The thought of village ghosts roving aboveground at night was both frightening and fascinating. And then there was Mikael, the will-o’-the-wisp in the dark when people talked about him, like a sudden mirage. Just a flash, then it was gone.
That was the kind of thing that came to mind upon hearing the news of Killian Persson’s death. Curses, roses, the dead returning at night; visions and reflections in the dark. You couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.
“Someone is trying to kill the boys of Skavböke.”
So people said that Christmas. Little did they know the worst was yet to come.
The worst? If it’s even possible to rank such tragedies.
Well, but itis.
—
Day had slowly given way to night, and Christmas dinners were over. While the rest of the country made their way to pubs and bars to get drunk now that they’d fulfilled their holiday obligations, a heavy pall lay over Skavböke.
“No parties for you,” terrified parents told their kids, “given what happened out there, what might still be happening. You are staying home.”
The adults claimed it was for their own good, but the affected teens hardly saw it that way. Instead they considered this a punishment of sorts, and maybe it was; maybe what had happened to Mikael and Killian was everyone’s fault, in some regard. Sander felt unfairly linked to violence and death, even though it was true that these were what occupied his thoughts more than anything for the moment.
His parents thought he had finally dozed off. They’d heard himmilling and crashing about upstairs, but now, at last, the noise had ceased. He must have been so exhausted after everything that had happened.
They held each other on the sofa and spoke softly. Erik placed his lips to his wife’s hair. She closed her eyes.
“It’s so awful,” Eva whispered. “Have you talked to him?”
“I tried. But he doesn’t want to talk.”
“We need to keep an eye on him. You know, I’ve almost been thinking maybe he should talk to someone.”
“What? How do you mean?”
“You know, a psychologist or something. Just so he has someone to turn to in case he needs it. I don’t know.”
“Yes,” Erik said. “Yeah, maybe. Have you checked in with Linda, by the way? And Sten?”
She had talked to both of them. Linda was completely beside herself and couldn’t say a word; all she did was scream and cry. Sten, though, had been numb and cold. He had gone over to see Karl-Henrik Söderström.
“He did?”
“Yes, apparently.”
“Why the hell would he do that?”
Eva looked at her husband and shook her head.
“I don’t know. But I guess it didn’t end very well. I told them they need each other now, him and Linda. They should take care of each other. After all, Killian was both of theirs. I asked what Killian was doing in the car, but Linda didn’t know.” A shiver ran through Eva’s body. “ ‘I just don’t know what Killian was up to recently. Something was going on with him.’ That’s what she told me.”
“Well, yeah, he killed Karl-Henrik’s boy,” Erik said.
He felt Eva stiffen. “You think he did it?”
“Everyone’s been saying so. It’ll be good for Sander to get out of here, to get away from all this.”
Eva nodded slowly. “We’ll have to keep an extra eye on him from now on. He’s had his dark moments. This could…well, I don’t know what.”
—
And up in his bed, wide-awake, lay Sander.
