‘I am,’ she says.
He nods. ‘We will get through this,’ he assures her. ‘But first we should discuss the call I received.’
‘Not now,’ she says, yawning. ‘I’m tired.’
He helps her into the living room, where he moves her onto the sofa.
‘Do you want to go back to the US at some point?’ he asks.
‘Maybe,’ she says. ‘But not at the moment.’
‘Because?’
‘We have a situation in the basement, don’t we?’
Why doesn’t she want to discuss the call?
‘I miss eating at SVEA Restaurant in Andersonville,’ he says. ‘Eating Swedish food there felt much more exotic then eating it here. Don’t you think?’
He needs to break through her barrier.
‘I’m fine here. Then again, I’ve always been better at acclimatising than you have,’ she says flippantly.
It’s true. She’s like a chameleon, adapting to every situation, or at least finding a way to make it work for her.
‘Please let me rest for a bit, will you?’ she says. ‘We can talk later.’
As he leaves the room, he watches her pull out her iPhone. She’s been awfully busy on that the last couple of days. Is she texting Gabriella?
He walks into his study and closes the door. Now that his daughter is actually here, he should feel a sense of satisfaction. He’s not only found her, but he has successfully brought her home. Why doesn’t he feel content? He fiddles with his laptop but isn’t in the mood to check meaningless emails. Instead he opens up the camera footage. Did Gabriella snoop around when she was here? The live feed shows a deserted courtyard at the back and an empty deck and garden at the front.
He aimlessly clicks on the different files from the previous evening and watches tedious images and videos of their many rooms where nothing happens. In the living room, Birgitta and Gabriella talk, they hold hands and Birgitta leans her head against Gabriella’s shoulder. It’s innocent. Then he enters the picture but leaves shortly after, and they proceed to eat dinner without him. Nothing happens that he doesn’t already know about. Gabriella doesn’t seem to have left Birgitta at any point, but they also don’t seem to have done anything that’s suspect.
His mind is so filled with questions about the nature of Birgitta’s relationship with Gabriella that he almost misses it. Birgitta is on the screen. It must have been after Gabriella left the previous evening. He moves his chair closer to the desk and stares at the laptop. She’s not in her wheelchair. She’s walking? He can’t quite comprehend what he’s seeing. Judging by the time that’s displayed in the top right-hand corner, he was already in bed, but there she is, strolling through the rooms as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.
Chapter 49
Frank
Frank watches and re-watches the tape of Birgitta walking, trying to understand. She can walk? Has she regained the feeling in her legs recently and simply not told him? Or…? Surely not? The doubt creeps up his back like a lizard angling for a fly: has she lied to him all along?
He racks his brain, thinking of any evidence to support this theory, starting with the time in Chicago after the incident. He returned from a few days away just as she arrived home from the hospital in the wheelchair. He was upset with her for not calling him, but he also admired and appreciated her independence and strength. After that, she did go to all the doctor’s appointments on her own. He wasn’t involved from a medical perspective although he kept asking her for information and doing his own research online. Still, he should have been more on top of it.
‘Birgitta?’ he calls, not wanting to hold onto this explosive footage. ‘Can you please come here? I need to talk to you.’
She can bloody well make her own way to his study, now that she can walk.
‘Birgitta?’ He’s growing impatient.
When she eventually rolls herself up to his door, she’s balancing a whiskey glass between her legs.
‘Whiskey?’ she asks, her face that of a dutiful wife.
Is this a game? If so, he can play too.
‘Why don’t you bring it to me here?’ he says, pointing to his desk.
‘You know I can’t get over the threshold,’ she responds.
‘Oh, I think you can,’ he says, turning the laptop around for her to see, before pressing ‘play’.
Her face drops but she quickly composes herself, the way she always does. She makes no errors, no mistakes of any kind. It’s infuriating as hell.
‘So what?’ she blurts out. ‘I wanted to tell you but I didn’t want you to get too excited. It still tires me out, walking.’
She stands up and, on unsteady legs, she crosses the room and hands him the glass.
‘Thank you,’ he says gracefully, not mentioning that the footage displays no wobbliness of any kind.
She walks back to her chair, at a quicker pace this time, and sits down.
‘Birgitta,’ he says. ‘Why don’t we discuss the FBI call? They want to know about your whereabouts. Why is that?’
‘They probably want to question me about all those girls you keep running after.’
That takes him aback. Why would anyone worry about that?
‘I have always kept tabs on you, dear,’ she says.
‘Kept tabs on me?’ He laughs. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Some of those girls were young,’ she says. ‘Naughty.’
‘Birgitta, you know about my charitable interests. You may not understand the finer details but I basically offer them a new life. That’s it.’ She looks unconvinced and he keeps explaining. ‘I set them up in a place of their own and pay for their education, providing them with a fresh start. It’s pretty straightforward.’
‘You’re so naïve,’ she says.
‘Perhaps,’ he says. ‘But I follow up with every single one of them. To make sure they aren’t used by others or fall back to their old ways, I call and visit from time to time but, I can assure you, it’s perfectly innocent.’
‘I bet they love you for it,’ she says.
The look in her eyes makes it clear what she’s insinuating.
‘There may be times when they have mistaken my generosity for love,’ he admits. ‘But I have never taken advantage, and I’m sick of you second-guessing my good deeds. I’m aware that it’s selfish of me to spend money this way without involving you but it makes me feel good about myself. I may have failed all of our children but at least, this way, someone appreciates me.’
‘Please,’ she says. ‘Spare me. Anyway, I have invited Gabriella over. I’ll see you later. Enjoy your whiskey.’
With that, she turns around and rolls off. He doesn’t follow her, worried that the growing rage will get the better of him. God, that woman drives him crazy. But it’s always been the allure of her too: her unpredictability and passion.
He drinks the whiskey while going through the rest of the security footage, an unexpected tiredness creeping in. At some point he spots a familiar face in the courtyard. Is that Peter? Is that from yesterday or today? He squints at the screen but the next thing he knows, he falls to the floor.
Chapter 50
Kristin
Kristin dreams about Ursula. Her friend fills her head in an exhausting way; she won’t listen. Her blonde hair whisks across her face, sticking to lip-gloss. She keeps turning her head as if she can hear someone speaking, and Kristin keeps screaming, ‘Here, I’m here!’ She twists and turns until she falls out of bed and wakes up.
It takes a few seconds before she remembers where she is. How long has she slept? What day is it? Is Niklas missing her? Will he call the police? She doubts it. Despite what she’s tried to tell him, he will probably put it down to paranoia. Always and forever, there is only one person she can rely on: herself.
Resting her back against the bed, she feels drained. No one cares about where she is. Maybe she is better off here, where no one can call her or send notes. Could she maybe even get used to living here?
There are people who would love this, she thinks, people who don’t have money or anywhere to live. They would happily trade with her.
She tries to make herself comfortable in the armchair. Could she sit here all day and watch movies on the flat-screen TV that’s been mounted on the opposite wall? Her bottom wedges deep into the seat but something is digging into her. She stands up and pulls the cushions off. An object is stuck at the back. A knife? It’s the type you would use to open moving boxes. The handle is wide and fits perfectly into her hand, the blade isn’t sharp but perfectly okay. Could it pry a window open?
Half an hour later, she concludes that it cannot. Perhaps if the frames had been old, but these appear to be relatively new, triple-glazed windows. They won’t budge.
Panic sets in. What if the air in the room won’t last? Will she die in here? Is that what he wants for her? Death?
She needs water. The juice makes her sleepy. She won’t touch it again. Instead, she leans over the sink and switches the tap on. The water is cold and fresh and helps her clear her head. She finds a granola bar as well, which she eats, her stomach growling.
Watching a movie seems too easy. As if she’s giving up. Desire didn’t give up no matter how desperate her situation was. She needs to take a leaf out of her book and fight until the bitter end.
Lying on the bed, the knife under her pillow, she runs through the options, which are few. Could she stab him the next time he comes down here? Then run? Her mother is in a wheelchair and can’t pursue her. That seems to be the only option, but he’s strong. What if she fails? The longer she lies on that bed, the less confident she becomes, her arms picking at the hair sacs at an alarming speed. Maybe she will truly lose her mind in this place? Maybe she will die here?
*
‘Wake up!’
Kristin sits up with a jolt. Did she fall asleep?
‘You think you’re so clever,’ her mother says. She’s walking through the room with a look of disgust. ‘Clearly, you’re not clever enough because here you are.’
‘You can walk?’
Kristin blinks a few times, willing the grogginess to dissipate.
‘Of course, I can.’
Why is she here alone?
‘Where’s my father?’
‘Oh, he can’t help you.’
‘What did you do to him?’
‘Nothing you wouldn’t have done, I’m sure. At least up here,’ she says, pointing to her head, laughing.
Her mother sits herself down on the armchair just as Kristin gets out of the bed to jump at her, her fists held high as a rage overpowers her. But a gun, the gun, is pointed at her. Her mother smiles.
‘It was in his study,’ she says. ‘Didn’t think they were as readily available over here but I guess even I am wrong sometimes.’
She crosses one leg over the other, the red fingernails tightly squeezing the Zastava.
‘We need to talk.’
Chapter 51
It was dark by the time they brought me to the ‘office’. All the way from the car, the gun was pointed at my ribs to make sure I didn’t run. I couldn’t look at either of them, only the path ahead of me.
Sofia hauled out a set of keys and opened the door into the warehouse building, which seemed deserted and was submerged in darkness. We walked through the unlit space until we reached a door at the back where, once again, she took out her key ring and unlocked yet another gateway to my destiny.
‘In here,’ she said to Stanley.
He peeked into the room and nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said.
‘You stay here and keep watch,’ she said to him. ‘I’m going to tie her to a chair in there.’
He looked at her appreciatively.
‘You’re learning,’ he said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.
She grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me into the room, hissing in my ear to be quiet even though I hadn’t said a word. My eyes were acclimatising to the dark, the silhouettes of filing cabinets and a swivel chair becoming visible.
‘Most of the cabinets are empty,’ she whispered. ‘But in one of the top drawers is paper and pen. Write everything down.’
She looked over her shoulder at the door.
‘I mean, everything. I’ll be back later.’
She didn’t tie me up but retreated out of the room, the key locking the door. I was trapped. But at least I had something to do. I didn’t know what to expect but felt I had nothing to lose at this point, and started to write. As long as I held that pen in my hand, I felt a new sense of courage. I didn’t know who would read any of it but it didn’t matter. I had an opportunity to tell my story and that felt important.
*
I’m still here, in this silent place, the shadows fighting all around me. When will they be back? It’s cold and I’m hungry, but I can’t stop writing. I need to keep going. The sound of the pen against the paper reminds me that I’m alive.
Something is scuttling across the floor. A cockroach? A mouse? A rat? Whatever it is, it doesn’t scare me. It makes me feel less alone. What if they leave me here without food and water? How long will I survive?
A light is switched on in the hall. Someone is here? Is it Stanley and Sofia? I’m begging it’s Sofia on her own. I stand on my toes to peek through the glass in the door. That’s when I see… my boyfriend’s mother? She’s flanked by two of the security guys from the house. Oh, fuck! What are they going to do to her? Will she be paying for his mistakes? For my mistakes? The thought is crushing. But what can I do from here? Should I bang on the door? Should I show them that I’m here and beg for her release? ‘Take me and let her go.’ Knowing how ruthless they are, I don’t think it will make a difference. We will probably both go down.
I move closer to the glass. What’s going on? She is talking to them, laughing even. I don’t understand? I press my ear to the window to hear what they’re saying and I freeze. She is ordering them around. She is calling the shots. My boyfriend’s mother is in charge? I fully realise this as she pulls out a set of keys and walks towards me.
Chapter 52
Kristin
‘What do you want?’ Kristin asks.
‘There are many things I want to know,’ her mother says. ‘First of all, why did you tell Anders? He was never part of it. He wasn’t even really family, so why tell him anything?’
‘Tell him what?’
‘About my private affairs?’
Kristin rubs her eyes; she needs to wake up properly. Concentrate.
‘I didn’t…’ She thinks. Did she tell him anything? No. Why would she have done that? She only warned him that staying at home wouldn’t be free, that there would be demands placed upon him. That’s not the same as telling. ‘I didn’t say anything,’ she concludes.
‘Nice try,’ her mother says. ‘Except he blackmailed me. And he knew way too many details for it to be a vague suspicion.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ Kristin says.
‘If only I could believe you.’ She leans back in the chair. ‘You know, he thought he was invincible. He had that teenage air of importance and such a lack of fear. Nothing I threatened him with mattered.’
Distaste ferments her words and it’s only then that Kristin realises.
‘You threatened him? It was you who…? You got him out of the way?’
The pictures fall into place. She did leave that night, but her mother took advantage of her being there, to make her feel responsible. It’s as if splinters break off inside Kristin’s head, creating a new type of pain.
‘I was really just planning to scare him,’ her mother says, displaying an air of indifference. ‘It’s not my fault he didn’t make it back to shore. I may have held him down for a while, but he still could have survived if he’d been strong enough. It doesn’t matter. It provided a clean slate, apart from you being out there spreading rumours.’
‘I wasn’t…’ she says, the words thin and insignificant. ‘I can’t… you made me believe, you made my father think… that I did i
t.’ The pain multiplies through her body, shooting through the joints. Another realisation hits her. ‘Afterwards, you invited me to the house but I pushed you, did I? You set me up.’
‘You always did think you were going to hurt someone,’ she says. ‘Why not put you out of your misery and make it real?’ She beams as if she’s proud of herself. ‘It wasn’t difficult to get your father on board. He always thought all the worries you penned down were actual fantasies, bless him.’
Her mother casually adjusts her hair, her non-sympathetic smile triggering an adverse reaction in Kristin. She presses her hands to her head, hoping the warmth of her palms will release the pain.
‘Brandon,’ she says, barely able to speak. ‘What about him? Did you kill him too?’
That would be too much to bear. There must be a more natural explanation.
‘That loser?’ her mother says, smacking her lips. ‘No, that would have been a waste of my time. I had Stanley do it for me.’
Kristin’s body falls back onto the crumpled duvet, the throbbing agony unbearable, almost making her numb. Staring at the ceiling, she focuses on numbers. One, two, three, four, five… There’s a pressure on her chest that pushes her down, down and she worries she may never be able to get up.
‘It helped that you always kept that place spotless,’ Birgitta says. ‘Your cleanliness comes in handy sometimes.’
Kristin doesn’t listen. Olof’s face has appeared on the ceiling, a shadow whose voice interjects: Get up, Kristin! Get up! She needs to remove herself from this horizontal position.
Forcing her body upwards, she balances herself on the edge of the bed, but bile rises up her throat and she vomits on the floor. A sticky, splashing pond of puke sits at her feet. She moves to the other side and leans her head forward, allowing it to fall between her legs to clear the airway.
‘Stanley was more than happy to feed Brandon a few nuts,’ her mother continues. ‘All he needed was permission.’
Hearing her voice makes Kristin nauseous all over again, but she breathes her way through it. There has to be a way out.
What Did I Do? Page 24