Caroline Eriksson - The Missing

It took a long time for me to fall asleep that night, and when I finally did, it was a restless and fitful slumber. A short time later I woke up, either from pain or because of sounds outside. The rumbling car engine, the loud screams. I lay there, listening to Alex carry Smilla inside, noting how he turned on lights and put her to bed in the room next to ours. Through the wall, I heard him talking to her, his words quiet and reassuring.

I didn’t get out of bed, but I was definitely wide awake. And it was at that moment I made up my mind. Actually, it was more of a realization than a decision. This has to stop.

There was a clarity in those words, a feeling that I’d been missing for a long time. I had to do what must be done. It made me feel both heavy and light. There was no doubt in my mind whatsoever.

I reach out and touch a baby bottle, then a sippy cup with a Winnie-the-Pooh decal. Is this what I’m looking for? Is this why I’m here? No. I lower my hands. My body moves away. I’m almost at the checkout counter, but I haven’t found what I’m looking for. Something is buried in my consciousness, mocking me, hidden. I put a bag of cat food in my basket, and then I’m in the section for home and garden supplies. My eyes land on a medium-sized ax on one of the lower shelves, and something clicks.

I set down the basket and squat in front of the tools on display. My ears are ringing as I reach out and grab the handle. I pick up the ax, weigh it in my hand. It’s substantial for its size.

I’ve never held an ax before. Yet the feel of the grooved plastic handle seems so familiar, completely natural. How can that be? I lean forward and read what it says on a sign fastened to the shelf. “Multifunctional. Case-Hardened Steel. Lifetime Guarantee.” I close my eyes a second.

Then I carefully touch the blade with my fingertips. The feeling prompts a bass note to resonate through my whole body. After it fades, a familiar echo starts up. In the worst-case scenario, that sort of state of mind could have very unfortunate consequences. For you, or for those close to you. I practically fling the ax away. What the blond psychologist warned me about—is that what’s happening now? Have I reached a point where I can no longer predict my actions or control what I do? Have I reached that point—or have I already passed it? Oh, Smilla!

I cover my eyes and rock desperately back and forth as I crouch there on the floor of the grocery store. We hadn’t planned to bring her with us to Marhem. Unforeseen circumstances prompted her nighttime arrival. The one who stayed and the one who left. And now… What is it I’m trying to tell myself now? That unforeseen circumstances are also behind her disappearance? I take my hands away from my eyes and again fix my gaze on the object in front of me. I need to be realistic. Once again, I reach out for the ax.

I’m approaching the highway exit for Marhem when my phone starts ringing. Katinka, I think. I didn’t answer her text, so now she’s calling to see if I’m okay. I remember what Mama said the first day after they went missing, when I was still taking her calls. Katinka is worried about you. Feeling tense, I pull out my phone. But it’s not Katinka’s number on the display.

My other hand jerks the steering wheel so hard that the car swerves across the lane. I shriek before regaining control. Up ahead, I see a turnout, a waiting area for the buses that travel the highway back and forth to town. I cast a frantic glance in the rearview mirror, but there’s no bus in sight on the stretch of road behind me. Clutching the wheel with both hands, I pull into the bus stop and brake, a little too hard.

My phone is still ringing, and I stare at it wild eyed. No, it’s not Katinka’s number. There are no digits on the display. Only a name. A very familiar one.

“Alex,” I whisper.

My hand picks up the phone. The skin on my palm twinges—it’s the wound from the other day, the wound from my own earring. Just before I press the “Answer” button, my eyes shift to the plastic bags on the floor in front of the passenger seat. The bags containing the groceries I bought. Yogurt, fruit, bread. And the ax. The multifunctional tool, with a blade of tempered steel and a lifetime guarantee.

I take a deep breath and answer, trying unsuccessfully to make my voice sound normal.

“Hello? Alex? Where are you? What happened?”

I hear a scraping sound on the other end.

“Hello?” I shout again, a little more firmly this time. “Can you hear me?”

Still no answer. All I hear is a rushing sound. Then total silence. I take the phone away from my ear and stare at it. I try again, shouting Alex’s name louder and louder. But the connection is dead. There’s no one there.

It’s gotten so dark. The last bit of strength has seeped out of me; there’s nothing left. Nothing to hold me up. I can’t get up, can’t do anything. All I can do is lie here in the dark and look around. It’s all so familiar, yet it seems different now. Changed. Ruined.

I hear your voice. And if I make a slight effort, I can see you in my mind, picture your face and your body. But I can’t penetrate into your consciousness, get hold of who you are. What thoughts are racing through your mind right now? Are you confused? Lonely? Resigned? Or is there some solace, hope? Do you believe things will get better? That everything will work out in the end? Do you ever think of me? Answer me!

How do I go on? What can I do? Without me, you are nothing. Words that exposed and humiliated me, made me shrink and cower. But now… now I feel something in my body, feel it growing and getting closer. Preparing to claw its way out. Soon I will get up. I’ll stand determined and erect. I will leave what has been, put it all behind me. The future is waiting. She is waiting.

Soon it will grow light. Soon I will go to meet her.

And you’ll be left alone in the shadows. May they swallow you up.

The key. Where is the damn key? I dig through my purse, have to put down my grocery bags to search properly. The top of one of the bags falls open, and I see the black handle of the ax I just bought. Then I remember. The key isn’t in my purse. I just thought it was, out of habit from back in town. Here in Marhem the routines are different.

When I’m again standing at the bottom of the steps, I reach my hand underneath to get the key from its hiding place and then feel a burning sensation on my back. An intense feeling that I’m being watched spreads through me. Am I just imagining things, or is that the sound of twigs snapping somewhere beyond the tall arborvitae in front of the cabin? Is someone there? I start to shake and almost drop the key.

Without turning around—I refuse to give in to fear—I walk back up the steps. I stick the key in the lock, give it a turn, and press down on the door handle. But the door doesn’t open. Two more times, I grab the handle and pull the door toward me, but nothing happens. It’s still locked, even though I just unlocked it. Or did I? With trembling hands, I try again. Put the key in the lock, give it a turn, and then press down on the handle. Now the door opens easily.

Quickly, I pull it shut behind me and stand in the entryway for a moment, leaning against the wall, panting. Was the door even locked to begin with? Did I forget to lock it? Surely I remembered to lock up when I drove to the grocery store, although I have no clear memory of doing so. But how often does anyone recall those kinds of things that they do more or less automatically?

Was someone out there? If so, who could it be? Jorma? Again I feel the knife jabbing under my chin. Jorma probably wouldn’t have settled for spying on me from the bushes. But maybe it was some of his followers. Maybe they found out which cabin is mine. Maybe they have nothing better to do than to prowl around outside, both nonchalant and eager, waiting for something to happen. I stare at the closed front door. In that case, I think, their wish will soon be granted. Something is about to happen.