“Oh yes it will, the mire wants its gifts, and from now on it won’t be any of our own, it won’t be any of us, anyone living in Mossmarken!”
“You’re out of your mind! Get out of here. I need to close the door,” said her dad.
“You can’t ignore it; you know what happened to Tracy. Are you prepared to sacrifice your Nathalie?”
“Get out of here at once. I’m calling the police. Go away. Get out! Out!”
A commotion in the hallway.
“What the hell?” said the voice. “You have a…you’re the one who’s cra—”
And then the shot.
Then total silence.
Then bodies moving swiftly.
“What have you done?” She heard her mother’s broken voice.
Another shot. A quick maneuver with the bodies. The rifle, down into her dad’s hand.
No one noticed her; no one even considered that Nathalie might be in the house, that she was sitting on the floor in her room, that she was a witness. That she saw.
The only thing that lingered as she was left alone was the sound of the car with its motor running outside, eventually driving off. And the words of the man who had killed her parents. His voice. She remembered it now. In fact, she had never forgotten it.
The mire wants its gifts, and from now on it won’t be any of our own.
SIX
The air in the room carried a scent of jasmine. The flocked wallpaper and heavy curtains wrapped the attendees in earth tones and softness.
Gustav was on a chair near the door; Laila and Texas had each chosen an easy chair next to a small table. Peder and Yvonne were sharing a Victorian sofa along one wall.
Göran was alone in a corner. He had avoided looking in Maya’s direction when she came in, and she wondered what he was thinking, why he hadn’t answered her texts, why he hadn’t even reacted to her sudden exit.
She’d tried to tone down the incident in front of Oskar; she didn’t want the whole school to start talking. But he certainly had looked worried when he picked her up out there in the middle of the night.
“What did he do?” he asked, furious.
“He got an idea into his head; it was best for me to leave,” she lied vaguely. “Thanks for picking me up.”
She had sent a text to Göran to tell him she’d seen the photo of Tina Gabrielsson. That she now knew he’d known her. If he was as innocent as he pretended to be, he should at least make an effort to explain, she thought, to explain why he’d tried to conceal their acquaintance.
She had also called Leif to say they should bring Göran in right away, because now Göran knew that she knew.
But Leif wanted to wait and see.
“It’s not the right time, Maya. And it’s not a crime to know the victim of a crime. We have to remain calm and avoid getting ahead of ourselves.”
“But it’s odd that he hasn’t said anything,” she persisted. “We’ve seen each other quite a bit in the last few days, and talked about what happened in the area, and he hasn’t said a word about it. I’m going to see him at the manor; what am I supposed to say?”
“Easy, Maya. We’ll bring him in when the time is right.”
She had put on the wide-angle lens, rigged up the camera on a tall tripod, and unfolded her stepladder to raise herself up higher. That way, she could capture all of them.
Agneta came in and stood where everyone could see her.
“As you can see, we have Maya with us today,” she said, gesturing her way, “and she’s going to take our picture. I think all of you have met her already. It will be fun to see what she comes up with.” Agneta straightened her back and smiled ceremoniously. “But while Maya is fiddling with her photography things, we can start with the reason I wanted us to meet today. We’re here to talk about a few items and maybe that’s a good thing, to do this sometimes, to discuss common… concerns, so to speak.”
Then the door opened cautiously and Nathalie stepped into the room. She had a peculiar look on her face. There was something liberated about her. Something sorrowful, yet strong and steady.
The others registered her arrival but soon went back to listening to Agneta.
Only one person continued to observe Nathalie. Nathalie locked eyes with him, and it was as if he couldn’t look away. His gaze twisted and turned and tried to escape, until at last it seemed to resign itself. At that instant, Maya clicked the shutter release.
At the same time, the double doors opened and Leif Berggren appeared.
“Hello,” Agneta said, a question in her voice. “We’re a little busy just now, if you’ll excuse us.”
“Oh?” Leif said. “What are you busy with?”
“We’re… going to discuss recent events. We have all been deeply affected by what’s happened. And it’s not the first time we’ve dealt with difficult things out here, as you may know,” she said, turning to the others for support.
“I can wait.”
Leif walked in and sat down in an empty easy chair, looking around for Maya and finding her standing on a stepladder with her camera in one corner. “Go on.”
The others exchanged uncertain looks.
“Perhaps I can inquire what this is in regard to,” Agneta said with forced courtesy. “We’re holding a private meeting. What were you planning to wait for?”
“For some colleagues who are on their way. We’ll need to interrupt this meeting soon.”
“What?” Agneta said. “What is this all about?”
“What is this all about?” Leif repeated. “It’s about a number of people who were found in the bog out there. People someone killed and buried during the last twelve years. It’s about a young man who was knocked out but has now regained consciousness and had some interesting information to share.”
“He regained consciousness?” Agneta said. “Well, that’s good news.”
“Good news?” Leif said.
Maya could tell that Leif was irritated, that he was about to lose control. He was crossing a line. But he probably hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for a long time.
“There are certain people in this room,” he went on, “who will hardly think that’s good news.”
Leif let his eyes wander from Agneta to her husband, and then to Peder, Yvonne, Texas, Leila and, finally, Göran.
Leif lowered his head.
Eyes darted this way and that; those in attendance looked at each other with rising unease.
“Are you saying one of us…” Agneta said. “That’s absolutely insane. Those of us who live here by the mire suffer almost as much from all this as the families of the victims.”
“Of course it’s insane. The question is, how could it have happened?” Leif said. “And that’s what I hope to learn soon. We’re dealing with a total of six murders and one attempted murder—and that’s just what we know so far.”
“Eight murders,” said a voice behind him.
At that moment, two uniformed officers stepped into the room.
“What?” Leif asked, turning to Nathalie.
“It was eight murders and one attempted murder,” she said.
“Who is it?” Laila shrieked.
The police crossed the room and approached Peder and Yvonne.
“I can explain…” Peder said, standing up. Yvonne followed his lead and held her arm up in front of him as if to protect him.
A brief scuffle broke out; handcuffs and keys rattled. “Wait… what are you doing?” Yvonne was shaken. “Is this necessary?”
It seemed like time slowed down, like the moment became encapsulated in an eerie, silent spell. Peder and Yvonne’s eyes darted around the room, as if defying the stunned faces of the others.
“What is it now?” Texas finally asked. “What did you do?”
Agneta scratched the corner of her mouth with a fingernail. She seemed to want to speak, but the sounds that fell from her mouth didn’t form whole words. Then a darkness passed over her face as the truth of what had happened came crashing over
her.
“There’s just one thing I want to say before we go,” Peder said, shaking the officer’s hand from his shoulder in irritation. “There was no other way. No other way. We didn’t do it for fun. We did it for all of you, too, for the sake of the neighborhood. Don’t forget that.” He threw up his arms. “I wish I didn’t have to do it. Göran can tell you. He knows all about how the mire works. You’re not free now, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“What have you done?” Texas asked, his eyes roving around the room.
Göran was sitting with his back perfectly straight, his face white.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered.
Yes, that’s what happened,” Yvonne Larsson said during interrogation at the police station in Karlstad. Maya was in the next room, following the conversation between Yvonne, Leif and one other interrogator.
Yvonne sat with her hands in her lap, pulling them further and further up into her sleeves as if she were trying to sneak off unnoticed, out of her clothes, out of her own skin. She blinked.
“We realized that we were… obliged to do something. We knew what went on out in the mire; we had experienced it ourselves, of course. Göran Dahlberg talks about the bog’s hunger too, about all the people who have vanished throughout the years. We were just as frightened as everyone else and we knew it could be our turn again at any time. The mire is never satisfied. No one can judge us if they haven’t been through what we have. We had lost our darling, darling child. We couldn’t lose another one, could we? You wouldn’t want that either, would you? If you had children. Do you have children? Well, then you understand.”
She was pleasant and forthcoming and entreated Leif and the other interrogator as if she thought she could get them on her side, as if they would have no trouble understanding her point of view, her actions.
“So I stand by it. What we did. It wasn’t always pleasant; it certainly wasn’t. But not everything in life is meant to be pleasant. Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do. That’s just the way of it.”
She took a deep breath. “What worries me most is that the mire will be waiting for a gift, and no one… no one will do anything.”
After a few days, Peder turned inward more and more. His large body looked out of place on the small chair in the interrogation room, as if it didn’t know how to simply sit. As if it were used to constant work, moving, doing. Keeping up. Making decisions.
“I actually wanted to stop for a while,” he admitted. “I did. I thought we could settle for keeping the children under close watch in bad weather. But then there was the little boy who disappeared. The mire was… threatening us. We wanted to protect Julia above all, and later her children. It’s easy to be careless one time, and then it’s too late, forever. It felt safest for us to keep that hunger satisfied, so to speak. Often we used animals and so on, but sometimes… sometimes it was people. We knew it was necessary. We filled their pockets with money to show our respect, to show that we understood the importance. I didn’t want to have to go out looking for another child. We did it for the sake of the children. Do you understand? We had no choice.”
We did it for the sake of the children.
SEVEN
Nathalie was wrapped in a big down coat and sitting in the outdoor seating at the manor café when Maya arrived. Agneta had left some of the patio furniture outside—a gift on a day like today.
“What fantastic weather,” Maya said, looking up at the sky.
“I know. It’s wonderful. Have a seat.” Nathalie gestured at one of the chairs.
“Thanks for your call,” Maya said. “I’m really glad to see you.”
“I’m planning to head back to Gothenburg soon; I only have a few samples left to take. But it seemed like it might be nice to talk before I left.”
Maya nodded. “Sure.”
At first they chatted about Nathalie’s dissertation and Maya’s upcoming exhibition, and they ordered two large cups of tea. Then they came to Peder and Yvonne.
“I’m having such a hard time taking it all in,” Nathalie said. “That my childhood friend’s parents are guilty of all this. That Peder shot Dad and then Mum. Accidentally shot Dad, but still, he shot Mum…”
Maya looked at her for a long time, taking a deep breath as she searched for words.
“But can’t you… don’t you still feel a little relieved? It turns out your dad was never guilty; he never killed anyone. He didn’t kill your mum or himself.”
Nathalie turned her face to the sun again and closed her eyes.
“I do, actually,” she said quietly. “In the midst of all this craziness I do sometimes feel relieved; it’s like I’ve got them back, my dad, my parents. All the crap is gone. The pressure is gone. Yes, I feel… empty.” She laughed and turned to Maya. “In a good way, I mean.”
“I understand. That’s good to hear.”
“At the same time… I’ve also been feeling this sadness I never felt before. Because it happened. Because I lost so much of my childhood. It’s new to me, not burying those feelings. It… aches somehow.”
Maya let her gaze rest on Nathalie. “Let it ache. I believe you can handle it, that there’s a relief there. In letting go of that resistance. Allowing that sadness to be, letting it travel around and run riot and change you and then letting it wither. That’s when you’ll feel that you are in fact greater than your sorrow. That you’re greater than everything you think and experience.”
As the hot tea cooled in the October air, the conversation turned to Nathalie’s upcoming journey home.
“By the way, who did you end up with?” Maya asked. “When you moved to Gothenburg. Relatives?”
“No, I didn’t know them. Which suited me just fine, for what it’s worth—I wanted a fresh start. But it wasn’t great. Apparently someone thought that the more God-fearing the family, the better off I would be. So I ended up with what must have been the most religious people in the city.”
“Aha,” Maya said.
“Or… I’m sorry. Do you believe in God?”
Maya chuckled and waved off the apology. “That’s a hard question to answer if you don’t know what the person asking means by the concept of God. God means different things to different people. So maybe we shouldn’t get into—”
“Well, what does it mean to you?” Nathalie interrupted.
“For me, God is…” she began, “a sort of timeless reality that can’t be described or explained… or even approached by thought—it can only be unveiled inside yourself and experienced directly.”
Nathalie could tell this wasn’t the first time Maya had talked about God.
“And when it happens,” Maya went on, “you know with your whole being that all separation in the world is imaginary; that all is fundamentally united.”
“And what does this… this all consist of, in your view?” Nathalie asked.
“One word that at least points in the right direction is emptiness.”
Nathalie furrowed her brow and then burst into laughter. “Really, emptiness?”
“Yes…” Maya said. “But it’s not empty emptiness. It’s just empty of shape, borders, thoughts, concepts.”
“Okay,” Nathalie said hesitantly. “Which means what?”
“Oh, how should I put it…?” Maya said, leaning back and apparently choosing each word with great care. “It’s a type of… space made of pure consciousness out of which the world is created in every moment. It’s a wakefulness beyond intellect, an unchangeable existence, and not only are people able to find it within themselves—it is our very source and our deepest true nature. And that’s what…” She laughed, as if recalling a feeling. “That’s what’s so funny about the search for spirituality, that in the end you are struck by the knowledge that you are what you’re looking for. It’s not something you can touch; no one can see it.” She paused. “It is the thing that sees.”
They soon parted ways, but the words continued to sound in Nathalie’s mind; they rang thro
ugh her body with a bright tone from another world, a world where she saw herself by a lake, through the eyes of a deer.
It is the thing that sees.
Later that afternoon, Nathalie packed up her equipment, folders, papers and books. Her computer, with her dissertation and all her research results.
It was time to go home to a future she couldn’t imagine. A future without a safety net was what it felt like.
Or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe, for the first time, she had solid ground to stand on. Something had changed within her, something had been redirected and her perspective had altered. She was almost looking forward to seeing her foster parents again.
After the night in the hut and before the meeting at the manor, only a few hours before Johannes woke up, Nathalie had been back once more to sit at his bedside. His mother was there when she came in, singing something to him; it sounded like an Arabic song.
“Keep going,” Nathalie said when she stopped.
But Maria shook her head and smiled. “I’m done. I used to sing him that song when he was little.”
“It’s nice,” Nathalie said as she sat down. “How’re things here?”
“There’s good news from the doctors,” Maria went on. “They say he might be close to waking up.”
“Really?” Nathalie felt a wave of emotions strike her. She looked at Johannes and was about to touch his leg, but stopped herself.
“So he’ll wake up soon,” she said.
Maria smiled. “There are indications that he might, anyway. We’ll see. I’m not taking anything for granted. But thanks for spending so much time here; I truly appreciate everything you do,” she said, putting her hand to her heart.
Now, standing in the cottage folding clothes and placing them in her suitcase, Nathalie heard the knock on the door and right away she knew it was him. She recognized the light touch of his hand on the wood, the gentle melody of his knock.
She opened the door and there he was, thin and fragile, but his smile contained all the energy in the world. Not far off, behind him, she could see the taxi that had brought him here. He was supporting himself on a rolling walker, and he looked at her without saying anything.
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