Come unto Me

JOHN AJVIDE LINDQVIST

Translated by Marlaine Delargy

I

For the second time in less than a month, Annika was walking up the aisle of the church with Robert. This time they didn’t continue as far as the altar but turned aside and slipped into a pew at the front of the chancel. The spot where they had exchanged their wedding vows was now occupied by a black coffin.

Inside the coffin lay Albert, Robert’s father, who was the former managing director of Axryd’s, Sweden’s largest bread manufacturer. The church was packed. There were few friends, but on the other hand plenty of interested parties had turned up—people whose welfare was linked to Axryd’s successes in a variety of ways: representatives from overseas branches, shareholders, directors of subcontractors . . .

People kept looking at Robert, exchanging glances, murmuring among themselves. He was the only child and the sole heir. Everything depended on him now. Robert’s soft fingers drummed on the cover of the hymnbook and Annika stroked his wedding ring; she took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently.

She couldn’t say that she knew him. A dating website had brought them together on the basis of their mutual interest in literature in general and Selma Lagerlöf in particular. They had clicked. They had found plenty to talk about: books they had read, films they had seen, countries they had visited. They shared the same opinions, and they laughed at the same things.

He was forty-five, she was forty-one. They had both picked their way through a number of doomed relationships, including marriages, and were afraid of a lonely old age. They had a great deal in common, including this fear. When Robert proposed after six months, Annika saw no reason to turn him down. They had such fun together.

Robert was reluctant to talk about either his family or the company, and it wasn’t until they announced the wedding that Annika realized how rich they actually were. Robert’s father paid for everything, with no expense spared—the bus drawn by four white horses, the symphony orchestra, the castle, the reception catered by chefs with a national reputation for excellence, five hundred guests. It was a fairy-tale wedding, where Annika felt like an uninvited guest.

Albert’s generosity hadn’t done him much good. During the reception he had embarked upon the journey that would eventually lead him to the black coffin.

“Far beyond the starry skies . . .”

The cantor’s voice echoed desolately beneath the vaulted ceiling as the congregation mimed the words. Maintaining one’s dignity, keeping one’s distance: these were the watchwords in the alien world into which Annika had married. Robert stood there with his lips firmly clamped together, staring at the sea of extravagant wreaths before the altar, the final farewells to a powerful man.

It was difficult to make a connection between these accolades and the skinny little old man who had stood up to make a speech at the wedding reception. Albert had to cling on to the table with both hands just to get to his feet, and he managed only a few sentences before he collapsed.

A collective gasp passed through the magnificent room, and Robert fell to his knees by Albert’s side, supporting his father’s head in his hands as he shouted, “Call an ambulance!”

Albert grasped Robert’s wrist and whispered, “No.”

“Dad, we have to get you to hospital.”

“We need to talk first.”

“We can talk later, Dad. We’ve got—”

“Now!” the old man hissed. “We need to talk now!”

He was intractable, and eventually Robert picked up his frail body and carried him to a nearby room, where he laid him down on a sofa. Annika fetched a glass of water and placed it on a chair by his side.

“So,” Robert said to his father, “what was it you wanted to tell me?”

Albert waved impatiently at Annika. “Not her. Just you.”

“Dad,” Robert said, “Annika is my wife now, and if you have anything to say to me—”

“Out. I want her out of here.”

Robert sighed and made a move to walk away, but Annika placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said. “You two talk. I’ll go.”

She kissed Robert gently on the cheek and left the room. As she closed the door behind her she was surrounded and whisked away by wedding guests, wanting to know how Albert was. That was when she began to realize how important the company was to those present.

Annika heard stories about Axryd’s. How a simple miller, Robert’s great-great-grandfather, had started baking bread, and soon came to dominate the market in Tingsryd. Under the leadership of Albert’s grandfather, the firm had conquered half of the province of Småland with bakeries in many different locations, and had then gone on to spread both north and south.

A series of wise strategic decisions, combined with a certain element of ruthlessness, had led to the expansion of the company during subsequent generations. Was Robert the right man to take up the reins?

The door opened and Robert slipped out to inform the paramedics that they could take his father. His shoulders slumped as he walked, his head was down and he didn’t even look in Annika’s direction.

People flocked around the stretcher, trooping after it on the way to the ambulance, then waving good-bye as if they were bidding farewell to a ship embarking on a long voyage, its destination far from home. Robert stood there with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the gravel drive.

Annika went over and tucked her arm beneath his. “Hello, you.”

Robert looked up. The skin around his eyes was taut, and his lips trembled slightly as he said, “Oh. Yes. Hello.”

“How are you doing?”

He swallowed and looked at her as if he was about to say something. Then he shook his head, changed tack and said, “I think I need . . . a little time out.”

With those words he left her and headed toward an arbor at the back of the castle. Annika watched him walk away, but had to go back inside with the guests, since it wasn’t really acceptable for both bride and groom to disappear from the celebrations.

Half an hour later she made her way to a window overlooking the arbor. Robert was sitting motionless on a stone seat. His hands were resting on his knees, and his face was frozen in an agonized expression.

Annika touched her wedding ring. What have I let myself in for?

She hadn’t known then, and she still didn’t know now. Albert had passed away a week later, and from then until the funeral Robert had been constantly involved in meetings with solicitors, accountants and advisers. Annika went to work on the Lancôme counter at the Åhléns department store as usual, but every day she came home to an empty five-room apartment on Strandvägen.

She had fallen in love with a playboy, but now she was married to a company director who must be quickly tempered in the fire in order to fulfill his role. Robert had had a privileged upbringing. He had been given whatever he wanted; anything he asked for had been done. While Albert was still alive, Annika had accompanied Robert on a number of occasions to the mansion in Djursholm where he had grown up. It was just over ten kilometers from the rented apartment in Råcksta where she had spent her childhood, but it might as well have been in a different country. Or on a different planet.

As long as Robert had been a carefree bon vivant, their shared interests and preferences had fooled Annika into thinking they were alike. With the death of his father, a deep-seated aspect of Robert’s character had been forced to the surface, one that was all about blood, family, tradition and responsibility. The problem was that Annika was now a part of this family and this responsibility. She had no idea how she was going to handle that.

And there was something she hadn’t told Robert. Something closely linked to family and bloodlines. She was unable to have children. Ever since Albert’s death she had been dreading the day when the topic would arise. Perhaps today would be that day, now that Robert’s predecessor had been laid in his grave, and it was time to think about his successor.

With a lump in her stomach, Annika got to her feet in the pew to mime along with the final hymn, after which the congregation began to file past the coffin in order to pay their last respects. Annika took Robert’s hand. It was ice-cold; she raised it to her lips and breathed warm air onto it as she smiled at him. His expression didn’t change one iota; he just kept on staring darkly in the direction of the coffin.

Annika followed his gaze and saw the most handsome man she had ever set eyes on. He hadn’t attended their wedding; she would have remembered. She had plenty of time to look at him, because he spent an age standing at the head of the coffin. He stood perfectly still, his fingers resting on the wood, his lips moving as if he was whispering something to the deceased.

Annika glanced around. Many of the guests were murmuring to each other, their heads close together. Some of the women were sitting openmouthed, staring at the man with a dreamy look in their eyes.

In spite of the fact that her question might be taken the wrong way, Annika just had to ask Robert, “Who’s that?” In order to sound more indifferent, she added, “I haven’t seen him before.”

Robert’s expression hardened and his lips narrowed. Then he said, “His name is Erik. He was my father’s . . . right-hand man.”

Erik had now left the coffin and was walking down the aisle toward his seat near the back of the church. As he passed Robert and Annika he nodded a greeting and smiled. Annika smiled back with some difficulty, since every drop of saliva had dried up and her tongue was stuck firmly to the roof of her mouth.

She wasn’t the kind of woman who fell head over heels for a good-looking guy; over the years she had enjoyed the attention of several men who could have been part of the Clooney or Pattinson families, but she had never reacted like this.

It wasn’t just the fact that Erik had a masculine beauty, with something of the Greek statue or a Paco Rabanne model about him; no, it was also the way he wore his beauty, the way one wears a favorite jumper that is far too big and faded from washing: totally relaxed, totally without pretension. He was probably about Annika’s age or a few years older, and the lines on his face served only to add character.

Several women stole a glance at Erik as he walked past, but Annika controlled herself and didn’t turn her head one millimeter.

That evening, when Annika and Robert were sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine, he took her hand.

“Darling,” he said, “I know I’ve been terribly busy, but it will be better now. Most things have been sorted out and you’ll be seeing more of me. If you think that’s a good idea, of course.”

“How can you say such a thing? Obviously it’s a good idea!”

“I might not be the most entertaining companion in the world. If you’ve changed your mind, then I won’t—”

Annika grabbed hold of the front of Robert’s shirt and pulled him close with such force that a few drops of wine spilled on the very expensive sofa. She kissed him fiercely and said, “Be quiet, you idiot. I married you because I want to be with you, okay?”

She put down her glass. He put down his. Then they subjected the expensive sofa to further depredations.

As they lay naked in each other’s arms afterward, Robert said, “This business of children . . .”

Annika tried not to stiffen, or to give any other indication that the topic terrified her. She merely nodded and said, “Yes?”

“I don’t know what your position is with regard to having children.”

In spite of the fear lurking in her breast, Annika couldn’t help smiling at Robert’s formal approach to such a personal matter. She turned the question back on him in the same format, “What’s your position?”

“I think . . .” he said as Annika held her breath. “I think it’s a bit overrated.”

Annika exhaled slowly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure. Absolutely sure. How about you?”

Robert seemed genuinely disinclined to have children, so after a moment’s consideration Annika decided to tell him the truth: that she couldn’t have children anyway.

Robert’s reaction was somewhat unexpected. His face lit up as if it had been struck by a sudden ray of sunlight; he held her tight and whispered, “That’s wonderful. Terrific. In that case we can . . . do as we please, without—”

He frowned, seemingly bewildered by his own sudden lack of formality.

Annika laughed; they kissed and cuddled, but just before they got carried away, a serious look came over Robert’s face. “There was one thing. We’re going to have to move. To Djursholm.”

“Okay,” Annika said, “fine by me. It’s a lovely place.”

“Yes,” Robert replied. “It is. It’s just that—”

“What? Do you think it’s too big for just the two of us?”

“No,” Robert said. “The thing is, Erik will be living there too.”

He explained the situation to Annika. On her brief visits to Djursholm she had seen very little apart from the drive and certain parts of the house. In fact, the property was quite extensive. There was a large garden, with a wide variety of trees and shrubs, a small lake teeming with imported carp, a barn housing six horses and an adjoining paddock. Annika would have recognized the names of two of the stallions if she had been interested in the sport of harness racing; they were now much sought after for breeding purposes.

All of this was Erik’s responsibility, and he also took care of other minor tasks as they arose.

“So he’s some kind of odd-job man?” Annika asked.

“Well, sort of,” Robert replied, refusing to look her in the eye. “He does lots of different things. And then there’s a cook and a cleaner too. Although they don’t live in.”

“But Erik does.”

“Yes.”

“And where exactly does he live? Has he got a place of his own?”

“No, he lives in the main house. He has a room.”

At some point in her life Annika had no doubt toyed with the idea of having staff. Now that the fantasy was about to become a reality, she discovered she wasn’t very keen. The thought of having someone around all the time, someone sleeping in the same house who could pop up at any moment . . . Plus the fact that this someone happened to be Erik . . . No, she wasn’t keen at all.

“Couldn’t we arrange things differently?” she said. “I mean, if it’s such a big place, then surely we could—”

She broke off as Robert shook his head. He cupped her face gently in his hands, and she heard a faint tremor in his voice as he said, “No. We can’t change things. It has to be this way.”

Robert’s final pronouncement was so definite and so serious that it remained hanging in the air between them and they fell silent; they lay there on the sofa, distractedly caressing each other’s skin. Annika gazed at her husband, whose expression had altered; he almost looked as if he might be on the verge of tears. She didn’t understand it. She really didn’t. “I was just wondering,” she said, “does this have anything to do with what your father wanted to talk about? At our wedding?”

Robert looked away. “Yes,” he said, “you could say that. Yes.”

A couple of days later, they started packing. Robert’s books alone filled fifty boxes. A removal firm came and collected household appliances and furniture. Some was going into storage, some was going to Djursholm. Annika and Robert followed the removal van to oversee the unloading, and they began by taking a closer look at the corner of the world that now belonged to them.

Annika may have had reservations about Erik, but no one could deny that he was a conscientious worker. It was the middle of July, and the garden was the very definition of “glorious.” Wherever they turned there was something new and beautiful to bring joy.

Flowering shrubs had been planted singly and in entrancing combinations, and fruit trees were placed apparently at random, yet in harmony with the garden as a whole. Clusters of showy annuals and perennials shared the space with meadow flowers in well-thought-out proportions, and climbers created lines that led the eye between the different areas of the garden. Not one fallen leaf could be seen on the ground.

“Do you like it?” Robert asked.

“I love it. Don’t you?”

“I suppose so.”

Presumably Robert was so used to the garden that he had stopped noticing it. Perhaps it was also linked to some painful memory, because he looked very gloomy.

“And what about the horses?” Annika asked.

“The horses,” Robert said, with a vague wave of his hand. “The horses are over there.”

They set off along a gravel path leading through a tunnel of rhododendron bushes. On the other side lay the lake, and Annika was just able to catch glimpses of the slow movements of large fish beneath the surface. The barn was beyond the lake, with the paddock extending down as far as the water’s edge. A familiar smell of hay, manure and animals drifted across to Annika, and she said, “Did I tell you I can ride?”

Robert sighed and shook his head. “No, you never mentioned that.”

“I used to go riding fairly regularly between the ages of ten and thirteen, but then we couldn’t afford it anymore.”

Whenever the difference in their financial circumstances during their childhood and teenage years arose, it led to an uncomfortable silence between them. It was as if Robert didn’t know how or what to ask. Annika had chosen to regard this as a charming ineptitude, but this time it annoyed her. His melancholy mood was casting a shadow over what should have been a sunny day, so she added blithely, “Mom was on benefits for a while after Dad left us.”

“Right, yes,” Robert said, opening the door.

The barn Annika walked into had very little in common with the scruffy metal structure in Råsunda where she had learned to ride. This place was more like a church. Huge windows had been inserted in the high ceiling, which was supported by a high wooden cruck frame. There was a small indoor school, and a hayloft. Both planking and beams were beautifully aged, with no trace of mold or rot. Bridles and reins shone as if they had just been oiled.

Annika looked around and shook her head. “Does one person look after all this and the garden?”

“Yes,” Robert replied. “Why do you ask?”

“How on earth does he manage it?”

Robert gazed around the barn, raising his eyebrows as if the thought had never occurred to him. “I suppose he works hard.”

Annika walked across the sawdust toward the horses’ loose boxes, inhaling deeply through her nose. It was so long since she had been inside a stable, and she had forgotten how much she loved it.

She was halfway across the school when the door of one of the loose boxes opened and Erik emerged. He had a body brush in one hand, and he was dressed in jeans and a red checked shirt. Annika’s footsteps, which had been confident and expectant, suddenly became a complex combination of poorly coordinated muscle movements and she stumbled over a nonexistent obstacle.

In the hope of avoiding further embarrassment, she stopped and pretended to admire the architecture, pushing her hands deep into the pockets of her pants. Erik came toward her, and if he had looked handsome in his suit, he was now incredibly attractive. His jeans hugged his muscular legs, and his chest was broad beneath the fabric of his shirt. Annika blinked and swallowed. Something jelly-like was trying to take over her body.

Enough! She clenched her fists in her pockets as Erik came closer. Enough!

What the hell was she thinking? A bit of a tumble in the hay with the stable lad while the master was away on business? Callused hands caressing silky soft skin, and Would madam care for a ride today? Had she turned into a character in some cheap, trashy novel?

Enough.

She took her hands out of her pockets and walked toward Erik, holding out her hand. He slipped off the grooming brush and shook hands. Touching him was nothing special. Nothing at all. One of the horses whinnied as Erik said something.

“Sorry?” Annika said, leaning closer.

“I said welcome home.”

“Thanks,” she said, letting go of his hand and taking a step back. Two things bothered her, and she hid the fact by looking over at Robert, who was ambling across the sawdust-covered ground.

First of all: Welcome home. Wasn’t that rather a strange thing to say? Secondly: if she had been harboring any fantasies concerning Erik, the smell of his breath had certainly put a stop to them. It was disgusting: a combination of rotting flesh and excrement that had almost made her retch when she leaned closer to him.

The visit to the stables was a short one. Annika declined the offer to take a closer look at the horses. She needed to get outside into the fresh air, and she made the excuse that they still had a great deal of unpacking to do.

As she and Robert were walking away from the stables, she said, “I don’t know if it’s just me, but . . . his breath.”

Robert sniggered, and at last something about his demeanor seemed to lift. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t know how the horses stand it.”

They laughed together, and it felt good. Annika tucked her arm beneath Robert’s, and at long last they strolled as man and wife through the paradise that had been given to them. As they approached the house, Robert stopped and turned to Annika.

“I was just wondering,” he said. “Are you thinking of going riding?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

Robert interlaced his fingers and began to twiddle his thumbs, which he had a tendency to do when he was nervous or ill at ease.

“I’d rather you didn’t visit the stables,” he said. “And I’d prefer it if you didn’t spend time with Erik, to be perfectly honest.”

“Why? Are you jealous? He is very good-looking . . .”

“No,” Robert said. “I don’t think that’s something you would be . . . capable of. But can we agree that you’ll stay away?”

Annika shrugged. “I do love riding, so I might well go over to the stables. With a clothes peg on my nose.”

Robert didn’t even smile at her little joke. Instead he shook his head sadly and said, “It’s your life. I’ve said what I wanted to say.”

He walked toward the house without taking her hand.

II

It was three months before Annika went back to the stables. There was a great deal to do in the house in order to awaken it from twelve years of slumber since the death of Robert’s mother. The furniture was shabby and worn, the rugs frayed, the wallpaper impregnated with cigar smoke.

One of Annika’s first tasks was to find a new cleaner. The old one hadn’t done her job properly, and the neglect contributed significantly to the general air of decay. Every single surface that was not in daily use was sticky, and drifts of dust covered shelves and cupboards. The kitchen was a haven for bacteria, and the toilets were so ingrained with filth that the only solution was to rip them out and install new ones.

Annika felt it necessary to resign from her job so that she could devote herself entirely to the house. It didn’t matter: working on the perfume counter had always made her feel slightly brain-dead, while refurbishing the house stimulated her creativity and brought concrete results from one day to the next.

It was a happy period. Robert didn’t spend too much time at the office, allowing them plenty of opportunities to work and play together. By this stage they had had sex in each of the fourteen rooms in the house apart from one: Erik’s room.

Annika’s unease at the thought of having someone around all the time had proved unfounded. Erik was very rarely in his room, and when he wasn’t there, it was locked. He spent most of his time in the stables or the garden, and Annika had discovered why the grounds were so beautiful, in stark contrast to the state of the house: Erik worked at night as well. On several occasions she had seen him wandering around among the trees and shrubs, guided only by the light of the moon and stars. He would be digging here, tidying there, pulling up weeds or spreading manure on a flowerbed. It was hard to work out when the man actually slept.

In addition to his work in the stables and the grounds, Erik also had a daily meeting with Robert. The two men would closet themselves in Erik’s room for a good hour every day, and in spite of the fact that Robert’s antipathy toward Erik seemed to have increased rather than diminished, nothing could persuade him to forgo these meetings. They had something to do with the running of the company, Annika had been told.

She just had to put up with the situation, which wasn’t difficult. As the renovation of the house progressed and everything lightened around her, she felt as if it was quite intriguing to have a little mystery, something she didn’t know about.

So one beautiful October day, when the sky was blue and clear, a perfect day for going riding, she packed a small rucksack with a flask of coffee and some sandwiches, left a note for Robert, who had gone into town, and headed for the stables.

As she opened the barn door and set off across the indoor school, she suddenly felt unsure of herself. Could she even remember how to tack up? She stopped and looked at the two horses whose heads were poking over the doors of their loose boxes. She could hear faint, familiar sounds: someone was cleaning hooves.

Okay. She would have to ask Erik for help; that was all there was to it. She carried on across the school, watched by a cat that was lying on top of a bale of hay, swishing its tail. As Annika came closer it gave a little meow, jumped down and disappeared into a loose box with the door standing ajar.

“Hello?” Annika called out. “Anyone there?”

Erik emerged; he was indeed holding a hoof pick in one hand while the cat rested in the crook of his other arm, like a baby. He walked toward Annika and she steeled herself to deal with the smell of his breath and the sight of him. Today he was wearing a blue checked shirt which made his piercing blue eyes shine.

For the sake of something to say, Annika pointed at the animal. “Lovely cat.”

“Yes,” Erik said, putting it down on the ground, “I found her a few months ago. She was only half-grown at the time; I assume she’d been left behind by a summer visitor.”

He had stopped a meter away from her, and the stench from his mouth was still noticeable, but it was bearable. She gestured toward the loose boxes. “I thought I might go for a ride.”

“I see. And is this an activity you’re familiar with?”

“I used to ride a lot.”

“I see. And when can we expect an addition?”

Annika assumed she must have misheard him. “Sorry?”

“An addition. To the family. When are you and Robert going to have a baby?”

Annika’s right arm moved up and stroked her hair. The palm of her hand rested against the back of her head, as if to stop her from falling over backward. “What’s it got to do with you?”

Erik didn’t reply; he merely stared at her with those shining eyes: a searching, analytical gaze. Then he moved a step closer; he stopped directly in front of her and inhaled as if he were sniffing the air. He nodded to himself, then exhaled. Through his nose, fortunately.

Annika thought his behavior was so scandalous and so inappropriate for someone who was, after all, an employee that she was about to mention mouthwash, Listerine, toothpaste.

But the words never passed her lips, because the next moment Erik’s hand shot out and grabbed her crotch.

Her eyes widened as a tidal wave of heat surged up through her belly. The walls of her vagina contracted in a spasm so powerful that it was more than an orgasm. Erik brought his face close to hers and the stench of carrion coming from his mouth turned her stomach, while at the same time her insides throbbed with ecstasy, and everything went black.

When she came round she was lying on her back in the sawdust, looking up at the window in the roof as the sunlight was refracted into prisms. The Thermos in her rucksack was digging into her shoulder. She rolled over onto her side and managed to get to her feet.

She remembered what had happened—but what had actually happened? A terrible thought struck her, and she checked her pants, her belt. There was nothing to suggest that her jeans had been removed. She pushed a hand inside her waistband and felt her bottom. No sawdust. There would have been sawdust. She carried out several more checks, everything she could think of. Nothing.

Eventually she looked at her watch. Only five or six minutes had passed since she walked into the barn. There wouldn’t have been time for Erik to undress her, do the deed and dress her again. She could dismiss that particular fear.

But why did she feel so strange down there, burning and tingling as if she had just engaged in a bout of passionate lovemaking? Had she secretly harbored such a strong, suppressed desire for Erik that his touch had made her explode like this?

The ginger cat was gazing at her with its unfathomable eyes. Annika adjusted her rucksack and left the barn on unsteady legs.

A horse was saddled up outside; Erik was adjusting the final strap on the girth. When he saw Annika, he smiled and made an inviting gesture. She stood there swaying from side to side, then she shook her head and walked back toward the house. When she got past the rhododendrons and was out of sight, she broke into a run.

That night she and Robert made love twice. It was as if she needed to drive out some alien element, and Robert’s thrusting penis did actually succeed in filling her with something else, something she wanted. She loved him for that, and continued to love him during the ensuing days and weeks. She wanted him all the time, to the extent that one night Robert turned her down, laughing as she began to nibble at his inner thigh.

“Stop, Annika. I can’t do it. I’m sore.”

She ignored his protests and took him in her mouth. By the time she straddled him a couple of minutes later, he had forgotten any soreness.

A month passed in this way, and Annika didn’t even allow Robert any respite during her period, because her period didn’t come. She was usually as regular as clockwork, and when she was a week late she began to worry. She was only forty-one, and it was much too early for the menopause, unless there was something wrong with her. Something else.

She got an appointment with her gynecologist a week later, when her period still didn’t come. She had also started feeling nauseated in the mornings. Obviously she knew what that could mean, but it was simply unthinkable. He ovaries were incapable of producing eggs; her gynecologist had made that very clear fifteen years ago.

When that same gynecologist examined her this time, all he could do was shake his head. Yes, she was pregnant.

“But you said that was impossible,” Annika said.

“It was impossible. And in my twenty years—well, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“But it has happened before?”

“Well, I have heard of cases where . . . But from a theoretical point of view it is impossible, and that was the only prognosis I could give you at the time. I apologize. Congratulations.”

“And how . . . how far gone am I?”

“Approximately five weeks.”

When Annika returned to the waiting room, she had to sit down for a while. As she stared at a magazine that promised to tell her all about Kristen Stewart’s latest excesses, she thought about Erik.

Five weeks.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Her unthinkable pregnancy was linked to whatever had happened in the barn. Her subsequent sexual hunger, the result that had just been revealed . . . Who was Erik?

She needed to find out before she said anything to Robert.

She began to spy on Erik—only in passing at first, by organizing things so that she could glance out of the corner of her eye at what he was up to. That got her nowhere. He carried out the tasks expected of a gardener and a groom. She had to go one step further.

One pleasant day in the middle of November, she hid in the hayloft. Erik was out exercising one of the horses and she had plenty of time to surround herself with hay and dig out a little peephole. She felt stupid. She had ended up in that cheap, trashy novel after all—just in a different genre.

Half an hour went by, and her entire body was itching. The only thing she had to look at was the ginger cat as it padded around the barn. Annika began to feel mildly claustrophobic as she lay there in the enclosed space.

What’s the point of this? I ought to just tell Robert and be pleased that—

The door opened and Erik walked in, leading a black mare. He took off her tack, humming something that Annika couldn’t make out. Nothing out of the ordinary. In the worst-case scenario she would have to remain hidden beneath the hay for several hours, ending up none the wiser.

Erik said something that sounded like “Schweitz” and the horse followed him toward the center of the indoor school. This was followed by a bizarre display.

Erik shouted, “Maisch!” and the horse began to turn around and around, rotating at such a speed that it was surprising that she didn’t fall down, overcome with dizziness. Erik clapped his hands and shouted, “Haitch!” whereupon the horse stopped spinning and started to gallop around as if it were being pursued by a pack of wolves.

Its eyes were rolling, and there was nothing graceful or beautiful about the experience; the horse was terrified, and its body was wracked with a series of shudders as it raced around and around. Erik stood in the middle of the school laughing.

Suddenly he yelled, “Densch!” and the horse stopped dead, sawdust spraying up around its hooves. Then it reared up on its back legs and slammed its front legs down with such force that Annika felt the impact all the way up in the hayloft. The terrified animal repeated this maneuver until Erik shouted, “Gamm!” whereupon it began kicking out with its back legs, over and over again.

The mare’s body was covered in a lather of sweat, and she was barely able to obey Erik as he ordered her into her loose box.

Annika’s nose was itching and she moved back a fraction so that she could pinch her nostrils. She was convinced that she had just witnessed something she wasn’t meant to see.

She curled up in the hay, bending her body inward to force back the sneeze, and she succeeded. When she looked out again, Erik had disappeared. She held her breath. He wasn’t on his way up the ladder to the loft, was he? No, there wasn’t a sound inside the barn. She still waited another five minutes before she climbed down, making sure no one saw her before she went back to the house.

That evening she almost told Robert everything. She began by chatting about the horses in general, which was fine, but as soon as she mentioned Erik’s name it was as if the atmosphere in the room changed, and Robert remembered that he had a number of calls to make.

Annika remained in the living room, gazing into the fire; a moment ago it had been crackling cozily, but now it made her think of things being consumed by the flames.

Perhaps Erik’s behavior toward animals explained why Annika acquired a new friend a couple of weeks later. The ginger cat that had been living in the barn had made herself a home under the steps leading up to the front door of the house. The December days were growing colder and Annika tried to tempt the cat indoors, but she obstinately remained where she was. Annika brought her a blanket, and every day she put down a saucer of milk, which the cat lapped up.

Annika agonized constantly about how and when she was going to tell Robert about her condition. She would soon begin to show, and she wanted to tell him before then. She remembered the occasion when she and Robert had talked about children: not only what he had said, but his immense relief when she told him that it was impossible for her to get pregnant.

Obviously the best thing would be to lay her cards on the table so that Robert could express his opinion. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t said anything so far. She didn’t want to know what that opinion might be.

What made her feel really bad was that she didn’t merely content herself with the sin of omission by not saying anything; instead, she actually pretended that she was having her periods as usual, wearing pads and refraining from sex due to her nonexistent condition.

And the weeks went by.

In January it became clear why the cat had withdrawn. Like Annika, she was in the family way. Her stomach expanded with each passing day, and by February it was huge. There must be a substantial litter in there, waiting to come out.

Annika had begun to see the first signs in her own body, and she grew increasingly concerned about the cat. She used an extension lead so that she could put a heater under the steps, and swapped the blanket for an old duvet.

Robert spotted her as she was making a new nest for the cat; he stroked her back as she crouched on all fours, trying to make the dark, chilly space as cozy as possible.

“You’ve grown really fond of that cat, haven’t you?” he said.

Before Annika had time to weigh up the pros and cons, it just slipped out: “We sisters in misfortune have to stick together.”

Robert tilted his head on one side. “What do you mean?”

Annika shuffled out from under the steps and glanced at Robert, who still looked amused. “I mean that we—the cat and I—that we’re both . . . Robert, I’m pregnant.”

Robert’s mouth opened and closed, opened again to say something, but Annika got there first. “I know what I said, and nobody can understand what’s happened. It ought to be impossible, but there you go—I’m pregnant.”

“And how long—”

“Fourteen weeks.”

“No,” Robert said. “No, I mean how long have you known about this?”

It would be so easy to lie, but she couldn’t cope with trying to assess the consequences of her imaginary periods, her silence, so she told him the truth. By this time Robert was kneeling on the frozen ground. His head was bowed as if he were waiting for the executioner’s ax to fall.

The cat was purring as she made herself comfortable in her new nest. Robert raised his head, looked Annika in the eye and said, “You have to get rid of it.”

“But why, Robert? It’s—”

“Listen to me. You have to get rid of it. Have you told anyone else?”

“No, I thought I’d wait until I’d spoken to you. But you—”

“Annika, get rid of it.” Robert got to his feet, brushing fragments of earth off his pants. “There’s nothing to discuss, nothing to say. Get rid of it.”

With those words he turned away from her and went back into the house. Annika stayed where she was, gazing at the cat, fat and contented in her comfortable haven. Nobody was telling her to get rid of her babies. But then, she didn’t have a husband.

For fifteen years, Annika had lived with a constant feeling of inadequacy, a sense that she was defective in some way: a woman who was incapable of fulfilling her key function. That was no longer the case.

It couldn’t be helped. If she was forced to choose, then she would do so.

The next few days passed in mutual silence. Robert rang and made an appointment for her, and when he was standing there ready to give her a lift, she refused to go. He upbraided her, but gave no reason apart from his repeated assertion that she just had to get rid of it.

A few days before the date when it would be too late for a legal termination, she spelled it out. “Robert, you can stop all that. I’m not doing it. If you don’t want me, that’s fine. We’ll split up; I’ll move out. It would break my heart, but that’s the way it is.”

Robert gazed at her for a long time, and to her surprise she saw tears welling up in his eyes. He shook his head and whispered something that sounded like “That won’t help.” His voice was thick with emotion.

“What did you say?”

Robert wiped away the tears, got to his feet and said, “Nothing. Nothing.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. Then he nodded calmly and said, “That’s that, then.”

He left the room and slipped upstairs to his office. It was almost time for his daily meeting with Erik.

Annika went out on to the front steps to get some fresh air. The thermometer was showing minus ten degrees, and a thin layer of snow covered the ground. Her lungs hurt when she took a deep breath. Had Robert finally accepted the situation? “Accepted” felt like the wrong word. Resigned himself, more like.

She had no more time to ponder because she heard a muted howl of pain from beneath the steps. Annika thought she knew what was happening and hurried down to the cat’s little home.

The cat was indeed in the process of giving birth. She hissed at Annika and struck out feebly with one paw while her small body was wracked with contractions. Annika ignored her protests and crawled inside the narrow space, drawing her knees up under her chin. She wanted to watch.

The cat was panting rhythmically and her stomach was heaving with the lives that were determined to make their way out into the world. Annika sat with her fingers tightly interlaced, concentrating so hard on what was going on in front of her eyes that she let out a scream when a face appeared in the opening.

Erik glanced from Annika to the cat and back to Annika. “So,” he said. “It’s time.”

Annika swallowed with some difficulty, and managed to hiss, “Yes.”

Erik’s breath was polluting the small space and even the cat, who seemed to have accepted Annika’s presence, paused in her efforts in order to hiss and lash out at him. He smiled and said, “You two seem to be doing just fine,” whereupon he knocked three times on the wall and disappeared from view.

The cat relaxed for a moment, then resumed the task of giving birth to her kittens.

She produced a litter of six. Once the first one was out, it was all over in ten minutes. Annika sat looking at the heap of blind, helpless little creatures with a feeling of dread.

Ten minutes to bring six new lives into the world, and already the cat was lying there licking her kittens as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Which it was, of course, even if it seemed like a miracle to Annika at the moment.

She was particularly taken with the firstborn. He or she was smaller than the others, and while it was possible to detect nuances of color in the thin fur of the rest of the litter, the firstborn was completely white and looked almost as if it had no fur at all. Its body was covered with pale, soft down, and Annika wanted to wrap it up warmly, take care of it and protect it from all evil.

She was sitting there lost in thought, wondering how this could be achieved, when she heard noises from the house: raised voices and a dull thud as something fell to the floor. When she tried to crawl out to see what was going on, her body had grown numb from sitting in such a cramped position for so long and she had to spend some time straightening out her stiff limbs. Meanwhile, the voices fell silent.

Grimacing with pain, Annika slowly edged out from under the steps. Erik was standing there, and he held out his hand. Reluctantly she took it and allowed him to help her to her feet. His expression was one of complete calm, and there was nothing to indicate that he had just been quarreling. “You mustn’t get cold like that,” he said, glancing at her belly. “In your condition.”

Annika withdrew her hand and hurried indoors. Erik headed toward the barn, and Annika stroked her belly. There was no sign of a bump when she was dressed, so how could Erik—

Had Robert told him? Was that why they had quarreled?

She found him in his office, sitting at his desk with his back to the door. There was a bottle of whisky in front of him. Unlike many of his friends, Robert was careful when it came to alcohol, and rarely got drunk. She had never seen him drinking during the day.

“Robert?”

He spun slowly around on his chair as he took a gulp from a half-full glass. His face was pale and his mouth twisted into an unnatural smile as he said, “Yes, my darling?”

“What were you arguing about? You and Erik.”

Robert took another substantial gulp and shook his head. “Oh, nothing, nothing. Just the same old thing. Same old same old.” He spun his chair and turned his back on her.

The next few weeks were difficult to endure. The clear, cold winter moved into an ill-defined period of slush and gray skies which continued day in and day out. Robert went away on a number of business trips, and when he came home he drank whisky and remained unreachable, sitting by the fire in the living room and staring into the flames.

If Annika hadn’t had the cat and her kittens to keep her occupied, she might just have said thank you and good-bye, walked away from the house and tried to regard her marriage to Robert as a strange interlude that had at least led to her becoming pregnant.

But now she had the cat; after a few days of resistance she seemed to have accepted Annika as her assistant and nanny when it came to caring for the kittens. Annika set up a lamp under the steps, and the milder weather allowed her to spend a couple of hours each day in the company of the cat and her offspring.

She realized that her behavior was somewhat peculiar. She had a large, beautiful mansion, and yet she chose to spend the best hours of the day in a cold cubbyhole under the steps. She was waiting. Exactly what for, she didn’t know. A change.

Her cell phone showed countless unanswered calls from friends, and a couple from her gynecologist. Soon she would have to tackle things, but for the moment she was waiting. She convinced herself that it was because of the little one.

The white kitten, which she had decided was a male, needed additional care. He wasn’t growing as quickly as the others, and therefore he was often pushed out as they crowded around their mother’s teats. Annika started bottle-feeding him, so the cat ended up with five kittens while Annika had one.

Perhaps she was preparing herself for a maternal role which she had long ago expelled from her system, and which she must now reclaim? She told herself that once the white kitten could manage on its own, she would get to grips with her life.

One gray, slushy day at the beginning of March, when Robert had gone to work, Annika filled the small bottle with milk substitute and placed it in her basket, along with a bowl of cat food and a dry towel.

As usual she knocked before she went in to see the cat. It was a mark of respect, an indication that she knew she was entering the cat’s domain, where she was only a guest.

She put the basket down on the floor and took out the bottle. There was no sign of the white kitten. Its five siblings were tumbling around and making life difficult for their mother, nipping at her ears and head-butting her at every opportunity, until she hissed or gave them a swipe with her paw.

Annika looked behind and under the cat; she lifted the duvet. She picked up the lamp and illuminated each corner in turn, softly calling the kitten. After five minutes there was no longer any doubt. Her little white kitten had disappeared.

The door was always left open slightly so that the cat could come and go as she wished. With a growing feeling of dread that made her stomach churn, Annika crawled outside and began searching the garden in ever-widening circles. None of the other kittens had ever left their cozy home, but perhaps her poor little lost, helpless, wonderful boy . . .

She searched, she shouted, she sobbed and swore, but there was no trace of her protégé. She went back to the cubbyhole and looked again, even though she knew there was no point. Then she curled up in a ball and wept.

She felt a faint stirring in her belly. She stroked it and whispered, “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” She pulled herself together. It wasn’t her own child that had gone missing. She was getting things all mixed up. The cat licked her hand.

“Where is he?” Annika asked her. “Do you know what’s happened to him?”

At the sound of her voice, the cat pricked up her ears and looked over toward the entrance. Annika crawled over and pushed open the door.

She gazed out across the half-frozen slush. Now that she wasn’t trying to spot the kitten, she immediately noticed the footprints. She went outside and bent over them. The tracks were partially thawed and the edges were ill-defined, but she could see the contours of a broad diamond pattern, like the soles of heavy boots.

Erik was busy mucking out. He was just heaving a pitchfork full of straw and dung into a wheelbarrow when Annika entered the barn. She walked quickly across the school, unable to take her eyes off his boots. When she stopped in front of him, he drove the spikes of the pitchfork into the ground and leaned on the handle, smiling at her with his head tilted to one side as if her visit came as a pleasant surprise.

Annika gestured angrily in the direction of the house. “Have you taken the white kitten?”

She didn’t know what she had expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t the answer she got.

Erik shrugged and said, “What if I have?”

“In that case—in—” Annika’s cheeks were on fire, and the words stuck in her throat. “In that case you can damn well put him back! He doesn’t belong to you!”

Erik raised his eyebrows and picked up the pitchfork. He snorted and shook his head. Before returning to the loose box where he had been working, he said, “I think you’d better have a word with your husband. And by the way, it was a female.”

One word reverberated through Annika’s mind as she staggered back to the house: “was.” And by the way, it was a female. She didn’t understand what Erik was talking about, or what rights he thought he had, but there was one thing she assumed and another that she knew for sure: she assumed he had killed her kitten, and she knew the bastard had to go.

Without taking off her sodden shoes, she went into the kitchen, opened a drawer and took out a crowbar. She didn’t hesitate as she marched up the stairs and inserted the crowbar between the frame and the door of Erik’s room. The lock broke with the first wrench and the door swung open.

Annika had never seen a plan of the building, nor had she given the matter any thought, but she now realized that Erik’s room was the largest in the house. She clutched the crowbar to give her courage and stepped inside.

Bookshelves, cupboards and photographs covered the walls. Big windows overlooked the garden and the stables. In front of the window stood a desk and a chair. Several armchairs were grouped around the fireplace; no doubt that was where Robert and Erik held their meetings.

There was an unpleasant smell in the room, as if the Persian carpet covering the floor had been damp. Annika tiptoed gingerly over to one of the bookshelves. It contained no books, just files and more files.

AUDIT 2011, EXPENDITURE 2011. Her gaze traveled upward and she saw CONTRACTS OF EMPLOYMENT 1980–2010. On the next shelf along were different, more old-fashioned files and folders with labels such as: INVOICES 1945–1950 and BUILDING EXPENDITURE 1931–1932.

All the labels denoting the contents were handwritten, and the strangest thing was that every single one—even those that were discolored with age—were in exactly the same handwriting.

The ridiculous suspicion that had begun to take root in Annika’s mind was confirmed when she turned her attention to the photographs. Erik and Albert stood side by side in front of the stables; Albert was holding the hand of a little boy who was presumably Robert. Then there were older, black-and-white photographs of men with mustaches, wearing traditional hats, and beside them stood Erik in overalls, leaning on a scythe.

Annika found what was probably the oldest photograph in the collection. The paper had begun to turn yellow and the emulsion had cracked; the figures were slightly blurred, as if they hadn’t been standing completely still. There was a mill in the background, with two men displaying a hand-made sign: AXRYD’S BAKERY.

That meant the picture must be at least a hundred years old, and it was the only one in which Erik definitely looked younger than in the others. In his thirties, perhaps.

Annika backed away from the bookshelf, shaking her head.

I think you’d better have a word with your husband.

Just as Albert had had a word with Robert at the wedding, just as Albert’s father had had a word with him and so on and so on all the way back to—

The back of Annika’s thighs collided with the desk; she gasped and spun around. And dropped the crowbar.

A laptop and a telephone had been pushed to one side to make room for the task in hand. Bottles and jars were arranged next to a case containing knives of various sizes. There was a small box of black glass beads, and a larger one containing something that looked like sawdust.

And in the middle of the desk, the skin of the small creature she had adopted as her own. The skull was held open with tiny clamps, and both the brain and eyes had been removed. The skin itself was stretched out on a piece of wood that was exactly the right size for the purpose, and the flesh had been scooped out. If it hadn’t been for the white, downy fur, she would never have recognized her kitten.

Annika’s hand flew to her mouth and she swallowed hard and closed her eyes tightly a couple of times to force back the tears. She would not throw up; she would not cry. But she would get rid of that fucking psychopath, regardless of who or what he was.

As she picked up the telephone she heard a discreet cough behind her. Erik was leaning against the doorframe, a scornful smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

“And who were you intending to call?” he asked.

Without letting go of the phone, Annika crouched down and picked up the crowbar. She pointed the curved end at Erik. “Don’t come any closer!”

Erik raised his hands as if that were the last thing on his mind, then folded his arms.

“Do tell me. I’m interested. Who were you intending to call? The police? And what exactly were you going to say to them? Robert? He already knows. So who are you going to call now?”

She had been going to call Robert and tell him she wasn’t staying in his house for one more second unless he came home right now and sacked Erik on the spot.

He already knows.

Annika put down the phone so that she could grip the crowbar with both hands. She took a step toward Erik.

“Move.”

“Why?”

Annika imagined her throat as a metal tube to stop her voice from shaking as she took another step toward him and said, “I’m leaving right now. And if you stand in my way, I promise you—”

She raised the crowbar to illustrate exactly what she was promising. Erik shook his head and stood his ground. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Annika struck small blows in the air with the crowbar in order to wind herself up, to get her hands ready for action. Could she do it? Was she really capable of hitting another person with a heavy object and hurting him, perhaps killing him?

Perhaps she wouldn’t have done it if Erik had stayed where he was. Perhaps she wouldn’t have been able to walk up to him and strike him. But he helped her along the way by taking a step toward her, and she reacted instinctively. She swung the crowbar at his head with all her strength.

The next moment a shock ran up her arm as if she had struck a thick tree trunk. Erik had raised one hand with lightning speed and seized the crowbar. He snatched it from her and threw it on the floor. His expression was sympathetic as he gazed at her and said, “Don’t you realize that you ought to be grateful?”

She barely had time to register what happened next. One minute she was on her feet, then she glimpsed something from the corner of her eye that could have been the palm of Erik’s hand and she was thrown to the floor. A gigantic bell tolled once inside her head, and the world disappeared.

III

She woke up in the double bed she normally shared with Robert with no idea of how much time had elapsed. Her head was pounding, one arm was bent at an odd angle and she needed the toilet. Judging by the fading light from the window, a couple of hours had passed, possibly more.

With some difficulty she managed to push her leg over the edge of the bed, but when she tried to get up, it proved impossible. One hand was attached to the bedpost with a pair of handcuffs. Her eyes widened as she stared at the shiny metal encircling her wrist, the short chain and the other cuff fixed to the dark oak of the post. She laughed out loud.

This was ridiculous. This kind of thing happened in isolated cottages deep in the forest; you could read about it in the tabloids, be appalled by the pictures of the terrible rooms, the dirty mattress, the sicko being taken away with a jacket over his head. It didn’t happen here.

“Robert! Roooobeeert!” She twisted around and looked at the alarm clock. Just after three. Robert might well be home by now.

“Roooobeeert!”

Erik appeared in the doorway. He stood there looking at her for a while, then said, “He’s not home yet. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Get this damn thing off me. I need the toilet—what the fuck are you doing?”

“First of all, you have to do me a favor.” He produced Annika’s cell phone, then sat down on the bed beside her and scrolled through the list of calls. The revolting smell of his breath made her headache even worse.

“Leave my fucking phone alone,” Annika said. “Do you think—”

She fell silent as Erik raised his hand to remind her that the bell could easily toll once more. She clamped her lips together and he nodded and said, “Have you told anyone about your condition?”

Annika shook her head, and Erik gazed intently at her for a long time. Then he said, “I believe you. But there are a couple of calls here from what is apparently a gynecology clinic. Is that how you found out?”

Annika nodded. Erik nodded. They understood one another. He clicked a button and handed the phone to Annika. When she looked at the display, she saw that the gynecologist’s number had been selected.

“Ring them,” Erik said. “Ring and tell them that you had a miscarriage a month ago, while you were abroad. That’s why you haven’t called until now. You’ve been away. Do you understand?”

“Why would I do that?”

Erik’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Does this have to be so difficult? Because otherwise I will kill Robert when he gets home.”

Annika looked into Erik’s eyes. They were no longer blue, but green: the green of the forest, steady and calm. She had no doubt that he was telling the truth. She pressed the call button and did exactly what he had told her to do.

Her gynecologist expressed deepest sympathy, and said that she ought to come in for an examination. Annika said she’d already had an examination in . . . Italy. Surely that would satisfy Erik and he would let her go? She thanked the gynecologist and ended the call. Erik took the phone off her, slipped it into his breast pocket and said, “Good. Number one or number two?”

“What?”

“The toilet. Number one or number two?”

“One.”

He took a thin chain out of his trouser pocket. There was a small key hanging from one end; he unlocked the cuff around the bedpost and pointed toward the door. “You know where it is.”

He followed one meter behind as she moved away from the bed. They reached the landing and her eyes darted around the other rooms and the stairs leading down to the front door.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Erik said. “You wouldn’t manage even two steps.”

She thought about the speed with which he had parried her blow and delivered his own. With hunched shoulders she lumbered toward the only upstairs toilet. Erik held the door for her, then left it open a fraction and stood outside.

Annika looked over at the window as she sat on the toilet. Escape route. At the large ornamental pebbles beneath the washbasin. Weapons. At the bottle of sleeping tablets Robert had started taking. Alternative escape route. She shook her head as she dried herself. If only Robert would come home, then . . .

She flushed the toilet and Erik opened the door, held out his hand and asked, “Where would you like to be?”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I say. Where would you like to be? Which room?”

“Do I have to decide now?”

Erik’s expression made it clear that he was irritated; as if he were speaking to a child, he explained, “I have other things to do. I can’t spend all day hanging around like your personal assistant.”

“Nobody’s asked you to.”

Erik’s voice dropped to a menacing growl. “Annika, as far as I’m concerned, I’m happy to chain you to the bed and leave you there until you’re lying in your own shit, crying for your mommy. Would you be kind enough to tell me which room you would like to be in?”

Annika swallowed and said, “The library.”

Erik grabbed the loose handcuff and dragged her down the stairs. When they reached the hall and were heading toward the double doors of the library, a key was inserted in the front door and Annika thought: Thank God.

Erik stopped with Annika by his side. Together they awaited the arrival of the owner of the house. The front door opened slowly and Robert walked in. His shoulders were dark with moisture, and Annika could see by the outside light that a steady drizzle was falling. When Robert caught sight of Annika and Erik, he gave a start and stopped dead.

Erik pulled the cuff and lifted Annika’s hand to shoulder level, as if he were showing off a hunting trophy, and said, “Unfortunately this is the way things have to be.”

Robert nodded wearily and began to remove his boots. He was looking down, and the dark rings under his eyes became black as the light from the chandelier fell at an angle across his face.

“Robert?” Annika said. “Robert?”

He didn’t even glance at her; he just carried on fiddling with his boots as Erik dragged her into the library. Annika was dumbstruck, and didn’t even protest when Erik hauled an armchair across to one of the radiators that was fixed to the wall and chained her to it. He placed a small table with a pile of magazines on it by her side, and asked, “Is that all right?”

She looked at the magazines and her brain struggled to cope. The only problem she could come up with at the moment was how she was going to be able to read and turn the pages with one hand.

“In that case, I have other things to do, as I said.” Erik made a move to leave the room.

“Who are you?” Annika asked. “What are you?”

Erik smiled. “Oh, I think you’ve worked that out by now.”

Then he left her.

Annika remained sitting in the armchair for just over two hours. From time to time, she called out to Robert. She begged, she cursed, she pleaded with him, but the only response was the faint clink of bottle against glass from upstairs.

She caressed her belly, whispered that everything would be all right, We’re going to get out of this mess. She didn’t know whether she actually believed that anymore.

It was after six when Erik came back and released her. He led her to the kitchen and placed a microwaved ready-meal in front of her. He sat down opposite her, his chin resting on his hands.

“The cook won’t be coming anymore. Nor will the cleaner. So this is the way things are going to be for a while, I’m afraid.”

“What does ‘a while’ mean?”

“Haven’t you worked it out yet? In that case, I’ll leave you to think about it for a bit longer. I have my rights; that’s all there is to it.”

Annika took a mouthful of something that was supposed to resemble cod with mashed potato, but it tasted of nothing but fat and ashes. She swallowed the hot mush with difficulty, then put down her fork.

“You’re a tomte, is that what you’re saying? A fucking tomte?”

Erik pulled a face. “I prefer ‘guardian of the house.’ That other word has such unfortunate connotations.”

“Tomte,” Annika said. “So where’s your pointy hat, you fucking tomte?”

Erik’s eyes darkened, and now they were no longer green or blue. Through clenched jaws he said, “I don’t think you’ve realized that, from now on, you are entirely reliant on my goodwill.”

“Oh, yes I have,” Annika said, dipping one hand into the hot food on her plate so that it burned her fingertips. She flicked the food in Erik’s face. “Eat your fucking porridge.”

She leapt up from the chair and ran for the door, but within a couple of meters Erik was standing in front of her with hot mashed potato dripping down his face. Without a word he grabbed her arm just above the elbow and she cried out in pain. It felt as if he was crushing her very bones.

He dragged her up the stairs, threw her down on the bed and handcuffed her to the bedpost. He walked out, slamming the door behind him.

She lay there for three days. Erik came in on a total of six occasions. The first time he threw her a tin of stew and a spoon, and left a bottle of water on the bedside table. The other times he brought only the stew.

Robert never came, nor did she hear the sound of his voice or his footsteps. He had presumably left the house. She stopped calling for him by the evening of the first day.

On the second day she managed to wriggle out of her pants so that she could pee and defecate on the mat by the side of the bed. She wept silently as she did so. When Erik came in a couple of hours later with the third tin of stew and wrinkled his nose at the stench, she apologized for throwing food at him and promised never to use the t-word again. He threw the tin at her and walked out.

On the third day she lay apathetically on the bed. The arm attached to the bedpost had gone numb. She lay there in a semi-stupor, no longer aware of the smell in the room. Erik’s visits passed in mutual silence.

Toward the afternoon, when she had shoveled down some of the cold, pulpy mess out of the tin, her spirit began to return. During the first day she had gone through the possibilities of escaping and had reached the conclusion that the only thing that would work would be to chew off her own hand. Freeing herself quickly was therefore not an option. Instead she used her newly regained ability to think in order to plan a more long-term strategy.

If she accepted that Erik was a fairy-tale creature, a . . . guardian of the house . . . someone who made animals and human beings fertile and took care of the family’s wealth and success . . . It was absurd, of course, but she no longer had the luxury of thinking along normal lines. She was part of the fairy tale.

So what did fairy tales reveal about how to get rid of such a creature? There were tales of wights, tomtar, and evil pixies being driven away from homes, but Annika couldn’t remember what to do. Presumably it involved Christian symbols in some way, but something told her that wasn’t going to work in this case.

She sat up and closed her eyes, walking through Erik’s room in her mind, scanning the walls, and there it was: an antique crucifix hanging above the desk. So that route was closed.

So what remained?

The option that always remains when everything else has been tried: violence. Erik might have superhuman strength, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was invulnerable. What was it Schwarzenegger said in that film? If it bleeds we can kill it.

Annika lay down again, gazed up at the ceiling and thought about what she would do to make Erik bleed.

When he turned up that evening with yet another tin of stew, she looked him in the eye and asked, “You want my child, don’t you?”

Erik, who had been about to throw the tin at her, stopped in mid-movement. He shook his head, and nothing made sense. She had been wrong.

But then he said, “It isn’t your child.”

Annika glanced down at her growing bump. “Isn’t it?”

“No. It’s mine. The firstborn belongs to me.”

“Like the kitten?”

“Like the kitten.”

Erik had sat down on the end of the bed; perhaps he would let her go if she said the right things. But she mustn’t be too accommodating.

“When you say it’s your child, what do you mean by that? Are you saying you’re the one who—”

Erik waved away her query as if it upset him. “Out of the question. Don’t flatter yourself. Robert is the father, but without me you would never have carried it. I assume you realize that.”

Annika nodded. “I’m very grateful. Really.”

Erik gazed searchingly at her. He seemed to conclude that she meant what she said. Something in his demeanor lightened, and he gently touched her foot. “You will have more children. You wouldn’t have been able to do that otherwise.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Erik gave a wry smile. “You could say that this is my special area of expertise. Yes, I’m sure.”

Annika allowed a little while to pass as she contemplated his hand, resting on her foot. Then she said, “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“You can have the child.”

Once again he stared intently at her. Then he shrugged. “I’ll take it anyway. It’s mine. Sooner or later, I always get what is mine. But if you want to make things easier for yourself . . . then it’s a wise decision.”

“I’ve realized that.”

Erik took out the chain with the key on the end and unlocked the handcuff on the bedpost. Annika rotated her arm to bring it back to life, and Erik said, “This doesn’t mean that I trust you. We’ll revert to the arrangement that was in place before our little incident. Perhaps you’d like a shower?”

“Yes, please.”

“Come along, then.”

Over the next two weeks Annika was moved from room to room as her belly grew. She could feel kicks, movements. She had to make a huge effort to stop herself from screaming when Erik came along and wanted to feel the child. She spent her days chained to various objects in the house. Where there were no suitable fixtures such as pipes or posts, Erik screwed heavy metal rings in place so that she could be tethered like a pregnant cow in her stall.

She had heard Erik answer her cell several times, explaining that unfortunately the lady of the house is on vacation and does not wish to be disturbed. She had given him her email address and password when he asked for them, so presumably he had set up an automatic reply saying that she was away on vacation. She was cut off from the outside world.

Apart from Robert. Incredibly, he was still turning up every day for his meetings with Erik. A couple of times he had shot her a guilt-laden glance when she happened to be standing in his way, but he hadn’t lifted a finger to help her.

She didn’t understand it—she really didn’t. Her background was a simple one, and she was incapable of grasping how a business could make Robert act this way.

She tried to think of all the wedding guests who had been dependent on the success of the company, of the long line of ancestors gazing encouragingly at Robert as he took on the task of carrying the proud tradition of Axryd’s into the future, but it just wasn’t enough. Not for her. The only thing she could see was a stupid old miller who had been seduced by a tomte, bringing a curse on his entire family for all time.

Perhaps Robert was simply afraid. At least that would make sense. She knew he wasn’t a courageous person, but now she was learning the extent of his cowardice. She was alone with her child. Her child.

One light evening in April, Annika was standing by the living room window when she caught sight of Erik doing something or other among the shrubs. Suddenly he darted forward and bent down. When he straightened up, he was holding a wriggling rat by the scruff of the neck.

He made a sharp twisting movement with his fingers, and the body went limp. He gazed at it for a moment, then brought it up to his mouth, bit off the head and began to chew. Annika could hear faint crunching noises. Then he stuffed the entire body into his mouth so that only the tail was dangling between his lips. He looked up and stared at Annika before swallowing the rat and sucking the tail into his mouth like a strand of spaghetti. Annika gulped and met his eyes; she even managed a smile.

Perhaps that was the wrong way to react; perhaps Erik had wanted to shock or disgust her. When he started digging in the loose soil under the shrubs and found a couple of fat earthworms, dangling them above his mouth before he ate them, Annika pulled a face when he looked at her. Erik nodded and disappeared from view.

The child was kicking so violently that she could actually see a bulge under the loose T-shirt she was wearing. She stroked her belly and whispered, “Don’t be afraid. No one is going to take you.”

The time had come. She had weighed up the pros and cons of various plans and had finally settled on the simplest of all. It wasn’t watertight, and it depended on whether she had the courage to injure or kill when it came to the crunch.

The child moved again.

She could. She would. That very evening.

Apart from in the shower, dinner was the only time when she was not handcuffed. She had studied Erik’s routine in the kitchen and found a couple of weak points that she hoped to be able to exploit.

That evening she sat at the table looking amenable as she waited for the first opportunity. Erik set out a plate, a glass and cutlery for her. He had also started to put candles on the table, and lit them with the air of a butler so that she could enjoy her microwaved meal by candlelight like a real lady of the manor.

Then he went to the freezer in the pantry to fetch today’s meal. That was the first weak point. As soon as he turned his back on her and crouched down in front of the freezer, she slid out of her seat, holding the loose handcuff pressed against her wrist with her index and middle finger so that it wouldn’t make a sound.

Silently she removed the largest knife from the block and returned to the table in a single movement; she sat down and pressed the knife along her forearm just as Erik straightened up and came back into the kitchen, reading the packet.

“Beef Stroganoff,” he said. “With noodles. Is that okay?”

Annika shrugged. She didn’t want to say anything in case her voice shook and gave her away. She didn’t care what he chose. It all tasted the same.

She clutched the handle of the knife and visualized the movement she would have to make, going over and over the course of events as she sat completely still, looking unconcerned. The next weak point was coming up.

Erik had a childish fascination for the microwave. Not every day, but often, it was as if the golden glow and the slowly rotating pack of food exerted some primitive magnetic attraction over him. Annika hoped this was one of those days.

And it was. When Erik had placed the food on the glass plate and set the timer for five minutes, he remained standing there with his back to Annika, his elbows resting on the worktop, gazing at the little window as if he were spellbound.

She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer, then got to her feet and raised the knife. With all her strength she drove it into Erik’s back to the right of his left shoulder blade. The knife was long enough to penetrate as far as the heart, and she hoped that was exactly what it would do.

One worry had been that bone would get in the way and impede the progress of the blade through Erik’s flesh, but it went all the way in with a satisfying, sucking sound, right up to the handle, and Erik let out a sigh. Annika moved back two steps, hoping to see his muscular body go limp and slump over the worktop. To be on the safe side she pulled another knife out of the block; when it was in her hand she saw that it was a bread knife.

She giggled nervously and her teeth began to chatter as Erik turned around. His eyes were black, but nothing in his demeanor suggested that he had a twenty-centimeter-long knife through one lung.

“Annika,” he said, and she raised the hand holding the bread knife. He looked at her with an expression that said, What on earth were you thinking? then reached over his shoulder with his right arm and pulled out the knife as easily as if he were plucking out an irritating strand of hair. When he pointed the blade at Annika, she saw that there wasn’t a drop of blood on it. Erik didn’t bleed.

“Do you think that human beings can harm me?” he yelled. “Is that what you think?”

It wasn’t a question, and Annika didn’t answer. She dropped the bread knife. Erik’s lips parted in predatory grin and he pointed the knife at her belly.

“I thought we had an agreement,” he said. “But obviously we didn’t. How about a C-section? Put an end to all this?”

Annika backed away until she bumped into the wall. There were no weapons; there was no escape route. Nothing. Erik stood in front of her with his jaws working, breathing through his nose. Then he thrust the knife into the wall and left it there.

He grabbed her wrist and dragged her up the stairs.

She thought she knew what to expect, but she thought wrong. When they reached the landing he opened the door of his room and pushed her inside, switching on all the ceiling lights. He forced her down onto the floor so that she was sitting with her back to the side of the desk, and attached her right hand to one of its legs. He took another pair of handcuffs out of a drawer and attached her left hand to the other leg.

A large oak cupboard stood against the opposite wall. Annika was sitting two meters away from its double doors. Erik selected a key from his chain and walked over to the cupboard.

“I’m sure you’re curious,” he said as he unlocked it. “You must be wondering. I’ve left you in ignorance so far, but there’s no longer any point.”

He opened the doors wide and showed her his collection.

Shelf after shelf was filled with stuffed animals: cats, dogs, piglets, lambs and calves. The firstborn. But what Erik really wanted to show her was on the bottom shelf.

It looked unnatural. Newborn human children can neither stand nor walk. After stuffing them and giving them glass eyes, Erik had mounted the four newborn babies on metal stands, enabling them to stand on their chubby legs in spite of their smallness.

The skin of those who had been processed first had begun to contract, turning brown and beginning to resemble parchment, while the child on the far right—the brother Robert had never known—still looked nauseatingly like a normal newborn baby, with the eyes of a ghost.

Erik gazed at his trophies, then pointed to the empty space to the right of his most recent acquisition and nodded in the direction of Annika’s belly.

“Unless of course it’s a special child,” he said. “Which I doubt.”

Annika couldn’t even manage to feel sick. All she wanted was to be allowed to leave this room and the sight before her eyes. Put an iron collar around her neck and leave her on the stone floor in the cellar, anything. Poke out her eyes.

“Why?” she croaked from a dry throat.

Erik scratched the back of his neck as if he had never even considered the question. “Well . . .” he said, “I eat the flesh, of course. That’s the most important thing. And”—he spread his hands wide—“everybody needs a hobby, don’t they?”

He left her for the night. Without switching off the light.

He came for her the following morning, and she offered no resistance as he carried her over to the bed and fixed each arm to a bedpost using the handcuffs. When she needed a wee she simply let it run into her pants. Later in the day when she needed to defecate she considered calling to him, but eventually she simply allowed nature to take its course.

She wanted to die. If only there was a button, a switch inside her that she could turn off. She tried to imagine it, to conjure up a clear picture of a black Bakelite switch pointing to LIFE, then making her imaginary fingers flick it to DEATH. Nothing happened.

She tried to hold her breath, but she didn’t succeed in fainting. She tried to swallow her tongue. She threw herself from side to side in an attempt to bite the veins in her wrists, but she couldn’t reach. She fell back on the bed, a stinking, whimpering receptacle, a vessel containing someone else’s property.

She heard the front door open and screamed at the top of her voice, “Robert! Robert! Help me! He’s killing me!”

Nothing. And still nothing. The hours passed. The child kicked and she no longer whispered words of consolation. Her last hope was that the fetus would die of malnourishment and poison her from the inside.

The stuffed infants were constantly there in her mind’s eye. They came padding across the landing on their dried-up feet and gathered around her bed. They writhed in pain as if knives had sliced into their flesh while they were still alive. When they opened their mouths to scream in pain, worms and half-digested rats came pouring out.

The babies crawled over her body and rested their heads on her belly so that they could get to know their future sibling. They never let her sleep, they merely allowed her to fall into a temporary stupor before they once again began scratching at her eyelids with their fingers, like tiny twigs.

Sometimes she was fed, sometimes water was poured into her mouth and she swallowed. Occasionally she was dragged to the shower and sluiced down. It didn’t matter. Time passed, that was all.

“Annika? Annika? Can you hear me?”

With difficulty she opened her eyes. She thought she recognized the person leaning over her bed, holding something in his hands. The light in the room suggested that it must be daytime.

She heard a metallic click, and one arm dropped. This was something new. This hadn’t happened before. She watched the person as he moved to the other side of the bed and raised the object that was called a . . . a bolt-cutter. Another click, and the other arm dropped. She moved her arms to cradle her swollen belly, and rolled over onto her side so that she could drift away once more.

“Annika! It’s me, Robert. We haven’t got much time. Come on.”

Robert. Robert.

Why did that name give her such a bad feeling? He was tugging at her arm, pulling her toward the edge of the bed.

“Stop it,” she mumbled. “Leave me alone.”

“Please, Annika. He could come home at any minute. We have to get out of here.”

She made an effort to understand what he was saying to her. He. Could come. He. That was Erik. Could come. Erik wasn’t here. Now. But he could come. Erik. The tomte. And the child.

Robert.

Annika’s eyes widened. Robert. The child’s father. Her husband. Selma Lagerlöf and a spillage on the sofa.

“Come on. I’ll help you.”

She was dragged to her feet. Robert looped her arm around his neck because her legs wouldn’t carry her. However, it wasn’t long since she had been washed down in the shower, and had walked a few steps. By the time they reached the landing, she was able to stand on her own, and pushed him away.

“You little shit,” she said. “You pathetic, useless little fucking shit.”

“I know,” Robert said. “I know. But right now we just have to—”

“It’s not your child. You’re not having it.”

Robert stopped trying to pull her along. “I don’t want it, Annika. I never did. Don’t you remember?”

Annika tried to spit at him, but she had no saliva. Instead she staggered toward the stairs, grabbed the banister and began to make her way down, one step at a time. She nodded in the direction of Erik’s room. “Do you know what he’s got in there?”

She turned her head so that she could look at Robert. He knew. His expression told her that he knew and she raised her hand. “Stay there,” she said. “Leave me alone.”

Robert took a step toward her, and she made her fingers curl into claws. “I mean it! I’ll scratch your eyes out. Stay. Where. You. Are.”

Robert’s shoulders slumped. When she turned away from him to concentrate on the stairs, she heard him say, “The keys are in the car.”

Her legs grew stronger with every step she took. By the time she opened the front door, she no longer needed to lean on something in order to walk. She stank of excrement and would probably soil the upholstery in Robert’s BMW, which was parked on the drive. The thought made her smile.

When she reached the bottom of the steps, she heard the sound of Erik’s pickup approaching along the avenue. She glanced at the BMW; Erik would have no trouble pushing it off the road.

She mumbled, “Please help me, God,” and before the pickup appeared she turned left and slipped around the side of the house. Moving as quickly as she could, she crossed the garden; she heard a car door slam. She passed the tunnel leading through the rhododendrons and carried on along the side of the lake, heading for the stables.

Don’t let him see me, please, please . . .

She was only a few meters from the barn door when she heard a tinkling sound, and turned to look back at the house. An upstairs window had broken, and something was being forced out through the gap. It looked so peculiar that she stopped.

Limbs unfolded and a deformed head appeared. Robert was dangling over the window ledge like a broken marionette, and Annika gasped when she realized why he looked so . . . wrong. The bolt-cutter had been forced into his mouth, and protruded through the back of his head. She only had a second to observe the terrifying sight before the figure overbalanced and fell to the ground.

Erik was standing in the window, his arm still outstretched. And he was looking at her. She tore open the door of the barn. One last chance.

“I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name. But you’re the only one who can help me, so please, please help me. Understand what I’m saying. Please understand what I’m saying.”

Annika stroked the black mare’s chest as she whispered in her ear. The horse snorted and jerked her head, so that the bridle almost slipped out of Annika’s hand. She gripped it more firmly.

“Stand still,” she said. “You have to stand just here, you see, shhh . . .”

Annika leaned to the side and looked at the barn door three meters away. The mare was positioned with her hindquarters a meter from the door, and Annika tugged at the bridle so that the mare moved ten centimeters further back. She heard Erik’s footsteps approaching, and kissed the mare’s neck. “Please, sweetheart. Please let this work.”

Do you think that human beings can harm me?

Just a hint. And her only hope.

The barn door opened and Erik stepped inside. His hands were covered in blood. When he caught sight of Annika and the horse, he frowned. Before he had time to realize what was going on or to react, Annika shouted, “Gamm!”

Erik hardly had time to open his mouth before the horse kicked out backward; its hooves struck him right in the face. He was thrown out through the open door and lay motionless on the ground, legs and arms outstretched.

Annika kissed the horse on the muzzle, then ran outside. Erik still wasn’t moving. There was no blood on his face, but one cheekbone and temple had been pushed inwards like modeling clay. She searched his pockets and found her cell.

She had managed to hit one number when something began to happen to Erik. She watched as the concave area of his face began to swell, gradually regaining its shape. She slipped the phone into her pocket and raced into the stable.

Erik had regained consciousness while she was attaching the last chain. Fortunately, it had taken quite some time from the first signs of recovery to the completion of the process. His face was now back to normal, looking exactly as it had for God (or the Devil) knew how long.

He looked at Annika and made a move to get up, but the chains prevented him from doing so. One around each wrist, one around each ankle. Without taking his eyes off Annika, he said, “Do you really think this is going to help you? I’m going to eat that child out of your belly now.”

“Maybe not, Herr Tomte.”

Erik glanced around, and for the first time she saw fear in his eyes. At the end of each chain stood a horse. Annika had had to tack them up very quickly, and had only managed to slip on a simple harness to which she had attached the chains. To compensate for this she had allowed several meters of slack for each horse. So that they would have time to pick up speed. So that there would be a violent jerk.

She looked Erik in the eye. And yelled, “Haitch!”

The horses weren’t perfectly coordinated. Only one arm and one leg were ripped off. The other arm looked completely undamaged, while the other leg was bent at an impossible angle. The horses whinnied and increased their efforts; one of the smaller ones fell over due to the sudden stop.

Erik opened and closed his mouth, trying to formulate a command as green foam bubbled out. Annika called the two horses that were attached to his remaining limbs, allowing them to come so close that they almost trampled him.

“Haitch!”

The undamaged arm was ripped off. Only the distorted leg was left. The horse chained to that limb took a few steps, and what was left of Erik was dragged across the yard. His head jolted from side to side as Annika stood there watching him.

The green foam disappeared and Erik’s black eyes stared at her. “Do you really think—” he managed. “Do you really think—”

From the ragged surfaces where his arms and legs had been ripped off, where grayish flesh was visible through the torn remnants of clothing, new limbs were slowly beginning to grow. Ill-defined lumps pulsated outward, finding their shape. Rudimentary fingers tentatively emerged from the shoulders, and the embryo of a foot pushed its way from the pelvis.

Annika called the mare and led her over to Erik. “Yes,” she said. “I really do. Densch!”

The mare reared up and her hooves smashed into Erik’s forehead. His skull bulged out at the sides.

“Densch!”

“Densch!”

“Densch!”

Only when Annika was certain that there was absolutely no sign of regrowth and Erik’s body was completely motionless did she lead the horses back into the stable. She poured oats into their mangers and stroked their necks.

She went outside and saw that Erik had disappeared. His clothes were still there, lying flat on the ground, but where his body had been there were only worms, starting to dig their way into the earth.

Annika was halfway back to town in the car when the first contractions began. She clenched her teeth and bent double over the wheel, screaming with pain. In the interval that followed she put her foot down and tensed her body, as if to ward off the next spasm.

She reached the car park at Danderyd Hospital before it came. She left the car and staggered toward the entrance; she just managed to make it through the doors before the pain brought her to her knees.

“Oh, little one,” she whimpered. “Is it time?”

She was lifted up, laid on a trolley and wheeled along corridors. Kind voices spoke to her, and at last she wept. For all the children who had not been allowed to live, for this child who would live.

“Goodness me, what’s happened to you?”

She was undernourished, smeared with excrement and her body was covered in bedsores. She was washed, put on a drip and ointment was applied to her sores as the contractions came and went. It took many hours, and she gradually returned to the real world before she was hurled into the insanity of giving birth.

It was unbelievably painful. It took a very long time. She was given gas and air while soft hands stroked her forehead, and she screamed in agony as her child forced its way into the world.

And then it was over. Everything slipped out of her body, the world regained its colors and only a sharp, stabbing pain remained as the midwife held up a chubby, slippery little body. A son. Annika had given birth to a son.

A special child.

The midwife jiggled the boy up and down and he opened his mouth to let out his very first cry.

The stench of rotting flesh filled the room.