Karin Alvtegen - Missing

The flame would die the moment she got outside. It could only protect her inside the house, I used to be a loner too…' 'Where's your telephone?'

'I was different from the start, even in primary school. We are special, both of us, it's obvious to all…'

'Turn around. Walk downstairs, now. Or else, I'll blow.'

His smile disappeared, but he didn't move.

'I see. And tell me, Sibylla – then what will you do?

She said nothing. An eternity seemed to pass. Just when she thought her pounding heart would burst through her ribcage, he turned and walked downstairs. Slowly, she followed a few feet behind him, unsuccessfully attempting to control her breathing. She was holding her hand up to protect the flame and he was still extending his broken hand. Both moved one step at a time, the woman with the candle following the man, as if in a strange ceremonial procession.

She tried to think ahead. Would she tell him to phone? Should she do it herself? Four steps left. He had stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

'Walk on.'

He did as he was told and disappeared into the kitchen.

The silver candlestick was becoming heavy in her hand and she had to lower it. Now she too was standing on the floor of the hall.

He was out of sight.

'Come to the door!'

No movement in the kitchen. She changed hands. 'I'll blow it out!'

But by now it was clear to both of them that this was an empty threat. Once the flame was extinguished, she could do nothing. Then she would be completely in his power.

She walked through the door opposite the door to the kitchen. It led into a sitting room, carpeted with the same material as the upstairs bedroom. There was a sofa with an occasional table in front of it. No telephone anywhere.

On the wall to her left was the door leading into the workshop. It was slightly open. Her arm had become tired and she had to hold the candlestick with both hands now. Not a sound from the kitchen.

'Come out so I can see you!'

Still no reply.

She walked into the workshop, closing the door behind her. There it was, a grey Cobra set spattered with paint in every colour of the rainbow. The dial was underneath the receiver, which meant she had to use both hands. Watching the door to the kitchen, she carefully put the candlestick down, got hold of the receiver and began dialling with shivering fingers. Fear invaded her body, causing her an almost physical pain. So near, yet so far from help.

Then he came at her.

Roaring, he tore open the door to the sitting room and before she could react, beat her to the floor with a kitchen chair. The pain made the world go dark. A moment later he was sitting astride her and she knew that one of her ribs was broken.

He was hissing with rage.

'Don't ever do that again!'

Trying to keep the pain away from her mind, she just shook her head.

'The Lord is with me. You cannot get away.' She shook her head again. Anything to make him get up. Anything to stop him sitting on her ribcage. He looked around. 'Stay on the floor!'

She nodded. At last he left her alone. His first move was to take a cloth from the table and wind it tightly round the injured hand. She wondered if he was right-handed, because if so he would be really handicapped. Not as handicapped as she was, though. That fucking candle was still alight. She hadn't even managed to extinguish it.

What a bloody awful, shitty mess. And she had been so close.

She tried to twist a little to find a position where the pain was eased. Her jacket had balled up just where the pain had its focus. He saw her move and put his foot on her stomach.

'Stay still!'

The pain was so intense she couldn't breathe, her face becoming contorted. She saw flashing stars under her eyelids before she blacked out. A moment later she opened her eyes again. He had taken his foot away, but was standing close to her, holding his damaged hand stretched out and the other raised. His face was dead white. The raised hand was gripping a crucifix, which she had seen before. It was in one of the images among Patrik's print-outs.

He suddenly let it fall on her stomach.

'All yours!'

The crucifix wasn't heavy, but she instinctively tensed her stomach muscles as it fell and a new wave of pain flowed through her.

'You carry it yourself. It's your walk to Golgotha.' If she had been able to speak, she might have asked what he meant.

'Get up now. We are going outside.'

She managed to get up from the floor somehow. He grabbed her round the neck with his good hand and forced her to walk bent over, her eyes fixed on the floor and holding the crucifix in her left hand.

Darkness was falling outside.

The pain in her chest was less intense when she stood upright. Still grasping her neck, he pushed her ahead of him down the steps.

'Where are we going?'

Silently, he kept shoving her on towards the road. In her confusion, she thought that if she really were a member of the elect, God would surely send a car along this way.

He did not. Instead they crossed the road. They were almost there when she realised where they were going. The yellow house belonging to the Germans.

'What's going to happen in there?'

'You're going to kill yourself.'

She tried to straighten up but he pushed her head down again.

'They'll find you when they arrive in June. The crucifix will be on your stomach. Everyone will realise what's happened, the jigsaw will be complete. At last Sibylla will have atoned for her crimes. Kerstin will be able to identify you and I'll be standing by her, a loving support as always.'

They arrived at the steps leading to the front door. Sibylla pushed her right hand in her pocket. It curled round what she found there. Her nail file. Her fingers gripped the plastic handle.

The grip round her neck disappeared.

‘I’ve gor the keys in my pocket. My right jacket pocket. Pull them out.'

She straightened up and turned towards him. Their eyes met for a moment. Then she violently pushed the nail file into his face.

She did not stop to watch the result. When he put his hands to his face, she ran. The forest began on the other side of the low wooden fence and she leapt over it, somehow not feeling the pain in her chest.

He hadn't screamed this time either.

She kept up her speed. Sharp branches were whipping against her face as she pushed through the packed firs. The evening was still too light for her to hide. She must keep running and get away, far away. Before he came for her.

She did not know how long she had been running for, stumbling over stones and splashing through puddles in low-lying, swampy ground. By now she was wet up to her thighs and exhausted. She suddenly fell forward over something unrecognisable in the dark, lying on the ground, her breathing was drowning all other sounds, her lungs burning with effort. Now and then she tried to stop panting, to hold her breath for long enough to listen to the forest.

At first, she heard only the wind in the trees. It was a gentle sound compared with the roaring of herself struggling for air. She just lay there for what felt like a long time. Still, but always watchful.

How badly had she hurt him? She wasn't safe yet, no way.

Then, suddenly she heard his voice. It wasn't close, but cut through the gathering dark far too distinctly.

'Sibylla… you can't hide, not from us… God sees and hears everything… you know that…'

Terror struck again.

Then the moon suddenly shone brightly on her. Like a heavenly lamp.

There was a fir with protectively trailing branches in front of her. She quickly crawled into its dark shade. 'Sibylla… where are you…?"

His voice sounded much closer. Her breathing was still treacherous.

Now she could actually see him. He was walking straight towards her hiding place, as if he had been following an invisible thread through the labyrinth of trees.