It was dark, just like last time. Although the church was almost full, it was quiet, nothing but a low murmur and the occasional child’s cry rising up to the ceiling, quickly silenced by a nervous mother. Row after row of serious faces. The women with long hair and skirts, their hair tucked beneath plain headscarves and colorless shawls. The men in shirts or knitted sweaters. They probably never laughed. To some of the strictest Laestadians, laughter was a sin, and Ambra assumed that those sitting here waiting for the day’s sermon probably weren’t the most liberal.
The room grew quiet. The first preacher of the day took his place. They didn’t have priests, the Laestadians; they had preachers, and they were always men. These were open, violent opponents to female priests. Serious men with monotonous voices who talked about sin and the devil, repeated the same doomsday prophecies over and over again.
“. . . and Hell is awaiting them. Because man is born evil,” he droned on, and anger bubbled up inside Ambra. Hell and the original sin were something the Swedish church kept at a distance. It was a scandal that this sect was allowed to use the church building to spread its antihuman message.
“. . . homosexual intercourse is a sin, the evil of demons. You must see that we are being attacked from every direction. The homodevil is everywhere.”
Ambra twisted in her seat, but his droning voice cut straight into her. Everyone else in the church was unmoving on their pews, paying great attention to the preacher. Some cried silently. The children sat with their parents and relatives, their faces pale and their eyes frightened. Ambra remembered it well. Families with ten, maybe even fifteen children. Birth control was forbidden, motherhood was the lot of women, and the most praised mothers gave birth to one child a year. Their daughters dreamed of having many babies of their own. Their sons learned that the man of the family’s word was law. Laestadian women were meant to make themselves constantly available for pregnancy; they had no control over their own bodies. It was incredible that such a sect could exist in an enlightened and secular country like Sweden.
“Has she not proven herself to be a strumpet?” the preacher’s voice thundered, now talking about a sixteen-year-old girl who had apparently worn makeup and would now be frozen out of the congregation. Ambra glanced around the church and wondered whether the poor girl was present. There was no love here, no reconciliation, none of the good that faith could bring. Although maybe she was looking at everything through the gray filter of her own childhood. Maybe there were people here who didn’t hit or torment, good people who believed in God and were kind to those around them. Maybe.
But even among the more enlightened Laestadians, there was a constant battle against the sinful temptations of the world around them. Music, TV, and video games were obviously banned. So were colorful clothes, drapes, jewelry, makeup, and the Internet. Getting an education and reading were sins, as was taking part in hobbies or sports, because it took time from God. It all seemed so wrong to her.
“Now we welcome Uno Aalto. He has come all the way from Finland and our brothers there. He is the apostle and he is revival. The prophet come down to us. We are blessed.”
Ambra pressed the small of her back against the hard wooden bench, squinted in the dim lighting. It really was the man from Elsa’s photo. He was taller than he looked in the picture and walked with heavy, slightly dragging steps. He had unusually long arms, and every time he swallowed, his enormous Adam’s apple bobbed beneath his wrinkled skin. When Uno Aalto opened his mouth to speak, Ambra saw his grayish-brown teeth. They looked dirty, but she couldn’t actually remember whether toothpaste was another sin. He was carrying a well-thumbed black Bible. Every Laestadian whom Ambra had ever met was a silent, unassuming person, eternally weighed down by all of the sins they had committed. But the silence that fell when Uno Aalto took to the pulpit was striking all the same. Several people already looked as if they were about to faint.
Uno Aalto looked out at the congregation. The two images she had seen didn’t do him justice. He was tall, with short hair, almost restrained in his movements, but he had a radiance, the type of intensity people always said sect leaders possessed.
He breathed in, waited, and then began his sermon. He spoke Swedish but with a Finnish accent. It always began in the same way, with a tribute to God and Christianity, a speech about love and unity, then moved on to increasingly sharp words about damnation. “It is a revival for our fellow man. A revival for those who live in sin,” he said, and his sullen, toneless, old-fashioned voice made her skin crawl. It was so joyless, so unforgiving. It felt so nineteenth century, all judgment and Hell.
“And as the exterior, so the interior,” he continued, launching into a long, dreary monologue about alcohol, women’s clothing, and the different ways the devil worked on earth. When Ambra glanced at her watch, she saw he had been going for thirty minutes already.
The Laestadian women sat with their heads bowed. Several sniffed loudly. It wasn’t so strange: Thanks to their sex, they were automatic bearers of sin. Uno Aalto had really gotten going now. The words poured out of him like a dark maelstrom of admonitions, threats, and hatred toward women. Sinful clothes, sinful towns, sinful temptresses. Sin, sin, sin.
“These perversions enable the devil to take hold. With his terrible claws, he tears his way into the sinner’s heart. No one is spared, not the old, not women, nor children.” He fell silent. It was hard to tell if it was a deliberate pause for effect or whether he just needed to catch his breath. Ambra glanced around the church. How could they bear to listen to this rubbish?
His thundering voice filled the hall once more: “You must be especially vigilant of sins in the young. For their minds are easy to lead astray.”
It was like listening to Esaias talk to her. Neither he nor Rakel was here today, as far as she could tell, but listening to Uno Aalto talk about the sins of the young threw her straight back to her time with them.
They used to have a radio in their kitchen, and she had once turned the round dial until she found a station that played both music and ads. She was so caught up in the music that she didn’t hear Esaias coming.
“What are you doing? You wretched whore, what are you doing?”
“Nothing.” She’d been so afraid that the words almost caught in her throat.
“And lying, too. You bring sin into my house.”
The slap had struck her on the cheek and sent her flying into one of the kitchen chairs. She had huddled down to protect herself from more.
Ambra took a deep breath and forced herself back to the here and now, away from Esaias’s kitchen and the abuse that went on all evening.
Esaias had accused her of being sinful so many times that a small part of her had thought maybe he was right after all. That the fault was in her. But now that she was here, listening to Uno Aalto talking about demons and evil, she could see the absurdity of it all. Hitting a child to drive out the devil. Telling a ten-year-old whose mother had died that she was possessed by evil spirits. What kind of God permitted such things?
Ambra glanced at her watch again; more than two hours had passed. But it sounded like Uno Aalto was nearing the end of his sermon. His voice trembled, his face was flushed, and he raised his fist to the congregation from time to time, as though to emphasize how lost they were.
“Amen,” he eventually said.
“Amen,” the congregation mumbled quietly.
Ambra felt anger and determination rise up inside her. The sixteen-year-olds who were labeled whores, the women forced to bear child after child, and the foster children who were mistreated. Someone had to stop these madmen, and right now that someone seemed to be her.
* * *
After the service, people lined up to speak to the preachers, to be touched and blessed. Again and again, Uno Aalto shook the men’s hands. The women stood to one side, humble and silent.
Ambra got up from her bench, stepped into the shadows, and moved slowly through the church. No one paid any attention to her. That was wh
at they did in this sect; they ignored and froze out those who didn’t belong. But being ignored could also be a protection. If you kept quiet, didn’t make a fuss, it was as though you didn’t exist.
Every now and again, the strange acoustics of the church carried fragments of hushed conversations over to her. Words and sentences exchanged by people as others began to drop away, the women with the smallest children first.
Ambra moved behind a pillar and saw Uno Aalto take an old, square cell phone from his pocket. The Internet was a sin, so no Laestadians owned smartphones. But in his elderly hands, next to his old-fashioned clothing, it looked almost anachronistic. As though he were an actor in some period film, talking on the phone between takes.
Uno Aalto turned to one side, his face toward Ambra, as he talked over the line.
She snuck even closer and listened with pricked ears.
“. . . we need to carry it out as soon as possible.”
She leaned forward and listened to his Finnish accent.
“From your description, Esaias, it sounds as though the devil is strong in them.” He shook his head in concern. “Yes.” And then silence, while he listened to the person on the other end with a frown. Could he be talking to Esaias Sventin? It wasn’t impossible. She had seen them in the same picture, after all.
Impatiently, breathlessly, she waited for Uno Aalto to say something more.
“Yes, that may be the case. The girls egg one another on. The devil is cunning like that. And he is strong. Particularly when they are on the threshold. I understand your concerns. I am worried too.”
He trailed off and listened with a sententious expression. Ambra was increasingly convinced that he was talking to Esaias Sventin.
“Yes, that sounds wise. It’s precisely that impurity that makes them receptive to sin. You have done what you can, but now you need help. Do you have anywhere we can go?”
Yet another fraught silence as Uno nodded.
Whatever they were talking about, it was something complicated and serious. Ambra managed to move closer without being seen, and she almost jumped when she heard Uno Aalto’s monotonous voice again, much closer this time: “The basement will be fine. It can take a long time, as you know, and we need to be undisturbed. If Satan is as strong in them as you say, we must be prepared to fight the demons. This is a test, brother. You need to be strong. Yes, tomorrow will be fine.”
Uno Aalto ended the call.
Ambra moved back behind the pillar and tried to make sense of what she had just heard. She didn’t want to believe it was true, but no matter which way she twisted and turned it, she came to the same conclusion. They were planning to exorcise the girls living with Esaias and Rakel Sventin. In their basement, starting tomorrow. And the worst part was that she knew exactly what they had planned. She had gone through it herself. It existed in all religions. In its most innocuous form, it was a remedy. In its worst, an attack that could involve torture, even death. Uno and Esaias were planning to drive out demons, no matter what it took.
Chapter 60
Jill glanced at the display on her cell phone. Her personal trainer again. He had been calling like crazy since yesterday, but she rejected the call and stuck her hand into the bowl of chips instead. She had just discovered truffle-flavored chips, and nothing was going to come between them and her today, particularly not her overly energetic PT. She couldn’t bear to be scolded, pepped up, or judged, not today.
Jill ate whenever she felt blue. She hated those people who lost their appetite and couldn’t eat a thing as soon as they felt worried. It was so damn unfair. Those were the same people who uploaded pictures of ice cream and candy to Instagram but who would never eat it. They panicked the minute they tasted fat or sugar. But Jill had clear memories of starving as a child. No, she loved to eat.
Maybe she could work out at home as compensation? There were people who did that kind of thing.
She spread out a blanket on the floor, sat down, put her feet on the couch, and tried to do a halfhearted sit up before she gave in. She balanced the bowl of chips on her stomach instead and continued to eat. She hated being in this kind of mood. Irritable, depressed, negative. She wanted to be positive, but she couldn’t. It had nothing to do with Mattias, she told herself as she shoved a fistful of chips into her mouth. It was just as well it was all over between them. They were too different. She thoughtfully chewed the last few crumbs.
It was because of Ambra, she realized.
How could Ambra claim she used her money to control people? It was crazy. She didn’t do that.
Right?
Jill wiggled her toes and thought, tried to be as honest with herself as she could. Had she ended things with Mattias because he wouldn’t allow her to control him? Had she used what she’d heard during that failed date as an excuse to run from a man who refused to let her decide everything?
Maybe.
If she was going to start thinking about difficult things like that, then chips wouldn’t be nearly enough, she decided. With some effort, she got up from the floor and went into the kitchen. From her ultramodern cabinets, she took out tequila, Cointreau, lime, sugar, and ice cubes. She grabbed her chrome cocktail shaker and then made a batch of frozen margaritas. She reached for a glass, moistened the edge with a slice of lime, dipped it in salt, filled the glass to the brim with the slushy mix, and then went back to the couch. She peered around her enormous living room.
This house really was too big for one person, but once you had been poor, you liked expensive things. At least she did. She loved her extravagant house, one of the most expensive in Djursholm. Every now and then she would upload pictures of it to Instagram. She had shared the custom-made white couches, the expensive rugs, the small decorative items, and her insanely luxurious kitchen. Her fans appreciated it, almost demanded it of her. It really was a strange world she worked in. She finished off her drink, went back to the kitchen, refilled her glass, then moved to another part of the house. There were two rooms she never shared publicly, two private rooms that were hers alone. A study with a window looking out onto a lilac tree and a smaller living room full of bright colors that she had decorated herself and never let any designer touch. In that room, she kept a few things from Colombia. There was nothing Colombian anywhere else in the house. She kept that part of her life to herself. This was where she wrote her songs.
She went into her study and sat down at the computer. She needed to work, but she’d found herself hitting a wall. Was she done now? Her eyes fell on a blurry photograph, a snapshot in an expensive frame. It was of her and Ambra when they were teenagers, angry with the world. In a way, they probably still were. Little Ambra, she thought, on the verge of tears. Maybe it was just the margarita talking, but they were so different. Jill was terrified of being dependent on anyone else. The idea that someone else might try to control her was her nightmare scenario. Not having complete power over her own life. But Jill knew Ambra dreamed of belonging, of being part of a team with someone else. It was hard to say which of them was loneliest. She continued to drink, felt her mind start to go numb. Her laptop was open and turned on. Her screensaver was a slideshow of images from Colombia. She moved the mouse, and the pictures were replaced by the desktop. Skype made its familiar bubbling sound. Someone had been trying to get in touch. She clicked the icon.
It was Mattias.
Hmm.
She sipped her drink. Crunched the ice between her teeth. After a long pause, she took the laptop with her into the white living room, needing the security that her impersonal ostentatiousness gave her. She fetched more margarita, sat down, and clicked on his name.
His picture appeared immediately, as if he really had been sitting there waiting for her. “Hi,” he said quietly.
She studied the room where he was sitting. Rows and rows of files and books behind him, a tall-backed desk chair.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“At work. How are you doing?”
Jill held up her glass.
“The glass is half full, at least.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you accepted the call. I wasn’t sure whether you wanted to talk to me anymore.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I wanted to apologize for the other night. I’m sorry for . . . well, everything.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, and she really meant it. What did she care about two jealous old hags in a restroom.
“That thing about me ending things after two months . . .” He trailed off.
That didn’t matter either. She was, if she was brutally honest with herself, quite similar to him there. Would rather break things off than get tangled up. Even if part of her wouldn’t have had too much against getting tangled up with Mattias Ceder. He looked handsome on her screen. Ruffled hair, intelligent eyes, a smart suit. “Listen, we went out only a few times. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
He was quiet for a moment and gave her a thoughtful look. “Is that how you see us? Because I feel like I want to get to know you better.”
The words made her chest flutter, as if she was at the very top of a roller coaster about to come hurtling down.
She took a sip of her drink and felt her lips sting from the lime juice. Part of her just wanted to hang up.
“I would be open to seeing you again,” she said instead, taking the brakes off and allowing the car to go speeding down the tracks.
Her words made Mattias smile, and appealing lines appeared around his eyes. He looked pale and slightly sallow, as if he had spent the past year indoors. She wondered what he would look like with a tan, when he was relaxed. If the sun would bring out the blond in his hair. She smiled.
“When?” he asked. He didn’t sound eager exactly, more encouraging. He was already starting to take control. She found that she didn’t hate it instantly, though she wasn’t entirely convinced.
High Risk Page 51
