Rachel

I stop, tread water and look back, towards the house that clings, like an eagle’s nest, to the rock.

Nothing.

No boats, no people can be seen on the jetty, so I keep swimming, fall into the rhythm.

Arm, arm, breathe.

I pass a skerry on my right. The rocks that protrude above the surface are covered in a thick layer of cormorant droppings. The waves are high out here and the water is cold. The sea tugs and whispers. Lures me down, towards the black void.

I get water in my airways and stop. Cough, throw up some seawater and then continue, though my arms and legs feel like logs.

I think of Samuel’s mother whom I left dangling by the fence on the deck. Of what she said about missing her son. When she said that I actually felt some kind of affinity with her. I almost told her everything.

But how could I explain?

She would never have understood. Nobody can understand.

I see Birger’s old leaky motorboat now. It is bouncing on the pointy waves next to the buoy.

The boat lies moored here inside the islet of Klockaren, waiting to be transported to the shipyard on Kornholmen.

If I’m lucky I will make it to the boat before anyone discovers me. Then I can hide in it and swim to the shore once it gets dark. I can’t take the boat and flee out to sea, it is almost out of fuel. Besides it takes in far too much water, as I learned the hard way when I borrowed it to transport the boys’ bodies.

Arm, arm, breathe.

I raise my head above the water to look.

Perhaps another fifty yards.

The woman who is Samuel’s mother must have fallen down onto the rocks. Her body has probably been crushed and become soft and lifeless like the boys’ did. As if they were made out jelly.

The thought makes me feel sick again. I never wanted to kill anyone, it just happened, the way autumn follows the heat of summer. It was an inescapable consequence, but never, ever my intention.

I grab on to the boat, pull myself along the hull to the little ladder in the aft. Heave myself up and end up standing, panting, with my heart thumping in my chest.

I look in the direction of my house, squint at the sun and try to see.

A speedboat is headed my way.

Yes. It is my boat. Or Victor Carlgren’s boat, if I’m being precise.

Victor wasn’t like those others; he wasn’t looking for a job as a caretaker. He just stood there one day, at the dock for small boats in Stuvskär, with his motor that was acting up.

I assured him that we could fix it. That Olle loved tinkering with boat motors. And that was actually partly true: Olle was good with motors, before he began to question how I cared for Jonas. Before he became violent and I was forced to defend myself.

I chose to ignore the boat for a bit longer, thinking that maybe the motor will stall like it usually does.

If I am lucky I will get away.

My thoughts go to you, Jonas. They always land with you, regardless of where they start.

I miss you so desperately, the absence hurts so much. It cuts and pierces my chest until I feel like I am going insane.

Those boys – I don’t think I ever seriously believed they were you, although I wished it so much it almost became true.

But at least they made me feel like a mother again. Like somebody’s mother.

Because they lay there, completely helpless and dependent on me. At the mercy of my love and care. And as they got worse, lost weight, got bed sores and suffered other complications, I began to think about the next boy. Of how it would be perfect then, that it had to be perfect.

But nobody was like you.

I gaze across the sea. Look at the approaching boat. It skips across the waves like a pinball and leaves a white trail of foaming water in its wake.

There is nowhere for me to hide.

I open the aft hatch and take out the anchor.

It is so heavy that I can barely lift it. The chain rattles dully when I wind it around my waist. I loop it a turn around my neck too and then sit on the railing with the anchor in my lap and my back to the water.

The sea is calling me.

Come! it says. Here is oblivion and understanding. Here is all that you have been missing.

Here is your son.

In the small motorboat that is drawing closer there is a young woman with long brown hair. It flutters behind her, but settles over her shoulders when she stops a few yards from me.

‘Police!’ she shouts. ‘Lie down face down in the boat!’

I don’t answer.

The woman continues to talk, calmer now, with her eyes on the chain around my neck. She says that everything will be OK, as long as I lie down in the boat. That there is a solution to everything. That no problem is so big it can’t be fixed. That there is so much left to live for.

I look at her silently and my gaze catches on the protruding belly.

She has life ahead of her. It is growing inside of her.

My life lies behind me. I drag it behind me, like a tail. My life is a train filled with stones. A load of timber. I pull and I pull but I don’t get anywhere, never free of my past. Just walk around in the same circles.

‘Lie down in the boat!’ the police officer bellows.

Perhaps she is tired of luring and coaxing.

But I turn my face to the sun and close my eyes. Feel the warmth spread through my body. Notice how my skin, which has goosebumps from the swim, becomes smooth again.

Then I let go of the railing and fall back, down into the water with a firm grip on the anchor.