Caroline Eriksson - The Missing

“All right,” I say at last, my voice sounding so hoarse that I have to clear my throat before going on. “Time for you to go out for a while. Go on now!”

The cat looks away, swiftly forgetting how abruptly I stopped petting him, and saunters out. I close the door behind him and lock it. When I turn around, I catch sight of one of the hooks positioned low on the wall. The fear that stabs at my chest is so strong that I gasp for breath.

Hanging from the hook is a jean jacket belonging to a four-year-old girl. I collapse onto the floor. Thoughts of the unimaginable descend upon me once again. That can’t be true.

I rub my eyes and only when I see the black streaks of damp mascara on my skin do I realize that I’m crying. Smilla. I’m sorry.

But there is no forgiveness to be had. The feeling that I’m a hypocrite, a cheater, again overwhelms me. What good is all this searching for her? The fault is still mine, pressing heavily on my chest along with the thought of everything I could have done differently. What I should have done. What I shouldn’t have done. If only… Then she might still be here.

Finally, I have to pinch myself hard, on my cheeks and my arms, to stop all this. Why do my thoughts keep going down these paths? As if everything is over, as if it’s too late. As if Smilla is… Suddenly, the fear and guilt are swept away. In their place, a huge wave of fury washes over me. I hurl my purse at the wardrobe door.

“You bastard!” I wail. “What have you done with her?”

But I’m the only one who hears my words. And it’s not clear who they’re directed at. Or at least that’s not something I’m prepared to say aloud. I haven’t yet ventured that far into the shadows.

It’s over. She’s gone. I sat there and held her as the life seeped out of her body. And afterward… afterward I was still sitting there. I didn’t want to move from her side, didn’t want to leave her there, but in the end, I had no choice.

She was my anchor, but when the mooring rope was cut, when the arms were ripped from their safe haven, everything fell apart. Now I’m drifting aimlessly. The solid ground on which my life rested no longer exists. The words that resound in my head are more true than ever. Without me, you are nothing.

As I drift, rocked back and forth on the swells of despair, I often summon up pictures of you.

Sometimes you come so close that I think I can stretch out an ice-cold, dripping-wet hand to touch you. I can feel you trembling.

Swift footsteps and low voices nearby, but I’m only vaguely aware of them. Something else feels much more urgent. Like the fact that the walls around us are about to cave in. I can see it, even though no one else seems to notice or understand. Everything is about to collapse, fall apart. First, her life. Now, mine.

I open my mouth, but the scream refuses to take shape. Not yet. But I know that it’s there somewhere, that it’s getting closer.

Something new will take over, a new voice, a different self. A clenched fist. A howl of fury.

Your life won’t be allowed to stay the same either. You too will be shaken to the core. You too will be obliterated.

My body is going somewhere, and I follow along. I walk down the narrow path to the dock. It’s as if my feet sense that I’m having trouble keeping things together, as if they’ve taken control and are carrying me forward whether I like it or not. Rocks and tree roots, blueberry sprigs and ferns. It’s all so familiar. How many times have I taken this path? When was the last time I was here? Wasn’t it quite recently?

As I approach the lake, the ground gets marshier, and there’s moss everywhere. Doesn’t it seem like an unusual amount of moss? It covers the rocks, trails over roots, and blankets fallen tree trunks. It seems to be slowly but steadily in the process of swallowing up everything in sight. And there’s something about the color, the moss-green hue that’s awfully green. Almost shiny. It doesn’t look natural. More like it’s been manipulated by some computer program. What was it Alex whispered to me in my dream? Surely you don’t think this is real? It’s all in your head.

The nausea is creeping back. Alex. His voice, which is still echoing in my head. His hands, which are still burning on my skin. And the memories, all those memories piling up in a dark corner of my consciousness.

When Alex entered my life, everything happened very fast. The emotions that flared up were so intense that the edges soon turned scorched and sooty. We got close, but it was a different kind of closeness from what I’d imagined on those lonely nights when I sat at my kitchen table or in front of the TV. And it’s true that he saw me, but with a different eye from the one I imagined that first time he gave me a ride home. We talked very little. The intimacy we shared was almost exclusively physical. I had nothing to compare it to, so I had to resort to what I’d heard and read. I assumed that’s the way it is for most people in the beginning. I assumed that’s what it feels like to be in love.

Yet I had a sense that I wanted something more, though I didn’t know what that might be, was never able to put it into words. And Alex never asked. He was more interested in showing me what he expected. Like the time I woke up to find him trying to get inside me. Dazed with sleep, I screamed in alarm, but he simply put his hand over my mouth. He looked me deep in the eyes, held me close, and moved his body against mine.

“I see you,” he said. “Don’t be scared. I’m here, and I see you.”

And I knew that was true. I was no longer alone. Not with Alex looking at me. It was as if I came alive under his gaze. He made me real. So I surrendered, allowing him to lead the way. And I complied.

I step down into the boat, feeling it rock under my weight. I manage to keep my balance, compensating for the swaying motion. I close my eyes in an attempt to quell the nausea.

It was the incident at the window that marked, in a painful way, the transition from blind passion to something else. We were in the living room of my apartment, and I was naked. Alex had just undressed me. He was still fully clothed when he turned me around, took a firm grip on my upper arms, and dragged me through the room. At first I thought we were heading for the sofa, but then I realized he was moving me toward the window. The tall, narrow window with no sill or curtains. It was twilight and dark both inside and out, but Alex switched on the ceiling light.

I froze, gave an embarrassed laugh, and whispered that someone might see us. He didn’t reply, and when I looked over my shoulder and saw the expression on his face, the laughter died in my throat. I tried to resist, but it was too late. He was considerably stronger than me, and soon he was pressing my naked body against the cold windowpane, fully exposed to the neighbors across the street and to passersby below. Alex grabbed the back of my neck with one hand and my wrists with the other, and I remember standing there with my breasts raised and flattened and my nose twisted painfully to the side, trying to understand why this was happening. Why was he doing this? What was the point? If this was just another one of the games he found so amusing, why was he digging his fingers into my neck so hard?

As I recall, it wasn’t a conscious decision on my part to give up, to stop fighting him. I remember only that my body went limp and ceased all attempts to get away. As soon as Alex noticed this, he pulled me backward, shoved me down on the sofa, and pulled down his pants. He didn’t look me in the eye. Maybe that’s why he didn’t notice that I was crying until it was over. I remember he seemed almost surprised by my tears, didn’t understand why I was so upset. He said he found it arousing knowing someone might see me. He said someone with a beautiful body like mine shouldn’t feel ashamed. He said nothing about wanting to humiliate me or hurt me. But maybe he noticed something in my eyes, a trace of revulsion or doubt. The next day, a delivery boy came to the store bearing the biggest bouquet of long-stemmed red roses I’ve ever seen. The accompanying card said: From someone who loves mysteries. Yes, loves. Don’t ever leave me.