Tell Me You're Mine(57)

“Isabelle’s.”

“Kerstin’s daughter?” Ritva says. “She used to come here sometimes when she was little. Very cute and sweet girl.”

“I haven’t been able to reach her for several days,” I say. “Thought I’d ask if Kerstin knows where she is.”

Ritva closes the storage room door and walks down the corridor. “It’s been a long time since I saw Isabelle. She lives in Stockholm now. She was always a good kid.” She stops outside the staff room. “Hope you get ahold of her.”

“I hope so, too,” I say, staring at a framed picture on the wall. A tree with photographs stuck at the end of each of its branches.

“That’s the staff here,” Ritva says, pointing. “Here’s me. And here’s Kerstin.”

She taps her finger on a photo at the top right. The pictures are bleached and faded; Ritva and Kerstin have been working here a long time.

“Sad to see a person change like that.” Ritva leaves me and goes into the staff room.

I study the photo again. Her face is round, eyes small. Her hair is thin and appears dyed. Underneath the photo is taped a handwritten label. Kerstin Karlsson.

I’ve met her before.

But she was using another name.





Isabelle



We’re getting closer to Västervik. I feel free. With every mile we put behind us, my worries feel lighter.

I stare out the passenger window through half-closed eyes. Behind the tops of trees, the white-gray clouds look like they’re just about to break open and release the sun. A haze hangs over the fields. We pass by farm after farm. Horses and cows grazing. Forests that go on for miles.

Hanne and Ola are discussing which grocery store to go to. They seem to bicker quite a bit. But they also laugh often and touch each other. I miss Fredrik so damn much.

“Could I borrow a phone?” I ask.

Hanne turns around and hands me her phone. After a few rings, he answers.

“Fredrik, it’s me.”

“Isabelle? Where are you? I called you like a million times. Do you know you’ve been reported missing?”

“Mom went insane,” I say.

“Oh my God,” he says. “How are you? Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” I say. “I got help. I’m on my way to Västervik now. But I don’t know how to get home.”

“I’ll help you,” he says without hesitation. “I’ll borrow my mom’s car and pick you up. Can I reach you at this number?”

“For a while,” I answer.

“I’ll call back in ten minutes.”

“Okay.”

We hang up. I dry my tears and hand the phone back to Hanne.

“Who were you talking to?” she says.

“A friend. He’s driving down from Stockholm to pick me up. Can I stay with you until he comes?”

“Of course,” Ola replies. “Right, Hanne?”

“Absolutely,” she says. “We won’t let you go until we know you’re safe.”

She smiles at me and I smile, too. I realize how lucky I am to have run into Hanne and Ola. Without them I never would have been able to escape. I have no idea what Mom had planned for me. But I have a feeling that trip would have ended badly.

After a while, Hanne says she needs to pee. Ola asks why she didn’t do it at Ringarum.

“Because I didn’t have to back then,” she says.

“We can’t stop here,” he says.

“Yes, we can.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Yeeeees.”

“Nooooo.”

“Stop at the Hjorten Inn.”

“I hate that place. Mom and Dad always stopped there for coffee when I was a kid.”

“Stop being silly, Ola.”

“You can’t just go in and pee. You have to buy something.”

“Buy an ice cream at the kiosk.”

“It’s not summer now, Hanne.”

“A coffee then.” She turns to me. “Do you want coffee, Isabelle?”

“Yes, please,” I answer.

“There, you hear that?” she says, giving Ola a teasing pat on the back of his head.

“Ooowoo,” he bursts out and pretends it hurts. Both laugh loudly, and I laugh, too.

We drive with a lake on our right and pass by a sign: Hjorten Inn. After five hundred feet Ola turns off, and I see a low red building that overlooks the water. He doesn’t even have time to park properly before Hanne opens the door, jumps out, and runs toward the restaurant.

Ola rolls his eyes at me in the rearview mirror. He adjusts the wheel and looks over his shoulder, about to start backing up. Suddenly there’s a violent bang, and the car is pushed aside. The seatbelt snaps into my chest, and I see Ola’s hair fly back and forward again in slow motion as his head is thrown against the wheel.

Then silence.

Quick steps over the asphalt. A shadow outside the window. At first I can’t see who it is. And by the time I understand it’s already too late.

I fumble with my belt while the door is opened. Mom grabs hold of my hair and pulls. I scream and stumble out of the car.

Ola throws himself out of the front seat and stands in her way. He’s holding his head and grimacing in pain.

“What the hell are you doing?” he screams at her.

Mom shoves him aside and pulls me toward her car. I summon every ounce of strength I have to struggle against her.

“Stop it, goddamn it!” Ola roars and grabs Mom’s arm. She turns around with her arm in a wide bow and strikes him.

A fountain of blood sprays out of his throat. Ola stares at her in surprise and sinks down next to the car door. His shirt is quickly soaked in blood. I feel it splash on my face, see my own shirt becoming stained. Only now do I see Mom is holding a screwdriver. She throws it away from her and drags me to the car.

A long shriek pierces the air, and I wonder if it’s coming from me, until I see Hanne running toward us.

She throws herself down on her knees next to Ola, presses her hands to his throat, trying to stop the bleeding.

My eyes burn, and I can feel tears flow down my cheeks.

Mom pulls my hair and hisses that I should know better.

Mom’s hands are hard and indifferent, they pull and push and shove and hit. “Get in the car.”

I ask her why she’s doing this, what does she want from me.

Mom looks at me coldly. She tells me she’s my mother. I’m her child. She’d do anything to protect me. She’d kill for me, if that’s what it takes.

She’s holding a black flashlight. She lifts it over her head, and I raise my arms to stop the blow.





Kerstin



A silver Volvo SUV pulled over near the exit. A long-haired, bearded man behind the wheel next to a girl or boy, impossible to tell which, with a buzz cut.

But you, Isabelle, were sitting in the backseat.

I waved and shouted at the driver not to go. I screamed at him to stop: My daughter is in his car. He didn’t hear, didn’t see. He was pretending, of course. There was no way he couldn’t see me.

He took my child. Stole her from me.

Why?

Stupid question. I already know.

And the idea of what he planned to do to her makes me ice cold with rage.

He doesn’t know who I am. What I’m capable of. He doesn’t know I will follow him to the ends of the earth to get my daughter back.

Why, Isabelle? Why? You deliberately deceived me, pretended to be asleep and then ran away and tried to escape. I should have known; I should have been more vigilant.









But don’t be afraid. I’m here.

It hurts now. But there’s a reason for this, too.

Pain makes you strong. It won’t be long, this will be over soon. Afterward I’ll comfort you, take care of you, just like I always do. I’ll wash the blood from your forehead, I’ll wipe away your tears. We can do some baking, if you like? How about some chocolate muffins?

You’re sleeping now. That’s good.

You’ll soon be well again. When I make you well.

And then we’ll start over again. We always do. Because this isn’t like you. This isn’t you. It’s the weakness in you. I will always be here to guide you onto the right path. I hope you know that. I think you know how important you are to me.

I wanted you for so long before you came, you should know that. You are life’s gift to me.

Why can’t you just love me? All I want is for us to love each other. For you to let me take care of you. When you’ve hurt yourself, I’ve comforted you. When you’ve injured yourself, I’ve bandaged your wounds. When you’ve been sick, I’ve tended to you.

I’ve received a lot of praise for my care. Everyone has seen what a self-sacrificing mother I am. There’s nothing better than when I’m taking care of you. When you let me hold you, comfort you. Please, don’t look so scared. My funny little kid, it’s for your own good.

It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining for us. Soon we’ll be there. Soon we’ll be back.

Soon we’ll be home.





Stella



I stare at the photo of the smiling woman.

I’ve met her, we talked to each other. We drank coffee together at Coffeehouse by George.

The photo I’m looking at is of Eva.

She was warm and sympathetic and she made me open up about everything. I told her about Alice, how I’d found her. That I was sure Isabelle was my daughter, my missing child. Eva encouraged me to keep searching for the truth, even though everyone thought I was crazy. I told her I went to Vällingby and to KTH hoping to see Alice. I told her about Henrik, and that I hadn’t told him anything. I revealed that he once took me to the psychiatric emergency room, and that I wasn’t sure he would believe me.