There was a protracted silence.
‘I’m sorry, who’s calling?’
‘You can tell him this is Sofia and I won’t hang up until I speak with him.’
‘Sofia, there must be some mistake, he —’
‘There’s no mistake. I know he’s there. And I want to talk to him.’
Don’t give up! Stand your ground!
‘But you know he —’
‘If he won’t talk to me, I’ll call Oswald and tell him he’s alive. Tell him that.’
‘Jesus Christ, give it up! That’s enough.’
The mild voice had transformed, turning truly mean.
‘But I won’t give up, that’s the thing,’ she said, letting a bit of desperation into her voice. ‘I need his help, okay?’
‘Hold on!’
The line went silent again. For way too long. At first she thought Vanja had hung up on her, but then she heard a faint murmur in the background.
It seemed to take forever. An unpleasant bitter taste filled her mouth and her body was tingling.
‘Sofia.’
It was his voice, but it sounded different on the phone — weak and thin. She thought her heart would stop. It really was his voice.
‘Sofia, are you there?’
‘Oh my god! You’re alive!’
‘It’s not like you think —’
‘No, this time it is exactly like I think! Let me talk, don’t hang up. You betrayed me when we were going to run away, and you let everyone think . . . goddammit, you are such a lying bastard!’
He fell silent again, and cleared his throat.
‘There was no other way out. I did what I had to do. It is my life after all, Sofia.’
‘I liked you better when you were dead.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘It’s true.’
Silence again. A long moment.
‘I’ve read the papers. What did you do? Where are you?’ he said at last.
‘Okay, look, this time it’s not what you think.’
‘But you have to go to the police, give back Franz’s things.’
‘You and he can kiss my ass.’
‘Don’t be like that.’
‘He’s a murderer, Benjamin. He’s been strangling Elvira with a belt in the attic.’
‘What? You’re hysterical.’
‘No I’m not. There’s so much . . . I can’t tell you everything over the phone. You have to come here; I need help.’
‘Where are you?’
‘If you fail me one more time . . .’
‘I won’t.’
‘When were you planning to stop playing dead?’
‘Once everything on Fog Island was all figured out. I was just going to lay low until there was some sort of change there.’
‘Why couldn’t you just have left? You had the chance every single day.’
‘I couldn’t. He would have come after me. I know too much . . . it’s kind of complicated, Sofia.’
‘Don’t say my name like that. Like we’re friends.’
‘Sorry. I can come and help you. Where are you? I’ll rent a car.’
‘How can you do that when you don’t exist?’
‘Oh fine, I’ll take Vanja’s. Sofia, I’ll come, but promise me we won’t argue. We’re so different. I just take off when I can’t handle something any more. You get angry and fight back.’
‘Does Oswald know you’re alive?’
‘Hell no.’
‘So he came to your funeral and everything?’
‘He sure did.’
‘A real funeral, with guests and everything?’
‘No, not yet. He gave us money. Vanja was going to wait a while.’
Now she couldn’t hold back a chuckle. She felt warm and weightless.
‘A dead man and a wanted runaway. I’m sure we can work it out.’
He was laughing now too.
‘Tell me where you are, and I’ll hop in the car.’
‘You’re not going to like it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s going to take like fifteen or twenty hours to drive here.’
‘Sofia, I miss you so much.’
‘Me too, until I realized you weren’t dead.’
But she did miss him in that moment. So much that her chest ached. She didn’t know how she would manage to wait for him to arrive. Just the thought of having him there, having someone to talk to, made her feel giddy.
‘Your sister. She won’t say anything, will she?’
‘Never. But listen, I can’t borrow her phone, so you’ll just have to wait for me to get there.’
‘You don’t have a phone yet? What have you been doing all this time?’
‘Lying low, although there’s some stuff I have to tell you. But we’ll deal with that when I get there.’
I really should hate him for what he did, she thought after they hung up. But there was no hate in her. Just the fact that he was alive was miraculous and sufficient, all on its own. That was all he had to do, keep living and come to her. She only wanted him to hurry. She’d never wanted anything so much.
Suddenly the little cottage was very quiet. Even the blackbird had stopped singing outside the open window. She wanted to take a walk on the island, go see the people at the campground. Talk to someone. Walk down to the beach and take an evening dip.
But she was no idiot, so she decided to turn on the TV instead. This was the only human contact she would get until Benjamin arrived. She pressed the button, but the screen remained dark. It turned out the appliance was unplugged; once it was on, she found a news channel.
The segment came on almost immediately. It started with a picture of her: the missing cult member who was assumed to be involved in some type of theft. Then came a clip from some official building, and Oswald was suddenly being interviewed, as if he were simply on his way somewhere.
‘We only want to find Sofia. We’re so anxious for her. She’s part of our big family, you know.’
He looked concerned. Honest. There was genuine worry in his eyes, and the worst part was that he was so handsome that all of Sweden would believe him right off the bat. He was wearing a suit and was tanned and clean-shaven. The camera zoomed in on his hands, which were folded and resting lightly over his jacket.
Liar! Bastard!
‘And what is your novel about?’
‘No comment,’ he was quick to say. He gave a secretive smile, turned around, and walked off.
But then the picture changed to a studio sofa, and there sat Magnus Strid. He looked just as she remembered him, a bit flabby and dressed carelessly in a sweater and high-water pants that showed his socks and a decent amount of leg. The camera zoomed in on his face.
‘So what do you think of all this, Magnus? You’ve been there, after all, to write about the cult,’ said the woman interviewing him.
‘I think something’s not right. I met Sofia Bauman while I was there. She was ambitious and pleasant and seemed mentally stable. I believe she has good reason to be in hiding. Or perhaps she is even in danger out there on Fog Island. It’s even possible that someone in the cult has made up the part about how she stole those things.’
‘So it is a cult?’
‘Definitely. It fulfils all the criteria.’
They discussed this for a while. Strid took the opportunity to mention that he was planning to write a book about ViaTerra, a nonfiction piece.
‘So, Magnus, if Sofia were watching this program right now, what would you want to say to her?’
He looked straight into the camera.
‘Contact me, Sofia, and we’ll figure this out. I promise to help you.’
Her first impulse was to throw herself on her backpack, find Strid’s card, and call him. But then she realized it was more complicated than that, because he didn’t know anything about the Dictaphone, Elvira, or Östling. It would be Sofia and a journalist against the whole police force; what would happen? It was better to wait for Benjamin to arrive, but then it struck her that Benjamin might have set a trap. That he might come with Oswald and all the police in tow. She didn’t know which way was up, and all she wanted to do was put an end to these racing thoughts.
You have to think like him. Feel the way he does.
There was something about the news segment. Oswald’s hands! His pinkie finger was trembling, just a tiny bit, as it always did when he was upset and had to keep a lid on his anger. He’s agonizing, she thought. He’s truly tormented by this.
Frantically she searched for a different news channel and waited impatiently for the segment to come up again. And there it was. The close-up of his hands. His littlest finger dancing against the fabric of his jacket.
She wished she could send a telepathic message his way.
I hate you more than anyone else could.
The same words he said to Karin before he left the island so long ago.
There was only one thing to do now: settle in and wait for Benjamin. He would understand more of this.
She found a movie on TV, and watched it, and another after it. The cottage had grown chilly, so she pulled the blanket up to her chin. She found another movie and watched until she fell asleep.
In the middle of the night she woke up and thought her grandmother was standing over her, next to the sofa. She knew it was a dream, but she still thought she saw a shadow fade slowly as she opened her eyes. Then she heard a persistent scraping sound.
There was someone on the roof.
It sounded like someone was carving something into the roofing tiles or trying to dig their way in through the ceiling. She sat up and found that the window was still half open; she had no idea what was going on. She got up and slipped over to the window, trying to look up at the roof, but she couldn’t see anything. The sound kept coming and even got louder. She stole into the kitchen and grabbed the largest knife hanging on the wall, then went to the door and opened it a crack so she could stick out her head and look up.
There sat a magpie, its beak shoved under a tile.
‘God, you scared me!’ she said loudly, shooing it away. She locked the door and dragged herself back to the sofa, her head still pounding. For a while, she lay still, letting her hands slip over her breasts and belly, under her shirt. Thinking about how it had felt when Benjamin stroked her there. She missed him so much it hurt.
*
When she woke up, the sun had found her feet through the window and was warming them. He’ll be here soon! was her first thought when she opened her eyes.
While she waited, she sunned herself in the yard. She was sure no one could see her through the hedge. It felt nice at first, but then the summer tourists began to pass by on their way to the beach, and every time she heard voices she thought it was Benjamin, Oswald, and a gang of police officers. At last she wrapped her towel around her shoulders and went back inside.
After a lunch of noodles she turned on the news, but there was nothing new on Oswald or Sofia herself. It was almost three o’clock — he ought to have arrived.
What if something happened? she wondered. What if the police stop Benjamin and look him up in their database? Would it say he was dead?
She went to the bathroom to peer in the mirror and found she looked terrible. She was still pale from the winter and her hair was going every which way. On a whim, she decided to make herself pretty for him. To smell good when he arrived. She hopped in the shower and began to sing as she washed up.
Just as she finished rinsing her hair and turned off the water, she heard a whistle in the yard. A gentle, melodic tone — at first she thought it was coming from some unusual bird.
She hurried to dry her thick, wet mane and wrapped the towel around her body. When she went out to the yard, she found Benjamin with two big grocery bags in hand and a big smile on his lips, as if nothing had happened.