SLOWLY BUT SURELY HER DESIRE for revenge intensified. The feeling grew more and more powerful each day.
As she sat at the kitchen table with a glass of water in her hand, her thoughts drifted back to that fateful day. In the background Estranged by Gun’s & Roses was playing.
The memory of how events had transpired was still painful. After returning to Stockholm, following the incident in Malmö, Kim was an emotional wreck and prone to extreme mood swings. The doctor diagnosed her with a borderline personality disorder. It was terrifying. She had been plunged into total isolation and forced to take extended sick leave, an intervention that resulted in further negative consequences as she found herself mired in a deep depression compounded by attacks of agoraphobia and constant nightmares. Her life was turned completely upside down.
After a series of pointless visits to the doctor and ineffective treatment with tranquilizers and painkillers she had decided to try and return to work on a part-time basis. Hopefully working would focus her mind on something other than the intense anger she felt towards the men who had violated her.
Kim decided to try to live in the present. It was time to make up for all those lost years, for her own sake as well as for her family and friends.
Her social circle was quite small but the first person she thought of was Freja, an old school friend; in their youth they had been best friends, sharing both the good times and the bad times.
However, later on their lives had diverged. Freja had fallen in love with a man from Skåne. They got married and after she moved to Malmö they met only sporadically, maintaining minimal contact through Facebook.
One evening, on a whim, Kim picked up the phone and called her and within minutes they were chatting like the old days. They were genuinely overjoyed and began to plan a two-week reunion in the family’s summerhouse, together with Freja’s daughter.
The get-together was a great success. The days were warm and sunny and they revelled in the fresh country air.
Unfortunately, their delightful holiday was cut short by an unexpected turn of events. Freja’s daughter became seriously ill and they were forced to take her to the hospital in Malmö. After being informed that the little girl would be admitted overnight for observation, Kim decided to take the train home to Stockholm.
Kim went into the living room to turn off the music and then returned to the kitchen. She couldn’t shake off the memory, which was so vivid it could have happened yesterday.
She gulped down the water and continued to brood on the events of that day four years ago.
SHE FELT DESPONDENT. Dark clouds gathered over the city and heavy rain began to fall, prompting her to run and seek shelter under a tree.
The downpour persisted. She ran towards Malmö Central Station and entered the large glass hall. It was an imposing building and, despite the late hour, there were still a lot of people milling around or sitting waiting for their trains.
Kim felt wretched. She was completely drenched and even her hair was dripping wet. A dog at the feet of its master shook the excess water from its fur. Kim barely noticed and made her way directly to the ticket machine. Unfortunately, the only available tickets were for the night train at 10:30.
She groaned and began to feel restless. This definitely wasn’t her day. On another occasion it might have been pleasant to hang around in Malmö by herself for more than an hour, but at that point all she wanted to do was get out of there.
Clutching the ticket in her hand she looked around for somewhere to change out of her wet clothes. She picked up her rucksack and walked towards the ladies room.
Kim got up from the chair and paced the room.
If only she had waited at the station until the train arrived. It was obvious she was being assaulted on all sides by malicious forces that refused to back down.
What happened in Malmö was a sign that she needed to act. But the question was how? In the course of time the solution had come to her. A dreadful solution, which was irreversible. She was left with no alternative but to carry out the rest of the plan.
She poured water into the coffee percolator and watched the hot liquid drip down into the jug.
Kim may have been physically inside the apartment but her mind was elsewhere.
The rain continued and Kim decided to wait it out in a pub near the station.
Upon entering the bar she was greeted by a warm stream of air that smelled of old beer and smoke, the residual effects of a generation of drinkers and smokers. The pub’s interior was in a state of quiet decay with tired décor and faded walls. There was a semi-circular mahogany bar, heavily scratched and covered in stains, groups of rickety tables and chairs and a threadbare floor.
The pub was full and the noise level deafening. In the background November Rain by Guns N’ Roses was playing. A fitting song, she remembered thinking as she scanned the room hoping to see familiar faces among the guests.. She walked over to the bar and ordered a beer.
Kim took out her iPhone to see if she had received any interesting mail and catch up on Facebook. It didn’t take long before a man approached her.
“Hi,” he said with a deep, dark voice.
She looked up. Her eyes met his and she froze.
Kim’s first instinct was to tell him to go to hell. But when she realised he didn’t have a clue who she was, she stood there paralysed, unsure of her next move. She felt her blood boil. Anger welled up inside her but instead of glaring at him and countering his confident banter with insults and put downs, she decided to play along. She must keep calm.
Her defences were up. She watched every movement he made as he prattled on and on, occasionally placing his hand in his pocket.
She pretended to listen.
He was eloquent and certainly knew how to charm a woman. In fact, he appeared pleasant enough. But that was on the surface – she knew full well what he was capable of.
She looked at him curiously, wondering what he had in mind. However, it didn’t take long before her suspicions were confirmed.
He attempted to slip something into her drink but then had second thoughts.
This was exactly what she had expected yet she couldn’t help exploding inside with anger and indignation.
This time she had no intention of letting him get away with it. She suggested going to his place.
“How nice, I was just going to suggest the same thing,” he said, smiling triumphantly.
FINALLY SHE WAS GOING to take a stand and make him pay for his actions.
She could still hear his voice echoing in her head, “Let’s go to my summer cottage, it’s more peaceful.”
As he drove further and further out of town she became more and more convinced of his malicious intentions. This didn’t surprise her. Although she hadn’t been prepared for this encounter, at the back of her head she had always half envisaged something like this would happen.
By nature she was a calculating person and, in circumstances like this, the key was to keep up the pretence, not ask too many questions or protest about the distance they were travelling. He would only make excuses or silence her in another way.
She was vigilant but not frightened. Since that day she always carried pepper spray in her handbag, and this time she at least had the advantage of foresight.
The journey to the cottage proceeded in silence. He inserted a Bruce Springsteen CD and turned up the volume. As he hummed merrily to the tune she occupied herself preparing a brief mental plan of what would happen once they reached their destination.
After almost an hour on the motorway they turned onto a narrow gravel road, which led to an old cottage, almost hidden from view and enclosed by wild thickets and mature trees.
He parked behind the house.
“At last,” she said, forcing a smile. Her calm expression was a mask. Inside, she was anything but confident as she calculated whether she had the will power to survive the rest of that endless week.
They climbed out of the car and were met by a faint smell of creosote from the log cabin.
“Here we are,” he said, unlocking the door.
They entered a large, open-plan room. She let the man make himself comfortable, although, in truth, he seemed rather uptight. He disappeared into what she assumed was the bedroom.
She hung up her jacket and perused the accommodation.
It was a small cottage of approximately forty-five square metres. Under a window overlooking the garden and occupying much of the room, was a shabby leather sofa. There was a small table across from it with two chairs on either side, as well as an old TV.
She entered the bedroom, which was about half the size as the main room and housed a large, double bed. He was busy rummaging in the drawer of the bedside table. She didn’t have time to focus on him, however. She wanted to check out the rest of the cottage. To the left of the bedroom there was a simple bathroom with a shower and dry toilet.
“You have a shower, that’s luxury,” she said. “Do you have a well?”
“Yeah.”
Kim sighed dejectedly and ran her hand through her cropped hair. Her heart was pounding and an unpleasant sensation crept into the pit of her stomach.
As she walked out of the bedroom the man suddenly grabbed her from behind, putting his arms around her and groping her breasts. In that instant she was so overcome with revulsion that she managed to summon almost superhuman strength, shoving him away and striking him on the neck with such force that he fell down onto the floor, motionless.
Using his belt she quickly bound his wrists behind his back, then took off her own belt and firmly bound his feet. She dragged him back into the bedroom and heaved him up onto the bed. There was no time to lose. She must act quickly, otherwise when he regained consciousness she would be done for.
She acted with cold-blooded indifference.
She pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him, waiting.
The time passed in complete silence.
After a few minutes he regained consciousness. He looked at her, confused and angry. When he discovered he was tied up he went berserk, convulsing his muscles and heaving his chest up and down trying to free himself.
“What the hell?” he shouted.
She stared at him unmoved.
“Having a hard time?” she mocked. His anger didn’t faze her in the least – she had the situation well under control.
Suddenly she hurried out of the bedroom and entered the grubby kitchen. She ransacked the cupboards and, armed with a pair of rubber gloves, scissors and a sharp knife, she returned to the bedroom.
Although he had calmed down by then, he was still wary of her. She had outwitted him. There was no point in shouting for help or screaming, the nearest neighbour was half a mile away.
He raised his eyebrows in fear as she approached him holding a pair of scissors and a knife.
“What the hell are you going to do?” he cried.
“Belt up!” she instructed, waving the knife at his face. “I don’t want to hear a sound from you! If you scream I’ll cut your throat!”
He stared at her, terrified.
She put on the rubber gloves. Although she planned to wipe everything down before leaving the house it was important not to make her job more difficult by leaving fingerprints.
“Now I’m going to remove your clothes,” she announced, slicing open his garments with the scissors.
Sweat poured down his forehead as he writhed and twisted in fear.
“I’ll be damned. It’s you!”
“Yes. It’s me.” Her voice pierced him to the core.
The colour drained from his face and the sweat glistened on his naked body.
She turned the chair around and straddled it, her arms resting on the back.
He held his breath and watched her, his expression in constant flux as he tried to take stock of the situation.
Minutes of uncertainty passed while she weighed up her options.
All of a sudden the neighbours turned on their stereo and the sound of “All I Ask of You” from The Phantom of the Opera thundered through the walls.
Her eyes filled with tears. It was a song that reminded her of her ex-boyfriend. Their romance had ended abruptly when his company unexpectedly relocated him to England – a job offer that he could hardly refuse, not that he wanted to. He moved, and the very same week the rest of her life fell to pieces.
The music stopped.
She felt empty. Thoughts of her lost love were supplanted by other more painful memories. She could remember every touch, every violation. Her heart pounded and she could hardly breathe.
She was trapped in an alternative reality where the memory of different events in her life kept intersecting. Once again her thoughts returned to Malmö.
After spending at least half an hour weighing up her options, she decided to go ahead and teach him a lesson he would never forget. Spurred on by the memory of how he had treated her, she grew more and more determined. She returned to the kitchen.
He would have to be scrubbed absolutely clean. In the cupboard under the sink she pulled out a bottle of Ajax and some liquid green soap, as well as a bottle of chlorine buried deep at the back, which she then discarded. It was difficult to improvise. She continued into the bathroom and opened a cupboard above the sink containing an assortment of toiletries, including shaving cream, lotion, and razor blades. She reached for a bottle of acetone.
Did he paint his nails? She returned to the bedroom to look. Yes, they were painted with an almost invisible nail polish that gave a natural sheen. Holding the bottle in her hand she sat down and glared at him.
He looked at the bottle in consternation.
The atmosphere was tense.
She sat in silence, barely moving and uncertain of what to do next. Suddenly, she hurried back to the kitchen, opened a drawer under the kitchen counter and took out a roll of heavy-duty grey tape and some household paper and returned to the bedroom. With sudden determination she tore off several sheets of paper, scrunched them into a ball.
As she tried to stuff the paper into his mouth he bit down as hard as he could and shook his head violently.
“Open your mouth, goddammit!”
Kim climbed onto the bed and straddled him. She squeezed his nostrils and when he opened his mouth to breathe she stuffed the ball of paper down his throat and wound the tape tightly around his mouth and neck.
Then she set to work.
SHE SCRUBBED AND SCRUBBED almost hysterically.
What have I done? Damn, what have I done? She paced the room. The man’s lifeless body lay on the bed, his expressionless eyes staring up at the ceiling.
The colour drained from her face. She couldn’t think clearly; her body shook violently and her legs could barely support her.
”Pull yourself together, goddammit!” she said slapping her face in rage. She staggered over to the nearest chair and flopped down.
Why… Why did she do it? She burst into wild, uncontrollable tears. She hadn’t intended to kill him but once he had recognized her she was left with no alternative; she couldn’t take the risk, he must be silenced for good.
She had been determined to forget the whole episode and move on, but then he had tried to drug her a second time and all she could think of was her indescribable thirst for revenge. Revenge!
It had all happened so quickly. She had acted on instinct. In full control of her senses this time, there was no way he was going to mess with her.
Kim walked over to the window. She had promised herself not to keep reliving the event but thoughts pulsated inside her head like a ticking time bomb. Was it guilt?
She definitely hadn’t misinterpreted his malicious intentions. He had been about to slip something into her drink but she had managed to move her beer glass out of the way just in time. Kim smiled sadly. He knew full well the potency of beer mixed with drugs.
Kim was very careful not to leave any clues or technical evidence behind that could potentially bind her to the scene. She had gone around the entire cottage with a bottle of chlorine in one hand and a rag in the other, thoroughly wiping clean any surface where she might have left fingerprints. She also vacuumed every room and deposited the dust bag with the rest of the rubbish into a plastic bag, which she stuffed into her rucksack. Nothing would be left to chance.
There was a theory that a criminal always kept a token from the scene of their crime and always left something behind. But not in this case – she would discard the plastic bag before climbing aboard the train back to Stockholm.
Kim made a mental analysis of all the nooks and crannies in the cottage then closed the door behind her and left the property.
After a couple of hundred metres she remembered the car. She turned back and made her way towards the vehicle, opened the passenger door and wiped the seat and floor and everything she might have touched.
THE PATH WAS STONY AND NARROW and edged by thick woodland. In the darkness all she could hear were crickets and owls and the leaves of the asp trees swaying in the breeze like instruments playing a symphony.
She was grateful to technology – without the GPS app on her iPhone she would never have found her way. Luckily, the man also had a navigation system in his car, which enabled her to trace their route as they were driving to the cottage.
The best way back to Malmö was along the road they came, even though it was by far the longest. She had never been in the area before and walking through the forest would be much too risky. In addition, the technology on her phone might not work due to bad reception.
She was physically fit and regularly jogged twenty kilometres so this wasn’t the first time she had covered such a vast distance.
Exhausted and miserable, she finally arrived back in civilization three hours later.
Buildings lined the road. Under the clear sky stood rows of houses that appeared to have been designed by the same architect. All that distinguished one house from another were the plants in the gardens. Despite her dejected state of mind she remembered noticing these details. She used to joke about her ability to observe things around her and explain that it was an occupational hazard.
Further along was the town centre, consisting of a small supermarket, petrol station and two rows of bus stops separated by Plexiglas. A few early birds sat on benches waiting for a bus. She checked the timetable and discovered that one to Malmö Central Station was arriving soon.