Chapter 43

The sight of Oswald made Simon go weak at the knees. He wasn’t afraid of him, but he was immediately reminded of the claustrophobia he had experienced in the cult. Besides, Oswald looked out of place standing there in his expensive clothes with the fields and greenhouses behind him. Like a fashion spread with the wrong backdrop. He was tanned, too, and Simon was disgusted to realize that he’d already made use of his tanning bed.

‘Hi there, Simon, it’s been awhile.’

‘You can say that again.’

‘Look, I don’t mean to bother you. I just wanted to know if you’ve seen Bosse. He’s out on a lark or something, and we’re worried about him.’

‘Bosse? No, I sure haven’t.’

Oswald fixed his eyes on Simon, who stared back. Simon didn’t feel guilty in the least – in fact, he got a kick out of lying to Oswald.

‘Okay, then.’

Oswald glanced around Simon’s cottage.

‘I see you’re doing well for yourself here. But things can always change.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Who knows. Maybe I’ll buy the pension. I’ve been considering investing in property here on the island. After all, you’ve won prizes and all that. Then you would work for me again. Like in the good old days.’

Was this bastard threatening him?

‘I don’t think Inga is interested in selling.’

‘What if she doesn’t have any choice? Shit, I’m just kidding around, Simon. Don’t look so freaked out. I’m sure you understand how worried I am about Bosse. He’s been a little confused recently. If he does contact you, just tell him not to worry. All he has to do is call me right away, and we’ll work it all out.’

Oswald held out a business card and Simon took it automatically.

‘Was there anything else?’

‘No, you can get back to whatever it is you do around here,’ he said, turning around to gaze out at the fields and the greenhouses. He nodded to himself.

It occurred to Simon that Oswald wasn’t only there because of Bosse. He was in urgent need of a gardener. So Simon had become interesting again. The thought made him feel vaguely ill.

He watched as Oswald got back in his car and drove off, then became aware of the little card in his hand. Well, now I’ve got his mobile number, he thought. That might come in handy someday.

He called to Bosse, who looked seriously shaken as he came out of the bathroom. A few minutes later, they were on their way to the mainland, where Bosse would take the train to the farm in Småland.

On the ferry, Bosse was silent, hardly responding when spoken to. His face had gone eerily pale.

‘There’s no one from ViaTerra here,’ Simon said. ‘I took a tour of the ferry and checked. As soon as we’re off the ferry we’ll drive straight to the train station.’

‘It’s not that,’ Bosse mumbled. ‘But… hearing his voice. He actually sounded worried. Now I feel like a coward for running away. Like I’m betraying them.’

‘Listen, he’s not worried about you at all. He’s just afraid that you won’t keep quiet about all the crap that happens at ViaTerra. You know that, right?’

‘Yeah, maybe. I suppose it’s hard to understand, but he helped me when no one else cared. It’s complicated.’

Simon sighed.

‘It’s up to you. Should we go back?’

‘No, definitely not. It’s just… I can’t go back to ViaTerra, and I also can’t leave. It’s like there’s no way out. No matter what I do, everything will go to shit.’

Bosse shook his upper body as if he were trying to get something off him. Then he turned to Simon and gave a hoarse laugh that was immediately absorbed into the fog around the boat.

‘Of course I’m still going to your parents’ farm, Simon. It’s just, these sick thoughts keep popping up. Thanks for helping me.’

But none of this sounded like it came from the heart. Oswald’s mere presence had really rattled Bosse. Simon was starting to feel anxious, but he figured that as soon as Bosse settled into his job at the farm everything would be better.

The silence in the car grew awkward. Simon turned on the radio and tried to focus on the road and the news, but just then the broadcasters started to talk about Anna-Maria Callini’s death. Again. Something about how the cause of death had been determined as a broken neck. Bosse let out a moan of horror.

‘Didn’t Franz tell you all that Anna-Maria Callini is dead?’ Simon asked.

Bosse shook his head, bewildered.

‘Oh. Well, she is. She ran off the road on his motorcycle.’

They talked about it for a while, and then Bosse sank back into his ruminations.

The train station was busy, full of people moving in every direction. Simon thought perhaps Bosse would like it – the warmth of other humans. But instead he seemed to stick out, as if he didn’t belong there. He kept looking around, nervously chewing on his lower lip.

The train was half an hour late.

‘I’ll wait,’ Simon said.

‘No, fuck it. I can manage on my own. I’ll just sit here on a bench and think for a while. Thank you, Simon, for all you’ve done for me. I’ll pay you back someday.’

‘Don’t even mention it. And do not under any circumstances let my mother save your soul.’

Bosse laughed.

‘Who knows? That stuff about God’s Way doesn’t really sound all bad.’

‘Oh, Mom promised to leave you alone. And then there’s Dad – he’s a little odd, but he’ll protect you. He’s guaranteed to get out the shotgun if any Oswald clones show up there.’

They embraced awkwardly. Bosse was so skinny that Simon could feel his ribs through his clothes. He smelled like Simon’s shampoo and the synthetic fabric of his new jacket, as if he hadn’t quite found his own scent yet.

Bosse held up the phone Simon had given him.

‘Are you sure you want to give me this?’

‘Of course, so you can call me and we can chat. But it doesn’t have a monthly contract, just a pay-as-you-go card. So you’ll have to add funds when it runs out.’

‘What about you, though? It’s your number.’

‘I’ll get a new one. I don’t have that many friends.’

Bosse gave him a hesitant smile. It was like he couldn’t tear his eyes from Simon.

‘Well, talk to you later, then.’

Just as Simon was about to turn at the end of the platform, he glanced back. Bosse had stood up and was wandering along the track with his back to Simon, getting smaller and smaller until he was no more than a blurry dot in Simon’s vision.

The bad feeling he had was overwhelming as he got behind the wheel, but he started the car anyway and drove out of the parking lot.

By the time he turned onto the road, his uneasiness had grown so strong that one hand was trembling slightly. The thought that had been chafing deep down was now so urgent that he almost lost control of the car; he had to slow down and park on the side of the road. At first he couldn’t figure out what was happening to him, why he was full of an anguish so powerful it had taken over his body. Never before had he felt this way. Or had he? An image flickered through his mind. Bosse’s eyes. All at once Simon knew what Bosse hadn’t managed to hide under that forced smile. That look was so familiar that Simon was tossed four years back in time as his stomach turned inside out and the world around him began to spin. The look in Daniel’s eyes, and Bosse’s – they were identical.

He managed to collect himself enough to start the car, make a U-turn, and speed back to the station. He was hardly aware of the other cars, or the fact that he was driving too fast; he was hardly aware of himself. He only knew he had to hurry. There wasn’t much time.

When he couldn’t find a parking spot he left the car in a handicapped slot, threw open the door without closing it, and left his keys behind. He ran, bumping into people. Here and there someone cursed angrily, but Simon didn’t hear them; he just pushed on. He stopped at the platform where Bosse’s train was supposed to be, his eyes searching frantically for Bosse, but the dot had vanished. So he set off down the platform, along the tracks. He knew, he had never been so sure of something. The suitcases he ran into fell to the concrete with heavy thuds; he pushed people out of the way. Straining his eyes, he finally spotted a shadow by the tracks, far in the distance. The voice on the loudspeaker announced an approaching train. Bosse’s train.

‘No!’ Simon shouted. But the shadow didn’t seem to react. Simon was no longer running – he was floating, hurtling forward like an arrow, as the sound of the train grew louder. The shadow had become a body. A figure at the edge of the tracks. Its back straight, stiff as a board. Simon shouted again, louder now. He pushed off from the asphalt and dived the last little bit. Aiming for the thighs, grabbing hold of them, pulling backwards. His head struck the platform with a bang, and Bosse’s body landed on top of him.

The gust of air from the train swept over them. The racket of the wheels on the rails was so loud that it drowned out Bosse’s cry of despair. They lay like that for a moment, Simon panting and Bosse howling like a child. But Simon had a firm grip around Bosse’s chest and he wasn’t about to let go.

Some of the people on the platform sprang into action. People ran towards them. The train squealed and whined as it slowed down. Simon rolled away from Bosse and sat up. But before he could open his mouth, he heard Bosse’s piteous voice.

‘He called me, that bastard. That fucker called me.’