The silence afterward is deafening. Mom pinches her eyes closed, stands with her hands pressed against her head. She shakes, rocks. I look at the front door and wonder if it’s locked. But even if it was wide open, I wouldn’t get far.
“My sweet girl. Now look what you did.” Mom’s face is friendly again. Her voice is mild.
She walks over to me and touches my hair. Stroking it over and over again.
“You’ve always been mine. I knew immediately that you’d come back to me. Don’t worry, Isabelle. We will always be together. Hans tried to destroy the connection between us. But I stopped him.”
I don’t want to hear any more. But Mom goes on.
“I had no choice, you have to understand. I had to let him go. But don’t be sad, my love. He didn’t feel it. It didn’t hurt.”
She lifts my chin and tries to catch my eyes. I look aside.
“You don’t understand yet, Isabelle. But a mother has to be ready to do anything to protect her child.”
Stella
It’s evening by the time I turn onto the road that leads to Strandgården. I park the car, step out, and close the door. The only thing I hear is the wind in the trees, the waves beating against the shore.
The sunset has turned the sky pink, orange, and yellow. It all feels surreal. The knowledge that Alice is here, at Strandgården. The knowledge that I’ve been heading toward this moment since the day she disappeared.
Over the years I’ve imagined so many different scenarios. How I’d get her back, how we’d reunite. I’ve had daydreams and nightmares. My longing for her and the fear that it would consume me.
I walk to the main building. There are no signs that someone has been here. The shutters are still locked. The cottages are empty and deserted. I turn and walk toward the Path of Problems. The house up on the hill must have been Lundin’s home. I walk past the Ring of Troubles, but after a few feet I stop and turn back. I pick up a rock, weigh it in my hand. I put it in my pocket and keep going.
I climb up onto the plateau and see the house. A yellow light shines in the windows, and a car is parked outside. A dark Nissan.
The car was dark, maybe black. Or dark blue. A hatchback or SUV. When it slowed down I turned around and looked. Then the driver stepped on the gas. Headed straight for me.
I pick up the phone and call Henrik. He doesn’t answer. I send a text message and tell him where I am. Then I walk on toward the house. It’s adorable with gingerbread-like trim on the windows. I’m almost to the doorstep when the door opens and a woman in a baggy sweater steps out. She’s holding a kerosene lamp in her hand.
“I knew you’d come,” she says. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Kerstin looks at me and smiles. She’s been waiting for me.
She goes back into the house.
I follow her.
The hall is spacious with high ceilings; the kitchen is located directly to the left.
More kerosene lamps have been placed around in here. It’s dirty and the windows need cleaning. The electricity seems to have been shut off—and no wonder, the house has been uninhabited for more than two decades. The heat in the kitchen comes from an old wood-burning stove.
A toaster and a marble mortar and a few cans of food stand on the kitchen benches along with a full water can. A stack of newspapers lies on the table; the top one is dated 1994. All covered with dust.
“What a nice house,” I say.
Kerstin tilts her head. Stares out through the window. “Yes, it was. But now it may as well burn down.” She lights another kerosene lamp and smiles once more.
Eva.
Kerstin.
My new friend.
“That would be a shame,” I say, looking at the knife on the floor beneath the kitchen table. Kerstin has her back to me; I take a few steps toward the table. I can see myself bending down, grabbing it, holding it up to Kerstin, and forcing her to tell me where Alice is.
“And we’ve met before,” I say. “In the Kronobergs Park.” One more step. I move slowly: one more step, then another.
Kerstin swings around, hurries over to the table. She bends down and grabs the knife. She points it at me and slowly shakes her head.
“You should have listened to me then,” she says. “I warned you. Didn’t I tell you to let it be? Didn’t I tell you to leave things as they were?”
“You ran over my son,” I say. “You almost killed him.”
“You left me no choice. I had to stop you.”
“Still, you were the one who told me to find the truth.”
“Because I understand you,” she says. “Losing your daughter like that. What a tragedy, especially when it was your own fault. I feel for you, I really do. But you have to understand that Isabelle is my daughter. That’s the truth.”
She believes what she says. She’s convinced she’s right.
“You’ve been outside my house,” I say. “I’ve seen you on the street, in a raincoat with your face hidden under a hood. You left a death threat in my mailbox. You’ve called me, told me lies about my son. Why?”
Kerstin laughs. Then she turns serious. “You’ve always been so self-righteous. Thought you were superior to other people. Despite the fact you were always walking on the edge. It wasn’t hard to push you over.” She pours water from a plastic can into a coffeepot, puts it on the stove, and measures out some powdered coffee. We’re like two old acquaintances about to make small talk over some coffee. I sit down at the kitchen table.
“You made it easy for me,” she says. “Told me everything I wanted to know. My husband, he’ll never believe me. He’ll think I’m crazy. You felt so sorry for yourself, of course. It must not have been easy for someone as remarkable as you to end up in the funny farm.”
Her voice is compassionate and understanding.
“You don’t know me,” I say. “You have no idea who I am.”
“Don’t be so sure about that. I know more than you think.”
“Tell me, I’m curious. Have you been keeping an eye on me all these years?”
Her eyes narrow; her face stiffens with rage. At first I think she’s going to attack me with the knife. But in the next second she’s calm again.
“You’re not so important as that,” she says. “But of course I found out who you were, what you were up to. You met that upper-class fellow. You married rich and came up in the world,” she says. “He’s very pleasant, your husband, I’ll give you that. When I met him, told him about you, he behaved in the right way. And he’s handsome—you wouldn’t be happy with anything less. But I know how men are. Deep down. Like pigs. Like wild animals. There aren’t many who show you respect, not like Hans did. He left me alone, never touched me.”
Kerstin sits down opposite me.
“And of course you had a kid. You apparently thought you were meant to be a mother again. And you bought a nice house in a good neighborhood. You had everything you could wish for. You didn’t deserve it, not after what you did. But I was happy for you, you should know that. Cried a tear or two.”
“It must have been terrible for you,” I say. “Isabelle came to me. Of all the therapists, she was referred to me. Do you believe in fate, Kerstin? In karma? Do you think our bad deeds are punished? That truth wins in the end?”
Kerstin rises and wipes off the kitchen table. Then she sets out a tray of buns. Still holding the knife in her hand.
“That sort of thing is for cowards,” she says after a while. “For the weak ones. Like you.”
“But you’re strong? You have the right strength?”
“You’ll never understand,” Kerstin says. “You haven’t been tested by life like me. At the slightest misfortune you fell apart completely.”
“I know Isabelle is my daughter,” I say. “She’s Alice.”
Kerstin looks at me. “You never deserved her. You said it yourself, that you may not have it in you. You’re a bad mother, we both know that. You let your daughter disappear, let your son get run over. You’re really a worthless mother. This was for the best. Don’t you think so, too?”
“You ran over my son. You took my daughter. What kind of person does something like that?”
Kerstin’s voice is scornful. “The kind of person who does what needs to be done. The kind of person who takes control. Don’t you think I’ve suffered?” she says. “Don’t you think I know what it means to be excluded from what everyone else takes for granted? Do you know what it feels like to be broken? To have your life destroyed? I don’t think so. And why should you escape? Why should you get everything for free, without paying dearly for it, as I have?” Kerstin pours the boiling water over the powder.
I put my hand in my pocket and squeeze the stone. I could do it now. Beat her in her head with it. Beat her unconscious.
But I wait. First, I have to find out where she hid Alice.
“Where is she?” I say.
At the same moment my phone rings. I put a hand in my other pocket, fumble for it, turn off the sound. I take up the phone under the table and check the display.
Henrik.
Kerstin gently puts the coffeepot on the table. She looks at me and stretches out her hand. If I answer, I’ll never see Alice again. I hand over the phone. Kerstin takes it, watches it ring. Then she opens the door to the stove, throws the phone into the fire, and closes it.