Ben took Radulf back to the lodge with him that afternoon. Crime scene tape surrounded the ground in front of the deck and crossed the door, but he’d been given permission to go in to collect some of his things, if accompanied by one of the uniformed officers. A patrol car, its engine idling in the cold air, was parked at the front of the cabin. As soon as Radulf’s paws hit the ground, he was off. Ben had never seen him move so fast. He dodged the police car and shot straight across the well-trampled snow and down the track toward the lake. Ben glanced at the policeman; he nodded, and they both jogged after the disappearing figure. It was hard going in the snow. Radulf was scrabbling on the stony shore of the lake, sniffing. They went up to him and looked around, but other than snow and ice, they couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Then the young policeman commented, “The ice is broken.”
Ben nodded. “I fell in yesterday afternoon.”
The cop shook his head, thinking, staring at the lake. “Further out, look. Like a channel.” He walked away, talking into his radio. Ben tried to think. If Nikolas hadn’t gone voluntarily, which he still wasn’t too sure about, he’d have had to have been subdued, and it would’ve taken a very strong man to carry him any distance—but he could have been dragged. The snow would’ve made it possible, and they were only fifty meters from the cabin. The dock was icy, and it would’ve been possible to bring a boat in level with the deck and just roll a heavy body in without lifting it at all. For the first time since Nikolas had gone, Ben began to believe he’d been taken—that he’d not just walked away. He felt such a weight lift from his shoulders it seemed almost a physical absence—relieving him of the terrible depression and inertia that had slid around him, suffocating him. Nikolas had beentaken. He tore past the policeman, shouting he needed to get into the cabin,now. He stuffed a bag with some clothes and things for Radulf and flew back to the car.
§ § §
Gabby was in the children’s section, reading to a group of toddlers.
She’d been the first person Ben had thought of when he’d realised he needed local maps. Hewaseight and hewasrunning to his mother, but who was going to call him on it?
Amy was at the counter. She gave Ben an odd look and busied herself with stamping books. He realised, with a pang of guilt, that since Nikolas had arrived he’d not been to the library once. He’d dropped his new friends as if they meant nothing. Was this some kind of divine punishment for being so wholly consumed by Nikolas Mikkelsen that he was taken from him? That he was to lose Nikolas for worshiping him above all things?
Ben felt faint with confusion, guilt and fear.
He tried to catch Gabby’s eye. She gave him a little wave but finished the book she was reading to her avid audience.
When the last of her little flock had departed, she gave Ben a quick, embarrassed hug and held both his hands. “How are you, sweetie? It’s just so awful.” She brushed a finger over his split lip.
“You’ve heard?”
She smiled faintly. “This is a very small island, Ben. News travels fast. I’m sure they’ll catch him.”
“Catch him? Catch who?”
She placed her fingers briefly on his lip again. “The man who attacked you!”
“I wasn’t attacked! That’s—He’s—I—He’s gonemissing. Look, I don’t have time for this. I’m sorry. Have you got some maps? I need the lake area—maps that show where the houses are, cabins, hunting lodges—anything.”
“He’ll be off the island now, Ben, surely?”
“Maps?”
“No, we don’t have anything like that. I’m sorry.”
He almost stamped his foot in frustration, watching as she brushed a strand of greying hair behind her ear. “Look, can you wait a bit? I think I might know where I can get some maps—a local historian.”
He grabbed her arms. “Thanks. I’ll come with you.”
She shook her head. “I’ll meet you. I’ll bring them to you. Do you know the little restaurant by the harbour?”
“Alan Lund’s? Of course, but I need themnow, Gabby.”
She walked back to her desk and began to pack her handbag. “I’ll be as quick as I can. What time shall I meet you tonight?”
“As soon as you can! I’ll wait for you there.”
§ § §
Nikolas next woke to find he’d been left a plate of food. His captor had come and gone while he’d been fucking sleeping like a fucking baby. He was about to kick the plate away but thought better of it.Rule 3: Never refuse anything you’re offered, you mightn’t be offered it again. Food was fuel and power; a very wise child had told him that once. It had taken him a while to believe it and to act on that belief, putting the horror of the feeding in the gulags behind him. Now, he’d never been so grateful to have some more muscle and fat on him, chained as he was in this freezing shed.
Unfortunately, he had to kneel and eat like a dog off the plate, but he wasn’t proud. He’d once had to fuck three men at the same time to be allowed to share a piece of dog, and then they’d not given it to him when they were done with him. Eating a ham sandwich from a china plate decorated with little blue flowers chained on his knees in a butcher’s shed was a surreal experience—but surreal was okay.
When he was finished, he began on his project for escape—he wasn’t sure what this was yet, but thinking about it was good. He had some vague idea to use the blanket to form a rope he could snag one of the tools with, but this depended on being able to convince his captor to allow him to have his arms fixed to the front. And, of course, as soon as he persuaded someone to release him enough to make that exchange, he was as good as free. That meant staying awake long enough to speak with them the next time they came (Rule 1). Which was proving more difficult than he’d thought it would. Every time he lay down, he fell asleep. This, and the fact his head was hurting so much, made him think he probably had a concussion from whatever had hit him in the first place. He could feel the blood matted and sticky on the side of his head, and he couldn’t put this area to the ground without a sensation of worrying squishiness.
When he brought up the sandwich, he knew he was in trouble. Concussion in freezing conditions killed people quickly. But there wasn’t much he could do but endure. That he felt he deserved everything that was happening to him only added to his growing sense of helplessness.Rule 4—the strong survived by being righteous in their innocence—wasn’t looking good for him. It was so long since he’d been innocent of anything, his guilt tasted worse than the vomit in his throat.
§ § §
