Cabin Fever

by Alex Dahl

  I follow a long, dark line running from the center of the painting toward the far-right corner and though I keep my head entirely still, I can’t hold the tears back now, and I don’t fight them either. I was afraid in Leah’s apartment, with Anton. I have an irrational sensation of being watched, and feel the compulsion to rush through the apartment, peering into cupboards and under beds, though I know I’m alone, like I usually am. Still, the fine hairs on my arms stand up at the thought of being watched by someone I can’t see, someone I couldn’t expose.

  If my clients could see me now, what would they think? Anxious and high-strung, unsure of what to do or what to think – nothing like the calm, soothing presence they depend on. I check my emails, but there is nothing new. I try to Google Anton, but as I don’t know his last name I get nowhere. I dial the number of the Majorstuen police station. After a series of automated questions, I’m put through to an operator.

  ‘Crime department, Silvia Espensen speaking.’

  ‘Hi, this is Dr Kristina Moss. I’m a doctor of psychology and a practicing psychotherapist at Homansbyen Terapisenter calling about one of my clients who I believe may have come to harm.’

  ‘Can I take a name?’

  ‘Leah Iverson.’ I spell her name out, unusual in Norway, the –on ending making her obviously Swedish.

  ‘Why do you think something may have happened to her?’

  ‘Well, she has missed a session with me, which is very out of character. And she was highly distressed the previous week. She has a history of mental health challenges and an abusive ex-husband.’

  ‘Can I take the name of the ex-husband?’

  ‘Anton.’

  ‘Anton?’

  ‘I don’t have his last name, unfortunately. But I’ve met him. I went to her apartment, and he was there, alone, though she has told me repeatedly she wants nothing to do with him and was even afraid of him finding out where she lives. He says she’s at her cabin in Telemark and that he saw her there himself a couple of days ago. I don’t believe him. I believe he may have hurt her.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Well, she is not responding to calls or emails. When she came to see me last Friday, her face was badly bruised. She refused to say who had done it, but who is it likely to be, besides the violent ex? Even if he hasn’t hurt her, he may have compromised her mental health to such an extent that her life is in danger. She is a vulnerable person with a history of suicidal ideation. Still, I just don’t believe this man, or that Leah’s just voluntarily disappeared for over a week. I think he’s lying and that she’s hurt or in real danger.’

  ‘Do you have her address?’

  ‘Yes, and please hurry; you might catch him. I mean, surely there must be reason to apprehend him if he’s at her house and she has a restraining order against him—’

  ‘Look. Dr…’

  ‘Moss.’

  ‘Dr Moss, unless the next of kin or her employer has reported her missing, there isn’t very much we can do. We might be able to send a patrol around to the address…’

  ‘Yes, I think you need to get this Anton guy in for questioning. But you need to urgently send someone to her cabin. It’s in the mountains somewhere in Telemark – I think it’s near Seljord; she’s given me the exact coordinates. That’s where you need to look for her.’

  There’s a long silence on the other end.

  ‘I’m sure you can appreciate that we can’t send a police car up to some mountain in Telemark to look for someone who may not have been reported missing, but like I said, I’ll look into whether we’d be able to send someone around to Iverson’s registered address—’

  ‘Hold on, I’ve got them here, the coordinates for the cabin. It’s, uh, fifteen minutes to drive from Seljord in the direction of Notodden, and then—’

  ‘Dr Moss, is this your contact number you’re calling from?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ll make sure someone looks into this and gives you a call back if we have any further questions. Do you know who Iverson’s next of kin is?’

  ‘It’s her mother. Her name is Linda Iverson and she lives in Årjäng, I think.’

  ‘Thank you for calling, Dr Moss.’

  ‘Wait. Wait just a moment, please. Look, I’ve already been in touch with her mother, who said she’s spoken to her, but that doesn’t mean Leah is safe, or well. That she didn’t sound worried doesn’t mean much at all in this case. I know Leah and I genuinely believe she may be in danger. Listen, Leah is a very vulnerable person. Especially now. She’s fourteen weeks pregnant. I believe she could be at risk of violence, or even suicide or serious self-harm. Please. You need to make this a priority and find her, now.’

  Another long pause on the other end, and a slow release of breath. ‘I’ll make a note of this, Dr Moss. And I’ll make sure someone looks into it.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I don’t know what I expected, but I suppose I thought the police would leap into action and immediately start looking for an unaccounted-for pregnant woman with a provably violent ex. After all, how many calls like that do they get on any given Friday afternoon in this sleepy country? I’m going to have to assume that the policewoman will look Leah up and find the previous reports she made against Anton, prompting them to take real action.

  I go through to the kitchen and stand at the sink and look across the rooftops toward the silvery top branches of the trees in the distance. They are the king’s trees I’m looking at – we’re that close to the royal palace gardens. I wish there was something for me to clean, something dirty needing my attention, so I could spend time rubbing hard at an old piece of food stuck to a plate with the coarse end of the sponge, or rinse some delicate champagne flutes, but there is nothing. All the surfaces are smooth, the gold-veined black marble glinting in the spotlights. My husband always cleans up after himself if he’s made a mess or fixed a snack, leaving the scent of disinfectant lingering on the air, even though he knows our cleaner comes twice weekly. Souvenirs of his year in the military, and growing up without a mother, he says.

  I need you to— said Leah, interrupting herself, before walking out. But what did she need me to do? Please please please come, said her note, followed by the address to her cabin.

  This is about the truth. I feel queasy just hearing her words in my head. Her hand was cold and dry when it brushed briefly against mine as she handed me the envelope. Her eyes were already elsewhere, as if she had left long ago and it was just the outline of her that remained there with me in that room.

  Could it be that I’m overreacting? What if my mind is running wild and that what happened to Elisabeth is coloring my concern for Leah? Anton may well be telling the truth, and Leah could be at her cabin, just working away on her next book. Perhaps he never hurt her and just went there to apologize for an argument they had, like he said. Perhaps she isn’t at any risk from herself, either – after all, suicide is very rare, especially among women, even those with occasional suicidal preoccupation.

  I pour some of Eirik’s expensive balsamic vinegar into the sink so that there is something to clean, some reason to turn the tap on, the sound of rushing water erasing the silence of the apartment. I look up at the king’s trees again and focus in on a particularly impressive one, its branches black and gnarled against the gloomy sky, but now it’s like I can see Leah hanging there, close to the trunk as though her body were an extension of it, her neck bent low and at an angle, her thin limbs like drooping branches trailing toward the ground. The palms of her hands are strangely white in the gloomy violet light of the afternoon, and streaked with blood and dirt as though she’s fought someone off. The rope is taut and bright blue, reaching upwards into the dense canopy of the fir tree, swaying softly in the gathering wind. I turn away from the window and wipe my wet hands on my jeans, breathing slowly to still my heart.

  ‘Kristina,’ says a voice and I jump out of my skin, my heart shuddering in my chest. I spin around and Eirik is standing the
re, wearing black boxer shorts and a gray T-shirt I don’t remember seeing before.

  ‘What…’ I start, but my voice breaks and trails off. It’s just after five o’clock on a Friday – Eirik rarely comes home before seven, even on a Friday. ‘Are you sick?’ He does look pale – his face is drawn and deep-blue circles bruise the skin around his eyes.

  ‘No,’ he says, whispering into my hair. ‘I wanted to come home early to spend some time with you. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.’ I still don’t feel quite like myself. I’m aware that I’m trembling and Eirik takes another step forward before enveloping me in a close hug. I close my eyes and let myself be held by him. He smells like soap and wood smoke and fresh rain.

  ‘Have you been out running?’

  ‘Not since yesterday.’

  I nod. I open my mouth to speak, to maybe to tell him about Leah, and Anton, but no words will come, only tears, and a flicker of alarm crosses Eirik’s face. ‘What’s the matter, honey?’

  ‘Tough few days at work,’ I say, my eyes dropping from his pale face to the floor, and I try to stave off the images of Leah hanging, but it doesn’t work – it is as though she has been etched onto my retinas, her limp body swinging back and forth in my mind like a grotesque pendulum. Eirik nods and waits for me to continue, but I don’t.

  ‘Come sit with me,’ he says, leading me over to the sofa. I let myself relax against him. We fall into a long silence. Eirik gently strokes my hair, then cups my skull in his large, warm hand, kneading tension from my scalp. I love this soft version of my husband – out there, in the world, he comes across as so powerful and self-assured but here, at home with me, he is actually a very gentle man.

  ‘I’m sorry for the other day,’ I say.

  ‘What day?’

  ‘You know. The burned painting. It was quite the meltdown.’

  ‘You’re going through a hard time, my love. But there is no one in the world I would trust more to get through this time and emerge stronger.’

  ‘It was triggered by some stuff going on at work.’

  ‘What kind of stuff?’

  ‘I…’ I can’t quite decide whether to tell Eirik about Leah and everything that’s been happening; it feels difficult to divulge personal information about a client to anyone, even my husband. I never tell anyone anything about my clients, not even Eirik, no matter what. Besides, I’ve done everything I could, and my job is to listen, not investigate. It’s a police matter now and I have to trust that they will question Anton, if only to find that he’s telling the truth. I close my eyes and lean against Eirik’s dense shape beside me. But still, all I can see is her, alone in the woods. Hanging.

  ‘I’m worried about a client,’ I say, finally, my voice low and trembling. I try to envision something other than the violent images in my head, so I look up at my husband and focus on his smooth skin, his strong jawline and his lovely, slightly puffy lips. I run a fingertip along his bottom lip and he looks at me seriously, waiting for me to continue. ‘She’s a writer. Quite a well-known one, actually. We’ve had a very productive relationship, or so I thought. But she’s behaving completely out of character.’

  ‘In which way?’

  ‘She came to our session last week, extremely distressed. Someone had assaulted her but she wouldn’t say who. She has a history of self-harm and some suicidal preoccupation, as well as an abusive ex-husband.’

  ‘That sounds very worrying.’ Eirik’s eyes are still locked on mine and I love how he listens so intently, he’s able to make people feel like the only person in the world when he turns his full attention to them.

  ‘Yes. And then she missed her session with me yesterday. So I went to her house—’

  ‘Wait. What? You went to her house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That sounds like an unusual thing for you to do.’

  ‘It’s an unusual situation. I have a bad feeling about it. Something has happened to her, something bad.’

  ‘What happened at her house?’

  ‘She wasn’t there. Her ex-husband was. My client had a restraining order against the guy; there’s a long history of emotional abuse and threatening behavior. So why would he be at her house? But he was nothing like what I would have expected. From what I’ve heard about the guy, I would’ve expected some kind of monster. You know, weird and shifty, behaving as though he were guilty of something. But he just seemed quite normal. But if he’s telling the truth, that means she’s been lying. A lot. He told me she’s gone to her cabin, and that she’s working on her new book.’

  ‘And why wouldn’t that be true?’

  ‘I’m not sure I believe she’s there, doing just great, working away on her book, after the state she was in last week.’

  ‘So, you think he’s done something to her.’

  ‘Well, I know he’s certainly capable of it, at least according to her. And he seemed quite bitter and volatile beneath the surface. He said he was upset about the way she’d written about him in her previous book; he talked about feeling compromised and misrepresented. Said he lost his job and had to go live with his parents as a result. She writes autofiction, you know, in the vein of Knausgaard and Vigdis Hjorth.’ Eirik nods thoughtfully, still listening intently. I stroke his hand and uncurl his fist so that my hand fits inside his.

  ‘Is this client Leah Iverson?’

  ‘Yes. I mean, I really shouldn’t ever name a client, but I guess it was obvious. So you know of her?’ I feel worse now, having spoken of Leah to my husband – I should have known he would have heard of her.

  ‘Well, yes. She’s quite high profile, isn’t she? Didn’t she win a big prize?’

  ‘Yeah. The Nordic Prize for Fiction, a very big deal, I gather.’

  ‘I remember. She was on the cover of several newspapers.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How long have you been seeing her?’

  ‘Almost three years now.’

  ‘Right. And her recent behavior is out of character?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Has she said anything that could indicate why?’

  ‘Well, yes. She literally begged me to come to her cabin. I’ve explained why that isn’t possible. She insisted. She said there’s something important she has to tell me. I’ve tried to call and email her, but she hasn’t responded. I mean, it’s not like it’s actually an option for me to go there and speak with her; that would be incredibly inappropriate.’

  ‘Yes. Do you have any idea what it could be? Has she given you any indication at all?’

  ‘No. Well. In the past few months, she has been more assertive with me in our sessions. She’s asked quite a few personal questions, like what my thoughts are or how I would react in certain situations, that kind of thing. She seems quite preoccupied with me, which is actually very common – I see it in little things like dressing similarly to me or copying certain mannerisms. I’m confused because it’s clear she has been hiding things from me, and I believed she shared everything going on in her life with me – she always gave that impression. The ex told me they’d rekindled their relationship, which is almost impossible to believe after the hell she went through with him.’ I take another big glug from the red wine Eirik has poured for me, feeling the alcohol mercifully spreading out in my stomach, loosening my nerves. I focus on taking several deep breaths before continuing, I find it difficult to say what I’m going to say next. ‘And then I found out from Leah’s doctor that she’s pregnant.’

  ‘Oh. Wow.’ Eirik looks enraptured, like I’m telling him an exciting story I’ve made up and he needs to know what happens next.

  ‘But she never told me. And that, to me, feels quite sinister. I’m worried that the ex has hurt her.’

  ‘I’m assuming he’s the father?’

  ‘He didn’t mention it. Perhaps he doesn’t even know. Or perhaps she’s gotten pregnant by somebody else and he found out? I could imagine that would make him straight up dangerous.’

  ‘Jesus.’

&
nbsp; ‘Yes. Or he may have caused her to regress so much she might cause herself harm. I mean, you wouldn’t believe the state she was in…’

  ‘Poor girl. That’s all really shocking. Do you actually think she might be suicidal?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Yes, I think it could be possible, given the circumstances and this strange behavior. But maybe I’m so worried about suicide because of what happened with Elisabeth.’

  ‘Well, she does sound quite desperate.’

  ‘Yes. And I just don’t know what to do. It’s not my role to pursue this any further. I’ve done all the right things, I contacted her GP and her mother, and I called the police after I met her ex at her apartment. But after Elisabeth, it’s like I just can’t let it go. I can’t stop thinking about her. I keep thinking that if I just went there like she asked me to, then I could save her—’

  ‘You called the police?’

  ‘Yes. I felt I had to.’

  ‘And what did they say?’

  ‘That they would try to send a car over to her apartment. I explained that she’s not there and that they need to go to the cabin and it didn’t sound like they would even consider that unless she’s reported missing by her next of kin. So what do I do? I can’t just do nothing. I can just tell that something bad has happened, or will happen…’

  ‘Kristina. Listen to me. This does all sound very worrying. But you’ve done all the right things. I think you’re letting Elisabeth influence how you are reacting to this. Not every troubled soul will do what she did. Most won’t. And even if Leah Iverson did, it wouldn’t be your fault. You’ve done everything you can.’