‘Alive?’ she mumbles against the stripy, starched shirt holding her.
She doesn’t try to detach herself, just sits there, feeling frightened. What’s going to happen now? She glances at one of the officers. Will she snatch the gun out of his holster and shoot them all? A bloodbath.
‘Oh, honey,’ he says.
He strokes her hair and she hears sobs. She blocks them out.
‘I’m here now,’ he says. ‘I’ll look after you.’
‘Sofia,’ the police officer says again. ‘We would like you to come to the hospital to see a doctor.’
She’s not sick.
‘You can go,’ her father tells them. ‘I’ll take care of her and if she gets worse I will take her to the ER.’
‘I would prefer that she sees a doctor,’ one of the officers says.
‘I respect that,’ her father says, standing up. ‘But hospitals freak her out.’
He whispers something to the officer and then ends with, ‘No one cares more than I do.’
The officer hesitates. ‘Are you sure?’
Although there’s doubt in his voice, Kristin knows he will listen to Frank Anderson. It saves time. She says nothing; that would be pointless. Nobody listens; no one believes her. Telling the truth is a waste. The police often turned up at the trailer, and it was always the same.
‘The neighbours have reported a domestic disturbance.’
‘Everything is fine now,’ Brandon said. ‘We just had a discussion, didn’t we, Sofia?’
‘Yes,’ she replied.
Sometimes they asked about a bruise.
‘I fell,’ she said.
They knew it wasn’t true, but they chose to believe the lies. It was easier.
‘Sofia, do you need our assistance?’
The words are a murmur.
‘Sofia?’
Her father leans down to her again and his lips brush against her ear.
‘Answer him,’ he begs.
‘Everything is fine,’ she says obediently.
Everything is all right. Why would she think that she would be free? Is there ever a way out?
The police officers leave them; their backs disappearing out of her apartment and into a world where she no longer exists.
Now they’re alone.
Chapter 42
Frank
Sofia screams. She kicks. She scratches. As soon as the police are gone, she starts. The power behind her punches takes him by surprise. She’s not physically strong but there is fire in both her fists and the accompanying words she howls at him.
‘Get away from here,’ she shouts. ‘And don’t call me Sofia!’
The screeching unsettles him. He needs to bring her to the car without attracting attention. He might not have much time. Her boyfriend could be back soon.
Frank does his best to talk to her, concentrating on being calm and focused. For a long time, he explains that, although he’s upset with her, he wants to help her. Doesn’t she want help? Isn’t she tired of running? They can’t change the past: Anders is gone and her mother might never walk again, but hiding out and pretending it didn’t happen won’t change anything. Isn’t it better that she pays for her mistakes, to start over?
‘Stop fighting and let me in,’ he says. ‘I’m not the enemy.’
However he phrases it, she refuses to listen. Nothing seems to hit home. Eventually, he has no choice but to take hold of her arms, to gain control. He drags her to the couch, where he tries to sit her up, to get her to look him in the eye, but she’s gone, her mind switched off.
He’s going to have to use every tool in his box to bring her back to the house. But he needs to act fast: soon, she needs to be tucked away in his basement, sedated.
Chapter 43
Kristin
Kristin relaxes her muscles, making herself heavy and harder to move. They’re in her living room where the police left them, when he tries to drag her to the sofa to sit her up. He wants to lecture her, but her body is too limp for a sitting position. It frustrates him and that’s her goal.
‘Leave me alone,’ she says drearily, but her words are ignored, and instead she does what she does best: shuts him out.
Fighting him hasn’t helped. He’s still there, his mouth a relentless processor of words.
‘You’re a killer,’ he says calmly, as if she’s an insane animal he needs to tame, making her think of Nurse Ratched in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Who is really insane? Olof thinks she’s normal.
‘You regularly bring up normalcy,’ Olof said. ‘But what is really normal?’
‘To be like everyone else,’ she replied.
‘Interesting. I would define normal people as those who are true to who they are. What do you think about that?’
Kristin stops responding to her father and acts ‘dead’, her body splayed across the sofa. He walks around the room, talking non-stop. At some point she rolls onto the floor where she becomes one with the soft wool rug. It’s easier to hide down there.
Leave me alone.
His presence feels like a commercial break in a heart-warming movie: an unwelcome disturbance.
He keeps asking her: ‘Why?’
Yet she says nothing. There is no point. He never listens to her, only tells her what to do and how to behave. Her father loves his job and her mother. Blindly. He does not love his children. He wants to control her. Nothing else.
Anything related to his company is important.
Anything her mother says is important.
Anything his daughter says is insignificant.
She has no voice.
What does he want? To bring her back to Chicago, to their ridiculously lavish mansion, far away from Niklas? The thought of her boyfriend’s innocent snoring on the pillow next to hers wakes her up. She can’t lose that.
The gun. That’s her only friend right now. Maybe she could run into the kitchen and retrieve it from the bin? It would make her feel safe. She turns her head and watches her father. He’s no longer paying her any attention as he paces the room, a monologue spewing out: ‘… had every chance in life and you’ve done this… torn and disappointed but also can’t let you go…’ As soon as he turns his back to peek out of the window, she shoots up and runs into the kitchen. She dives into the bin, blocking out how disgusting it is, and digs out the gun. Behind her she can hear him spring into action; he’s on her heels.
‘What are you doing?’
She holds up the loaded gun, aiming it at his face.
‘Don’t move,’ she says.
He puts his hands up, an act of surrender, but she doesn’t trust it.
‘Sofia… please don’t do anything stupid,’ he says.
‘Isn’t that what I do best?’ she says quietly. ‘Stupidity?’
It’s followed her like a constant companion through life. First everyone labelled her as such because she wasn’t like everyone else. Then she became stupid for real, allowing others to make decisions for her, landing her in one mess after another. Pulling away has never been her strength.
‘You’re not stupid,’ he says, and she wants to believe him.
‘If only you knew,’ she says. ‘If only you would listen.’
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’m listening. What do you want to tell me?’
‘It’s too late.’
She takes a step closer, his eyes darting between her face and the gun. He’s aged, the grey specks in his dark mane have bled into big patches, but he still looks refined. Wealthy.
‘What’s my name?’ she says.
‘Sof … Kristin,’ he corrects himself. He looks alarmed. ‘Please don’t do this,’ he says. ‘This may not mean a lot to you, but I’m your father. I admit that I’m not the best person in the world, but…’
He kicks her then. With her eyes focused on his talking lips, she fails to see it coming. His foot hits her knee and her legs buckle, the gun sliding out of her hand. She hears the thud as it lands on the floor and she tries to stand up to re
ach it across the room, when he sits on top of her, his weight holding her down.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, tightening his grip on her arms. ‘But this has to stop. No more.’
Defeated, she lies on the floor, her mind flickering between apathy and a desire to fight back. She’s paralysed by indecision as he pulls her up and brings her back to the sofa in the living room.
‘We got off on the wrong foot,’ he says. ‘Are you thirsty? I brought juice.’ He pulls out two small bottles from a bag and hands her one. ‘Have a drink. If you don’t want to talk, that’s all right.’
It is? The unexpected kindness softens her. She takes the juice and sips it, realising how thirsty she is. They sit there quietly, just breathing. Her body feels relaxed but her vision starts to blur. Images appear like stars in the night, of death and hopelessness. It all happens too quickly. Before she knows it, her head is leaning on the lapel of his jacket as he leads her out of the apartment. The door is shutting behind them and it feels so significant her stomach physically hurts.
‘Don’t,’ she says, hazily. ‘Let me go back in. Please.’
She should have made an effort with the neighbours. Then she could have called for help. If she shouts now, she will only be labelled ‘unstable’. Again.
The light and the sounds of the street hit her, paralysing her almost. Can she run? Her legs feel weak.
‘I will call the police if you make a fuss,’ he says, and that’s not fair; he knows the police scare her.
She’s barely aware of him unlocking and opening a van.
‘Don’t try anything,’ he warns. ‘The child locks are on.’
He drives and she leans on the window, drowsily watching the city go by outside. It was supposed to be her city, her new future away from them all. Her friend, the gun, is also gone. Does he have it? She hasn’t seen it since they left the apartment. Will it still be there for Niklas to see when he comes home? That would be good. That will make him understand she didn’t leave him willingly.
They exit the city but, instead of driving south towards the bridge and Copenhagen airport, they drive in a northerly direction, the same way they travel by bus to Niklas’s parents. She struggles to keep her eyes open but forces them to see the serpentine dirt road they turn into, the whitewashed house at the end of it, hidden behind a wall of greenery. After that, her eyelids grow too heavy as she slips onto the leather seat. What is this place?
Chapter 44
Frank
She might refuse to speak to him unless he calls her Kristin, but it’s just a name, Frank tells himself. He can adapt if need be. As a parent, you have to choose your battles.
He’s desperate to tell Birgitta that he’s brought their daughter home, but right now she has a visitor. As he pulls into the courtyard, the lights are on in the living room and Gabriella’s bike is parked up front. Despite his request for Birgitta to save this for another day.
Birgitta is becoming increasingly close to this girl and he’s not sure what her motivations are. The fact that she swings both ways is not what concerns him, but she normally includes him in the adventure, and she’s made it clear since arriving here that things are to be different now. This girl is also too young. Is she simply trying to replace their daughter with someone ‘normal’, to show him that they can do without Sofia?
Due to Gabriella visiting, he has to bring his daughter down to the basement via a side entrance. At least that’s the beauty of living remotely: no one can see what goes on in his courtyard. She’s agreeable enough, almost mute. Perhaps she’s accepting that she’s here now and is even relieved to be home with her parents? He’s spared her a much worse fate by arranging a nice room for her with a bed, desk, TV, DVD player and movies.
Although she’s already drowsy, he gives her more juice, which she luckily sips with greed. It will make her even sleepier.
‘There are snacks in the drawer,’ he tells her but he’s not sure she can hear him. Her eyes are closing.
He locks the door when he leaves.
*
Frank walks up the stairs but before he enters the living room, he hovers by the door to eavesdrop on Birgitta and Gabriella’s conversation.
‘Your first bronze sculpture? Amazing. Do you feel liberated?’
Birgitta’s voice is upbeat. She’s certainly not giving Gabriella the sour treatment she’s been giving him lately. Then again, she can be sugar sweet one second and sandpaper rough the next.
‘Very,’ Gabriella says. ‘I never would have thought that shaping bodies would be my primary income.’
He eyes them through the crack in the door. They’re sitting close together on the Cheshire sofa, Gabriella’s hand resting on Birgitta’s.
‘You should resume your career too,’ Gabriella tells her. ‘Don’t forget how strong you are.’
‘Thank you for being so good to me,’ Birgitta says and as he strains his eyes to see them better, he can see Birgitta leaning her head on Gabriella’s shoulder. He’s torn between staying here and watching what’s about to play out, and barging in, breaking them up.
‘Hello, dear,’ he says, deciding to end their fun. Birgitta sits back up as he walks across the room to kiss her. ‘I didn’t know we had a guest? Hello, Gabriella.’
‘Hi, Frank.’
Although she never wears make-up, Gabriella is always striking. He looks at his wife and wants to feel equally excited but all he sees now is the immobile legs. If only he could chuck out her wheelchair and watch her long slender legs walk towards him again, the curve of her back as her hips swing from side to side.
‘Birgitta, I have something important to discuss with you,’ he says, but Gabriella doesn’t leave with ease. It’s almost as if they’re deliberately trying to piss him off.
‘Gabriella is staying for dinner,’ Birgitta tells him. ‘I’ve made beef stew.’
Frank fumes. Why couldn’t she have checked with him first? And beef stew? That’s hardly original. It’s the only thing she knows how to cook. He leaves them to it and goes to bed on his own that evening, safe in the knowledge that Sofia will sleep through the night.
*
The next day he’s not in the mood to tell Birgitta anything but withholding information is impossible. He needs her help.
‘I’ve brought Sofia home,’ he says. ‘She’s downstairs.’
‘Right,’ she says, her lips a straight line. ‘Even though I asked you to leave her alone.’
‘She’s the reason we came here, isn’t she?’ he says. ‘Why we sold everything and upped and left our comfortable life? Now we’re in the stinking countryside in Sweden and you’re telling me it’s supposed to be for nothing?’
She formally clasps her hands on her lap.
‘I thought you liked it here,’ she says coolly.
‘It’s perfectly lovely,’ he agrees. ‘But it’s not the same, is it? We have no status here. No one knows who we are.’
Why is he the only one who cares about that?
‘Exactly,’ she says. ‘Which is perfect. It’s a new beginning.’
This makes no sense to him. He walks across the room and sits down next to her. This may not be as easy as he thought.
‘I feel like I’m forever dancing to your tune,’ he says.
They may as well air a few things out before they talk to Sofia.
‘At least one of us is dancing,’ she retorts.
Irritated, he stands up again and paces up and down the room, the floor creaking under his weight.
‘Anyway, it’s the other way around,’ she continues. ‘It’s your job that has dictated our lives. I have never interfered with your business.’
‘Let’s not get into semantics,’ he says.
To avoid their vicious-circle argument, he takes a deep breath, and brings them back to the urgent matter of Sofia.
‘Our daughter is downstairs,’ he says.
She crosses her arms defiantly. ‘Yes, and what am I supposed to do about that?’
‘Don�
��t you want to confront her, to understand why she would hurt Anders and you?’
She’s sitting in the manual wheelchair and pushes herself forward.
‘I’ve moved on,’ she tells him.
‘Really? Just like that? You lose your son and you merely accept that? You become wheelchair-bound because of her and you accept that too? That doesn’t sound one bit like the Birgitta I know.’
‘Being disabled has changed my perspective,’ she says.
He stares at her. Has it? Birgitta has always been relentless in all her pursuits. Is it possible that she has suddenly become the calm spiritual guidance she declares herself to be for her clients? He’s always thought of it as nonsense but maybe she’s actually developed into the person she’s claimed to be for so long? Okay, he’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. He owes her that because she’s right: she never has interfered with his business.
‘Regarding Sofia, I’ve done some research,’ he says, taking the opportunity to share his thoughts. ‘Youth homicide is often not treated. These children are instead put into prison without an evaluation. We’re doing her a favour keeping her here.’
‘Children?’ she scoffs. ‘She’s in her twenties, Frank.’
Defiance is written all over her face but he’s not giving up that easily.
‘Hear me out, will you? These… okay, not children, but young adults show little empathy and she clearly fits the bill. She shows no remorse. That’s why—’
‘She’s not a young adult either,’ she interrupts. ‘Anyway, the system in Sweden is more lenient. At least that’s what I’ve read. If she’s charged here, they will probably go easy on her.’
She obviously hasn’t made a complete exit from their plan, no matter what she says.
‘Does that mean you have looked into this too?’
‘Maybe,’ she says, sounding non-committal.
‘But is that what you want? To see her behind bars?’ Wasn’t she willing to let it all go a minute ago? ‘You’re confusing me.’
She stares at the wall for a while before she faces him.
What Did I Do? Page 22