Chapter 2

Tom Lexington threw a log onto the open fire. Although the house was well insulated, the fire provided some welcome extra warmth. Outside, it was four below zero, and the snow was coming down heavily. He would have to dig himself out if he wanted to leave the house.

Tom stared at the fire. When he focused on the flames and the crackling of the wood, he felt almost normal. He reached for another log. As he threw it onto the fire, he heard the quiet hum of his cell phone on the coffee table. He got up to see who it was. Lodestar Security Group, switchboard. Work.

He scratched his stubbled chin, knew he should answer—it could be important—but he didn’t have the energy today. Instead, he shuffled into the kitchen and then couldn’t remember why he’d gone in there. He paused, staring out the window at the snow and the trees. Waiting for the weather report on the radio. Suddenly, a loud, popping sound came from the speakers. A jingle for the next program, which was about hunting. Tom’s hands started to shake. Then his thighs. His field of vision shrank, and he struggled to breathe. It happened quickly, less than a second between hearing the noise and feeling as if he was about to collapse.

He groped for the countertop to prop himself up. His heart was pounding as though he were in combat. Suddenly, he was no longer in the house. No longer in the woods outside of Kiruna, in a winter landscape of freezing temperatures and snow. He was in the desert. In the heat. In the hellhole where they’d interrogated and tortured him. His blood was rushing through his veins so fiercely that it was as if the ground was trembling beneath him. Memories flashed before his eyes like a film. He forced himself to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. But it didn’t help. He was there.

He braced himself and then brought his hand down on the counter with all his might. The pain shot up his arm and into his body, and it did actually help. It hurt like hell, but the pain cut through his panic attack, and he was back in the room again.

Tom took a deep, shaking breath. The flashback had lasted only a few seconds, but he was soaked through with sweat. His legs were unsteady as he took the few steps to the pantry and grabbed a bottle of whisky. He didn’t think about how many empty bottles were already beneath the sink, just poured the whisky down his throat and then turned on the faucet. Kiruna was north of the Arctic Circle and the water in the pipes was ice-cold, but he drank it greedily. As he put down his glass, he heard his cell phone again. He went into the living room and picked up the phone from the coffee table.

Mattias Ceder, he read on the screen. Again. Mattias had been calling him all fall. Tom hadn’t answered once. He rejected the call and took the phone with him into the kitchen, where he poured another whisky. Two seconds later, it started to ring again. He peered down. Mattias Ceder, of course. The man always was a stubborn bastard. At one point in time, Mattias and Tom were best friends, brothers-in-arms. Back then, they would have given their lives for each other without a moment’s hesitation. But that was a long time ago. Plenty had changed since then. Tom studied the phone until it fell silent. It beeped to signal a message: Could you answer the damn phone sometime?

He took a big gulp, poured more whisky, swirled the glass.

It was years since he’d last talked to Mattias. When they were young men, they could talk about everything, but that was before Mattias betrayed him.

Tom looked down into the sink. It was full of mugs, plates, and cutlery that he hadn’t had the energy to load into the dishwasher. The woman who cleaned would be here tomorrow, so he let it be, well aware that he never used to be the kind of man who let other people clear up his mess.

He grabbed the glass, the bottle, and the cell phone and went back into the living room. It wasn’t the first time he had struggled with PTSD—he’d been a soldier in one way or another ever since he was eighteen. He had been in combat, seen his comrades die, been injured. That kind of thing left its mark, and he’d suffered from both anxiety and flashbacks before, after particularly difficult experiences. But nothing like this. These memories appeared as though from nowhere. An unexpected sound, light, or smell, practically anything could set them off, and then suddenly it was as though he were there, back in captivity. The whole thing was entirely out of his hands. If things were different, maybe he could have talked to Mattias about it. Mattias was a soldier, too, had been in tight situations, knew how it could be. The type of thing civilians would never understand.

Tom emptied his glass. His head was spinning slightly. He grabbed his phone and wrote to Mattias: Go to hell.

It felt good to send that, actually. He stared at the screen to see whether he would get an answer, but nothing came. If Mattias called again, he might answer, he decided. He was drunk now, could feel it, knew that his judgment was clouded, that he shouldn’t call anyone, not while he was crashing like this. But he dialed the number anyway. Not Mattias. Someone else. He tumbled onto the sofa and listened to the ring.

“Hello?” Ellinor answered.

“Hi, it’s me,” he slurred.

“Tom.” She sounded sad as she said his name.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” he said, attempting to speak as normally as he could.

“You need to stop this. You’re just torturing yourself. You shouldn’t be calling me.”

“I know.” He should take a shower. Shave, pull himself together. Not keep calling his ex, week in, week out. “But I miss you,” he said.

“I need to hang up.” Tom heard a faint sound in the background.

“Is he there?”

“Bye, Tom. Take care.” Ellinor hung up.

Tom stared straight ahead. Calling Ellinor was a mistake, he had known that in advance. But how was he meant to go on without her? He really didn’t know. All his years of military training had been about just that. Being able to force yourself to do the impossible. Forcing your body to continue, even when it wanted to give up, even when things seemed hopeless and despite devastating losses. It was about not thinking of anything but the task at hand.

He lay down with his head on the armrest and stared up at the ceiling, felt memories of his captivity begin to wash over him again. While he was being held prisoner, his thoughts of Ellinor kept him going. Memories of her smile, the longing to be with her again.

Calling her was idiotic. He was drunk and not thinking straight. But coming up here was still the right thing to do. Kiruna was where Ellinor was, and he wanted to be close to her. He would do anything to win her back. Anything.