Liisa
I’m not tired, but I’m lying in bed because there’s nothing else to do this afternoon. I’m actually enjoying learning how to knit, but Johanna won’t let me take the needles into my room. I shift my weight on the lumpy mattress, which feels like it’s a hundred years old. I’m on my back instead of my side, so I don’t have to breathe in the stinky pillowcase. Johanna doesn’t do laundry much, but when she does, it doesn’t make things fresh. She eats a lot of fish, and the stink gets everywhere. The wide kitchen sink is marked by their stringy guts, their shiny scales dotted on the kitchen sides. Sometimes I find them on the soles of my socks. Little bits of the rainbow trout that end up in Johanna’s rotten belly—a woman who takes more than she gives to the world. I think of my soft, feathery pillow at home, which sometimes smells of Mama’s sweet perfume. Of my bed, which feels like lying on a cloud. The small double that is big enough for her to cuddle up next to me. I’ve always preferred her stories about work to bedtime fairytales. Sometimes she says it’s not good for me, but I pester her until she tells me more. Once I was at my friend Sofia’s house and told her about a case that Mum was working on.
The week after, her mother came round, all red in the face and annoyed. I hadn’t meant to get Mama in trouble. Sofia’s mother said I’d given Sofia nightmares, then she looked at Mama like she was weird. I told her that people like Mama keep her safe in her bed at night. Mama reprimanded me for shouting, but I knew that secretly she was pleased. I wouldn’t mind, but I only told Sofia about a burglary where the man hid under the bed. I couldn’t see what the fuss was about. I wasn’t invited round to Sofia’s house again. I’m glad Mum told me all that stuff. If they had kidnapped Sofia instead of me, I don’t think she’d be here anymore.
I’ve been watching Johanna’s routine. Mother said that people are usually easy to work out. She talked about the hours she’d spent, watching and waiting for them to slip up. She said sometimes the police know exactly who’s done bad things, but they don’t have the evidence to lock them up. I hadn’t thought of it like that before. We are creatures of habit because it makes life easier. Our brains are kind of lazy—they don’t waste energy thinking about every little move we make. It’s why we do stuff without thinking, like blinking, brushing our teeth or even making breakfast. Once we get used to it, we do it on autopilot. That’s how habits are made. Mum said that bad people have habits, too, even when they’re covering stuff up or on the run. They end up stuck back in the same old routines, or returning to places they know. Mum said that when you watch and wait long enough, you can work out their next moves.
That’s what I’ve been doing, stuck in this room. I’ve been here for four weeks now. I know the date from the calendar that Johanna marks off in the hall. I’ve done everything that Johanna has asked. Cooking. Cleaning. Holding creepy Mikael’s hand. Sometimes Johanna is moody. She slaps me for no reason, but I try really hard to keep her happy and do the right thing. She doesn’t hear me cry when I’m alone in my bed, curled up against a spare blanket because I need to hug something, even if it’s prickly against my skin.
Mama isn’t perfect. She often gets things wrong. She forgets to order milk, and we’re always running out of food. Sometimes she sets her alarm clock wrong and wakes up grumpy and late for work. She doesn’t look after herself, but shedoeslook after me. At least she did, because it’s all in the past now. Where is she? I can’t believe she hasn’t found me yet. Is she OK? What if my kidnappers hurt her? They won’t tell me anything. I’m not allowed to talk about my life before I came here. I miss my old clothes. I miss my little wooden doll that was hidden in the small inside pocket of my jacket. How I wish I had it now. I sit up straight on the bed as the floorboards in the hall creak. Small shafts of light peek through the crooked wooden slats nailed over my windowpane. The outside world is calling. The melting snow still drips. I think we are in mid-February. Every day we have the same routine.
I’m allowed out of my room in the morning to light the fire and make breakfast for everyone. Then I clean the cabin while Johanna sits in her armchair, watching me over her knitting. Mikael goes into the forest. Sometimes for walks, sometimes to hunt and catch fish. He always says that he only catches what we need to eat. He doesn’t hunt for fun. When he gets back, Johanna tells me to go to my room. She says it takes “too much energy” to watch me all the time. That’s when I hear the drilling sound of her electric sewing machine. Once a week she goes into town to do a food shop.
Sometimes Mikael lets me out when she’s not there. He knows he shouldn’t. That it’s against the rules. He likes me to sit next to him on the sofa, so he can stroke my hair. It makes me feel icky inside. He tells me about the wildlife in the forest and knows the names of all the trees. I think he is lonely. Sometimes he opens his mouth to speak, but then changes his mind. Johanna isn’t easy to live with. I hear them arguing all the time. Sometimes I catch Mikael staring at her with hate in his eyes. I can’t imagine what it must be like, having her as a mother, because I’ve never looked at Mama like that. Did he go to school? Have any friends? I think Johanna likes to keep him to herself. Today I wait at the door, wondering if he will let me out. Because it’s that time of the week again. Johanna has left the cabin. Habits.
I stand, hugging myself, waiting for the bolt to be pulled across. I’m wearing an ugly brown dress with wide flappy sleeves, a lace collar, and three black buttons that hang on loose threads. Thick black tights usually keep my legs warm, but today it’s so cold that I’m wearing two pairs. I smell like I haven’t washed in a while. But I’d rather be dirty than have Johanna watch me in the bath. Mikael unlocks my door. It is rusty on its hinges, making a squeaking noise as he pushes it open. He doesn’t say anything, just looks me up and down before walking into the sitting room. The tips of my fingers and toes are cold. I wipe my nose with the back of my wizard-like sleeve, seeking out the heat. I follow him and sit in the wide armchair next to the fire. The material is frayed, the cushion hard, but at least this spot is warm. It’s good to get out of the room. I catch a glimpse of his rifle, which is leaning against the sofa. It’s not loaded. Johanna won’t allow loaded guns in the house. Another one of her rules.
Mikael pats the sofa cushion for me to join him. I pretend that I haven’t heard.
“Hei,” he says, because they rarely use my name anymore. When they do, they call me “Lia.”
“Hei,” he says, louder his time. His light-brown hair is greasy, he hasn’t shaved and there’s dried egg yolk on his face. He chews on liquorice. I can’t ignore the insistence in his voice as he calls me one more time. I think of the way he holds his hand over mine. How he touches my hair. And I can’t. I just...can’t. It all happens so fast. I stand. His lips jerk upwards in a weird half-smile that turns the rest of my body cold. I look behind him and gasp. It’s something Mama taught me: the distraction trick. Then I’m moving, faster than I have ever moved before. Darting towards the gun leaning against the sofa.
Now his rifle is in my hand, and its weight takes me by surprise. I grab it by the barrel and swing it towards his head. The metal is ice-cold. I swing with all my strength, connecting with his face as Mikael turns back round. In that second I see the flash of surprise in his eyes. It’s too late for him to do anything. There’s a crack as the gun connects with his jaw. His head wobbles to the side and he flops face-down on the wooden floorboards with a thud.
I pant, disbelieving. I can’t believe that he’s down. I throw the gun onto the floor, taking a second to catch my breath. I’m shaking. I want to cry. I grab one of Mikael’s coats and pull on his waterproof boots next to the door. They are far too big for me, but should protect my feet from the snow. If only I had more time, better clothes, smaller boots. But a moan rises from the living room, and I know that I have to run. My hands are shaking as I release the heavy bolt from the front door.
The air hits me like a slap in the face, cold but welcome. It’s so fresh in comparison to my smoky, fishy hell. I’m out, my eyes stinging against the brightness of the snow. Legs pumping, I force myself out into the wilderness, but the boots are clunky and feel like lead. I want to ditch them, but I can’t. Wading through the knee-deep snow, I head towards the forest, making a perfect trail for Mikael to follow me down. I think of the steely traps that he has set for the animals. I’ve seen the damage they do. The imprints of the pointed metal teeth as they capture their prey and break bone.
I glance over my shoulder, my breath coming in jerky gasps. I’ll take my chances in the woods. Maybe I’ll be able to find help. One person. It only takes one other person to be able to help. A cabin. A phone. I hold the image in my mind. My lungs burn as I gather speed. It can’t be just us living out here.
Chapter 36
Alice had laid out an array of toys, most of them new. Joshua and Jake gurgled with delight as they chewed on the purchases, which were surely bought to give their parents some quality time to speak. As always, the children were clean, fed, and dry. They were happy. Swann knew that he took Alice for granted. She did everything for their children while he worked. He was blessed in so many ways. So why wasn’t he satisfied? He thought he loved Alice, until Elea had got here, then all the old feelings for his wife had hit him like a tsunami. He couldn’t help but feel guilty as he took a seat.
Alice’s brunette hair cascaded over her shoulders. She was wearing jeans and a jumper that hung loose on her frame. She seemed tired, a little harassed, and was eyeing him with the intention of someone who needed to get something off their chest. Swann kicked off his shoes. It was meant to be his day off work, but he’d ended up going in for a meeting with the Corporate Communications Team. Then he’d met the superintendent to discuss the situation with Sienna Thompson and her request for money in exchange for information. That couldn’t wait, rest day or not. Elea was settling into the Brayford flat, and he’d told her to catch up on some sleep. If anything came in with regards to the case, officers would let him know.
“Earth to Richard.” Alice’s voice brought him back to ground. She was one of the few people he knew who called him by his first name.
“Sorry.” He gave her an apologetic smile.
Alice quickly picked up his shoes and put them aside so that the children wouldn’t stick them in their mouths. “Sit down, love.”
He took the shoes from her hands and rested them in the cupboard in the hall. “Would you like me to run you a bath?” he asked as he returned. “I’ll take the twins tonight.”
Alice heaved a weary sigh, her shoulders slumped. “I won’t say no.” She cupped her mouth as she yawned. “I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep.”
She looked so small in that moment, so ragged with exhaustion, that Swann pulled her in for a hug. “Sorry. I’ll try harder.” It dawned upon him how thin she had become. He was filled with the need to find other people’s children when he should be helping out with his own.
She drew away from his embrace. “Why don’t you start by pushing Elea for a divorce?”
“You haven’t exactly helped the situation there.” Swan smiled.
“What are you getting at?” An edge grew in Alice’s voice as she turned to face him.
“You went behind my back and invited her into our home. You must have known you couldn’t keep your feelings in check.” It hadn’t meant to sound like an accusation, but it did.
The twins continued to chat and babble in their own special language. Alice stretched to give Jake a soft, crinkly toy flower. She turned back to face Swann. “I thought I could sweet-talk her. Show her the kids. They deserve a full-time father.”
