Penelope tries to breathe slowly, but the air tears at her throat. She slides down the cliff, ripping off sheets of moss as she squeezes between the branches of the spruce trees. She shakes with fright and creeps closer to the tree trunks, where the darkness of night is already gathering. As she thinks of Viola, she begins to whimper. Björn is ahead of her, already sitting perfectly still underneath the spruce trees, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He’s mumbling something over and over.
They’ve been running in panic, not looking, stumbling over objects, falling, getting up again, clambering over fallen trees. They’ve ripped the skin on their legs, their knees, their hands, but they’ve let nothing stop them.
Penelope has no idea how close their pursuer might be, if he’s caught sight of them again or even decided to give up and go away. Perhaps he’s found a spot to wait them out. They’re fleeing for their lives, but Penelope has no idea why.
Perhaps it’s all a mistake, she thinks. A horrible mistake.
She feels nauseous, feels like she’s going to throw up, but swallows resolutely.
“Oh God, oh God,” she whispers to herself. “We can’t go on like this. We have to get help. They’ll find the boat soon and then they’ll come looking for us—”
“Shhh!” Björn shushes her, visibly, shockingly terrified.
Her hands tremble uncontrollably as images flash through her head. She blinks so that she won’t have to see them, but the visions keep flashing back: Viola dead; eyes wide-open, face wet, sitting on the bed, hair dripping in streams.
Penelope knows instinctively that the man on the beach, yelling out to Björn at sea, was the one who had killed her sister. She’d reacted the instant she’d understood. If she hadn’t, they’d both be dead.
When they fled the boat, they’d carried nothing with them, not even a mobile phone. Scrambling up the bank, Penelope had turned around only once to see the man in black tying the rubber boat to the pier.
Penelope and Björn had run, side by side, into the spruce forest, darting around trees and skirting outcroppings; Björn’s voice was a series of painful gasps as the soles of his naked feet tramped over sharp brush. And when he’d seemed to slow down, Penelope had pulled him with her, knowing their pursuer was not far behind. All the while she could hear herself crying as she ran, in a voice she’d never heard before.
A thick branch whacked her thigh and brought her to a stop. Her breath ripped at her. She moaned and with shaking hands pushed her way under low-hanging branches with Björn close beside her. Her legs throbbed. She kept going straight ahead. She heard Björn behind her and kept plunging deeper into the dark forest without turning around.
From far outside herself, Penelope contemplated the fact that thoughts change when panic sets in. Fear is not constant. Now and then there’s room for rational thought. It’s like silencing a racket to discover a quiet space in your head, which gives you a clear overview of your situation. Then the noise returns and your thoughts race in circles until the only impetus is to run.
Penelope kept expecting to find people. There had to have been hundreds of people out and about on Ornö Island that evening. The south end of the island is developed; there had to be people there. There had to be help.
For a moment, Penelope and Björn hid between tightly spaced spruce trees, but after only a few seconds, their fear overwhelmed them and they began to flee again. Even as she ran, Penelope could feel the presence of her pursuer. She thought she could hear his long, swift strides. He wouldn’t stop. If they couldn’t find help, he would catch up.
The ground was rising again. Stones loosened beneath their feet and tumbled down the slope.
There must be people nearby. There must be a house. Hysteria swept through Penelope and she felt the need to just stop and scream as loud as she could. Silently, she ran on.
Björn coughed behind her, strangled for breath; coughed again.
What if Viola wasn’t really dead? What if she just needed help? Somehow Penelope knew she was having these thoughts to ward off the terrible truth. Viola was dead, but thinking that was unbearable: an empty dark space she refused to comprehend and didn’t even want to make the attempt to understand.
They kept climbing up another steep slope between yet more spruce trees, around more huge branches, lingonberry bushes, and craggy rocks. She used her hands to steady herself until she finally reached the crest. Björn was right behind her. He tried to tell her something, but instead just gasped for breath. He took her hand to start down the other side, which now sloped towards the western shore. They could see the light of water between the dark trees. It wasn’t far.
Penelope slipped and slid over the edge of a small cliff. She fell freely and hit the ground hard. Struggling to get up, she wondered whether she’d broken something. Then she realised she was hearing music and laughter. She leaned against the damp cliff side for support so she could stand up. She wiped her lips and studied her bloody hand.
Björn reached her and pulled her along. He pointed. There was a party going on somewhere ahead of them. They took each other’s hands and stumbled shakily to a run. Coloured lights, strung on trellises around a wooden patio, twinkled between the dark trunks of trees.
They slowed to a cautious walk, looking carefully around.
People were sitting at a table outside a beautiful summerhouse painted Falun red. Penelope wondered if it was the middle of the night. The sky was still light, but dinner must have ended a while ago. Wineglasses and coffee cups were scattered about along with crumpled napkins and empty potato-chip bowls.
A few partygoers were singing together, while others refilled their glasses from boxes of red wine and chatted. Tendrils of wavy warm air still rose from the grill. Any children must have already been put to bed, snuggled in the house underneath cosy blankets. To Björn and Penelope, they seemed like denizens of another planet—a planet where calm, happy people lived safely together under a giant glass dome.
Only one person stood outside that charmed circle. He lurked at the side, facing the forest as if he expected visitors. Penelope stopped dead and silently gripped Björn’s hand. They dropped to the ground and crept behind a low spruce. Björn’s eyes were scared and uncomprehending, but Penelope was absolutely sure what she’d seen. Their pursuer had read their minds and got ahead of them. He knew they couldn’t resist the lights and the sounds of the party. Like moths to a flame, they’d be drawn here. So he’d waited. He’d want to catch them just inside the darkness of the trees. He hadn’t worried about any screams. He knew the people at the party wouldn’t think to investigate anything so strange until it would be too late.
When Penelope dared look up again, the man was gone. She shook from shock. Perhaps he’d changed his mind and believed he’d made a mistake. She searched around with her eyes. Maybe he’d gone somewhere else.
Hope had just started to creep into her mind. Then she saw him again, closer.
He was a dark form blending into a tree trunk not far from them.
He was calmly unpacking a set of black binoculars with green lenses.
Penelope pressed closer to Björn and fought her mindless instinct to leap up and start running again. Instead, she coolly watched the man as he lifted his binoculars to his eyes. He must have night-vision goggles or a heat sensor, she thought.
When the man’s back was turned, Penelope pressed Björn’s hand and, bent double, she pulled him away from the house and the music and back deep into the forest. After a while, she felt safe enough to straighten up. They began to run diagonally across a slope, a gently rounded reminder of the ancient glaciers that once ground northern Europe under ice. They kept going—through tangled bushes, behind a huge boulder, over a rocky crest. Björn grabbed a thick branch and hurried as carefully as he could down the slope. Penelope’s heart thudded in her chest and her thigh muscles screamed. She tried to breathe quietly, but could not. She slid down a rocky cliff, pulling damp moss with her, and landed on the ground next to the deep shade of a spruce. She looked at Björn. All he had on were his knee-length swimming trunks. His body was a pale blur and his lips almost disappeared in his white face.