Caroline Eriksson - The Missing

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I head for the kitchen with my bags. I stow everything in the fridge and cupboards, all except for the ax, which I leave in the bag so I can pretend not to see it. The other option is to pretend it’s intended for yard work. Deep inside, I want to hold on to the belief that I’m the same person I was before we came to Marhem. A person who would never even think of buying an ax, let alone consider it a weapon.

It’s already afternoon, and my stomach is growling. I should eat something, but I have no appetite, nor can I settle down to eat in peace. So I make do with a couple of glasses of juice. I’m standing at the kitchen counter, drinking the juice, when I again have that prickling sensation on my back. I turn around slowly, and that’s when I notice her. The doll. Five of the six kitchen chairs are neatly pushed under the table, but the sixth one has been pulled out. And on the chair sits Smilla’s big baby doll with the eyes that open and close. Her chubby arms are raised over her head, and her cornflower-blue eyes are staring at me. I clutch the glass in my hand. My pulse, which had just begun to ease, quickens again. Was she sitting there this morning? Or yesterday? My phone rings.

On trembling legs, I run to the entryway, where I left my purse. My stomach is knotting as I stand there with the phone in my hand, staring at the display. The same name as before. The phone is slick with sweat as I press it to my ear.

“Alex? Is that you?”

But there’s no one on the phone this time either, at least no one who responds. After shouting Alex’s name several times and hearing only the echo of my own hoarse voice, I end the call.

Shaken, I stare at myself again in the hall mirror. My mind is flying in all directions, trying to contain what refuses to be captured, trying not to slip or lose hold. I think about the screeching tires and the loud screams outside the cabin on our first night here. I think about how, on returning to the cabin after Alex and Smilla disappeared, I couldn’t find my phone and how it finally showed up, neatly covered on Alex’s side of the bed. I think about the trouble I had opening the front door, and the possibility that it was unlocked all day. And then I think about Smilla’s doll in the kitchen, about its wide-open, staring eyes, its little mouth shaped in a silent scream, and its arms reaching up in a plea for help.

I stagger toward the bedroom, realizing I need to lie down. When I reach the doorway, my eyes fall on the lacy red bra still draped over a chair, and I pause. I bought the bra when Alex suggested—or rather, told me—that we would be driving to Marhem for a few days. We would go together, just the two of us. It was short notice, but I managed to get a few days off. At lunchtime, I ran out to buy new underwear. Not because I really wanted to, or because I needed anything new, but because I felt like it was expected of me. I also bought a tie for Alex, a black silk tie. I gave it to him when he came over later that night. He stared at it for a long time, letting it tenderly slide through his fingers.

“I’ll bring it to the cabin,” he said at last.

We ate dinner, and afterward he stroked me languidly, provocatively. He made me hope, made me relax. This time, we would make love without pain, without any unpleasant surprises. Alex was good at what he was doing, and I gasped as I arched toward the ceiling. But just as I was about to reach orgasm, he moved his hand, grabbed the flesh on the inside of my thigh, and pinched as hard as he could. I screamed. Then he did the same thing on my other leg. And this time, he didn’t just pinch. He twisted my skin and the underlying fat and muscles until they burned. The pain was so extreme that everything went black, and I lost all sense of time and place. My body was lifted up and turned over. For a moment, my face was pressed against the mattress as he mounted me. I remember thinking: Who are you really? Then it was over.

Afterward, Alex’s breath was hot in my ear when he whispered about the thin line between pain and pleasure. He said he wanted us to explore that more. A few days later, I was sitting in the clinic, wearing long pants, talking about how inexplicably tired I felt. And then I heard the news that changed everything. Your ninth week. Did you really have no idea? My world was turned upside down. I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. Made no decisions. Took no action. And suddenly, the day arrived, the day of our departure for Marhem.

I can’t get myself to go into the bedroom. The lacy red bra mercilessly leads my thoughts to the black silk tie, and my aversion is so strong that I feel faint. Where is it now? I haven’t seen it since our first night here, but it must be somewhere, neatly rolled or hung up. Probably in the bedroom, in Alex’s wardrobe.

I stumble back and turn instead to Smilla’s room. Toys are scattered everywhere, reminding me of the girl who slept and played in this room so recently. But when I lie down on her bed and again bury my face in the pillow, I no longer smell the warm, sweet scent of her hair. She’s far away from here now, far away.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur into the pillowcase. “I’m sorry it turned out like this.”

The image of pale legs underneath a bush flashes through my mind, but I push it away and manage to replace it with a different picture. Now Smilla floats into view, flying into the kitchen in Alex’s strong arms. Then he sets her down on the chair across from me, and she looks at him lovingly as he fixes breakfast. It’s our first morning together, hers and mine. And our last. If I’d known that beforehand, would I have acted differently, made other choices?

What did Smilla think about my presence there at the breakfast table? Did she see the mark that was beginning to appear on my throat and wonder what it was? Or was she too young to understand such things, too young to come to any conclusions about her father and this strange woman wearing a nightgown? I turn over in bed and stare at the one remaining eye of Smilla’s teddy bear, which is lying against the wall. The truth is, I’m not even sure she saw me. I mean, she was aware I was sitting there. But she didn’t see me, not really. She was too wrapped up in something else. Every time she opened her mouth that morning, it was about herself and Alex. Smilla and Papa. Papa and Smilla. Her love for him was palpable.

As I sat on the other side of the table and saw her watching him with adoration in her eyes, I felt the jealousy growing stronger inside me. I felt left out. I wanted what they had. And the decision I’d made during the night solidified. As soon as we were done eating, I took Alex aside and told him. I had made up my mind. I was planning to leave him. He patted my cheek, but not hard or angrily. More distracted.

“No,” he said. “No, you won’t.”

Then he left me there, my body heavy as lead. Because I understood what his words meant. I thought the hard part was deciding to leave Alex, that once I’d made the decision, the rest would be easy. Only then did I realize how tightly Alex had spun his web around me. I was entangled in so many ingenious threads that there was no way out. What I planned was impossible.

I couldn’t leave Alex. He would never allow that, simply because he was the one who controlled our relationship. On the day he tired of me, we would part, but not a second before. And if I did try to leave… He would come after me, bring me back. He knew where I worked, where I lived. He knew everything about my life. He was my life. I had to find some other means, another way out. But how? What?

I get up and straighten the duvet on Smilla’s bed. As if someone might sleep here tonight. As if I actually think she’s coming back. When I look up, my eyes are drawn to the window. I glimpse something move on the other side of the pane. My throat closes up as I take the few steps over to the window and pull down the blind. A deer, I tell myself. This time it must have been a deer.