by Lars Kepler
“You forgot this,” she’d called, and handed him his hat.
He’d stopped and thanked her. She’d given him a strange look and said, “You’re Benjamin, aren’t you?”
He asked her how she knew his name.
She’d stroked his hair. “Oh, dear boy. I called you Kasper.” And when he’d looked at her uncomprehendingly, she’d added, “I’m your real mother. I gave birth to you. Haven’t they told you?” She opened her bag and gave him a little pale-blue crocheted outfit. “I made this for you when you were in my belly,” she whispered.
He explained that his name was Benjamin Peter Bark and he couldn’t be her child. He’d tried to speak to her calmly and kindly. She listened with a smile on her face, then shook her head sorrowfully.
“Ask your parents,” she had said to him. “Ask them if you really are their child. You can ask, but they won’t tell you the truth. They couldn’t have children. You’ll be able to tell that they’re lying. They’ll lie because they’re afraid of losing you. You’re not their biological child. I can tell you about your real background. You’re mine. Can’t you see how alike we are? I was forced to give you up for adoption.”
“But I’m not adopted.”
“I knew it. I knew they wouldn’t tell you,” she said.
He thought about it and suddenly realised that she could actually be telling the truth; he had felt different for a long time.
Lydia smiled at him. “I can’t prove it to you. You have to trust your own instincts, you have to explore your feelings. Then you’ll realise it’s true.”
They parted, but he’d met up with her again the following day. They went to a café and sat talking for a long time. She told him how she had been forced to give him up for adoption but had never forgotten him. She had thought about him every day since he was born and was taken away from her. She had yearned for him every minute of her life.
Benjamin had told Aida everything, and they’d agreed that it was best if Erik and Simone knew nothing about what he’d learned until he had thought the whole thing through. He wanted to get to know Lydia first. It could be true, couldn’t it? Lydia contacted him via Aida’s e-mail and sent him the picture of the family grave.
“I want you to know who you are, Kasper,” she said. “This is the resting place of your family. One day we’ll go there together, just you and me.”
Benjamin started to believe her. He wanted to. She was exciting. It felt strange for him to be so wanted, so loved. She had given him money and small mementoes from her childhood, she had given him books and a camera, and he had given her drawings and things he had collected when he was a child.
She had even stopped Wailord from hassling him. One day she simply handed him a piece of paper on which Wailord had written that he gave his word never to come near Benjamin or his friends again. His parents would never have been able to achieve something like that. He was becoming more and more convinced that Erik and Simone—people he had believed throughout his whole life—were liars. It annoyed him that they never talked to him, never really showed him what he meant to them.
He had been so incredibly stupid.
Then Lydia had started to talk about coming to the apartment, about visiting him at home. She wanted his keys. He didn’t really understand why. He said he could let her in if she rang the doorbell, but she got angry with him. She said she would have to punish him if he didn’t do as he was told. Her outburst surprised and scared him. She explained that when he was very small she had given his adoptive parents something called a ferrule as a sign that she wanted them to give him a proper upbringing. Then she took his keys out of his backpack and said the whole conversation was ridiculous; she would be the one to decide when she visited her own child.
That was when he realised there was something not quite right about Lydia.
The next day when she was waiting for him, he simply went up to her and told her as calmly as he could that he wanted his keys back and he didn’t want to see her again.
“Of course, Kasper,” she’d said. “You must have your keys.” She reached into her bag and handed them to him.
He headed off, but she followed him. He stopped and waited for her and told her she hadn’t understood: he didn’t want to see her again.
Benjamin peers down at his body. A large bruise has appeared on his knee. If his mother saw that, she’d go crazy, he thinks.
Marek is staring out the window as usual. He inhales deeply through his nose and spits on the window in the direction of Jussi’s body, out in the snow. Annbritt is slumped at the table. She is trying to stop crying; she swallows, clears her throat, and makes a hiccuping sound. When she came out and saw Lydia kill Jussi, she screamed and screamed until Marek pointed the gun at her and said he would kill her if she made one more sound.
There is no sign of Lydia. Benjamin thinks hard for a moment, then painfully raises himself into a sitting position. He says hoarsely, “Marek, I need to tell you something.”
Marek looks over at Benjamin with eyes as black as peppercorns; then he gets down on the floor and starts doing push-ups. “What do you want, you little shit?”
Benjamin swallows, his throat agonisingly sore. “Jussi told me Lydia’s going to kill you,” he says. “She was going to take him first, then Annbritt, then you.”
Marek continues with his push-ups, counting under his breath, and gets up with a sigh. “You’re a funny little shit, aren’t you.”
“He said she only wants me. She wants to be alone with me. It’s true.”
“Oh, is it really?”
“Yes. Jussi said she told him what she was going to do. She was going to start by killing him, and now he’s—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Are you just going to sit here waiting until it’s your turn?” Benjamin asks. “She doesn’t care about you. She thinks this would be a better family if it was just me and her.”
“Did Jussi really say she was going to kill me?” Marek asks.
“I promise, she’s going to—”
Marek laughs loudly. “I’ve already heard everything anyone can say to avoid pain,” he says with a grin. “All the promises, all the tricks, all the deals, and all the ruses.” He turns indifferently to face the window.
Benjamin sighs. He’s trying to come up with something else to say when Lydia walks in. Her mouth is a thin, strained line and her face is pale. She is holding something behind her back.
“So a week has passed and it’s Sunday again,” she states ceremoniously, closing her eyes.
“The fourth Sunday in Advent,” Annbritt whispers.
“I would like us to relax and reflect upon the past week,” Lydia says slowly. “Jussi left us three days ago. He is no longer among the living; his soul is travelling on one of the seven wheels of heaven. He will be torn to pieces for his treachery, through thousands of incarnations as a beast of slaughter and an insect.” She pauses. “Have you reflected?” she asks, after a while. They nod, and Lydia smiles contentedly. “Kasper, come here,” she says quietly.
Benjamin tries to get to his feet, making a real effort not to grimace with the pain, but still Lydia asks, “Are you making faces at me?”
“No,” he whispers.
“We are a family, and we respect one another.”
“Yes,” he replies, his voice full of tears.
Lydia smiles and produces the object she has been hiding behind her back.
101
sunday, december 20 (fourth sunday of advent): morning
With no sign of emotion, Lydia holds up a pair of scissors in front of Benjamin. They are tailoring scissors, sharp, with broad blades.
“In that case,” she says calmly, “it will be no problem for you to accept your punishment.” With an expression of utter serenity she places the scissors on the table.
“I’m only a kid,” says Benjamin, swaying.
“Stand still,” she snaps at him. “It’s never enough, is it? You never, ever understand. I strug
gle and try my hardest, I wear myself out so this family will work, will be whole and pure. I just want it to work.”
Benjamin is looking at the floor and crying: rough, heavy sobs.
“Aren’t we a family? Aren’t we?”
“Yes,” he says. “Yes. We are.”
“So why do you behave like this? Sneaking round behind our backs, betraying us, deceiving us, stealing from us, giving us lip. Why do you behave like this towards me? Poking your nose into everything, talking behind my back.”
“I don’t know,” Benjamin whispers. “I’m sorry.”
Lydia picks up the scissors. She is breathing heavily now, and her face is sweaty. Red blotches have appeared on her cheeks and throat. “You will receive a punishment so that we can put all this behind us,” she says. She looks from Annbritt to Marek and back again. “Annbritt, come here.”
Annbritt, who has been staring at the wall, moves forward hesitantly. Her expression is strained, her eyes shift around the room, her narrow chin trembles.
“Cut off his nose,” says Lydia.
Annbritt looks at Lydia and then at Benjamin. She shakes her head.
Lydia slaps her hard across the face. She grabs hold of Annbritt’s stout upper arm and shoves her closer to Benjamin.
“Kasper has been poking his nose into everything, and now he’s going to lose it.”
Annbritt picks up the scissors. Marek seizes Benjamin’s head in a firm grip, angling his face toward her. The blades of the scissors glint before Benjamin’s eyes, and he sees the terrified look in the woman’s eye.
“Get on with it!” Lydia yells.
Annbritt tentatively extends the hand holding the scissors towards Benjamin. Her face contorts and she begins to weep openly.
“I have a blood disorder,” Benjamin whimpers. “My blood doesn’t coagulate! Please. I’ll die if you do that!”
Annbritt brings the blades together in the air in front of him and drops the scissors on the floor. “I can’t,” she sobs. “I just can’t. It hurts my hand to hold the scissors.”
“This is a family,” says Lydia with weary inflexibility, as she laboriously bends down and picks up the scissors. “You will obey and respect me—do you hear me?”
“They hurt my hand, I told you! Those scissors are too big for—”
“Shut up!” Lydia snaps, striking her hard across the mouth with the handle of the scissors. Annbritt gasps with pain and staggers to one side. Leaning against the wall, she puts a hand to her bleeding lips.
“Sundays are for discipline,” Lydia says.
“I don’t want to.” She cowers. “Please. I don’t want to.”
“Get on with it,” Lydia says impatiently. She cocks her head suddenly. “What did you say? Did you say cunt to me?” She lifts the scissors menacingly.
“No, no.” Annbritt sobs, holding out her hand. “I’ll do it. I’ll cut off his nose. I’ll help you. It won’t hurt; it’ll soon be over.”
Lydia looks satisfied and hands her the scissors. Annbritt goes over to Benjamin, pats him on the head, and whispers quickly, “Don’t be scared. Just get out, get out as fast as you can.”
Benjamin looks at her with a puzzled expression, trying to read her frightened eyes and trembling mouth. Annbritt raises the scissors but turns and stabs weakly at Lydia instead. Benjamin sees Lydia defend herself against Annbritt’s attack, sees Marek grasp her wrist, yank at her arm, and dislocate her shoulder. Annbritt screams with pain. Benjamin is already out of the room by the time Lydia picks up the scissors and sits down astride Annbritt’s chest. Annbritt shakes her head from side to side, trying to escape.
As Benjamin passes through the chilly porch and emerges into the burning cold out on the steps, he hears Annbritt screaming and coughing.
Lydia wipes the blood from her cheek and looks around for the boy; Benjamin is moving quickly along the cleared path. Marek takes the elk gun down from the wall, but Lydia stops him. “It’ll do him good,” she says. “Kasper has no shoes, and he’s wearing nothing but his pyjamas. He’ll come back to Mummy when he gets cold.”
“Otherwise he’ll die,” says Marek.
Benjamin ignores the pain in his joints as he runs between the rows of derelict vehicles. He crouches behind an old Volvo sedan and eats some snow, slaking the terrible thirst he feels, and then begins to run again. Soon, he is no longer able to feel his feet. Marek is yelling something at him from the steps of the house, and Benjamin begins looking for a place to hide in the darkness. Maybe he can make his way down to the lake when things quiet down. Jussi said you could always find a fisherman there, sitting patiently over a hole drilled in the ice.
He has to stop; leaning on a pick-up, he listens for footsteps, glances up at the dark edge of the forest, and moves on. He won’t be able to keep going much longer. He crawls under a stiff tarpaulin covering a tractor, slides along the frosty grass beneath the next car, stands up, and finds himself between two buses. He gropes along the side of one of the enormous vehicles until he locates an open window, and scrambles inside. Moving through the dark, musty coach by feel, he finds a pile of old rugs on a seat and wraps himself up in them.
102
sunday, december 20 (fourth sunday of advent): morning
The red-painted airport at Vilhelmina is a desolate sight in the midst of the vast white landscape. It is only ten o’clock in the morning, but it is still quite dark. The concrete landing strip is illuminated by floodlights. After a flight lasting one and a half hours, they are now taxiing slowly towards the terminal building.
Inside the waiting area it is surprisingly warm and cosy. Christmas music is playing, and the aroma of coffee drifts out from a shop that appears to be a mixture of newsstand, information desk, and cafeteria. Outside hang wide rows of Sami handicrafts: butter knives, wooden drinking scoops, baskets made of birch bark. Simone stares blankly at some Sami hats on a counter. She feels a brief pang of sorrow for this ancient hunting culture that is now compelled to reinvent itself in the form of brightly coloured hats with red tassels for tourists who regard the whole thing as a bit of a joke. Time has driven away the shamanism of the Sami; people hang the ceremonial drum, meavrresgárri, on the wall above their sofas, and the herding of reindeer is well on the way to becoming a performance for the benefit of tourists.
Joona takes out his phone and makes a call. He shakes his head with growing irritation. Erik and Simone can hear a tinny voice at the other end responding to his terse questions. When Joona flicks his phone shut, his expression is tense and serious.
“What is it?” Erik asks.
Joona stretches up to look out the window. “They still haven’t heard from the patrol that went out to the house,” he says, sounding distracted.
“That’s not good,” Erik says quietly.
“I’ll call the station.”
“But we can’t just sit and wait for them.”
“We’re not going to,” Joona replied. “We’ve got a car—it should be here already.”
“God,” Simone says. “Everything takes such a bloody long time.”
“The distances are a little different up here,” says Joona. He shrugs his shoulders and they follow him as he heads for the exit. Once through the doors, a different, dry cold suddenly hits them, a cold of another magnitude entirely.
Two dark-blue cars pull up in front of them, and two men dressed in the bright yellow uniforms of the Mountain Rescue Service get out.
“Joona Linna?” asks one of them.
Joona nods briefly.
“We were told to deliver a car to you.”
“Mountain Rescue?” Erik asks anxiously. “Where are the police?”
One of the men straightens up and explains tersely. “There isn’t that much difference up here. Police, Customs, Mountain Rescue—we usually work together as necessary.”
The other man chips in. “We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment, with Christmas just around the corner.”
No one says anything for a moment. E
rik looks desperate by this stage. He opens his mouth to speak, but Joona gets there first. “Have you heard anything from the patrol that went out to the cottage?” he asks.
“Not since seven o’clock this morning.”
“How long does it take to get up there?”
“Oh, you’d need an hour or two.”
“Two and a half,” says the other man. “Bearing in mind the time of year.”
“Which car?” Joona asks impatiently, moving towards one of them.
“Doesn’t make a difference,” replies one of the men.
“Give us the one with more fuel in it,” says Joona, and they climb inside. Joona takes the keys and asks Erik to enter their destination into the brand-new GPS system.
“Wait,” Joona calls after the men, who are heading for the other car.
They stop.
“The patrol that went out to the cottage this morning—were they Mountain Rescue as well?”
“Yes, I’m sure they were.”
They follow the shore of Lake Volgsjö and then, just a few miles further on, they come out onto the main road, driving west in a straight line for about six miles before turning off onto the winding road that means fifty miles more. They travel in silence. Once they have left Vilhelmina far behind, they notice that the sky seems to lighten and a strange, soft glow appears to open up the view. They become aware of the contours of mountains and lakes around them.
“You see?” says Erik. “It’s getting lighter.”
“It won’t get lighter for several weeks,” Simone replies.
“The snow catches the light through the clouds,” says Joona.
Simone rests her head against the window. They drive through snow-covered forests, immense white fields that have been cleared of trees, dark boggy areas, and lakes that look like enormous plains. In the darkness they can just make out a strangely beautiful lake, with steep shores, cold and frozen, sparkling darkly by the light of the snow.
