‘I changed my mind. It’s for your own good, Sofia.’
Benjamin was almost whispering, and his gaze was focused somewhere over her head so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact. She stiffened, then realized he had betrayed her — a realization that hurt so much she wanted to bend over double and collapse to the floor. For an instant her body stopped working. Her chest constricted, her muscles locked up, her heart stood still, and she was flooded with the feeling that her whole life had come crumbling down. Benjamin still wouldn’t look at her; he turned his head and stared at the wall. Oswald and his henchmen had turned into shadows. All she could see was Benjamin.
Her body began to allow for new feelings: disappointment and despair and at last a seething hate so strong it bubbled in her ears. There was something about Benjamin’s posture, a nonchalant indifference that he had to be putting on. That sanctimonious little coward with his crooked smile, as if he were playing a practical joke on her.
All she could think as Benny and Sten came over and took her by the arms was that she needed those arms free so she could claw out Benjamin’s eyes.
‘Don’t send her to Penance,’ said Oswald. ‘She’s not getting off that easy. Pair her up with Simon instead.’
He turned to Benny, who was still holding Sofia tightly by the arm.
‘They will do the shittiest, most horrible job there is. In black caps so no one can mistake them for Penance.’
He stared at her, but she averted her eyes.
‘Benjamin says she hid a laptop in their room,’ he said to Bosse. ‘Go through every email and find out what she’s been up to. Who knows, maybe we’ve found our mole at last. Check her phone too.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Now take her away. I don’t want to see her deceitful mug any more.’
He speared her with his gaze one last time.
‘You will never get out of here. Just so you know,’ he said.
*
She felt empty and mute as they led her out. Maybe this is what it feels like to be catatonic, she thought. Or maybe the worst part comes later.
But it wasn’t until after dinner, when she was running by with Simon, both in their ridiculous black caps, and she saw the double bed she’d shared with Benjamin being carried out of the manor house, that her heart hurt and tears burned behind her eyelids. It was freezing out and the icy north wind made its way under her clothing; she could feel it in her bones. The warm light of the manor house windows gazed down at them.
She and Simon were relegated to a corner of the stable. They would spend the night in sleeping bags on the straw floor. A small electric heater had been brought in, but it would hardly make a difference — the wind could find all the holes and cracks in the stable walls.
They would have to shower in the barely lukewarm water in the basement shower, which was so full of dirt, mould, and spider webs that she’d had to hold her nose with one hand and wash with the other during those times she’d had to use it when sick.
Their work would consist of shovelling snow, mucking out stalls, and taking care of the pigs. Benny had a few other enormous, unfeasible tasks planned for them, such as cleaning all the toilets with nothing but a toothbrush and polishing every hardwood floor in every building by hand, but only at times when the staff and guests wouldn’t spot them. They were also under orders to run whenever they moved around. No talking or making eye contact with the rest of the staff. If they messed up, they had to run around the estate three times. Their schedule gave them eighteen hours of work and six hours of sleep.
She stopped for a moment and gasped for breath. The air was so cold it burned her lungs. The courtyard was cold and deserted in the frosty darkness. It occurred to her that she could refuse orders. Just say no, I won’t do it, I won’t run another step, I won’t sleep in the stall, and I won’t do your shitty jobs. But they still wouldn’t let her out. If she even knew whether out was all she wanted. There was something else she was after. Revenge. She hated Benjamin so much it hurt deep down in her chest, and the thought that he would get away with this, continuing to live his meaningless life as if nothing had happened, was unbearable.
Another thought was niggling at her without quite becoming fully formed, but it had something to do with patience. Oswald will miss me when the next secretary starts screwing up, she thought. It takes a certain amount of freedom to escape from here. And the only scrap of freedom there is, is at the top. Have to grit my teeth and just deal with the humiliation. Be smarter than to trust anyone next time.
When she got into her sleeping bag that night, she lay shivering for a long time, staring up at the dark roof of the barn. Simon was sleeping deeply; he didn’t move a muscle there in the straw.
This is hell, she thought. Being so completely stuck.
Her whole life had been stolen from her before she had even begun to live it. She had ended up in hell and she wasn’t even dead.
How can a person become so powerless?
She imagined the infinite vault of stars over the roof and imagined herself floating in outer space. She felt her pulse slow and at last she fell into a bizarrely deep sleep.
*
One morning as they were mucking out stalls, Simon started talking to her. He spoke in a way no one else at ViaTerra had ever done. Benny was in the bathroom and had left them alone for a short time.
‘Do you think Oswald is just plain mad?’
She stiffened. This was forbidden territory. It was one thing to think a thought, and something else entirely to let it come out of your mouth. In speaking, things became too concrete; it was hard to erase them later. Words like ‘blasphemy’ and ‘treason’ flickered through her mind. But she was curious. And after all, Benny wasn’t there.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, logically he’s like our boss. He’s responsible for everything. So if it all goes to hell, how can it be everyone else’s fault but his?’
‘Sure, but he has to handle the media and all of that himself.’
‘Okay, but think of all the crap that’s been written about us. It’s not like he’s doing a super job.’
He scraped away some cow manure with his shovel — he didn’t seem at all troubled by what he’d just said. His voice was clear, matter-of-fact, and steady, without a hint of shame.
‘But . . . then how could he have created all this? The whole program, the place?’
‘Oh, I’m sure he’s not stupid. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t lost his mind.’
She was still on guard. What if Benny had instructed Simon to test her? To see whether she really was a traitor? She glanced at Simon. His expression was peaceful and serene. This slave labour didn’t seem to bother him. It seemed no one could make that strong back and rough hands crack. He just kept working, rhythmically and cheerfully. Yet he was hiding these dark, forbidden thoughts.
‘Are you saying you want to leave, too?’
‘Nah, I’ll wait until it all comes crashing down. It will eventually.’
She was about to contradict him, but realized he truly meant it. There was no stress or hurry about Simon. He did what he’d always done: work.
‘What about the greenhouse?’
‘Well, I’m sure it’s completely ruined by now. I’ll probably end up there again once they run out of vegetables.’
She wanted to laugh out loud — they were so different and yet so alike. But she held back her laughter, because the barn door creaked and Benny was on his way back.
‘You might be right about Oswald,’ she whispered quickly, before Benny was within earshot.
That’s how it began. When Benny was around, they talked about permitted topics. Gardening and farming, stuff Simon knew about. They could even talk about books, because he’d read quite a bit. In the brief moments when Benny wasn’t looming over them, they talked about forbidden things. About Oswald and what was happening with ViaTerra.
Laughing and giggling were absolutely forbidden, so if their conversation sounded too chipper, Benny immediately got after them.
‘Stop laughing, for Christ’s sake. You have nothing to laugh about. Franz is working his ass off while you’re just loafing around here. That’s three laps around the manor.’
So they plodded around the manor in their heavy winter boots and grinned at each other when they were out of Benny’s sight. Sofia had thought about the Benny situation — could they turn him? Get him on their side? But there was no spark in Benny’s eyes; his gaze was so listless that it never quite lit on any particular spot. It was as if the individual himself had checked out, leaving only an obedient shell behind.
She scratched a line into a wall of the barn for each passing day. She felt grief when she accumulated a week’s worth of lines, but her eagerness to get away was fading and she fell into a routine. The hard work took its toll on her body. Her hands were soon calloused, red, and chapped, and her knuckles were so dry they split and bled. Her back and joints ached from all the toiling and the relentless cold. She’d always been thin, but she didn’t even dare to guess what she weighed now. Her ribs stuck out so much she could feel them through her thick winter coat. At last Benny took mercy on her and made her drink milk, straight from the cow. It tasted horrid but her body began to recover.
The days were still short and it seemed like they were surrounded with endless darkness. She thought of her parents every night when she went to bed, closing her eyes and recalling their faces. Sometimes she could barely remember what they looked like, and the details got fuzzier the harder she tried. Sofia and Simon were not allowed to send emails or make phone calls under any circumstances, but they were allowed to send handwritten letters. It was hard to come up with anything to write. It was mostly all ‘I’m fine. I miss you. I love you.’ But she still wrote. And didn’t receive a single letter in response. When she asked Benny about it, he just shrugged.
What if Oswald makes me stay here for years? She thought sometimes. What if he forgets I even exist? The very thought seemed like it might tip her over into insanity, so she let it go and focused on her work. She tried to concentrate on the positives: they could spend time outside and breathe the fresh air. They would get to experience spring when it came to the island. And the pigs were happy and healthy now that she and Simon were taking care of them.
*
The landscape around the manor was barren and colourless that winter. The winter before, the whole courtyard had shimmered with lights and lanterns. Now it was naked and cold in its winter garb. The fog was thick almost every morning, which meant it was impossible to see past the walls. The yard had transformed into a field of black and white thanks to the dark, bare tree trunks and the endless snow that covered the ground, the roofs, and the treetops. The pond was frozen and empty. The manor house itself, which gleamed white in the summertime, looked greyish against the snow, and the warm lights glowing from its windows at night just made it seem even sadder. But she wasn’t looking forward to the summer. It was easier to be ostracized, frozen out, when everyone else was suffering in the cold as well.
Oswald had expelled her from the manor house on January fifteenth. Forty-two days later, she saw the first snowdrop. Rays of sunshine had just freed it from a snowbank, and the tiny flower bowed its head, dangling in the light breeze. She touched it so very gently, deciding that it must be a sign.
‘I guess spring is coming after all,’ said Simon.
It was the day Sofia saw Benjamin again for the first time.
He must have been intentionally avoiding her, because he was the only person she hadn’t seen pass by now and then. Benny was gone for a while that morning, and suddenly Benjamin was there.
All the pent-up feelings welled up afresh as she looked at him. He was just standing in front of her, a small, wrinkled note in hand. She thought she could see his legs trembling slightly.
‘It’s not like you think, Sofia,’ he said.
‘I never want to speak to you again.’
He held up the note.
‘Take this,’ he said. ‘In case you ever need it. In case you manage to get out of here.’
She took the note from his hand. A series of numbers was written on it. She let go of it so it floated to the ground, then turned her back on him. When she turned around again, he was gone. Simon gave her a pointed look.
‘He’s a pig,’ she said.
‘Maybe, but that note might be good to have one day.’
She bent down and picked it up. The moisture had almost erased some of the digits, but she could still read it. A phone number. And a name. ‘Vanja Frisk.’ She sighed and stuffed it in her pocket.
*
That was the day their little crew grew. Sofia knew Madeleine was Oswald’s secretary again. She’d seen her walking by, at first with a superior smile on her face, but more recently she had looked browbeaten, running around the property with a hounded expression Sofia knew well. She was immediately filled with delight at Madeleine’s pain.
Madeleine was so easy to bully. She was much weaker than Sofia, who thought smugly that Madeleine’s days were numbered. That it was only a matter of time. And later on, Sofia would make sure she was visible from the manor house windows now and then.
Benny was gone for a long time that evening. His pager had gone off, and he looked upset when he read the message. He shot out of the barn like an arrow, leaving Sofia and Simon to their task of spreading straw in the stalls. He was gone for several hours, and Sofia had almost started to think they might have a chance of escaping over the fence. But one glance out of the window and she changed her mind. Snow was whirling through the air. Just when it seemed that spring was on the way.
She and Simon worked slowly and chatted as they absentmindedly covered the stall floors with straw. All to remain in the warmth of the barn for as long as they could.
When Benny returned, he was not alone. He was leading a teary-eyed, pale Madeleine by the arm.
‘Here’s a new team-mate for you,’ he said.
A tiny, evil spirit turned somersaults in Sofia’s heart.
They can’t see me, but I can see and hear them from my spot behind the tree.
I know exactly who he is. She has described him to me.
And what an attitude. A conceited, fat idiot; I can smell the creep on him from way over here.
She doesn’t spend breaks alone anymore. There’s a little gang she hangs around with now. They’re all like her — awkward, ugly, ungainly — but even so, they’re a group.
He comes up behind her, grabs her by the back of the neck, and squeezes. He knees her in the back.
The others scatter, but she stays put. She says something to him, then points in my direction.
He follows her up to the wooded area where I’m waiting.
‘Do you want a beating, you little witch?’ he says, shoving her until she nearly falls.
But I come from behind before he notices me.
I lock his arms and breathe down the back of his neck.
He screams when he looks back and sees me in my mask.
And that’s when she strikes. She pounds her fists into his stomach and groin, hammering until all the air goes out of him.
‘Hold on,’ I say. ‘What do you want to do with him? What do you really want to do?’
‘Kill the pig,’ she says with no hesitation. She’s excited. Almost beautiful. Her eyes burn.
‘Then do it! Come on!’
She pulls the switchblade from her pocket and holds it up for him to see. The tip is aimed at one eye, and he roars like a madman.
But break is over. No one can hear him now.
Then she stabs him. First in the arms — tiny punctures that drip blood. She kicks him in the crotch with all her might.
He hollers and collapses, but he can’t get out of my grip.
She’s not done; now she’s aiming for his chest, but I pull his heavy body out of range.
Instead she falls to her knees and drives the blade into his leg, all the way up to the hilt.
She’s just about to withdraw it and attack again, but I stop her with a yell.
‘Stop. Have you forgotten the rules?’
‘To the very limit,’ she pants.
‘Right. Let’s get out of here,’ I say.
I let go of him and he falls to the ground with a thud.
We run into the woods.
She’s giggling.
All the while, we can hear him groaning and whimpering.