Pierre roused himself from the floor.
“Well, time for another beer. Or maybe the hard stuff, shit, I think there’s vodka in the fridge.”
Some people went to the kitchen, others to the yard; some went upstairs to try to have sex or smoke weed. A picture was broken and soon Pierre himself was walking around with the frame around his neck, speaking in a snobby voice, holding a newfound bottle of vodka in his hand and proclaiming, “Heeeere comes a reeeeal connoisseuuuur! Riiiight from the arrrrsehole of Sssstaaahhhckholm!” Spit flew from his lips and he stumbled on the hall rug and hit the wall. The Sweden clock fell from its hook onto Pierre, and he laughed and said, “Myyyyy, wassssn’tthata tiiiiimely misssstake!” Pierre keptchuckling to himself while Sander helped him put the clock back up. A camera flashed.
Shortly after this climax, the party began to wind down. People were too drunk and getting tired; they had to get home so they could sneak in before their parents woke up. Filip had vomited and headed out hand-in-hand with a girl, into the winter night. A little while later, Sander and Killian stood in the front hall, Killian wobbly and holding a cigarette. There was a chilly draft from the open door.
Killian stepped out onto the stairs. “I know you’re not going to stay. I’m not stupid. I get it. And I get why you want to go. What you said before, inside, it’s true, isn’t it? That’s how you feel.”
“Not about you.”
“I don’t mean about me, I mean…” Killian appeared to be thinking it over. “Everything.”
“I’ll come back to visit and all that. And maybe I’ll move back home after a while. But I don’t know, I just need…you can come with.”
But Killian shook his head. “It’s your brain that’s taking you away from here. Your grades. I don’t have those.”
“C’mon, you’re smart.”
“Not like you.” He exhaled as he stood on the stoop, straightened up, and gazed out at the darkness, at the forest over past Årniltsvägen. “No, I’m going to end up here. But that’s what I want, so I’ll be just fine. Have you told your parents?”
“No. But I’m sure they’ll understand.”
He wasn’t nearly as sure as he made it sound.
Killian rested a heavy hand on Sander’s shoulder. “Wanna go home?”
Sander looked at his friend’s feet. “But you’re not wearing any shoes.”
As if this were news to him, Killian raised his eyebrows at the icy steps.
“You seem to be right. Guess I’m kind of drunk after all.”
The camera flashed behind them, from the living room, capturingfor posterity a kid who had dozed off on the sofa and was drooling onto the armrest. Sander blinked. For an instant he saw two Killians.
“Me too, I think.”
—
Sander and Killian left Pierre’s party together. It was one in the morning. Everyone agreed on that.
What happened after that has remained a mystery for over twenty years.
10
Kjell Östholm was the first one to spot the car, and it was really all thanks to Bill.
Bill was almost two, but he hadn’t been with Kjell for more than a few months, so the German shepherd hadn’t completely adjusted to life on the farm. Sometimes Bill woke up hours before dawn.
It was a different story in the past, of course; Kjell remembered the years when his wife was still alive, and he kept a dairy herd, as the happiest of his life. Back then, the alarm clock rang at quarter past three and Greta would pat Kjell gently on the chest to get himup.
These days, Bill woke Kjell. This morning, he’d slunk into the bedroom just before five, placed his front paws on the edge of the bed, and grunted.
Kjell took his time getting up. As he got on in age, his thighs and back gave him trouble and his balance was temperamental. It was past five by the time they were wandering across the property in the cold.
When Bill began to act strange, Kjell wondered what was going on but let him be. They went across the field, toward the fence on the other side.
Down on the road was a car, an old gray Volvo 240 with its back gate open. Kjell stopped.
