On A Small Island

by Grant Nicol

  Somewhere behind me a small lamp flickered into life filling the black void around us. Its flame searched across the walls to illuminate his next message for me. As he tossed me to the ground I could see what he had painted on the wall, just for me.

  God has numbered the days of your reign

  and brought it to an end.

  My eyes raced about the tiny hut trying to find anything that might lead me to an unlikely salvation. What I saw not only gave me nothing in the way of hope but filled me with a certain knowledge that I was about to die. It was a map to the other side.

  In one corner there rose two elongated sections of dirt. I knew instantly what lay beneath them the same way I knew what would shortly lie in the third and as yet empty grave. He let me stare for some time at what was surely to be my fate before he spoke again. He let the impact of what I was witnessing sink in and break my spirit just like he knew it would.

  ‘I sent Stefán Jón a text for you, telling him that you were heading to Hella and that he should join you as soon as he could. If your new lover left as soon as he received it then he should be here anytime now.’

  He dropped my phone in front of me in its various broken bits and pieces. He then picked up a syringe and slid it once more into my arm.

  I had to wonder if that was to be my last participation in this life or if more awaited me; and if there was to be more, then what hell would it be?

  Back into the void I headed. The sickening sensation of falling rapidly backwards while going nowhere at all. Freefalling into hell.

  When I came to again there was light somewhere just beyond me and this time I was tied to a chair. The gag was still in place in my mouth and I was still tied hand and foot but this time there was something new to experience: a rope curled around my neck, which then rose straight up into the darkness above me. If I struggled to get off the chair or tip it over I would hang myself. Clever.

  Between myself and the light was a slatted wooden door of some sort. I was in a cupboard or what may have been a pantry at some point. It was pitch black in my prison and with the downward-facing slats on the door I could see out into the room but I would be completely invisible to anyone even if they were standing only a few feet in front of me.

  Behind me on the floor somewhere I heard something scurry from its hiding place to investigate my presence. I tried hard not to think about what it might be and what it might want – and failed.

  A radio played soft, dreamy music as if from another world. Voices rose and fell from yet another room further beyond my vision. I thought back to what he had said to me in the hut and shuddered at what was to come if that was Stefán Jón I could hear. He had simply picked the very worst of times to meet me. The qualities he possessed that drew me so strongly to him would wind up costing him dearly. I wished he had never come to visit us in Hafnarfjörður. If only my father had succeeded in scaring him off. He would have been better off staying away from me. Far, far away.

  I tried to cry out as they walked into the room in front of me side by side but I was barely able to breathe let alone alert him to the danger he was in. It looked like a kitchen from what I could make out, old and in need of repair as well. Wherever he had brought us, it hadn’t been used to live in for some time. His foster parents had lived out this way somewhere; perhaps it had once been the house where they had raised him as their own.

  Stefán Jón took a seat at the table in the middle of the room and sat with his back to me as Daníel made them some coffee on an old stove. The smell made my stomach knot into a ball. As he did so, he turned the radio up just a little and glanced in my direction. I tried once again to move or loosen my restraints but every time I moved they seemed to tighten around my limbs and the rope around my neck threatened to cut off my supply of air altogether.

  Every now and then Daníel would glance over towards me. No matter what precautions he had taken he was still a little nervous that I would be discovered before he had played his endgame. As he looked in my direction I flinched involuntarily, almost suffocating myself without even trying. I had to stretch my chin upwards and put all my concentration into just breathing to stay alive. What I really needed to do was relax but nothing so simple to conceive of had ever been so impossible to achieve.

  Daníel took a seat as well after placing the cups of coffee on the table. He glanced once more in my direction, this time almost imperceptibly.

  ‘So tell me. I’m curious as to who this person is who thinks I could be connected with what has been going on in Reykjavík. You must understand that their theory sounds completely outrageous. Such accusations can be quite dangerous. You do see, that don’t you?’

  ‘I do, but there are some questions I would like to ask.’

  ‘Of course, ask away.’

  ‘How long have you lived in Hella?’

  ‘I only spend some of my time here, otherwise I’m in Reykjavík. This house once belonged to my foster parents. They’ve both passed on now but the two of them saved my life I think it would be fair to say.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Anna and Bergur took me in when I was very young and had lost my way in life.’

  ‘So that is why you are called Bergsson?’

  ‘My legal name is still Lauguson, after my mother. I never knew my father.’

  ‘What is it you do in Reykjavík?’

  ‘This and that. I’m not working anywhere at the moment.’

  ‘But you were working at a law firm on Borgartún?’

  ‘You have done your homework. Yes I was but that’s finished now.’

  ‘During your time there, did you meet a woman called Elín Einarsdóttir?’

  ‘Briefly, yes.’

  ‘Are you aware that she is missing at the moment and hasn’t been seen for some time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you have any knowledge of her whereabouts?’

  ‘No.’

  There was a silence as Stefán Jón made some notes.

  ‘My source, a woman from Selfoss, said you knew a friend of hers many years ago here in Hella. A young girl you went to school with, in fact. She died in a barn fire not far from here on the property of a man called Diðrik Guðmundsson. There were rumours at the time that you may have been involved but nothing was ever proved as far as I know. The dead girl’s name was Erla Diðriksdóttir. Do you know who I’m talking about?’

  ‘How many years ago are we talking here?’

  ‘It was 1991. You would have been fifteen at the time. You had just moved to the area and were living with your adoptive parents.’

  ‘Twenty-two years ago, that’s quite some time. I’m not sure that I remember this girl. What did you say her name was?’

  ‘Erla Diðriksdóttir. She lived on a farm not far from here with her parents Diðrik and Inga Rós. She was found dead in a barn on their property after it burned down one night with her trapped inside. No one was ever sure what she was doing in the barn when it caught fire or why she couldn’t get out. There were rumours at the time that the two of you had some kind of falling out and that you were looking for revenge.’

  ‘And so you think I killed her? I really don’t know where you get your information from. I don’t understand what connection there could be between a poor girl dying here twenty odd years ago and those women going missing in Reykjavík.’

  ‘The truth is that we don’t know either. That’s why we wanted to come and see you today. I thought that you might be able to remember this girl. Maybe the two things have nothing to do with each other, maybe they do. I wanted to hear your side of the story.’

  ‘You say “we” but I see that you have come here all alone.’

  ‘I was really hoping that my friend would be here as well. I was supposed to meet her in Hella but I don’t know where she’s got to and her phone’s switched off.’

  ‘So you’re just going to believe some crazy notion based on hearsay, is that right? It seems a rather odd reason to drive all the way down here to mak
e such bizarre accusations. Maybe your friend, if she were here, could help make more sense of it. When did you say she was going to arrive?’

  ‘I’m not really sure. I thought I was supposed to meet her here but I could have got it wrong.’

  ‘That’s too bad. Without her here to make some sense of this I don’t really know how I can help. I don’t remember this girl that you’re referring to or her family for that matter. It was such a long time ago and I was rather new to the place. I didn’t really know anyone all that well back then so I don’t see how I will be able to help you out. It seems that you may have wasted your precious time coming all the way down here.’

  There was a brief pause as one of the chairs groaned against the old wooden floor.

  ‘I’m not feeling terribly well. Would you mind if I used your bathroom?’ Stefán Jón said.

  ‘Not at all. It’s just down the hall, the last door on the left. You don’t look that well, either, if I may say so. Maybe all this fresh air doesn’t agree with you.’

  I could hear Stefán Jón get up out of his chair rather awkwardly and walk slowly out of the room. From the other side of the table I could see Daníel look straight across at me. Even though there was no way that he could tell exactly where I was in my darkened cell he looked straight into my eyes. The way a fox looks at a rabbit just before the end.

  CHAPTER 26

  Even though I had a pretty good idea of what was in store for Stefán Jón, it didn’t make it any less traumatic when it finally came. Not that it happened quickly; just the opposite, in fact. It was in unbearably slow motion and all the more painful because there was no way he would understand what was going on. Then again, maybe that was for the best.

  One minute he had been conversing normally with Daníel, the next he was struggling to make it to the toilet without throwing up all over himself. I could hear him vomiting down the corridor somewhere as Daníel turned the music off to give the two of us a chance to hear his discomfort. Through it all he just sat there staring in my direction and chuckling to himself as though it was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

  When Stefán Jón reappeared, he was in bad shape. On the way back to his chair he stumbled, tripped and then fell against it, tumbling to the floor in a marionette’s clumsy dance. As he lay there somewhere just in front of me trying to hold on to whatever was left of his self-control, Daníel began to speak again. This time he had to know that whatever he said would be primarily for my benefit. I couldn’t tell if Stefán Jón was still conscious but I doubted it.

  ‘Now that I’ve had a little time to think about it, I do remember the girl you were referring to earlier. The one who died in the fire you mentioned. There were two of them if I remember correctly. Erla and Halldóra. I was, as you recalled correctly, very new in town. It was difficult to make friends being the only child who wasn’t from around here. We were all rather young at the time and anyone who didn’t fit in was treated badly. It’s the same everywhere, I guess, and I would have behaved no differently had I been in their shoes. Nobody ever wants anything to do with an outsider.

  ‘I should have known better when Erla took an interest in me. If something feels as if it’s too good to be true, then it usually is. Her having any kind of interest in me definitely felt too good to be true but I was desperately lonely and I just couldn’t help myself. When she asked me to meet her in that barn I agreed straight away even though I had no idea what she had in mind. The two of them just wanted to have themselves a little fun but then her father showed up out of nowhere and beat the hell out of me after they’d run off and left me there. That was something I would certainly never forget.

  ‘There was no way I was ever going to be accepted after that so I decided to bide my time and wait for an opportunity to get even. Luckily, I had learnt to be very patient from a very early age. There’s no point in fighting back if you’re just going to get beaten every time, so you wait and you come up with a way to get back at them that they’ll never forget.

  ‘The dog was the key. She loved that stupid little thing more than anything else in her life. It was almost too easy. A love like that can only provide a person with a weakness that’s all too simple for others to exploit. The moment she discovered it was missing she just had to go look for it. She was so worried about what her parents might say to her for losing it that she didn’t even mention it to them. I had it tied up in the barn. The same one she’d used to play her little trick on me.

  ‘Once she was inside I hit her over the head and knocked her senseless. I undressed her and tied her to the same pole she had tied me to. When she woke up I made sure she couldn’t raise the alarm by using the very same thing that you have in your mouth now, and then I made sure she realised why it was that she had to die. The only time I pulled that rag out of her mouth was to wipe my hands on it after I had poured the petrol around her feet. She tried to scream but it wouldn’t come out of her for some reason. By that point she had pissed all over herself so maybe she was just a little bit too scared to scream.’

  Daníel stood up and walked towards me. He stepped over Stefán Jón’s prone figure and stood briefly on the other side of the slatted doors before pulling them open in an unwelcome blaze of light. He grabbed the gag from my mouth, taking the string that held it in place along with it. I gasped for fresh air in deep frantic breaths and tried in vain to swallow but there was nothing left for me to get down my throat.

  The taste of twenty-year-old petrol had left me praying for water and wishing that it would all just end. One way or another. The look in Daníel’s eyes told me that any such dream of a speedy conclusion was as futile a wish as I could possibly have. Nothing about this man was about haste. He was about waiting and scheming and flawless execution. No one puts as much effort into his hatred as he had over the years to not enjoy it to its fullest. He wasn’t about to hurry through his final work.

  ‘He had begun to take such a shine to you, too. It’s almost a shame he has to leave us now, but as long as you’re not too far behind then I don’t really see the harm. It hurts to have something you’ve become accustomed to taken from you, doesn’t it? A little like losing a finger perhaps. Or was he something more like an arm?’

  Daníel turned Stefán Jón’s prostrate form over so we could both see his face. He certainly looked unaware of what was going on around him. For that I will always be grateful. Before I knew what was happening, Daníel had pulled a knife from somewhere beneath his clothing and slit Stefán Jón’s throat wide open. His blood sprayed delicately across the floor leaving a feather-like pattern across his face. It then began to ooze in a mechanical fashion out of the wound and into an ever-increasing pool beneath him.

  I looked at the strange expression on Daníel’s face. Something inside him was reliving a moment from another time. For the briefest of moments he looked like that little boy he must have once been. And then, just like that, it was gone.

  Standing in front of me once more was a killer, blood dripping from his knife and pooling around his boots.

  ‘Someone else will have to write my story now.’

  He cut the rope that was tied around my neck and the ones holding me to the chair. The effort required to remain upright suddenly became too much to ask of my body and I rolled down onto the floor. Stefán Jón’s blood stuck to my cheek and the cloying metallic odour filled my nostrils. I closed one of my eyes so as not to get blood in it and stared up at Daníel with the other. He tucked the blade back into his waistband and picked me up like a bag of dirty laundry. Even though there was a little light left in the day he carried me across the fields not seeming to care if we were seen or not. Somehow I doubted there was anyone else around us for miles.

  Finally, my voice returned, although I sounded weak and lamentable when I spoke.

  ‘Why go to all this trouble? Why don’t you just put me down and kill me here?’

  ‘There’s someone I want you to get to know a little better yet before we’re done. I want you
to know why this had to happen and I want him to know that you knew.’

  I tried to cry out into the cold night air but my throat gave in to the pain and failed me. As we approached the decrepit sod hut he laid me down on the damp grass almost tenderly. He ran his fingers down the side of my face and sighed. The door complained noisily as he wrenched it open. He smiled uncomfortably before grabbing hold of me under my arms and pulling me back into the hut where I had first awoken to his exhibition of atrocities. This time around the stench was unmistakable. Once he had lit the small lamp again I could see the interior more clearly than I had been able to before. Protruding from one of the shallow graves was a pair of hands tied together at the wrists.

  Their owner had been buried face down in the dank, volcanic soil. From the lack of nail polish on the fingertips I could tell they belonged to Kristjana. He hadn’t even bothered to bury her properly. For some reason, that hurt more than I thought anything possibly could. He propped me up against the wall and sat down against the opposite wall underneath his hand-painted sign.

  ‘Once he had finished with me he let go of my hair and let me slip back down into the barely tepid bathwater. I curled myself up into a little ball and waited for him to get out of the bath and leave me alone. I never wanted anyone to ever touch me again. I wanted nothing more than to wash away the filth he had left inside me but he didn’t get out of that bath and he wouldn’t leave me be.

  ‘He stood over me as I huddled beneath him and asked me what was wrong. I closed my eyes and waited for it to all go away. All I heard was him swallowing from his bottle and chuckling to himself. Then the disgusting, warm sensation on my back as he relieved himself all over me. It sprayed through my hair and ran between my fingers as I tried to cover my face with my hands.

  ‘He told me that I would have to toughen up if I was to survive in this world. I was five years old, a little boy whose mother had just been taken from him. In his mind he thought that raping me and humiliating me would make me a better person. Perhaps he just wanted me to be more like him. I don’t suppose he ever told you about me, did he?’