Camilla Läckberg - The Drowning

Then everything went black.

‘Did he send the threatening letters to himself?’ Anna asked, shifting position a little. The baby was pressing on her bladder, and she actually needed to pee, but she couldn’t tear herself away.

‘Yes, and to the others too,’ said Erica. ‘We don’t know whether Magnus got any. Most likely not.’

‘Why did the letters start coming when he began working on the book?’

‘Again, we only have theories to go on. But according to Thorvald, it might have been difficult for Christian to keep taking the medication for schizophrenia at the same time as he was writing the book. The medicine can have significant side effects, such as fatigue and lethargy, and maybe it made it hard for him to focus on the writing. My guess is that he stopped taking the medicine, and that’s when the illness flared up, after being kept in check for so many years. And then the identity disorder also manifested itself. The foremost object of Christian’s hatred was himself, and I presume that he couldn’t cope with the guilt that had been getting worse and worse. So he split himself in two: Christian, who tried to forget and live a normal life; and the Mermaid, or Alice, who hated Christian and wanted him to bear the guilt.’

Erica continued patiently trying to explain. It wasn’t easy to understand; in fact, it was really an impossible task. Thorvald had been careful to emphasize that the disease rarely took such an extreme form. This was by no means an ordinary case. But Christian had not had an ordinary life. He’d had to endure things that would have broken even the strongest person.

‘That was also why he took his own life,’ said Erica. ‘In the letter he left behind, he said that he was forced to save his sons from her. And the only way to do that was to give her what she wanted. Himself.’

‘But he was the one who painted the words on the children’s wall. He was the threat to their safety.’

‘Yes, exactly. When he realized that he loved his sons, he understood that the only way to protect them was to kill the person who wanted to hurt them. Meaning, himself. In his world, the Mermaid was real, not a figment of his imagination. She really existed, and she wanted to kill his family. Just as she had killed Maria and her son Emil. So he saved his boys by taking his own life.’

Anna wiped away a tear. ‘The whole thing is just so awful.’

‘I agree,’ said Erica. ‘It’s horrible.’

Erica’s mobile began ringing shrilly. Annoyed, she picked it up. ‘If that’s some bloody reporter, I’m going to… Hello, this is Erica Falck.’ Erica face lit up. ‘Hi, Annika!’ Then her expression changed again, and she gasped. ‘What did you say? Where did they take him? He is? In Uddevalla?’

Anna looked at Erica with concern. Her big sister’s hand had started to shake as she held the phone.

‘What is it?’ asked Anna when Erica ended the conversation.

Erica swallowed hard. Her eyes were filled with tears.

‘Patrik collapsed at work,’ she whispered. ‘They think it might be a heart attack. They’re taking him in an ambulance to Uddevalla.’

For a moment Anna was so shocked she couldn’t move. Then she rallied, quickly got up, and headed for the front door. The car keys were on the hall bureau, and she went over and grabbed them.

‘We’re going to Uddevalla. Come on. I’m driving.’

Erica followed mutely after her sister. She felt like the whole world was about to fall apart around her.

Louise sped out of the driveway so fast that gravel sprayed up from the tyres. She had to hurry. Erik’s plane was due to leave in two hours, and she wanted to be there when the police caught him.

She drove fast. It was necessary if she was going to get to the airport in time. But when she reached the petrol station, she realized that she’d forgotten her wallet at home. And she didn’t have enough petrol to make it all the way to Göteborg. She swore loudly and made a U-turn at the intersection. She was going to lose time by driving back to get her wallet, but she had no choice.

Yet it was a magnificent feeling to have taken control. That was what she was thinking as she raced through Fjällbacka. She felt like a new person. Her whole body was pleasantly relaxed; the sense of power made her feel beautiful and strong. Life was splendid, and for the first time in many years, the world was hers.

Erik was going to be surprised. He had probably never thought that she would work out what he was up to, let alone ring the police. She laughed as the car zoomed over the crest of Galärbacken. She was free now. She was going to escape from their humiliating dance. Escape from all the lies and degrading remarks, escape from him. Louise pressed her foot down on the accelerator even harder, really floored it. The car flew forward like a spear, heading towards her new life. She owned the speed, she owned everything. She owned her life.

She didn’t see it until it was too late. For just a second she had glanced away to look out towards the sea, marvelling at how beautiful the ice was. She only looked away for an instant, but that was enough. She suddenly realized that she had veered into the oncoming lane, and she had time to see two women sitting in the car coming towards her, two women with mouths open wide, screaming.

Then she heard the sound of metal against metal, echoing off the massive rock wall. After that, there was only silence.

First and foremost, I want to thank my Martin. Because you love me and constantly find new ways to show it.

As usual there is one person who has been invaluable for the genesis of all my books: my wonderful publisher, Karin Linge Nordh. She’s both tough and warm at the same time in a most delightful combination, and she always makes my books better! This time we’ve also had help with the editing from Mathilda Lund, who made an amazing contribution. I am incredibly grateful to you. And to all of the others at Bokförlaget Forum – you know who you are. I can’t believe what a great job you do! I also want to mention the Ester PR agency, which has created fantastic, albeit rather scary, ad campaigns. I’m particularly grateful for my publisher’s involvement in producing my short novel Snöstorm och mandeldoft [ Snow Storm and the Scent of Almonds ], to benefit the organization MinStoraDag.

As always, Bengt Nordin has been a very important person for me, both personally and professionally. Thanks as well to the new talents at the revamped Nordin Agency: Joakim, Hanserik, Sofia, and Anna. I appreciate your enthusiasm and the work that you’ve done since taking over the baton from Bengt, who now can enjoy his well-deserved retirement. Only you know, Bengt, how much you have meant to me. On all levels.

Thanks to my mother for helping out with the babysitting, among many other things; and to Anders Torevi for quickly reading through the manuscript and for helping me with his knowledge of Fjällbacka, as he always does. I’d also like to thank the citizens of Fjällbacka for embracing my books as you’ve done, and for being so loyal to me, offering me the most amazing support. You always make me feel like a ‘Fjällbacka girl’, in spite of the many years I’ve lived in Stockholm.

Thanks also to the police officers at the Tanumshede station – none named, but none forgotten. You do a magnificent job, and you’ve been so incredibly patient in allowing me – and the TV crew – to take up residence at your police station. Jonas Lindgren at the Forensics Lab in Göteborg: thanks for always being willing to correct my forensics mistakes.

I also want to mention my amazing friends who have patiently stood by me, even though there are long periods when I don’t communicate very much. Thanks to my former mother-in-law, Mona, whom I have bribed to continue supplying the world’s best meatballs – and in return she’s allowed to read the manuscript as soon as it’s done. I also want to send a big thank you to the children’s father, Micke! Because you’re always so understanding and nice. And to the children’s paternal grandfather, Hasse Eriksson. I don’t know how to explain how important you are. You were taken from us much too soon and too quickly this year, but the world’s best grandfather can’t just disappear. You will live on in your children and grandchildren, and in our memory. And yes, I do know how to cook…