Spring came early. All the snow was washed away by rain in late March. A powerful area of high pressure settled just off the island and within a few days, the average temperature had risen from below freezing to thirteen Celsius. Everything came to life at once: birds, insects, and plants.
She was almost done with the library. Benjamin had outdone himself and brought all the books to her, thanks to innumerable ferry crossings, and now they were all arranged on the shelves, smelling terrific. The computer system had been installed and the furniture had arrived. It was five-thirty in the morning, and she was there for one final check. Everything had to be perfect before Oswald saw it.
A creak of the floor behind her, and when she turned around, there he was. She hadn’t heard him open the door. He was wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans; his eyes were red and he had a day’s stubble.
‘I came here to get some positive energy,’ he said with a yawn. ‘At least there’s someone around here who doesn’t lie around snoozing while I work.’
He looked around, approached the shelves, and took out a few books; he tested out the sofas and played with the computer system. When she showed him how you could download and order books, he nodded in satisfaction. But what made him happiest was seeing the screensaver, which was a picture of the manor house with him in the foreground. At the top she had put his motto: ‘We walk the way of the earth.’
He looked at the picture for a long time, then whistled in appreciation and smacked his palm on the desk. ‘Looking pretty damn good!’ was his final assessment. He made another round and suddenly she found him standing behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and began to massage her shoulder blades with his thumbs. They slid up and found a tender point on her neck, which he kneaded slowly.
‘You’ve outdone yourself,’ he said. ‘Such a little pearl I picked up at that lecture. Look at this place! You have class, Sofia.’
All the air went out of her. She stood perfectly still, not even daring to breathe, because if she did the fire inside her would flow into his fingers and he would feel how excited she was. He bent down and put his head right up next to her own until his stubble scraped against her cheek. He whispered in her ear.
‘Take the day off today. You’ve earned it.’
He let one hand slide down her spine and rest at her waist for a split second. She could barely tell when his hands moved away; her skin was still burning with his touch. She could only hear his steps as he left the library.
She didn’t move; she couldn’t seem to make her body do anything.
Why does he touch me like that? she wondered. Is he teasing me, or is it perfectly normal? A friendly massage for a tired back? Am I just oversensitive? He’s probably just happy that I do good work. Thankful that someone here actually does their job.
Then she remembered that he’d given her the rest of the day off.
The others were still sleeping when she tiptoed into the dormitory, took out her backpack, and stuffed it with supplies for the day. She decided to ignore the ban and get her phone from the staff unit. The whole office was dormant, the blinds down. She opened her compartment in the cabinet where phones and other forbidden items were locked up, and stuck her phone and the charger in her pocket.
The sun was coming up as she walked into the yard. No breeze. Not a cloud in the sky. It was going to be a beautiful day.
She returned to the library building and made a cup of coffee while she charged her phone. Benjamin had given her the coffee-maker for Christmas so she didn’t have to keep running to the little commissary where the staff could buy things like soap and shampoo.
She drank from her largest mug, nestled in the most comfortable easy chair, as her phone charged. She thought about Ellis — she didn’t know why, but suddenly her memories of him kept popping up. She thought maybe he had found someone else by now. Some other poor woman who didn’t know what awaited her.
She picked up her phone and texted Wilma.
Day off today, what’s up there?
She decided to borrow Elvira’s bike; she was sure the girl wouldn’t mind. A quick ride down to the fishing shacks on the western shore, and she took a few pictures from the dock and sent them to Wilma with another message.
Are you awake, sleepyhead?
The response came almost immediately.
Nice pics! W.
It wasn’t at all like Wilma to be so concise; something was wrong.
What is it?
No answer. She waited for a moment, taking off her shoes and socks and dipping her toes in the freezing cold water. At last she dialled Wilma’s number.
‘I knew you would call!’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Don’t freak out, but your tormentor is back to haunt us again.’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘I ran into Ellis in town. He was being such an ass. He said he knew you’d joined that fucking cult and he was determined to get you back out again. He threatened to burn the place down and all kinds of awful stuff.’
Sofia’s mouth suddenly felt dry. That familiar Ellis-related nausea rose in her stomach.
‘Oh my god! But what can he do?’
‘Nothing. I just didn’t want to worry you.’
They talked for a while, until Sofia began to relax.
But she still felt distracted after their phone call; the day no longer seemed as lovely. She felt homesick for her parents, her friends, and Lund, the way everything had been before Ellis.
She called her mom and they talked for a long time, and then she headed to the village and had a sandwich for lunch. She strolled around for a while, amazed at how empty it was in the off season. Then she decided to bike to the lookout point to sun her face and read a book she’d brought from the library. When she got to the heath, though, she felt the cottage beckoning. She wanted to check in on it and see how it had weathered the storm and the winter.
Something felt different as she opened the gate and stepped onto the lot. At first, everything looked normal; the old wheelbarrow was full of leaves and flowerpots were strewn on the lawn. But then she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and realized the hammock was swinging back and forth. In it sat a woman, all dressed in black.
‘Well, hello there, Sofia!’ she said, her voice clear and ringing.
The woman had long, dark hair that was parted in the middle. She appeared to be around fifty. Her face was deeply wrinkled at her eyes and mouth, and her skin was tan and thick as leather. She was wearing a long, black skirt and a black blouse with wide sleeves.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude —’
‘Sure you did!’ the woman said firmly. ‘You’ve been here before.’
She stood up, and Sofia noticed that she was very tall. Tall and stout, but not fat. Her eyes were large and almond-shaped. She came up to Sofia and shook her hand.
‘Karin Johansson. I own this cottage.’
‘How did you know who I am?’
‘I saw you last fall, you and your boyfriend. You had just left the cottage. I was here on a short visit to get everything ready for winter, and I must have forgotten to lock the front door. I saw you coming out. At first I thought you were burglars but you had left the cottage untouched. Then I asked around in the shops, and they know you. “Sofia and Benjamin from the cult up at the manor,” they said. And now here you are!’
Sofia’s cheeks flushed. She sincerely hoped that the woman hadn’t seen them through the window.
‘I’m not angry. In fact, it’s nice to have someone looking in on the cottage once in a while. Would you like some coffee?’
‘I’d love some.’
The cottage felt different with someone living there. The cabin smell had been replaced by the scent of food and freshly-brewed coffee. Sofia sat down at the little kitchen table while Karin put out the cups.
‘I’ve always wondered about this location,’ Sofia said. ‘There’s no road here, not even a path.’
‘It’s an old cottage. It’s been in my family for a hundred and fifty years. They were fishermen. Back in the olden days, there was a gravel road down to the village, but when the Count built the manor my family started working there as servants. So they built servant quarters, and they moved up there instead. We kept the cottage, but when you don’t use a gravel road regularly, it disappears. The grass takes over.’
She poured the coffee, placed a plate of cookies on the table, and sat down across from Sofia. Her eyes were such a dark blue they looked black. Her mouth was creased with laughter lines, and her nose was long and slightly bent.
‘Are you just here for the summer?’ Sofia asked.
‘Now I am. But I used to work at the manor all year round. While it was empty I lived in town, but then a doctor bought the place and I got a job there again. I was a single mother then and I wanted my boy to experience life here on the island for a while.’
‘Tell me more about what it was like here before,’ Sofia said.
Karin didn’t say anything; she looked hesitant. Then she stood up and went over to a bureau, where she opened a drawer and took out a thick bundle of documents.
‘Move your coffee cup over,’ she said, setting the papers down in front of Sofia. ‘I used to be obsessed with the history of the manor. I thought it was exciting to listen to all the tales about it when I was a little girl, and as I got older I wanted to know more.’
She took a large sheet of paper from the pile and unfolded it. It was a family tree with sprawling branches and names covering almost the entire surface.
‘I started digging through this in the summers. I made a family tree for the Count’s line, and one for my own. Look at this! You can see who was married to who, and which ones worked at the manor house. The more I learned, the better I could see how our families grew together into one.’
Karin’s tone was eager, and it rubbed off on Sofia.
‘This is incredible! Why is all of this in the cottage? I bet lots of people in the village would be interested. The summer visitors, too.’
Karin shook her head.
‘You have no idea what the kind of misery that family went through. It seemed like it would never end. Eventually I’d had enough. It really depressed me, so I put this all away here in the cottage. And then you come by asking about it!’
Sofia studied the genealogy for a long time. It was really made up of two trees: one began with the first Count, Artur von Bärensten, and the parallel trunk was for Karin Johansson’s family. Little lines ran here and there between the two. Sofia used her finger to trace down to the last von Bärenstens. Henrik and Emilie von Bärensten, it read. They were the end of the line.
‘What happened to them?’ she asked.
‘They moved to France. The manor house was empty for several years, before the doctor showed up and bought it.’
‘Did you meet them before they moved?’
‘Yes, I worked for them for a while.’
‘So why did they move away?’
Karin shrugged. ‘I suppose they got sick of the big house. Couldn’t keep up with it. That whole family was from France originally. You know, like the Bernadottes.’
‘I hope you don’t mind my asking,’ Sofia said. ‘It’s just so exciting.’
‘No, not at all. That’s why I’m showing you all this. But you have to understand, I have positive and negative memories of this island, and there are some things I’d rather not talk about.’
Sofia decided to take a leap forward in time.
‘Were you here when that boy jumped off the cliff and died?’
Karin’s eyes darkened as her pupils widened, almost swallowing her irises. She leaned back, her chair protesting with a creak, took a breath, and closed her eyes for a moment.
‘He was my son,’ she said at last.
‘Oh my god! I’m sorry!’
‘It’s okay. You didn’t know. Listen, I’m happy to talk about the manor house. On one condition.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I want to hear a little more about what’s going on there nowadays.’
*
It was dark by the time Sofia left the cottage. The fog had slipped in from the sea, and she had to use the flashlight app on her phone to find her bike on the heath. It had grown chilly, but the air was humid and gentle. She hadn’t wanted to ask more about Karin Johansson’s son. Instead she had kept up the chatter, asking questions about the families and the island, and letting Karin drill her about ViaTerra.
‘What is he like, that Oswald?’ Karin had asked. ‘I’ve heard he’s a bit of a fanatic, not very nice to the staff.’
‘Not really. He runs a tight ship, I guess, but it’s probably necessary.’
‘There are rumours about him. We hardly ever see him, here on the island. He never comes to the village, and when he takes the ferry he stays in his car. It’s almost like he’s a phantom.’
‘No, he exists. He just has people to help him with purchasing and that kind of stuff.’
An idea began to take shape in Sofia’s mind as she biked home. She could write a book about all this — the manor, the family history. A real thriller.
*
When she got back to ViaTerra, it was already eleven o’clock and her dormitory was dark. She fumbled her way to her bed and was just about to take off her jeans when she felt her phone in her pocket. Shit! She had to get it back to the cubby right away. She tiptoed back out of the dorm and up to the staff offices. No one was there, so she turned on the lights and was just about to stash the phone when she found that someone had left the drawer of a filing cabinet open. Curious, she flicked through the folders hanging in it. Each had the name of a staff member; they were in alphabetical order. She found her own and opened it. There was the questionnaire she’d filled out after Oswald’s lecture, and the notes from her first interview with Olof Hurtig.
That’s fine, she thought, reading on, but the following pages took her breath away. Someone had printed out Ellis’s blog entries: the first one, with the Photoshopped images of Sofia naked and the one with the picture of Oswald with horns drawn on.
Last of all there was a note written in Bosse’s scrawling hand.
Sofia Bauman, potential security risk. Full investigation required.
Her first impulse was to go straight to Bosse’s room and wake him up. She was so angry that her belly felt like a ball of fire as she walked upstairs to the dormitories. An incessant voice in her head played out the dialogue she would have with Bosse; that voice, with its sharp arguments and keen wit would put him in his place. She tried to turn the voice off and think sensibly, but she couldn’t get rid of it.
Tiny warning bells began to sound somewhere behind her enraged thoughts.
Calm down, get a grip.
She sat down on the stairs and breathed deeply, letting her mind follow her inhalations. She sat like that for a long time, until her rage ebbed away. For once she wouldn’t act on impulse. After all, she had been snooping around and using her phone without permission. And it was partly true that Ellis posed some sort of threat, somewhere off in the distance.
She entered her dormitory and sat down on her bed in the darkness, still upset but determined to sleep on it.
But she didn’t get much sleep. That night was the start of an inferno that would last for a few days. After that, the slim file would have vanished from her mind completely. Much bigger, darker clouds would have formed on the horizon.
The water is dark and cold and when I open my eyes I see the surface shining a deep green above my head.
For an instant, everything is still.
I don’t know what to do.
Drown?
Swim up to the surface?
Help him put out the fire? But I know what’s in the barn. How it will look.
Then a strange thought comes to me. A memory of a film. Prisoners escaping from Alcatraz. Bodies that were never found.
And all at once, I know what I have to do.
I swim as far as I can underwater, then slowly rise to the surface.
I bend my head way back, find the air with my mouth, and greedily suck it in, filling my lungs.
With any luck he can’t see me; maybe he ran back when he saw the fire.
I keep swimming under the water, as fast as I can, as long as my lungs can bear.
Three, four, five times, up to the surface and down again.
One time, just before I come up for air, I roll onto my back under the water. I can see the stars above me, the surface like an infinite glass dome. Me and the universe, united.
A sense of calm returns to my body; it feels strong and lithe as it glides on.
I can see the jagged rocks under the water; I grasp a boulder and wiggle forward until the water is so shallow that I break through the surface. I crawl up on a rock.
It was a long swim — several hundred metres. For the first time, I look back at Devil’s Rock. There’s no one there.
The sky is red where the fire rages on at the manor.