Malin sighs again deeply, with her arms still wrapped around her body as if she were wearing a straitjacket.
“Anyway. We talked for a while in his kitchen. Drank a little more beer. And . . . well, then we made out a little, and I was totally into that. But then suddenly something happened, it was like he changed, got rough. Or maybe I changed, because suddenly I felt like I didn’t want to do anything else, and I told him so. I told him to stop, that I didn’t want to. I said it a bunch of times. I may have screamed. I don’t really remember. But he just pushed me down on the kitchen floor and held me there with one arm on my neck while he shoved his fingers into me. And I . . . I just lay there because I couldn’t move. I could hardly breathe. He was so incredibly strong. I mean, I’m strong, but he was . . . And it was like he was furious at me, like he suddenly hated me, like he wanted to kill me. I can’t understand where all that rage came from, what I said or did that made him get so extremely pissed off. I’ve been thinking about it, I mean, since it happened, about why he got so mad. And then there’s that whole powerless thing. I’m so used to being a strong person, but I just lay there, totally powerless. Looking under his refrigerator, noticing that there was a ton of dust under there, thinking that he must not have cleaned under there in ages. Dust and little bits of old cheese and food wrappers. Why do I remember that? Why would anyone ever think about something like that when—”
Suddenly Malin stops talking. She sits there quietly with her hands clenched around her knee.
“And then he did it.”
“Malin,” I say, “sometimes it can be a relief to describe the actual crime in a little more detail. It often feels really uncomfortable, but in the long run it can help you move beyond the rape.”
Malin nods mutely. She doesn’t look like she thinks it’s a good idea.
I explain, “If you don’t want to say anything else about it today, we can come back to it some other time. You don’t need to feel like there’s any kind of pressure.”
“No, I want to,” Malin continued. “Talk about it, I mean. The fact that he . . . raped me there, on the floor in the kitchen. He was shouting the whole time too, ‘whore’ and ‘cunt,’ stuff like that. And that’s when it clicked for me, that this was serious, that this was for real. For a while I thought it was just kind of a joke, a prank that was just coming off wrong, maybe. But then . . . even though I got that it was for real, it didn’t feel like I was actually there. It was like he was hitting someone else, someone else’s body. It felt like I was sitting there at that little kitchen table looking down at us lying on the floor, thinking, ‘This doesn’t look good. I wonder if she’s going to get away.’ Like I was some stupid sportscaster. I came to the conclusion that he was strong and fast, and I was . . . drunk and stupid. The odds weren’t very good, you know? Then—I don’t know if this was the assault or something else, some defensive mechanism maybe—but I just got totally passive. Like he could do whatever he wanted with me. And he did.”
Malin’s voice has dropped to a faint, scratchy whisper. Her eyes remain trained on the linoleum floor in front of her.
“He raped me several times, vaginally, anally, hitting me in between rounds, not as much as in the beginning. It was like . . . he was running out of energy. He slapped my face a little now and then, kicked me a little, pulled my hair. But in general he kind of lost interest more and more as time went by. I just lay there in . . . my blood and . . . my own urine and . . . and . . .”
“How long did all this take?” Aina asks in a surprisingly steady voice.
“How long?” Malin seems taken aback by the question. “How long? At least a few hours anyway.”
“A few hours? That’s crazy,” Kattis says, upset.
“What happened? Did you manage to get away?” Sirkka asks cautiously.
“He fell asleep. That shithead fell asleep. Can you believe it?” Malin says. “He fell asleep right there on the kitchen floor and all, and I could just walk away. So I did the normal thing, went home and showered and scrubbed and showered. I tried to get him off my body, out of my body. I reported him to the police four weeks later. By then, obviously, there was no physical evidence left, no visible injuries either, but the police said they had a good case. He had evidently molested some girl six months earlier and the police found . . . what’s it called? Rohypnol at his place. They said that was why he was so aggressive, kept at it for so long. Rohypnol combined with alcohol apparently has that effect.
“But I wonder,” Malin continues. “I wonder if some people don’t just have it in them to do something like that to someone, to another living being. Doesn’t that just mean you’re a monster to begin with? I don’t think it had anything to do with drugs. I think he was . . . evil. And then, at the trial, there was a ton of mumbo jumbo about how he had been molested by some kid a few years older than him in Hagsätra in the early nineties, as if it were contagious, as if that were some excuse. Like that would matter to me. They said that’s why he liked rough sex. That’s what he said, you know, that we’d had sex before, and that it had been rough and that I’d liked it, had been into it, had wanted it. Then they used our text messages to prove that we’d had a relationship. And true, there were a few messages where I’d written things that were sort of suggestive, but . . . Anyway, you’ll never believe what happened next. His buddies from Gustavsberg gave him an alibi for that night. They said they’d all been at the movies right when the rape occurred and that, anyway, they knew we were having some kind of relationship, that we were ‘fuck buddies,’ as they say. How could anyone do something like that? How could anyone lie about something like that, protect such a . . . monster? They totally let him off. I see him around town all the time. A few months later we ran into each other at the liquor store downtown. He waved and smiled, like we knew each other, more or less.”
Malin pauses briefly and then adds, “I wish I’d killed him, to stop it from happening, or that he’d killed me.”
“Why do you say that?” Sofie asks, again very softly.
“Because he messed something up inside me, like, in my soul. He took something, something that no one should ever be allowed to take. He . . .” Malin’s voice fades away.
“What did he take from you, do you think?” Sirkka asks, leaning over so that her frizzy red hair glows like a fiery halo in the light from the overhead fixture.
“He took . . .” Malin stops and sniffles, wipes away snot with the back of her hand, and slowly shakes her head. “He took away the child in me. I mean, the child that I was. He took all my trust, all my self-confidence. He took away who I was. And he took away the person I want to be.”
Sirkka sighs deeply. She looks like someone slapped her, both shocked and pissed off at the same time. Timidly and without saying anything, she holds her thin, wrinkly hand out to Malin, touches her hesitantly on the knee.
“Oh, my dear child, I take back what I said before about how I wished I could trade places with you young girls.”
We sit in silence for a long while, no one saying anything. Outside the darkness has settled over Södermalm, in the heart of Stockholm, indifferent to what has just played out in my office.
A CONVERSATION WITH CAMILLA GREBE AND åSA TRäFF
It’s unusual to see siblings collaborating on a novel. Why did you want to write a novel together? Who had the idea first?
We’re both absolutely fascinated by thriller/crime literature. We grew up together in a house filled with books and started reading early. Our parents read a lot of classical Swedish crime literature, such as Sjöwall-Wahlöö (a husband-and-wife team of detective writers who wrote a series of ten novels about the exploits of detectives from the special homicide commission in Stockholm in the ’70s; they started a trend of realistic crime novels, written from a social democratic viewpoint). As soon as we started to read, we entered the world of crime/thriller fiction and never stopped. In 2004 [Camilla], had th
e idea of writing a thriller with a female therapist as the main character. Camilla e-mailed the first chapter to Åsa and said, “Let’s write a book. Here’s the first chapter—now you write the next one!” At that point in time, it was something we did entirely for fun. We enjoyed our little game tremendously but never thought about the possibility of actually being published. Much to our surprise (and great joy, of course), we got excellent reviews for Some Kind of Peace. Since this was our first book, we were kind of anxious about being published and could hardly read the reviews to start with. Then everything happened very fast. The book was sold to a number of countries within a short period of time (Norway, Denmark, Holland, France, Italy, Germany, Spain, Poland, Romania, the United States, the UK—just to mention a few).
You both work in very different fields. What did you each contribute to the writing of Some Kind of Peace? Did you find you had unexpected areas of expertise?
Many readers believe Åsa writes all the therapy sessions since she is a psychologist. However, we both wrote all kinds of scenes/chapters. But, naturally, since Åsa is an expert in psychology, she makes sure the facts are correct when it comes to describing Siri’s profession.
What drew you both to write crime fiction? How did you create Siri’s character, with all her quirky traits, such as her fear of the dark?
The desire to write crime fiction is due to our love of the genre. Using a therapist as our main character opens up a number of fantastic opportunities. First of all, you get to dive into the really important (emotional) issues immediately. For instance: A patient enters the room for his first therapy session. He takes off his coat, sits down, and starts talking about the most difficult issues in his life. Now, where else would this happen? There are so many good detective novels around. We wanted to write something different and unique that combined the best elements of crime fiction with real psychological insight.
Siri is sensitive, stubborn, and empathetic. Although she’s an expert in relieving her patients’ suffering, she is incapable of helping herself. We wanted to make her strong yet vulnerable—hence all the quirky traits. She is insightful when it comes to her patients and yet can’t understand her own feelings. It is this contrast that makes her complex—and therefore interesting.
Åsa, as a trained psychologist, your experience in the field no doubt provided extensive background for the novel. What would you like your readers to understand about your profession?
I tried to describe the profession with both its pros and cons. It’s an interesting and fascinating profession, and hopefully you can make a difference in a person’s life. But it’s also very difficult and sometimes hard to get through. It was also important to me to show how painful a psychiatric diagnosis can be and how brave the patients are, trying to deal with their problems.
Siri, Aina, and Sven have an unusual working relationship. Why did you decide to structure their office and the characters in this way?
It’s quite common for psychologists in Sweden to have small clinics like this (without the receptionist/secretary, though). When we wrote Some Kind of Peace, I didn’t have my own practice, and I guess what we described was in a way my own dream scenario—a small practice together with a really good a friend and a wise, more experienced colleague.
Late in the book, Siri makes a distinction between her patients who are ill with neuroses and those with the capacity to kill. How did you craft the killer in the novel? Did you draw upon your own knowledge and experiences, or was it entirely a fictitious creation?
The killer in the book is entirely fictitious. Our experience of killers is very limited (luckily) and comes from what we read and see in the news.
Despite the aid and support Siri gets from her friends and colleagues, she’s basically alone for most of the book, left on her own to solve the mystery. Why did you decide to isolate Siri in the way that you did?
Isolation in a remote location is a classic way of creating suspense (think The Shining). We wanted to create a claustrophobic atmosphere where Siri is confined to her small, lit-up house with large glass windows (much like an aquarium). Everyone can see her from the outside, but she herself cannot see intruders hiding outside—only her own reflection in the dark windows.
Do you think your characters have particularly Swedish attributes that your English-language readers may not be aware of?
If so, we’re not aware of them either . . .
How does your joint writing process work? Do you both have different writing styles? If so, how do you blend the styles together?
Initially, we discuss the story, the characters, and the setting in detail. After that we start writing, but we rarely do the actual writing together. Instead we e-mail chapters to each other. While writing, we have an intense dialogue; we call each other several times a day to discuss different options and solve creative issues. Our styles might have been a little different to start with, but after working together for a year or so, we believe we have developed a common style—a “third voice”—neither Camilla’s nor Åsa’s but rather a mixture of the two.
Are there any books that were an inspiration for you both when it came to writing Some Kind of Peace? Do you both read crime fiction? If so, who are your favorite authors?
While we both read a lot of crime fiction, Åsa is the more “pathological” reader. She reads at least two to three novels a week (get a life, Åsa!), and almost exclusively crime fiction. There are many great crime writers in Scandinavia and elsewhere. Among others, we like Dennis Lehane, Tana French, Denise Mina, and Swedish writer Johan Theorin. And last, but not least,the classic Swedish crime-writing duo Sjöwall-Wahlöö.
We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster eBook.
* * *
Join our mailing list and get updates on new releases, deals, bonus content and other great books from Simon & Schuster.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com
Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Camilla Grebe and Åsa Träff
English language translation copyright © 2013 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Portions of Some Kind of Peace © 2012 by Camilla Grebe and Åsa Träff
Portions of More Bitter Than Death © 2013 by Camilla Grebe and Åsa Träff
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Simon & Schuster Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or [email protected].
SIMON & SCHUSTER and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Designed by Nancy Singer
ISBN: 978-1-4767-4085-0
Strangers: An Exclusive Short Story Page 8
