She tears along the embankment. Ideally she’d go at it full throttle, but that would be too risky. She is already driving faster than she should be, and the curves of the road are looming up unexpectedly as it is.
Suddenly the mist seems to dissolve away. She can see quite a stretch of road in front of her and even the road markings. Senta speeds up immediately. There is no time to lose. She has no idea what was going on back there; perhaps that man was the woman’s violent husband. But he could just as easily be an intruder. Whatever it is, that woman and that child need help.
She grabs the mobile phone from the seat next to her and dials 112. As it rings, she continues to drive. Usually she would have slowed down, but her foot on the accelerator seems to have a life of its own.
Suddenly she sees a bend in the roadside hurtling towards her out of nowhere. She frantically turns the wheel, swerving violently to the left. Her mobile falls and lands between her feet. Senta drags the wheel back to the right and goes to brake, but the telephone has become caught under the pedal. She desperately attempts to dislodge it with her other foot, as she tries to keep the wheel straight.
Too fast, she’s going too fast! A new bend looms. The brakes screech but she knows she’s not going to make it. The smell of burning rubber hits her; she can hear herself screaming as reeds smack into the bonnet. Then she has left the canal bank and is plunging down into a grey world in which light and water can no longer be told apart.
6
The first thing Senta realises is that she can’t see any water, even though it must be there. Just a few seconds later there is an enormous splash, and her head hits the steering wheel. Her vision turns black, but the water around her ankles rouses her immediately. Dazed, she opens her eyes and feels her forehead. Lightning flashes of pain shoot across her retina and bore into her head.
The cold slowly rises up her legs. She sees water streaming in under the door.
At a stroke, the numbness disappears. The coming minutes play out before her – minutes during which she will fight under water with a door that won’t open, gasp for air and drown.
She looks around in wild panic.
Outside the car, grey water ripples. Paralysed with fear, Senta seizes the steering wheel. Her body and soul become completely still. She sits motionlessly in her seat, as though the terrifying situation in which she finds herself can be held at arm’s length.
Then the water splashes around her knees and the rising chill sends an enormous scream out of her mouth. She suddenly finds the energy to switch on the light in the car and to search for the buckle of her seatbelt with frantic hands.
Some people say you should wait until the car has filled with water, because then a large air bubble forms. This is nonsense. There isn’t always an air bubble, and the stupidest thing you can do is to wait until the doors won’t open any more and the electrical windows have stopped working. If you drive your car into water, you have around ten seconds until it disappears under the surface, ten seconds in which to open the windows, ten life-saving seconds in which to make your escape. With an emergency tool like a LifeHammer, you can cut through a seatbelt or break a window.
She doesn’t have a LifeHammer.
In blind panic, Senta manages to unfasten her seatbelt; she grabs the door handle and tries to open it. It doesn’t work. She hits the button that opens the window, but the electrics are out now, and the glass remains an impenetrable layer between her and the dark world outside. The headlights, which until now had projected broad beams of light through the grey water, extinguish.
The fastest escape route is through the side window, she knows. Windscreens are impossible to kick in. She turns around in her seat, leans her back against the door, places her feet against the passenger window and tries with all her might to push it out. The water pushes back. She simply can’t kick hard enough; her high heels keep slipping away from the window. She wastes precious seconds kicking them off and trying again in just her stockinged feet.
The water is now gushing over the seats. Panting with fear, she kicks, stamps, batters the window with her feet. The glass is too strong.
Though she knows it is useless, she pushes the window button a few more times, but it doesn’t help. Muddy water streams over her legs, rising to her chest. She batters away at the window and sobs. Her muscles become stiff with cold; her strength begins to ebb away.
It is remarkable the kind of knowledge that comes to you at moments like this. Drowning takes between three and five minutes, the first minute and a half spent still conscious. One and a half minutes – it doesn’t sound long, until that moment comes ever closer and you realise that it means ninety seconds of burning lungs and pure death-struggle. Once you have gone through your oxygen reserves, blood stops flowing to your brain, and you lose consciousness within ten seconds – all facts she picked up from some stupid newspaper article.
Senta lies in the water, shaking. She pulls back her feet and sits upright. The car is sinking, the water coming in more and more quickly. It reaches her chin and she kneels to give herself a few seconds’ respite. There is just one slight chance left. Her mind is clearer than ever before.
The moment arrives when her face hits the roof, and water streams over her eyes and nose, and she draws a final breath.
The car hits the bottom of the canal with a gentle thud. It is suddenly terrifyingly quiet and dark.
Senta feels for the door. The car is completely submerged and still, which means the pressure should have lightened enough for her to be able to open the door. She can hold her breath for quite a long time, but she knows her chances of survival are decreasing by the second. Her hand finds the door handle and pulls, as she pushes against the door with her shoulder. She seems to be moving the water; the door gives a little. With newfound energy she pushes a bit harder, but the effort causes her to exhale too much through her nose. Precious air is lost from her lungs. She feels her chest tighten, a throbbing in her throat.
Her need for oxygen becomes ever greater, but she represses the impulse to open her mouth. Her lungs scream for air. She bashes her entire body against the door in mortal fear. It opens slightly. She forces her arm through the gap and then pushes the door, as though through thick treacle, agonisingly slowly out of the way.
Something black suddenly appears next to her. She is grabbed and pulled from the car. A firm grip around her waist and up they go.
Progress is slow, much too slow. With her gaze fixed on a light spot above her head that seems to spiral on the surface, she works her way upwards. Her ears sing and a choking feeling nestles in her windpipe. Just a little further. Her rescuer swims with fast strokes, much faster than she could have managed. But she has no more oxygen in her lungs. All she has is that last gasp of air and ever larger black spots appear before her eyes.
Her rescuer almost lets her slip but he finds his grip again and pulls her upwards with him.
Her body becomes slack, giving up the fight. Just a few more seconds and she must open her mouth; she cannot prevent it. Her lips, which she has held tightly together all this time, begin to yield. She knows it is the beginning of the end, that within a few instants her lungs will fill with water.
She manages to keep her mouth closed for a couple of seconds, then her mind screams from lack of oxygen and her head seems to explode.
Eyes wide open, Senta sees the watery surface above her head coming closer, but it’s too late. Colours flash before her eyes – she sees stars and then her body is filled with a dark shaft. A release.
7
Thank God Kreuger hadn’t seen that woman. The few seconds she’d stood there in full view on the patio seemed to last forever. Lisa had held up her hand to reduce the flow of blood and the pain, but also to show her wound to the woman.
Had she seen Kreuger? Had she seen the knife that he was threatening her with? Had the woman fully understood what was going on here? Perhaps – one moment she was there and the next she’d rushed away. This gives Lisa hope and
enables her to better endure the pain in her face and hand. Hold out just a little longer – help is on the way.
A vague impression of Kreuger’s voice telling her he won’t harm her or Anouk pops into her mind. All he needs is a place he can hide for a while until the coast is clear. If they cooperate, nothing will happen to them.
Anouk leans against Lisa. From the moment that she saw her mother coming back downstairs with a carefully bandaged hand, she has seemed a little less afraid, and Lisa is happy for her to remain that way.
‘What are you called, by the way?’ Kreuger asks unexpectedly.
‘I’m Lisa, and this is Anouk. She’s five.’ Her voice sounds a little hoarse, as though she is about to come down with flu.
‘And she’s ill,’ Kreuger notes. ‘Has she been ill for long?’
‘A day or two.’
‘And you called the school to tell them she’d be off for a while?’
Lisa nods.
‘So they won’t try to contact you for the time being?’
‘No, but there’s a chance a few of her friends might drop round.’
‘You won’t let them in.’ It sounds like an order, and Lisa nods. What did he expect? That she’d let other children in?
‘If anybody calls, you’ll answer the phone and you’ll behave normally. Don’t hang up right away. Have a chat and do whatever is necessary to stop anyone finding out you have an unexpected visitor.’ A grin spreads across his face as though he has made a particularly clever joke, and Lisa smiles dutifully.
‘Whenever you’re on the phone or people come to the door, I’ll listen in and keep your daughter company,’ Kreuger continues, and Lisa’s smile slips from her face. He stares at her to check that she has understood. Lisa nods.
‘How . . . how long will you stay here?’ she asks in a faltering voice.
Kreuger’s eyes glide over to the window and his gaze becomes hard. ‘As long as I need to. Are you married?’
‘Yes – my husband will be arriving home at half past five.’
It is not clear whether he has heard her answer. He continues to stare out of the window, and after a while he walks to the dresser, where around a dozen photographs are displayed in silver frames. More carefully than Lisa expects, he picks them up one by one and studies them for a long time. Photos of Anouk as a baby, but also faded photographs from her own childhood. Sunny snapshots of holiday destinations, of Mark and Lisa with their arms around each other, laughing and tanned. Memories of happy times, defiled by the hands of an intruder.
Lisa drops her eyes when Kreuger turns around to her. He walks over to the sofa with a couple of pictures in his hand and holds them in front of Anouk.
‘That’s you, isn’t it?’ His smile is friendly.
Anouk responds with a cautious nod, not entirely convinced that this is a man she wants to smile at.
‘With your daddy?’ Kreuger turns the frame over and studies the picture of Anouk, Lisa and Mark on a sailboat with interest.
‘And with Mummy,’ Anouk says.
‘And where is Daddy now?’
Anouk looks in her direction for help. Lisa’s blood freezes because she senses where these questions are leading.
‘Well?’ Kreuger insists. ‘You must know where your daddy is? Is he at work?’
Anouk nods carefully without removing her eyes from her mother’s.
‘And what time does he usually come home?’
Silence.
‘I asked you something!’ Kreuger shouts and Anouk begins to cry in shock.
‘He’s gone,’ Lisa says hurriedly. ‘He lives somewhere else; we’re separated.’
There is no point in beating about the bush; he’ll find out anyway. There are no men’s clothes in the house, and there is no shaving equipment in the bathroom. Apart from in the photos and in her heart, Mark hasn’t left any traces at all.
Kreuger walks over to her and stops. She doesn’t dare to look up at him.
‘Just now you said your husband would be home at half five,’ he says in a strange, low voice.
‘I’m . . . I’m sorry. I thought you’d be gone by then. I . . .’
His arm moves quickly and his fist hits her nose. Blood spurts. Anouk begins to scream; Lisa cries out and puts a hand to her face. Then she puts her head between her knees and presses one of the sofa cushions against her nose in an attempt to stem the bleed.
‘Look at me,’ Kreuger commands in an icy voice.
Lisa looks up warily, her eyes filled with tears of pain.
‘Don’t lie to me again. I don’t like lying bitches.’ A threatening shine appears in Kreuger’s eyes. ‘If you do exactly what I say, nothing will happen to you. If you don’t . . .’
‘All right,’ Lisa says in a stifled voice. ‘I’ll do what you say. Really, I promise.’
She means it. She doesn’t know how long he’s planning to stay, but however long it is, she’ll manage. She doesn’t have a choice; she’ll just have to make the best of it. Win his trust, become his friend.
Does he mean that he isn’t planning on doing anything to her? She has seen his face and she knows his name. Maybe he’ll murder them once he’s had enough of their company.
No, she says to herself. He’s said he won’t do anything and you’ll have to trust that. You’ll go mad otherwise.
It would take a lot to drive her crazy, but she still has to be careful not to lose her self-control. For Anouk’s sake, but also for her own.
Slowly Lisa stretches out her arms and legs to relax the tense muscles. At the same time she concentrates on the task at hand: making friends with this mentally disturbed man who stabbed her hand with a knife and has twice given her a bloody nose. God knows what he’s capable of – she’s not going to try to find out. She forbids herself from thinking about it. She is able to do this: she can repress the anxious part of her personality and bring the other part forward. Deep inside her there is a switch that she can click with iron discipline, so that the shaking and stammering stop and her body begins to obey again.
From the sofa she can hear Anouk’s squeaky breathing alternating with sobs. Lisa puts down the bloody cushion and turns to her daughter, but Anouk pushes her away.
‘Mummy, your face is covered in blood,’ she says with teary eyes.
‘Shh, darling, don’t cry. It looks worse than it is,’ Lisa whispers. ‘Remember when you fell off your bike and you cut your forehead? That bled a lot too, didn’t it? Even though it was just a little cut.’
‘Is your nose still bleeding?’ Kreuger asks in a businesslike manner.
Lisa carefully rubs a finger under her nostrils, looks at the result and shakes her head.
‘Go and clean yourself up in the kitchen.’
She gets up carefully. ‘Anouk, Mummy’s going to wash away the blood. I’ll be right back – you’ll see that it’s fine.’
Sitting up stiffly, Anouk follows her mother to the kitchen with her eyes.
Strange, she doesn’t know where the wipes are any more. Stunned, Lisa stands in the middle of the kitchen. It costs her some effort to remember. Of course, in the utility room. She reaches in the cupboard for a clean cloth and holds it under the cold tap. She carefully cleans away the blood.
From time to time, she looks out of the kitchen door at the back garden and the field stretching out beyond. The mist has lifted. The dirt track to the nearest village is quiet and empty.
8
Lisa used to think that happiness was something you could demand, like a kind of birthright. If you had a positive attitude, life couldn’t really hurt you. Being happy was a character trait, she thought, and deep in her heart she harboured a quiet scorn for people who complained about their lot or sank into depression. If they’d only fight against it instead of wallowing in their misfortune, she’d have a lot more respect for them.
Nowadays she knows that happiness doesn’t depend on your attitude, and you certainly can’t force it. She has never stopped being positive, but she is now much
more aware that people are fortune’s playthings. And some people really get tossed around.
She no longer confuses real life with the romantic imaginings she used to have. She knows that you can be struck down unexpectedly by adversity, and she feels she’s had her fair share with Mark. But here she is now, in a situation she never would have imagined possible and in which she is completely powerless. Held hostage in her own home. What are the statistical chances of an escaped criminal choosing your home as a hideout? There’s more chance you’ll win the lottery.
Why me? she thinks, but the answer is quick to follow: why not? The nutter might just as well have forced his way into Rosa’s house a bit further along, but he didn’t, and Rosa has no idea that she should be counting her blessings.
Lisa spends the rest of the day on the sofa with Anouk. She reads her daughter’s favourite books out loud to her, while discreetly keeping an eye on Kreuger. One moment he is sitting in front of the television zapping away and the next he has jumped up and is pacing restlessly through the house.
He’s right to be nervous, Lisa thinks with grim satisfaction. It can’t be long before the police arrive.
She can’t understand where they’ve got to. That they’ve lost Kreuger after his escape is one thing, but the woman who was here this afternoon and looking in through the window must have reported him. Don’t they believe her? Or is she one of those people who would rather not get involved and has just gone home?
No, Lisa thinks decisively. She wouldn’t do that. If she herself had had the slightest doubt about whether something was suspicious, she’d have done something about it.
But the same isn’t true of everyone, says a voice worrying away inside her head. In this violent, selfish world, there is only one lesson to be learned: it’s better to look away from problems if you don’t want to be blamed for another funeral.
‘Don’t stop reading, Mummy.’ Anouk looks at her with drowsy, feverish eyes and Lisa continues mechanically with the story. She hadn’t even noticed she’d stopped. When she finishes, Anouk closes her tired eyes.
Safe as Houses Page 3
