back.

  ‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘He is smart.’

  He opens the fridge to pull out a beer for himself, the chilled malt satisfying. Birgitta is infuriating at times. The disability hasn’t helped and he hasn’t learnt how to fully deal with it yet: feel sorry for her or give her tough love?

  He turns around and faces her. Right now, he wants to spread those legs because as much as he hates these arguments, they also excite him. He wants her and she knows it. Her eyes sparkle. In the old days, before children, she would be on the move by now, running away from him in one of their playful pursuits. She would appear scared, not wanting to get caught, and he would leave her time to hide before chasing after her.

  ‘What’s next?’ she asks, taking another gulp of beer.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he says, and he can’t help it, he thinks out loud: ‘You start to walk? I run after you?’

  Her lips tighten. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Do we need to move on and accept that, from now on, it’s just the two of us?’

  ‘Oh.’ He feels disappointed.

  All he can think about is Birgitta ru
nning, laughing. Will she ever be able to do that again? The doctors have told her she might walk one day, and he’s read about people regaining the use of their legs through sheer willpower. Her mind obviously isn’t strong enough. Perhaps she enjoys having him wait on her?

  ‘You know,’ she says, smirking at him. ‘I want you too.’

  He’s not sure how he feels now. She’s been a little bit too close to winning this time, torturing him almost.

  ‘I’m not ready to move on,’ he says. ‘Why doesn’t our son want anything to do with us? What have we done?’

  She studies him, penetrating him with a cool stare that he can’t stand.

  ‘Maybe it’s not what we’ve done, but what he’s done?’ she says. ‘Have you never wondered why he’s so secretive about his life?’

  Of course, he has.

  ‘Well, I have a theory or two,’ she says as she tosses her can into the bin. He hates it when she behaves like a commoner, and she knows it.

  ‘Care to share?’ he asks.

  ‘I believe your suffocating parenting has pushed our son to the edge, and I think he’s lost the plot as a result.’

  She’s blaming him? ‘What are you saying? That he’s into gambling? Drugs?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Birgitta says. ‘But it’s certainly something that makes him feel he has to go to such extremes to stay away.’

  ‘And it’s because of me? You’re saying that I have driven our children away?’ He shakes his head. ‘I can’t believe it.’ Angered, he announces that he’s going out. ‘I’ve connected the TV for you.’

  He wants her to be busy while he’s gone, but on his way to the door, he pulls the phone cord out. He needs to put her in her box.

  *

  Calmer now, Frank drives back to Niklas Jönsson’s apartment. He’s left enough time for the guy to think. Now he needs to get tough. Niklas Jönsson, he’s learnt, is a single, twenty-seven-year old janitor with a high-school trade qualification, but no university degree. He’s got zero unpaid debts, prison sentences or similar, but how does he know Sofia? Frank has a feeling he already knows. She’s not good with friends.

  He presses the buzzer over and over until, finally, someone answers.

  ‘Hello,’ says a voice. It’s female?

  ‘Kristin?’ he says.

  ‘Eh ... yes.’

  But it’s not. It’s her! ‘Sofia?’ he says. ‘Please let me in.’

  He’s not able to disguise the excitement in his voice. But ‘click’ and she’s gone. No. He’s been unprepared for the emotional impact of hearing her voice, and, desperate to hear it again, he presses the buzzer over and over for another opportunity. Come on. But nothing.

  Kristin is Sofia? He stands back and looks at the building. This is where she lives? With Niklas Jönsson? There’s something disturbing about janitors, Frank thinks. Niklas Jönsson might look like a nerd but geeks are usually the worst, hiding dark fantasies behind innocent fronts. Sofia might have a new name but she’s not likely to have changed her taste in men.

  Frank thinks about the many times he’s waited outside her other homes: a condominium, caravan or cabin, depending on who she was staying with at the time. He would study her life, if one could call it that. It was unstructured and often dangerous. Many times, he regretted cutting her study funds but Birgitta insisted he’d done the right thing.

  ‘It teaches her to be independent and that’s probably what’s going to set her straight in the end,’ she said.

  He wanted Sofia to fit in and for her unusual behaviour to stop. She had never been normal, the way she separated the food on the plate; how she fanatically checked and rechecked her schoolwork for mistakes, and her compulsion to smell her fingers, which was awkward in public. It seemed harmless when she was younger, something she would eventually grow out of, but it became bigger. Before he found the diary, he had already started to notice that her rituals were beginning to take over. She could no longer have friends and sleepovers were out of the question. Instead, she stayed at home, repeating obsessions in her head. He read about those amongst her notes and they evoked an extreme anxiety in him. How could he have produced such a child?

  Still, someone married her. Although Brandon was a real piece of work and if Sofia hadn’t hurt her brother and her mother, Frank probably wouldn’t have blamed her for feeding her husband nuts. He’s known for some time that Brandon is dead. After Birgitta’s private investigator turned up nothing, Frank hired his own to go back to the trailer park to ask questions. Not only did he find out that Brandon was dead and how, but there were also rumours about a life insurance payout, which made Sofia’s supposed move to Sweden more likely. Whoever Birgitta hired was useless but he didn’t want to tell her that. Nor has he told Birgitta, or even this Niklas, about Brandon’s fate. He simply stated that Sofia’s former husband ‘vanished’. It seemed more vague, and thereby more believable. Now would be the time to tell Birgitta the truth about how ruthless their daughter really is, but he’s saving it. It’s his trump card. Once he’s brought Sofia home, he will disclose everything to Birgitta and she will have no choice but to support him.

  Frank looks up towards the third floor. Knowing his daughter is so close, he needs to see her. It’s not about forgiveness. He doesn’t yet know if he can forgive. But he needs her back in his care. He’s already researched and purchased the necessary medications online.

  A creaking sound disturbs Frank’s thoughts but it’s not an unwelcome disruption. An old lady exits Sofia’s building and in a gentlemanly fashion he rushes to her aid, holding the door. She says ‘tack’, not realising that he’s equally grateful for her making his entrance possible. Frank slips inside and walks up the stairs to the third floor, where Niklas Jönsson’s name is framed under a letterbox in a brown, aged wooden door.

  He knocks but the apartment appears deserted. Yet he knows she’s in there. He rings the doorbell and hears it echoing inside the flat. Same result. Pushing the letter box in the door open, he calls her name.

  ‘Sofia. Please open. I want to help you. You have to stop running.’

  There’s no movement inside the apartment, no sound. He waits for a while, eventually having no choice but to leave in case the neighbours wonder what he’s up to. As he descends the steps, a new plan has formed. She won’t be quick to run this time. Frank has looked up the area online and most of those flats sell for a few million kronor. Despite the recent purchase, there’s no mortgage. The apartment might be registered to her school janitor boyfriend, but Frank is in no doubt that her insurance money purchased it.

  She will stay, because for the first time she’s put down roots. Now he knows exactly how to get to her.

  Chapter 36

  Kristin

  ‘I love you, Sofia.’

  ‘No, you don’t, Stanley.’

  ‘You can’t tell me who to love. Come here. You’re not like the other girls around here.’

  ‘Leave me alone.’ How could she get through to him? ‘I’ll tell on you.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh. I have full authority to do whatever I want.’

  Kristin sits up in bed, her heart pounding. Next to her, Niklas is sleeping peacefully. She snuggles up to him, inhaling his sweet scent. This is her reality. Not the other one. She’s created this one herself, without the help of anyone else. She’s strong.

  Niklas shifts his body, accommodating hers, and soon they’re wrapped up together. It’s not sweaty or claustrophobic, but peaceful. She’s home. But to be safe, she will start sleeping with the gun under her pillow. If Stanley barges in here, she won’t hesitate to shoot him. It will be self-defence. She has something to protect now and it’s not just herself.

  *

  The clock is ticking. Soon, Niklas has to go to work but Kristin doesn’t want him to leave.

  ‘School is off anyway,’ she says. ‘There are no children.’

  It makes perfect sense to her that he should stay at home. They can cuddle on the sofa and watch Casablanca. B
ut Niklas shakes his head.

  ‘The after-school care facility is running full time over the summer,’ he says. ‘What do you think happens to the children whose parents work?’

  ‘I don’t know… they go to camp?’

  That was what she and her brothers used to do. She dreaded it every summer. Just packing a bag was difficult enough; let alone sharing a space with strangers.

  ‘That’s not how it works here. Also, there’s furniture to be moved around now that the classrooms are empty and, well, maintenance is always maintenance. It can’t take a break. If there’s a leak, it has to be dealt with.’

  He kisses her head before occupying the bathroom. What will she do now? Soon, Niklas will be dressed and ready to go. He’s fast that way. Kristin wonders around aimlessly but eventually ends up in the living room, which has a view of the street below. She glances out of the window. Her father knows she’s here.

  He wants to discipline her. There were many rules in the house she grew up in. He needed everything to be perfect and she’s not a flawless daughter. But how defective is she? If she really did cause her brother’s death, then perhaps he’s right to punish her?

  ‘I’m leaving now,’ Niklas says, appearing at the door.

  He’s wearing his work clothes: a sports top and khaki trousers with various pockets, and the sandals with the two straps across his narrow feet. Niklas has aged. The lines that she traces in the mornings have deepened. She knows she’s the reason for this.

  ‘I love you,’ she says.

  If only he wouldn’t leave. Not today. She communicates this message telepathically but he doesn’t appear to be receptive.

  ‘I love you too, but I have to go now,’ he says, gently pushing her away.

  She’s desperate. He mustn’t go. Danger is lurking outside.

  ‘Wait,’ she says.

  She has an idea. Her T-shirt comes off first.

  ‘Kristin, what are you doing?’

  Her hands fumble with the hook of the bra as she manages to bare two small breasts. Niklas’s face contorts into a strange grimace but she’s on a roll now. The sweatpants are easy to jump out of and the underwear slides down with ease.