February 9, 2019
The hotel Nora has chosen for them is on the main street in downtown Reykjavík, just a few blocks away from where Agnes bought her jacket and boots. She’s gotten them adjoining rooms and left the door connecting them open. Nora perches on the edge of her bed, scribbling away in her notebook. Agnes leans against the wall in Nora’s room and tries to pretend, for the moment, that she’s not about to scratch her way out of her skin.
Nora’s speaking, but Agnes hasn’t heard her.
“I’m sorry,” Agnes says. “What?”
“I said you can take the night off if you want to,” Nora tells her, concern etched into the lines of her face. “Óskar’s band is playing at ten, at that whisky bar two doors down. I’ll be there. But feel free to do your own thing tonight. Rest. It’s been a lot of—well, just, a lot. I’d love to share a drink with you tonight, to commemorate the anniversary, but I understand if you’d prefer to do something on your own.”
Agnes pushes away from the wall, checking the date on her phone. “It’s the ninth.”
“Forty years ago today,” Nora says, “your grandmother and aunt were reported missing. If you don’t make it to the show, let’s meet back here in the morning. We have to talk to Thor Senior again, before we head back up to Bifröst.”
“Do you really think he’ll talk to you again?” Agnes asks, her lips cracking at the edges. When was the last time she had a sip of water? “He shouted at you.”
Nora laughs. “I’ve gotten worse before, believe me. And I have to try. He’s holding something back. I can taste it.”
And there it is. The reason why Agnes wants to run. Wants to leap from a high spot, wants to feel the fear and the adrenaline overtake her, obliterate the last bit of sanity she has left, until she’s nothing.
“This is the proof you were looking for,” she hears herself say. “Einar killed his wife because she was having an affair.”
Nora shakes her head. “That’s a huge intuitive leap. I’m just following a thread.”
“It makes sense,” Agnes insists. Because it does. It’s a complete picture. Marie, a young mother, in a small town, isolated in that house, taken away from her home, her language. Left alone for long stretches, and there’s her handsome neighbor, the one who makes her feel not like a mother, not like a wife, but a beautiful woman with long legs.
And there’s Einar. The possessive husband who once told another neighbor that he wants nothing in this life except his work and her. He finds out. Of course he does. How could Thor and Marie hide? The emptiness of the land seduces you into believing that you are alone, you are anonymous, when in fact it only makes you that much more exposed.
Einar finds out and he, the man who expects everyone to follow his lead, starts to wonder—How long has it been going on? Is this child, the one that screams at night, the one that is so different from Magnús, even his? Then the rage. Quickly followed by regret.
Agnes’s father had known. And he’d let her get close to Einar. Let her love him. Let Einar raise her.
I had to trust him, Agnes, because he was all I had left.
“You’re making enormous leaps,” she hears Nora say. “Thor’s acting like he has something to hide, but it could be something entirely different. People lie. They do it all the time. They withhold or they exaggerate. It’s really easy to shape someone’s testimony into whatever narrative you want. Your brain wants to impose a pattern onto everything. That doesn’t mean that that’s the only interpretation. We’re going to talk to him again, and I will probably tell him who you are, so he can remember Marie as she was when he knew her. Which is a lot, again, but please, take a breath. All we’ve gotten out of this is a confirmation that Thor held some sort of financial power over Einar—I’m assuming he paid Einar a pittance for the land—and that he may have had a relationship with Marie. I overplayed my hand. I wanted to get his reaction. It came out wonky. That’s it. Okay?”
Agnes nods. She wants to believe Nora, and a small, rational part of her mind agrees with her. More than that, though, she wants to leave. Now.
She stops in the lobby, just long enough to check her phone on the Wi-Fi. There are texts from Lilja.
I’m in Reykjavík. I missed you.
Lilja’s sent Agnes another address. Where she’s staying.
Agnes sends a quick text back. Then she’s outside, in the fresh air, disappearing into the crowds.