Caroline Eriksson - The Watcher

I scan the patio with the covered grill and the stacked furniture, then the balcony with its empty window boxes on the upper floor. All the windows are dark. That doesn’t seem right to me. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. As if in a trance, I open my car door and get out. The SUV’s lights are off now, and it’s too dark to determine if Veronica is still in the car. I think I hear the sound of footsteps hurrying across the gravel, but then the noise is swallowed by the soft grass and can no longer be heard.

“Hello!” I yell into the darkness.

No response.

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. Get back in the car and drive away, a voice whispers inside me. Instead, as quietly as I can, I sneak closer to the cabin. It’s over, the voice continues, don’t you understand that? It’s over. Go! But I can’t. I have to finish what I’m doing. For Leo’s sake, and for my own.

Slowly and cautiously, so I won’t trip over a root or a stump, I make my way forward. The cabin and the gray SUV, which is parked right by the cabin, are the only things whose outlines can be discerned. Everything else is distorted by shadows. How did it get so dark so quickly? I take another few steps, then look up and focus on the house. There are two windows on this side, but no lights on inside as far as I can tell. The windowpanes stare back at me like a couple of empty eye sockets.

From somewhere I hear a quiet crunch and then the sound of a branch breaking. For several seconds, I stand still, listening to the woods. Then I continue sneaking closer. The SUV sits silently, but is it empty, or is someone sitting inside of it? I imagine someone is but can’t be sure. It could just as easily be the seat and the headrest that make it look like someone is in there, leaning back. Leaning back or dead.

Soft grass beneath my feet, the cool evening breeze on my face. Soon I’m up next to the SUV. Only a few more steps and I can look right into the vehicle. Instinctively I clench my fists and stare through the window. There’s no one inside.

As I turn around again, I see her come running from the other direction, heading for the cabin. Despite the darkness, there’s no doubt that the figure racing across the lawn is Veronica. The high ponytail whips back and forth across her back, and she’s holding something in her hand. I can’t see what it is, but suddenly I know— the knife , the one that was under her bed! The pieces begin to come together, and in a fraction of a second, I understand exactly what’s happening.

Philip and the redhead must have parked on the other side of the cabin, closer to the front door. They probably had heavy grocery bags with them, meals that they intended to cook together, but then they walked in the door and lust took over. Maybe they tumbled into bed without worrying about turning on any of the lights. Maybe they’re having sex right now. In a few seconds, Veronica will fling open the door and surprise them at their most vulnerable.

Yet another passage of text flickers through my mind, and my body stiffens.

Did she already know how it was going to end when she went there, that the other woman, the lover, wouldn’t survive this encounter between them?

I hurry forward, running as fast as I can. I need to catch up to Veronica before she reaches the cabin, before she yanks open the door and storms in. I have to keep her from spreading blood and destruction around her, from ruining her own life and those of the people she loves. She turns her head slightly and sees me coming. She has a head start, but I’m not far behind. When she picks up her pace, I do, too. My consciousness shrinks, reduced to a few sensory impressions. There’s a metallic taste in my mouth, the sound of nearby footsteps when the lawn switches to gravel, a wooden front porch with substantial railings all the way around. Only a few steps left now, then I’ve caught up.

A solitary round porch light illuminates the wooden deck and throws a spooky gleam over Veronica, who has reached the door. She fumbles with something, drops what she’s holding, and turns around. Her face is pale and contorted. A scream finds its way up and out of her throat, sounding almost like an animal’s cry, and I slow, stopping right in front of her.

“Veronica,” I pant, “you can’t—”

I don’t have a chance to say any more before she lunges. An instant later something smacks my rib cage and I lose my balance, teetering to the side and colliding with the railing. There’s a loud crunch above and behind my eyes, then everything goes quiet, so quiet. I fall down and lie there. Something warm and sticky flows over my face, over my neck—and when I look up, Veronica is standing over me.

Then I can’t see anything, because the warm redness is everywhere now, blinding me.

Then it’s not red anymore, but black.

And after the black… after the black, I see only white.

I sink down, rise up.

Mama, are you there?

She’s in her sickbed, propped up on the pillows I stuffed behind her back, and her whole body is in pain. The medicine she takes now isn’t real medicine, not anymore. That phase is over. Now she just takes pills for pain relief, to take the edge off. None of us knows how much it’s helping. Papa has grown hard-set, hardly says anything at all. Sometimes it feels like he’s somewhere else, even though I hear him banging around in the kitchen. My sister came home from London after the doctor advised us to gather the family. Mama never complains, but I see her grimacing when she can’t stop herself. It gets me every time. We don’t talk about it, but we both know it. My father and sister know it, too, of course. There’s not much time left now.

Mama reaches for me, indicating that she wants me close. Her body is emaciated. Her face is like a mask, stretched over her skull. I carefully get onto her bed and crawl over next to her, cautiously so that I don’t put too much weight on her or hold her too hard. Soon I’ll never have another chance to hug her. Even though I try to stop them, the tears well up in my eyes. Mama pats my hand.

“You miss me already?”

I don’t want to cry, don’t want to make it harder for her, but it’s too late. The tears are pouring down my cheeks now. All I can do is nod.

“You know that I’ll always be with you.”

I understand that Mama means well, and yet something within me resists.

“Don’t say that,” I mumble. “Don’t say that, because it’s not true.”

“But it is true, Elena. It’s not mumbo jumbo. It’s not about beliefs or religion. It’s about us and all the things that connect us. I’m in your thoughts, whenever you want, for as long as you want. As long as you remember me, I’ll exist.”

The dream is a memory, one of the last I have of Mama, and when I wake up my cheeks are wet from tears. I bring my hand up to wipe away the tears, but instead there are red, sticky streaks on my fingers. It’s not tears, but blood that’s running down into my eyes. Then I spot Veronica. She’s standing over me, and immediately everything comes back. This isn’t a dream. I’m not sleeping. I’m… She’s—

No! The scream forms deep within me. No, I don’t want to! An image flashes through my head—the image of me standing, leaning forward in the darkness at the top of the stairs in the town house. I remember how I wished I were far away, wished for the end. But I’m not done yet, not done keeping Mama company. I thought it was done, that the past was over, that I’d completed what needed to be finished, but I was wrong. There is more to do. There are things I need to say to other people, things I need to do for them. My sister, Peter, Leo… I squirm, make an effort to sit up, but fall back. I’m weak, but I want to live. I feel that with all my body now. Finally I manage to get some sound to come out of my throat.