Don't Wake Me

by Martin Krüger

  Chapter 4

  A rain-slicked road. Headlights illuminating the white lines as they rushed past. The wipers sliding back and forth over the windscreen as if in never-ending mutual pursuit – two foes unable to ever quite catch up with each other. And all the while, the rain hammering down relentlessly over everything, obscuring her view.

  Jasmin peered through the windscreen. She’d taken her foot off the accelerator and was driving just below the speed limit. The last road sign now lay behind them, and the trees that lined both sides of this narrow country road were drawing ever nearer – huge, ancient giants with thick trunks.

  A long way from civilisation, she thought. And from any mobile phone coverage.

  Eyes glittered in the headlights along the sides of the road. There were a lot of animals about tonight. At one point Jasmin saw a wolf calmly turn its sleek head in her direction, the rain dripping from its grey fur.

  Then she saw the headlights in the rear-view mirror.

  Two huge, brilliant white flares, like a pair of eyes. ‘That moron is still on full beam,’ she said to herself. ‘Hasn’t he realised? No, of course he hasn’t, as he wouldn’t be doing it otherwise.’

  The headlights came nearer and nearer – a big four-by-four whose driver was evidently in a hurry. ‘Overtake me, you lunatic!’ Jasmin slowed down even further and steered her small car closer to the verge in order to make space on the narrow road. ‘Overtake, there’s nobody coming! And then get out of my hair.’

  But the Jeep made no attempt to overtake. Instead, it drove up close to her bumper, forcing Jasmin to pull the anti-dazzle lever on her rear-view mirror. She glanced over at the passenger seat where she’d left her handbag. Do you have your phone with you? Or did you leave it at home? What exactly is going on here? Why are you so flustered?

  The Jeep drew even closer. Jasmin tried to see who the driver was, but she could only make out a silhouette and it was impossible to say if it belonged to a man or a woman. One thing was clear though: this person wasn’t going to give up.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead; droplets trickled down between her shoulder blades.

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  Her stomach lurched as she realised her car couldn’t possibly withstand the weight of the Jeep, and it would only take one little bump for her to veer off the road, judder over the rumble strip and career down the verge.

  Jasmin knew what the outcome of that kind of accident could be. She’d seen the victims – had stood in theatre on countless occasions and monitored their vital signs and dosages in her job as an anaesthetist.

  Suddenly, the Jeep swerved into the other lane, accelerated sharply and overtook her. Jasmin glanced across at it, but all she could make out was a pair of hands gripping a large steering wheel. Moments later, she could see only the Jeep’s tail lights ahead of her, which quickly vanished into the darkness. Jasmin exhaled in relief.

  Good riddance, she thought, and tasted blood in her mouth – she’d bitten her lip out of sheer anxiety. Now get yourself home. Nice and steady. Whoever that was, he was probably just playing a stupid joke on you. Maybe he was drunk.

  Someone else will take care of him.

  He’s not your problem now.

  Yet whatever she told herself, her pulse kept racing, as if she instinctively knew the threat hadn’t subsided. Suddenly, another set of lights flashed into view ahead of her, in the opposite lane, at the far end of the road.

  She heard a clattering noise in front of her, much closer than the Jeep, and she woke up with a start. Water was flowing over her head, her face, her body. Bewildered, she found herself standing in the shower and realised her bottle of shampoo had fallen noisily to the floor, bringing her back to the here and now. She’d been dreaming. The now-tepid water must have made her drowsy, but the fact she’d nearly nodded off in the shower from sheer exhaustion seemed utterly irrelevant. You remembered something. The moments before your accident. There was a car – a Jeep – and then . . .

  Then you woke up. Jasmin picked up the shampoo. Stupid bottle. But still, it’s progress.

  You’re on the right track. It was a good idea to come here. The new surroundings are stimulating your thoughts and you’re going to remember, like you hoped. It’s all going to come back to you.

  Including the truth.

  Yes, maybe even the truth.

  You need to find the triangle. The upside-down triangle with the open top-right corner. You know it from the night of your accident – and you know you’ve seen it before on Minsøy too.

  But where? That particular detail remained stubbornly elusive, as if her memory was shrouded in dense fog.

  Jasmin dried herself off. Out in the corridor, the air was thick with the smell of smoke from the fires she’d lit in the house’s two wood burners.

  She checked on Paul, who was sleeping peacefully. The small waxing moon was shining through his window, bathing the astronauts and rockets on his duvet in a faint silver light. The book she’d been reading to him over the last few days was lying on the bedside table: a story about a boy called Max who visits some friends and embarks on a wild adventure.

  Paul must have woken up and fetched it from the box. That was unusual.

  There were three origami figures on the windowsill. A swan, another bird – maybe an eagle – and a cat.

  He’s really talented. My little artist.

  Jasmin tiptoed out of the bedroom. Small droplets of water fell from her damp hair and dripped onto the rough floorboards. Plop, plop. The noise continued as she suddenly stopped.

  Something had caught her attention – something that had been nagging at her all evening, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.

  The door of the wardrobe at the end of the corridor was still ajar.

  It had been worming away at her – ticking over in her subconscious for hours – but only now did she realise it had to do with the dead fox and this wardrobe. Jasmin walked over to it. The wardrobe was made of pale birchwood, polished and cool to the touch. The door creaked quietly when she put her hand on it and there was a dark brass key in the lock.

  She froze. A key in the lock . . . If the fox had been inside this wardrobe and had only been dead for a couple of days, that meant someone must have locked it in there. Or was there another explanation? Of course there was: somebody had visited the house and left the corpse here. Somebody who knew Jasmin was coming.

  Are you certain the wardrobe was locked? Paul never mentioned it; all he said was that Bonnie had found the fox. Nothing about a key. But wouldn’t the fox have run away if the door had been unlocked?

  Did someone really put a dead fox in there?

  And if they did, wouldn’t that be so much worse?

  Why would anybody do that?

  Jasmin pulled back the covers on her bed but felt far too tense and nervous to go to sleep. Her mind kept working, as if countless gears were grinding away in there, reshaping all her thoughts.

  You remembered something, she thought again. That’s why you’re here: to finally shed a little light on the darkness, to finally understand what really happened on the night of the accident and to track down that triangle. And you remembered something. Only a small part of the picture – but where one fragment emerges, more will follow.

  An animal. Sven Birkeland’s words sprang to her mind. They’d found clear evidence on her car: fur, blood. It was an open-and-shut case, and yet . . .

  You know something isn’t right. You can almost remember – early in the morning, during those moments between sleep and wakefulness, you know deep down . . .

  That that isn’t what happened.

  That it wasn’t just a deer out there on the road in the storm, in the driving rain.

  It was a man.

  You killed a human being that night.

  Jasmin woke with a start once more, gasping for breath. Sweat lay in a cool, damp film on her forehead; her trembling fingers gripped the rumpled bedclothes.

&nbs
p; Then she heard it.

  A noise from out back. It was the narrow gate that separated her garden from the track through the woods behind the house. You locked it behind you when you buried the fox. You definitely did.

  Jasmin threw the duvet aside and leapt out of bed. The floor was cold beneath her feet, the woodgrain rough and uneven in places, and she knew very well that she’d pick up a few splinters if she wasn’t careful. The carving knife she’d taken down into the cellar earlier was lying on the bedside table. Did you leave it there? She couldn’t remember, but she grabbed it now, took it with her and held it out in front of her, ready to defend herself. Cautiously, she pushed the blind aside and peered through the window: down in the garden, almost hidden by the tree trunks and yet treacherously illuminated in the pale glow emanating from the thin strip of moon, she saw the silhouette of a man.

  Whoever it was, he was staring up at her.

  She was certain of it.

  Jasmin felt a cry of terror welling up in her throat. The stranger’s eyes met her own, and at the last moment she managed to swallow her scream.

  He can’t see you. It’s dark in the bedroom. You can see him, but – no, he can’t see you. So don’t scream, don’t give yourself away. Think. What should you do?

  Yet before she could stir, the silent observer turned on his heel and slipped abruptly into the woods, following the path away from the house until he disappeared from view amid the towering birch trees.

  Jasmin felt a sharp pain in her right hand. In her anxiety, she’d gripped the knife slightly too far up and her hand had slipped off the handle, causing the blade to slice into her skin. Blood was dripping onto the windowsill, red on white, like the tracks of a wounded animal through fresh snow.

  In the kitchen she found some bandages and sat down at the table to tend to her injury under the light of the incandescent bulb.

  ‘You aren’t ready to do this alone,’ Jørgen had said.

  ‘I’m ready. I have to be.’

  ‘At least let me follow you up there and check up on you. You don’t have to go through any of this on your own.’ He’d embraced her tenderly and held her for a long time, as if he never wanted to let her go.

  ‘I know you’d do anything to help me through this,’ she’d replied. ‘But there are times when we have to settle things on our own. You know me – almost better than I know myself.’

  ‘Do you promise you’ll call me if anything happens that scares you?’

  She’d nodded.

  Three missed calls, her mobile phone told her. She’d left it on the bedside table and, having fetched it from upstairs, she was now turning it over indecisively in her hands. Bonnie had heard her, had come out of Paul’s room and followed her down to the kitchen, alert and watchful, with a look in her eyes as if she knew exactly what was making Jasmin so nervous.

  You haven’t even been here one day. If you call him now, he’ll just think you’re weak. And it’ll only confirm to him what he’s been thinking the whole time: that you’re imagining things. Deluding yourself.

  As far as he’s concerned, you hit a deer that night – nothing more.

  When she looked up, Bonnie was gone.

  ‘Bonnie,’ Jasmin called quietly towards the hallway. ‘Here, Bonnie!’

  She heard the quiet click of the Labrador’s claws on the stairs. Bonnie reappeared, wagging her tail, curious to see why she’d been summoned again so late at night. Jasmin stroked her thick fur. ‘We should stick together,’ she told her, as Bonnie tried to lick her face. Eventually, Jasmin went back upstairs and patted the basket she’d put out in the corridor between the two bedroom doors. So she can watch over us both. Bonnie looked at her inquisitively before turning around in circles a few times and sinking down onto her soft bed with a satisfied grunt.

  ‘You’ll look after the three of us, won’t you?’

  Bonnie made no sound, but returned Jasmin’s gaze with her clever, dark-brown dog eyes.

  Jasmin crawled under her duvet. No sooner had she rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes than she was overcome by the exhaustion that had been lying in wait on the edge of her consciousness.

  Only a few hours, she thought. Everything will look very different in the morning.

  Cracking, rustling noises came from the walls.

  There’s no such thing as ghosts. This is just an old house that’s getting used to its occupants again.

  That’s all.

  Chapter 5

  The thatched and red-tiled roofs of Skårsteinen glittered in the light of the morning sun. A beautiful day had broken as Jasmin, Paul and Bonnie entered the village in their rental car. There were a handful of other drivers on the road, and a few of them turned their heads as Jasmin passed, their curiosity piqued at the sight of a strange number plate – especially now the holiday season was over and the residents were left more and more to themselves. Any summer visitors who stayed on for longer were viewed with suspicion.

  They were strangers. Outsiders. More so than usual, even.

  Strangers stood out. She and Jørgen had discovered that during their first ever visit to the island, and although it hadn’t bothered him, it had taken Jasmin a while to get used to it.

  The wind last night had swept the leaden grey from the sky. Instead, fleecy clouds with frayed edges were scattered across the heavens and the sun shone like a freshly polished gold coin. It was a bright day, a cheerful day, as if it had been sent to dispel all her sinister thoughts from the night before.

  But he was there. You saw him. And you mustn’t forget it. Because whoever he was, he won’t forget it either. He might come back.

  Jasmin parked on the main street, which was home to a few bed and breakfasts, a supermarket, a tiny cinema with red seats and a small screen, and the grocery store run by Karl Sandvik and his wife. A tall apple tree stood beside the squat building and there were three bicycles parked outside the shop window, which was decorated with a display of seasonal fruit and vegetables.

  The air was mild and smelled of cut grass, and Jasmin’s spirits slowly began to lift. ‘Let’s take a look around,’ she said to Paul. A bell above the door tinkled as she entered.

  ‘Ah, our summer visitors.’ Karl Sandvik was standing by a shelf and stacking some large canisters containing vegetable oil, according to the labels. It was a very good idea to buy in bulk in a place like this, she and Jørgen had learned, and Jasmin hadn’t forgotten the lesson. The car had a large boot, they had plenty of space at home, and she’d brought enough cash.

  For a moment, Jasmin remembered how Jørgen had reacted when he’d found out that her parents had made a fortune with their business – that thanks to the shares they’d received, Jasmin and her sister would never have to work again in their lives, and yet she kept working anyway. Because she found her job fulfilling. Because you need something to build your character as well as your bank balance, as her father had put it.

  But Jørgen’s initial surprise had quickly passed. He loves you, not your money. She felt sure of it.

  And now? she thought. Is that still true? Or did what happened change things, drive a wedge between you? Is there something behind those looks he gives you when he thinks you haven’t noticed? What goes through his mind those times when he lies awake beside you at night?

  Jasmin shook her head and dispelled these thoughts. She’d done the right thing by coming here. It would settle everything once and for all.

  ‘Can Bonnie come in too?’ Jasmin held the door open while Bonnie waited at the threshold and looked up at her like the well-trained dog she was.

  ‘Oh yes, certainly.’ Sandvik put his glasses on and held his hand out to Jasmin, who shook it. ‘I see you’ve settled in all right?’

  ‘Not quite,’ she answered with an evasive smile. ‘But we’re getting there. Yesterday was a cleaning day.’

  ‘It can’t be easy down there.’ Sandvik bent forward to lift another canister from the pallet, groaning as he did so. ‘Oof,’ he said, ‘my old b
ones. And the weather, too. It’s always the same.’ The face he pulled as he rubbed his hand over his back was all too familiar to Jasmin thanks to her mother’s back trouble.

  Bonnie sniffed at some cans filled with enticing foodstuffs – crab meat, it said on the label – while Paul examined a display of books on the counter. Her bookworm son and her food-obsessed chocolate Labrador. We make an odd team.

  ‘Down there?’ she repeated.

  ‘At the other end of the island. The wind is like a raging beast down there. The cliffs are dangerous, and as for the ground – to call it treacherous would be putting it mildly.’ Sandvik coughed and gave Jasmin a mild, paternal look. ‘And then for a woman to be all alone out there. Life has always been hard here, among the untamed forces of nature.’

  ‘I’m looking for peace and quiet.’ No sooner had Jasmin uttered the words than she realised they were far too harsh and unfriendly. ‘I mean, so I can sort through my own thoughts. I’ll be all right.’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to reproach you.’ Sandvik picked up another canister and groaned once more. ‘Some of the people around these parts will have something to say when they hear about it. A young woman, all by herself, without her husband. They’re still a little old-fashioned in certain respects.’

  ‘But you aren’t?’ Jasmin picked up her basket and started filling it with the items on the list she’d written early that morning at the kitchen table. Light bulbs and spare batteries stood at the top.

  ‘I try not to judge anyone. None of us has an easy time of it when the wind shifts to the north and tries to knock us off our feet. This island is a stony garden, and only the strongest can make it grow. We’ve had all kinds of people make their way up here in the past, you know. Like you, they were hoping to find themselves . . .’ He adjusted his spectacles as if fumbling for words.

  ‘I saw the lighthouse on my way here,’ said Jasmin, changing the subject.

  ‘That old thing? Well, I suppose you can’t miss it. You should pay a visit some time. Jan Berger will be sure to give you a tour if you tell him I sent you.’