Caroline Eriksson - The Missing

It’s dark when the shrill ringing of my phone yanks me out of the fog of sleep. Who would call me in the middle of the night? I wonder blearily. The next second I’m wide awake and reaching for my cell. Again, it’s Alex’s name on the display. Again there’s only silence on the other end. I shout hello several times, but no one answers.

Either the person on the phone is unable to speak, or the call isn’t intended to convey a message in words. Maybe it means something else. A cry for help. Or a threat. How am I supposed to know which? A disconsolate feeling surges inside of me. Along with another feeling, strong and insistent.

“Go to hell!” I bellow into the phone, before I abruptly end the call.

I’m surprised at the force of my anger and frustration. But then it ebbs away, replaced by guilt. Again I picture those pale legs sticking out from under a bush and imagine the lifeless body of the girl beneath the foliage. This time it’s not as easy to shake off the image. Smilla!

Automatically, I reach out my hand and run it over the duvet, looking for Tirith’s soft body. I need him close to me; I need the solace that only another living creature can offer. But there’s no cat lying on the bed. My disappointment soon gives way to something else, something darker. When did I last see him? My memory takes me back to the moment I came inside after the failed visit to the police station.

I picture Tirith licking the wound on the palm of my hand. And then… then I threw him out. It was an impulsive act, based on a sudden aversion to his name. I haven’t seen him since. Busy with other things, I hardly gave Tirith a thought, and he’s been wandering around outside, cast out and alone. Defenseless in the face of the dangers hovering over Marhem.

I jump out of bed, and nausea assails me like an enraged animal. I make it to the bathroom just in time. Leaning over the toilet bowl, I expel what little is left inside my stomach. I’ve hardly eaten anything over the past few days, just a little yogurt and toast. The heartburn is worse than ever, as is the throbbing in the small of my back. I place my hand over my stomach and press down lightly.

“We need to go and look for your sister’s cat,” I murmur. I need to find Tirith, even if it’s the last thing I do.

I put on a sweater and a pair of loose pants. The night air is chilly. And who knows how long I might have to be outside? I don’t intend to give up until I’ve found my black-and-white pal. I’m not coming back until I have him safely in my arms.

In the hall wardrobe, I find an old, thin anorak. It’s gray with pink trim. I pull it over my head, trying not to think about who it might belong to, the fact that it’s probably hers . I stand there in the dim light, staring at my own reflection in the mirror. Pale, with no makeup, wearing practical but far from attractive clothing. A completely different woman from the one who arrived here a couple of days ago.

Layer after layer of polish and external trappings and ingrained patterns have been scraped off me. This is what is left. This is the person I’ve become.

There’s a continuous line running through time, from that night when Papa fell out the window on the ninth floor until the moment when Alex and Smilla disappeared on the island. It’s not a straight line. It keeps twisting and turning until it takes the shape of a circle. And it’s at the spot where the ends meet that I am now standing. The person I’ve always been. The one who came out of the shadows, the one who has returned to the shadows.

I’m halfway out the door when I realize I’m missing something. Without taking off my shoes, I go into the kitchen and find the plastic bag on the floor. The ax is sticking out of the bag. I grab the black handle in both hands and lift it up, holding it out in front of my body. As I pass through the entryway again, I cast another glance in the mirror, prepared to see myself looking clumsy and awkward. But I have a steady, firm grip on the ax. I’m holding it with great determination. It looks like I’ve done this before.

I go outside, not knowing where I’m headed. I walk without thinking about where I set my feet or what’s around me. Only when I feel branches brushing against my cheeks do I realize I’m in the woods. Not near the lake, not on the forest road, but deep among the trees. It’s still dark here even though the sky is tinged with yellow and pink. I hear a twig snap somewhere behind me, and I spin around.

“Tirith?”

But I don’t hear any meowing, and there’s no lithe black-and-white figure coming toward me between the trees. On one level, I’m aware that it’s wrong for me to be here, that I’ll never find a cat in the middle of the woods. At the same time, all I can think about is the guilt I feel toward Smilla. About what I’ve subjected her to, how she became an innocent victim because of me. Nausea is churning in my intestines like a clenched fist, but I refuse to give up. Looking for Tirith is the least I can do.

“Here, kitty, kitty. Tirith!”

I go one way, then the other, first forward, then back, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground. Where could he be? Where does a cat go? I shake my head. What if Alex had voluntarily allowed me to leave? Would everything have turned out differently? That’s something I’ll never know. A big branch suddenly snaps back and slaps me right in the face.

The pain sends white flashes through my mind, burning everything away. When my vision clears, the ax is lying on the ground. I bend down and pick it up. My cheek is stinging, and I wipe off something sticky that turns my palm red. The same hand that I stabbed with my earring a little while ago.

A little while ago? I stare in surprise at the delicate bright-pink skin on the spot where I stuck myself. No puncture. No blood. Is it healed already? How long ago was it that I actually got cut? It feels like it just happened, but was it yesterday? Or even the day before? Was it before or after the well? I frown. The well? Yes, the well out on the island. There’s no well on the island. Then what was it I pictured when I stared down at Lake Malice’s dark water? No, he never leaned over any well. But did I cut myself on the earring before or after my hands shoved his shoulder blades?

Every time a clear thought is about to take shape in my head, it evaporates. Somewhere inside me a voice is shouting, as if in protest, but it’s so far away I can’t tell if it’s real or imaginary. I’m fumbling blindly, both here among the trees and in my own consciousness. The only thing left is the sense that I’m searching for something. There’s something I need to find. Something or someone.

I run through the woods, pushing my body to its limit. I hold out the ax in front of me like a shield, an invocation against evil. The only sound is the rustling of the anorak and my own ragged breathing. I don’t know how long I’ve been out here or what direction I’m heading in. Maybe I’m going in circles. Finally, I see light among the tree trunks, and the crazed beast spinning inside my head gradually calms down.

I stop to catch my breath. The world is again clear, at least with regard to the more tangible details. There’s no sign of Tirith. Or of Alex and Smilla. Of course not. My skin is prickling; my head is spinning. The truth is right there in front of me, hidden under the ax. Now and then, light glints off the blade, like fish scales underwater. But each time I reach out my hands, it slips out of my grasp, as slippery as a fish.

I don’t allow myself to rest for long before resuming my aimless wandering. Find Tirith. Find Smilla. Find Alex. As soon as I find Alex it will be over. If only I can find him, it will finally be over. Sweat trickles down my face and my back. But the feeling of being the one searching is increasingly replaced by the feeling of being hunted. Silent footsteps creeping behind me. Something that slips behind a tree trunk when I turn around. Maybe it’s Alex coming back for revenge. Revenge? For what? Again thoughts whirl haphazardly through my mind. Without meaning, direction, or goal, they break loose. All reason flees. I see what’s happening, but I’m helpless to act.