Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - I Remember You

The lapping of the waves welcomed him as he approached the sea wall and Freyr’s mood lightened with each step that brought him closer to this pleasing sound and further from the alley. He sped up and distracted himself by guessing how many steps it would take him to reach the wall. The count fluctuated – but at least the task absorbed all his attention in the meantime. Then he heard the giggling again. Now it sounded as if it was coming from the other side of a nearby fishing boat propped on trestles, awaiting repairs and the spring. The sound was clearer than before, the voice bright and sharp, like a child’s. But not any ordinary child, that much was certain. His estimated step-count evaporated and he stopped some way away and looked at the area around the boat. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Freyr bent down and tried to see if there were any feet beneath the boat, but saw none. If the laughter came from there, whoever made it must be hiding inside the vessel. Freyr grew angry at the thought that this was maybe just a trick, some kids who’d decided to make fun of the strange man from the south who’d lost his son. Maybe the same little sods had been at work in the hospital. Before he knew it he was storming towards the boat and didn’t slow down when the same horrible giggle came from behind it.

When Freyr reached the side of the boat he realized it was higher than he’d thought and that it would be no easy feat to clamber into it. He leaned up against the gunwale and looked over the deck, but saw nothing except for rusted iron, decaying ropes and pieces of netting that appeared so badly tangled they would never have posed little threat to the lives of any fish. He walked around the boat and knocked on its sides, in case that would succeed in scaring the kid or kids up out of it. Heavy, hollow sounds, each blow taking its toll on Freyr’s bare knuckles. But no one stuck his head out or emerged from the boat; all that happened was that some yellow paint flaked off and fell to the ground. The outline of the boat’s name and registration number were still visible: Gígja Ólafsdóttir ÍS 127. Finally the drumming had a result when the laughter rang out again, now clearly from within the body of the boat. Freyr needed no more encouragement; he went to where the gunwales were lowest and swung himself up on deck.

The first thing that struck him was a strong smell of sea salt. Everything here had been so thoroughly drenched by the waves that the boat would have to remain on shore for many years before it lost the smell of the sea. The odour might also have come from the puddles of water lying here and there along the deck, gleaming softly in the moonlight. Freyr stared at them; it was so cold outside that such shallow puddles should have frozen, even if they were seawater. Probably whoever was on board the boat had brought the water with him. The deck creaked under Freyr’s every step and he hoped fervently and sincerely that the kid’s heart was now in his throat at the thought of being discovered. But what was he going to do after catching the snake by its tail? He could think of no sensible answer. He would probably drag him out into the open by his jacket, ask him what the hell he was doing and then give him a vigorous shake before letting go and allowing the kid to run home, scared out of his wits. The only thing he had to be careful of was giving in to his anger or taking revenge for the injustice of the past few years. The temptation to do so would be great.

Although the laughter had come from below deck, Freyr decided to look first in the little pilothouse to make sure that any possible accomplices didn’t take him by surprise from behind while he scared the shit out of their friend. But luckily no one was there, and Freyr turned to the wooden hatch at the prow. He stomped towards it as heavily as he could to increase the impact of his steps, which must be echoing throughout the enclosed space below deck. Then he waited a moment before loosening the latch, in order to heighten the kid’s nervousness even further.

Freyr bent down and took hold of the latch. His fingers had only just begun to loosen it when the giggle came again, now clearly beneath the hatch; the kid seemed to be trying to hold back his laughter. So he was less scared than amused, although his tone seemed as brutish as before and his laughter completely joyless. Freyr found the sound so unpleasant that he abruptly let go of the latch; his bravado had left him. But when anger was no longer the driving force behind his actions, common sense took over and Freyr stared at the latch. It was on the outside of the hatch. So whoever was down there hadn’t entered through this opening. He looked back over his shoulder but couldn’t see any other way in.

‘Open it.’

Freyr froze. It was a child’s voice, but nothing about it reminded him of Benni.

‘Do you want to play hide-and-seek?’

Freyr was breathing so fast that he didn’t know whether he was inhaling or exhaling. He leapt to his feet and stood there as if nailed to the spot, staring at the hatch. He took a step backwards as the woodwork shook and the voice repeated: ‘Open it. Let’s play hide-and-seek.’ Then the giggling began again and it followed Freyr as he leapt over the gunwale, it was at his heels as he stood up again after landing in the snow-covered shingle and it followed him as he sprinted towards the centre of town. When he got there he slowed down and breathed easier, free of the echo in his mind.

What had Sara’s psychic friend said? That he was in danger? He didn’t doubt it and suddenly realized that he had no desire to end up suffering some unspeakable fate. Freyr headed towards the hospital, determined to go over every scrap of paper, every record and every single tiny detail that could possibly help him solve this puzzle and find his son. He took out his mobile phone and selected his ex-wife’s number. Without apologizing for how late he was calling and how breathless he was, he went straight to the point. ‘You need to send me the computer files the police gave us dealing with Benni’s disappearance. Every single one of them; the video recordings from the petrol station as well. Send them to me a few at a time; the files are large and they won’t all fit in one message.’

‘I’m not a complete idiot, Freyr. I know how to send e-mail.’

Freyr exhaled resolutely through his nose. ‘And I need to tell you something, Sara. I wasn’t working when Benni disappeared. I was with another woman. That’s why I arrived so late. You probably don’t want to hear how awful I feel about it, but—’

Sara hung up. Freyr prayed to God that she would still send him the files.

Katrín found the fact that Líf was a giant bundle of nerves helped her stay calm. While everything was focussed on preventing Líf from completely losing it, she had something to think about and could keep the depression hovering over her at bay. She badly wanted to crawl into her sleeping bag, pull it up over her head and wait for whatever awful thing might come. She didn’t think for a second that they were going to find anything good, which dragged her down but carried with it the advantage of preventing unrealistic expectations from getting in her way. There was also a peculiar comfort in knowing that although tragedy was around the corner, she would face it with her head held high; she was broken but not defeated. Obviously, it wasn’t as though she had any choice in the matter; one of them had to take charge, and it certainly wasn’t going to be Líf. Let alone Putti, who seemed to have given in to depression and slept curled up on Garðar’s sleeping bag more or less all day.

‘We should eat something.’ Katrín adjusted her position where she sat on a mattress in the dining room. Her foot was troubling her less and less; the pain was just as bad but she’d grown used to it, and the painkillers took away the worst of it. She suspected that this was a bad omen and that under normal circumstances what was most dangerous for her now was lack of immediate medical attention, not falling prey to the unfathomable and the unknown. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ They hadn’t had anything to eat since waking up; the day had passed without them paying any attention to their appetites. Now it was evening. Katrín didn’t particularly feel like eating, but knew it wasn’t wise to sleep on an empty stomach. She was afraid of waking up hungry in the middle of the night and having to stumble to the kitchen alone in the dark. That was out of the question.