Karin Alvtegen - Missing

'Sibylla, this isn't a good time. Why don't you come back tomorrow?'

Tomorrow?

What was going on? She walked closer, saw the brown checked blanket spread out behind the tyre-stacks. On it lay Maria Johansson.

The spotlight was switched of. Darkness surrounded her. But she had been chosen to be his, only his. His body had joined hers in ecstasy, wanting her only. Two of them linked together. Together.

Anything for this closeness. Anything at all. She looked at him. His face seemed to have gone blank. She backed away from him. 'Sibylla…'

Her back hit the opposite wall. The door was to her right. Push the door-handle down.

The happy crowd was no longer there for her but the De Soto Firedome was waiting with 305 horsepower under its bonnet.

A few steps, open the door. Ignition key in the lock.

She wanted to be away. Far away.

She had been alone in the boat waiting for almost two hours when he came back. Walking up and down like a haunted spirit, her mind had been lurching between hope and despair, anguish and conviction. What if they were keeping watch at the post boxes? What if Thomas wasn't on his guard? What if they followed him and he led them straight to her only safe hiding-place?

Come on. Look, Thomas has been around. He'd be careful, no question about it.

Why was he taking so long? Had they arrested him?

His footfalls on the tin roof of the cabin alarmed her terribly, even though she had been longing with every cell in her body to hear them. Then the hatch was pulled open.

She hid behind the mounted chainsaw, shut her eyes and waited. Like a cornered rat.

To hell with them all.

He was alone. After climbing down the ladder he stood still, looking around. 'Sylla?'

She came forward. 'What took you so long?'

He went over to the coffee-maker and switched off the heater. More grounds got thrown in the direction of the bin. 'I wanted to make sure no one was trailing me.' 'Did anyone try?'

'No, don't think so. All peaceful on that front.'

In a mute question he pushed the coffee-jug in her direction. She shook her head. He breathed in deeply, so deeply it sounded worryingly like a sigh.

'Listen, Sylla. There wasn't any money.'

She was staring at him while he put the jug back.

'What do you mean?'

He gestured, striking out with one arm.

'Your post box was empty.'

He had to be lying.

For fifteen years now, on the twenty-third of every month, an envelope containing 1500 kronor had arrived in her post box. Every single month. She pulled the paper out the waste-paper basket, spilling coffee grounds all over the floor. The date-line said Monday, 24 thMarch. She looked up, facing him.

'You… Christ. I trusted you, Thomas.'

He met her eyes.

'Is that fucking so?'

His eyes tore into her in a way she remembered from his fits of drunken rage, but she couldn't stop and feel frightened of him now.

'It's mine! I can't live without that money!'

He froze for a moment. Then he threw the mug, still half-full of coffee, into the far wall. Some tools on hooks crashed to the floor. The coffee flowed down the wall, forming a brown pattern. The crash made her stiffen but she didn't take her eyes off him.

He inhaled deeply as if trying to calm down and then went to stand at one of the portholes, staring at the nothingness outside.

'I admit I've done bad stuff. But you mustn't accuse me of nicking your dosh. You're just on the wrong fucking track there.'

He turned towards her.

'Didn't it ever occur to you that it'd turn the old hag off – like, to figure she was putting her hard-earned cash the way of a manic serial-killer?'

His words took some time to sink in, slowly passing via her eardrums into her skull before she realised how right he was. This was the end of charity. Beatrice reckoned she had paid enough, settled her debt.

Sibylla's mind went blank.

She slowly went to the table, pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. Then she put her face in her hands and started crying.

Now she was really lost. All her hopes had turned to ashes.

She wasn't meant to get through, to succeed. Once more, Fate had intervened to kick her down. Once a loser, always a loser. She had been challenging the established, set-order of the universe, trying to haul herself up to a place above her station.

Now, now, little Miss Sibylla Wilhelmina Beatrice Forsenström. You had your life nicely staked out for you, but did you appreciate it? You did not. You need never have gone hungry if only you hadn't decided to up and leave your proper place in the system.

Here today, gone tomorrow. For ever.

'Sibylla, don't cry like that.'

She felt his hand on her shoulder.

'Stay cool, Sylla, please. It'll sort itself out, you'll see.'

She thought, sure it'll sort itself out – I'll just have to serve life in prison first and after that I guess nothing matters much.

‘I know what you need. Get pissed.'

Yes, that's right. Be unconscious, just for a while. Sozzled. That's what she wanted. He had already produced a full bottle of Koskenkorva vodka from a cupboard. She looked at the bottle, then at him. His face looked kind. She nodded.

'You're dead right. Let's drink.'

She had almost reached Vetlanda when the police stopped her. A red light was blinking at her from the middle of the road. She pulled over, two policemen materialised outside her window and she opened it. One on them leant inside, stopped the engine and pulled the key out. He got outside again, looking to check her face.

'Now then… what have you been up to?' She didn't feel scared. She felt nothing at all. 'Step outside for moment, please.'

He opened the door and she stepped out. A car was pulling up behind the De Soto and Mick jumped out, running towards her. Maria Johansson stayed where she was, in the passenger seat.

'You fucking slut! I'll kill you if you've buggered up my car.'

One of the policemen put a hand on Mick's shoulder, telling him to calm down. Mick pulled himself free and climbed into the De Soto. The policeman handed him the keys. After checking what he could, Mick got out, turning to look at her with intense disgust.

'You're one insane cunt.'

She noted that the policemen were leading her over to their car, pushing her into the backseat with a hand on her head. One of them sat next to her and the other drove the car. Neither said a word to her from then on.

'Is your name Sibylla Forsenström?' What was the funny smell in the room? 'Why did you take the car?' What if it was gas?

'Have you got a driving licence?'

How come there were cracks in that wall?

'Can't you speak?'

The man on the other side of the desk sighed and began leafing through some papers. Four men dressed in black stepped through the cracked wall. They fixed their eyes on her.

'We can't find you anywhere in our records. Is it the first time you've done this sort of thing?'

The men in black were coming towards her. One of them held out a red-hot socket-spanner. They were going to unscrew her, take her apart.

'We shall have to contact the social services in due course, but first of all we'll call your parents. They can come and take you home now.'

They were going to keep bits of her as spare parts to fix smarter models. The man with the socket-spanner seemed to speak, his lips were moving but she couldn't hear what he said.

She looked at the man behind the desk instead, but his face had kind of disappeared. There was nothing there, just a hole going straight through his head.

Now she couldn't see anything at all. Hey, what was she doing on the floor?

She heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and a voice shouting.

'Lasse, come here! I need a hand!' Steps came hurrying along.