Chapter 15

Simon lay breathless and still, just where he’d fallen. He cursed himself inwardly for his clumsiness. The alarm was blaring and he was just about to get up and run away, but then he realized that the guard might spot him from the booth at the main gate. Suddenly he heard a motorcycle roar to life and come his way. His heart was pounding so hard that it had to be audible on this quiet, still morning. The chill of the ground penetrated his clothing and spread through his body. The motorcycle had stopped. Now he could hear the kickstand flipping down, followed by boots on the ground. A beep, a crackling sound, and a voice on the walkie-talkie.

‘Can you see anyone there? The alarm was tripped right next to the gate.’

‘Nope, no one here.’ It was Benny’s drawling voice. ‘Must have been a squirrel or a bird.’

‘Can’t you go check?’

‘Nope, don’t have the key.’

‘It’s here in the booth. Come get it. And bring the dog, too.’

The dog? Simon remembered the barking he’d heard from up at Devil’s Rock. He’d assumed it had come from one of the farms inland. But now that he was lying there, sprawled on the ice-cold ground, his mind forced him to imagine an enormous Rottweiler with mean eyes, huge jaws, bared teeth, and drool dripping from its mouth.

‘Okay, I’ll come get it.’

The motorcycle started, skidded on the gravel, and zoomed off. Simon realized he had forgotten to breathe and that his body had, for the moment, frozen to the frosty ground. But his legs got him up of their own accord, and he hurtled off.

He ran helter-skelter straight into the forest, ignoring his heavy winter boots, no idea where he was going. His lungs burned and his heart pounded. He had no idea how long he ran, because there was no time, only an image of the dog etched into his brain, pushing him to run faster.

Past trees, up hills, across clearings, and into the woods he ran. All he could hear was his own panting gasps and the crunching sounds as his boots trampled the frostbitten moss and brambles.

Behind him, the alarm had stopped. Nature held its breath. It was as if he were running through a vacuum. He didn’t stop until his chest was burning and he couldn’t go on. All he could see were trees, bushes, and the sparkling white ground. Wreaths of steam rose from his body, which was drenched in sweat.

His breathing slowed as his gaze swept the terrain, and at once he realized he was lost. His mind returned to the dog. Why a dog? Had they noticed he was using the gate? But if they had, surely they would have changed the lock. What were they so afraid of?

He took a deep breath and guided his thoughts towards the problem at hand: finding his way home. He knew he had to find a rise high enough to give him a view of the island. Otherwise he would only go around in circles. Luckily the trees were bare, and if he could get a few metres higher he would have an unobstructed view. He wandered around for a bit until he found a slope made of moss-covered boulders. The melting frost had made the rock surface wet and he couldn’t get a toehold; he kept sliding down and landing on his ass with a thump. He swore inwardly, cursing his own stupidity. Why did he even care about this stupid cult? Then he managed to get his hands into a crack between the rocks and heaved himself onto the pile.

Certain landmarks became visible through the windswept trees. The church in the village, the manor, and the sea, grey and still in the far distance. He slid back down the boulders and set course for the village, mumbling to himself in irritation. He used his forehead as a compass to guide him along his path. He was no longer running, but his strides were long and quick.

Once he calmed down, he realized how lovely it was. The air was delicate and damp, and the sun had found a crack in the clouds, to glitter in the frost that still coated the pine needles. Now and then the sun vanished behind a cloud and a fresh gust of wind passed over the land.

It struck him that he had never run like that before. So frantically. He noticed how good he felt now that it was all over, and he began to whistle as he trampled along. After some time, the trees thinned out and the road to the village popped up like a winding snake. Part of him was still exhilarated, but another, more characteristic part of him kept muttering inwardly that he was an idiot.

By the time he got back to the pension, it was lunchtime. He decided to skip the meal and visit the greenhouses instead. He hoped no one had missed him. He pulled a carrot out of the earth and munched on it as he set about his tasks for the day. It didn’t take long to settle into his usual routine.

That evening, he wrote an email to Sofia and told her about the day’s events. He spiced it up with a few details and when he reread what he’d written, he chuckled to himself. He ended with the question, A dog?

Sofia responded almost immediately and said it was the funniest email she’d ever read. The dog must be an outlet for Oswald’s paranoia, she suggested, now that Elvira was back at ViaTerra. Then she sent him the link to her new blog. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he read it, although he wasn’t surprised. What else could one expect from Sofia? Anyway, he thought it was well-written. He decided to answer later. After the day’s drama, he was exhausted. The last thing he thought about before he dropped off was the dog. He wondered if it really was a Rottweiler.

Simon had a morning routine. He considered it holy and wouldn’t dream of changing it. He went for breakfast an hour before he was expected to be on the job. This way he got to eat the pension’s breakfast at its best, when it was fresh and steaming hot. As he ate, he read the local paper and Göteborgs-Posten. The newspapers were his lifeline to the outside world, his way of taking part in what happened beyond the little island. They were his only source of information, aside from sporadic conversations with guests and his contact with Sofia.

By the time he was done eating and had drunk at least three cups of coffee, and had finished the papers, he felt satisfied – both physically and mentally – and had absolutely no interest in anything but his plants.

The news turned up a week after the episode at the manor. He had reached the family section of the local paper, the obituaries and wedding and baby announcements. He typically skipped them, but sometimes he skimmed through to see if anyone he knew had died. Today, though, his eye caught an item under the BIRTHS heading.

Twins
Thor Oswald and Invictus Oswald
von Bärensten
Elvira Asplund & Franz Oswald von Bärensten

Simon read through the item carefully – something was missing. There was no picture of the children, as was otherwise typical. There was none of the usual ‘Welcome to the world!’ or ‘Welcome, our beloved Invictus and Thor!’ Instead there was just a green and white flag and the ViaTerra logo: three Ws surrounded by what looked like a mouth, the shorthand for Oswald’s motto: ‘We walk the way of the earth.’ Those who worked at ViaTerra knew there was hidden meaning behind the three letters: win, win, win. Because Oswald was certain he would one day conquer the world.

Simon thought about Elvira, and then Oswald. Of the babies, who had come into the world unaware of what awaited them. Then he put the paper on the table and shuddered.

When he called Sofia that night, she didn’t think it was all that strange to find the flag and Oswald’s logo on the birth announcement.

‘That’s just who he is. Everything has to be all mysterious and weird. You know why the logo looks like a mouth, right?’

‘Nope, not really.’

Sofia chuckled.

‘He told me once. The kiss of death, would you believe it? That’s how sick he is.’

Simon felt a tiny moment of clarity. He had never understood the odd symbol on Oswald’s letterhead, which he had used even to send simple directives to the staff.

‘Well, now you know,’ Sofia went on. ‘But those names! Who names a baby Invictus? All I can do is laugh, it’s so sick. Just setting them up to be bullied at school. Poor kids.’

‘Yeah, although I’m sure they’ll go to some stuck-up private school, where all the kids have names that go back to Swedish nobility. Benedictus von Krusenstjerna and stuff like that.’

Sofia laughed again, but he sensed a hint of gravity in her voice. Just a tiny bit, but it was there.

‘Is something wrong?’

‘Not exactly… or, well, maybe, but it’s just a gut feeling. Nothing concrete. I’ll let you know if anything happens.’

He let it go, but an uneasy feeling lingered after they hung up.