Юхан Теорин - The Voices Beyond

At that point, Peter Mayer dropped the pizza box and fled — but he was running away from his apartment block, heading west with long strides, away from the lights. He didn’t look back.

Jonas watched as Uncle Kent also broke into a run, following Peter Mayer down the street.

‘I’ll get the car!’ Niklas shouted.

Uncle Kent nodded, and kept on running.

Niklas placed his hand on Jonas’s shoulder. ‘Come with me, Jonas.’

Jonas was intending to obey and took a few steps behind his father. Then he hesitated in the crush on the pavement, and on an impulse turned back. He wanted to see what happened; he decided to follow Uncle Kent. He set off slowly, then began to move faster.

‘Jonas!’

He heard his father calling him but didn’t stop.

He felt good as he ran. He wasn’t the quarry tonight, he was the hunter. A member of the Kloss family.

He moved through the shadowy crowd, but Kent was wearing a pale windcheater and was easy to see. Jonas watched as he ran across the street, heading west. Away from the shops and houses. Jonas could just make out another figure, his shaven head shining.

Jonas ran after them, as third man.

Soon there was no one else around. Jonas passed the last building, then the last streetlamp, and carried on into the darkness.

It was cold here, and pitch black until his eyes adjusted. Jonas blinked and saw grey shadows up ahead.

Uncle Kent was passing the church. Peter Mayer stopped by the roadside, looked around, then disappeared into the birch forest.

Kent leapt across the verge and followed him.

When Jonas reached the same spot, he saw a path leading through the trees, so he, too, leapt over the verge and on to the path.

The deep-green darkness of the forest closed around him with a faint soughing. But he could hear other sounds among the trees: the cracking of twigs. The birches surrounded him like grey pillars; he zigzagged between them and increased his speed.

Suddenly, the forest fell away, and Jonas found himself in a meadow, or an unploughed field. It was covered in grass and illuminated by a cracked light up in the sky — the white moon, which was almost full.

He saw two figures moving in the moonlight, one pursuing the other. They were on the far side of the field, where the forest began again, and both quarry and hunter disappeared among the trees.

Jonas followed them, and found another path. He was tired now, but scared and excited at the same time. Tonight, he wasn’t alone, as he had been on the ship. His father wasn’t far behind, and Uncle Kent was somewhere in the forest.

He carried on along the path, hearing crashing noises in the undergrowth. And now there was also a swishing, like the wind. It was the sound of cars driving past on the main road between Borgholm and the villages to the north.

Jonas listened and kept his eyes on the path so that he wouldn’t get lost.

All of a sudden, he heard a shout; it sounded like Uncle Kent.

He stopped.

Another shout, louder this time.

Then a screech, but not from a human being — he was sure it was car tyres on tarmac.

The sound ended abruptly, then there was silence for a few seconds. Then more shouting, a confusion of voices in the darkness, and car doors opening and closing.

Jonas stood motionless on the path, listening hard.

More cracking and creaking, and heavy breathing. Someone was coming towards him.

A shadow loomed out of the darkness.

‘JK? Are you there?’

Uncle Kent.

‘Yes, I just wanted to see if—’

But Kent interrupted him sharply: ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

Jonas didn’t know what to say.

Uncle Kent strode past him, puffing and panting.

‘Did... did you catch up with him?’ Jonas asked.

But Kent didn’t reply, he just walked across the field and took the path leading back to Marnäs.

Jonas had no option but to turn around and follow him. He still didn’t know what to say, but eventually he caught up with Kent among the birch trees and said, ‘So you didn’t catch him?’

‘No,’ Kent snapped. ‘He’s gone.’

He kept on walking.

At long last they emerged from the forest, jumped over the verge and were back on the road.

In the light of the streetlamps, Jonas noticed that Uncle Kent had acquired a twitch just below his left eye, as if a little muscle there were conducting an exercise session all by itself.

Kent stopped again, turning his full attention on Jonas. ‘Did you see anything back there?’

‘Like what?’

Uncle Kent took a deep breath and set off again. They continued in silence until they heard a shout: ‘Hello?’

It was Jonas’s father. He was waiting for them just past the church, with the car parked at the side of the road.

‘What happened?’ he said.

Kent went up to him, very close, and spoke so quietly that Jonas could barely hear him. ‘There was a car.’

‘A car?’

Uncle Kent nodded. ‘It was heading straight for Mayer.’

‘And?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kent said. ‘I don’t think things went too well.’ Niklas looked worried, but didn’t ask any more questions.

They all got in the car and let out a long breath in the silence. Niklas started the engine. ‘OK... Let’s go home.’

Once they were on the main road, Jonas noticed lights to the south. A short distance away, perhaps a hundred metres, several cars had stopped, and there were people standing around them. He saw flashing blue lights and people in high-visibility jackets moving about on the road.

Niklas indicated left, but Kent shook his head. ‘Not that way. Turn right and we’ll go via Långvik. The coast road is better tonight.’ Niklas turned right.

Jonas looked back. He realized that there must have been a serious accident, but now they wouldn’t be able to see what had happened. If anyone was hurt.

The flashing blue lights disappeared into the distance.

After a kilometre or so, Niklas turned off the main road and on to a narrower track leading to the coast.

Kent leaned back. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘I expect we’ll find out what happened from the news... We’re not going to talk about this.’

‘As usual,’ Niklas said.

Jonas didn’t say anything; he just sat quietly in the back, looking out of the window. They were surrounded by darkness now.

But what did Uncle Kent mean? Were they not going to talk about it to the other members of the family? Or to the police?

Just as Gerlof was getting ready for bed that night, he heard about a fatal accident in northern Öland. It was on the local radio news at midnight:

‘And so to Öland. A twenty-four-year-old man was killed earlier this evening on the B136 just outside Marnäs. The initial police report suggests that he stepped out in front of a car heading south. The victim was taken by ambulance to Kalmar, where he was pronounced dead. The driver, a man in his fifties, is suffering from severe shock...’

The newsreader didn’t name the dead man, and Gerlof’s only reaction was the same as usual: the Department of Transport ought to lower the speed limit on that road. It was wide and straight all the way down to Borgholm, tempting many to drive far too fast. Perhaps he would write a letter to the paper. Suggest they turn it back into a dirt track.

He switched off the radio, then he turned off the light. Tomorrow he would be travelling on that very road, in order to attend a nostalgic lunch in Borgholm.

The next day, he found himself sitting at a long table with a group of men and women of his own age, people who had returned home, experience etched on their faces. They were swapping emigration stories, and Gerlof didn’t want to be left out: