“I try not to call Isabelle all the time. She doesn’t like it when I do. She has her own life down there in Stockholm, and I respect that. I thought she might be with her boyfriend. Didn’t want to disturb her.”
I’m crying now, I’m so worried. Sniffling into the phone.
“Even though she’s been harassed again, by the same woman you reported to the police?”
“I don’t understand why you’re being so accusatory toward me. What did I do wrong? No matter what I do, it’s wrong.”
“Nobody is accusing you, Mrs. Karlsson,” Mats Hedin says. “The boyfriend, what’s his name?”
“Fredrik. Fredrik Larsson. They’re in the same class, I think.”
He’s silent for a moment. Then he tells me to be in touch if I find out anything. They’ll interview Stella Widstrand immediately. I wonder why they haven’t already done so. I wonder why she hasn’t been arrested.
“This is a priority for us; we’re taking this seriously,” Mats Hedin assures me again. “But we can’t lock someone up without any proof.”
I don’t say anything. There’s no point.
I don’t give a shit about proof. I’ve never gotten any help when I needed it. They never took me seriously. I had to take justice into my own hands. Like always.
Mats Hedin says they’ll talk to her boyfriend, too, and be in touch later.
I cry, express my thanks, and say once again how terribly worried I am. Then I hang up. I don’t have any more time for this. I have other things to take care of.
The boyfriend. That Fredrik will never become Isabelle’s boyfriend. I’ve read the messages he sent to her phone. Every single one. I’ve read what she answered. I know everything. All the filthy things he wants to do to her. How she longs to do filthy things to him. It’s so disgusting it makes me want to vomit.
I’ve seen the pictures she sent. Indecent pictures. She offers herself like a whore. Trying to make him horny. And sure enough, he gets horny. He doesn’t say it like that, of course. He tells her she’s beautiful, that he misses her, that he’s longing for her. Longing for what is no secret. I saw her messy bed. Who knows what they’re up to.
She doesn’t understand the forces she’s playing with. Despite what I’ve told her, despite all my warnings, she hasn’t learned anything.
Men are only after one thing. It starts with pretty words; it starts with promises and sweet smiles. Then he takes what he wants, and he prefers to do it with violence.
He takes a woman again and again, he takes her violently.
Then he leaves her.
Leaves her lying unconscious in her own blood.
Her body was all he saw, all that he wanted.
What she had between her legs.
He wanted to violate and soil her.
Squeeze the life out of her.
Then throw her away once he’s used her up.
He wants to fuck her.
Rape her.
He forces himself on you even though you don’t want him.
He hits you in the face, spits on you.
He calls you slut; he calls you bitch.
He calls you whore.
And it hurts, it hurts so damn bad that you scream.
Until you can’t scream anymore.
You’re injured.
You bleed and bleed.
You pay for your suffering in blood.
How something so ugly, so shameful and vicious could create a baby I will never understand. A doll for you to hold, who’s all yours.
The finest, most beautiful thing in the world.
Dear sweet Isabelle.
If you only knew what you were playing with.
But you’re lost and confused.
You are poisoned.
You are weak.
You think it’s love, think it’s something beautiful.
You should be glad I saved you, that I protected you.
You should be grateful I’m your mother.
Stella
I’m running down the corridor. I go into the kitchen and hold the phone up in front of Henrik. He takes it away from me and reads. I see the shock spread over his face.
Pity he survived. Pity you didn’t get to see him dead. Then you’d have no children left.
It’s your fault your son is hurt. It should have been you. You’re a worthless mother. You put him in danger. Like you always do to your children.
She’s mine now.
Ellen, the nurse, comes in.
“Sorry to interrupt. The police are here.”
“We’re coming,” I say.
Henrik takes my hand and looks into my eyes.
“Milo has to give his statement,” he says. “Then we’ll report that this was no accident. It was attempted murder.”
Henrik and I are sitting beside Milo. Detectives Olivia Lundkvist and Mats Hedin knock on the door and enter the room. I don’t understand why they’re here.
Shouldn’t it just be some regular uniformed police officers?
Henrik and I look at each other before he stands up and stretches out his hand. Mats Hedin takes it, nods to me. Olivia Lundkvist does the same. I stay seated next to Milo.
“Hi, Milo, my name is Mats. My colleague here is Olivia. Quite the bump you got there.”
Mats Hedin plops down across from us, lays his powerful arms across the table. Milo looks at him seriously. Henrik sits down again. Olivia Lundkvist leans against the wall. And though I avoid looking at her, I can feel her observing me.
“We heard you were in an accident,” Mats Hedin says to Milo. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Detective Mats Hedin behaves quite differently when he’s talking to our son. He radiates warmth and calm.
“I left home around five-thirty,” Milo says. “On Tuesday. In the afternoon. I was gonna go to Jonathan’s house, he lives pretty close. Not more than a mile away. It was dark outside, pouring rain. I walked on the sidewalk, and there are streetlights everywhere. Plus I had my mom’s red umbrella with reflective stripes. I should have been pretty visible.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Mats Hedin says. “There’s good lighting at that spot. And I’ve seen the umbrella, you were definitely visible. Right, Olivia?” She nods and smiles at Milo, who smiles back.
Milo tells them how he heard a car behind him. When he noticed that the car was slowing down, he turned around. He didn’t know what kind of car or the license plate number, just that it was a dark hatchback or SUV, maybe black or dark blue. Then the driver stepped on the gas and drove straight for him. He doesn’t remember any more after that. Maybe he tried to jump out of the way, he isn’t sure.
“Thanks, Milo,” Mats Hedin says. “We need to borrow your parents for a minute. Is it okay if you go with Ellen to the kitchen? Maybe get some breakfast?”
Ellen opens the door as if she heard what Mats Hedin just said. She smiles at all of us and goes over to Milo and helps him out of the chair. I stroke his arm as he passes by and whisper that I love him.
Detective Olivia Lundkvist sits down on a chair. She crosses her legs and clasps her small hands together on the table. She turns to Henrik.
“We have a witness who confirms what Milo just told us,” she says. “A person saw the car slow and then speed up and drive straight at your son. Milo jumped away. Which probably saved his life. The driver didn’t seem to be under the influence. Both Milo and the witness described the actions as controlled. The witness also had the impression that the driver hit Milo on purpose.”
I clench my hands hard on my knees. I want to explain to them that I know who did it, who was driving the car. I want to tell them that they should arrest Kerstin Karlsson. The woman who stole my daughter. The woman who almost murdered my son.
“It’s impossible to get a description of the driver,” Mats Hedin continues. “He probably had a hood or ski mask over his head.”
I look at Henrik. He returns my look, and I know that he understands I was right the whole time. He holds out his hand and I take it.
“Unfortunately, the witness also couldn’t tell what type of car it was, but both say it’s a dark model, SUV or hatchback, no license plate number noted.” Mats Hedin looks serious. “We hope that the driver will come forward and take responsibility for the accident.”
“It was no accident,” Henrik says.
“No? What do you mean?”
“Milo had Stella’s umbrella. The driver thought he was my wife.”
“And what makes you believe that?” Olivia Lundkvist says.
I take out the death notice. Lay the paper on the table. I show them the text I received during the night.
“I know who they’re from,” I say. “And I know who ran over Milo.”
“You mean it’s the same man?” Olivia Lundkvist says.
“Same woman.”
“Same woman?”
“She’s been watching our house. Wearing that same raincoat with her face obscured by a hood. That same woman drove into our son.”
Detective Olivia Lundkvist pulls the paper with the death threat close to her.
“Have you reported this?” she asks.
“No,” I answer and feel Henrik’s arm around my back. Feel his support. “But maybe I should have.”
“Maybe,” Mats Hedin says. “Is this common?”
“What?”
Mats Hedin takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. “For a therapist to get death threats?”
“It happens now and then that a patient threatens their therapist, but it’s not exactly common,” I answer. “Somebody who’s wrestling with an affective disorder, or who lacks impulse control, maybe someone whose problems include aggressive behavior as one of the symptoms.”