Shadow of Fog Island Page 3

  He pulled himself out of his ruminations and took a look at the group, which had divided into two teams: those who were in, and those who were out.

  The ‘in’ group was considerably larger. Anders and Mona, Elvira’s parents, sat in silence, leaning against the railing. Madeleine, too, had realized they hadn’t made a peep.

  ‘How about you two? What are you going to do?’

  Mona pressed her lips into a narrow line and turned her head away. But Anders stood and put a hand on Mona’s shoulder.

  ‘We’re with you, Madeleine. It’s Elvira’s own fault it ended up like this. She was always going on about wanting to be with Franz. We won’t betray ViaTerra for her sake. Right, Mona? We’re going to disown Elvira.’

  Madeleine gave a delighted cry. ‘That’s what I like to hear!’

  Rage began to throb in Simon’s veins. He stood up and took a few steps toward Anders, overcome by the urge to give him a sound walloping and toss him overboard. But just then, the ferryman, Edwin Björk, called Simon’s name from the bridge.

  ‘Someone wants to talk to you on my mobile. Please come and take this call.’

  Simon was startled; he went over to Björk and took the phone from his outstretched hand.

  The woman’s voice was unfamiliar, but she introduced herself as Inga Hermansson, owner of the village pension. After a series of apologies and laments about the terrible situation with the cult, she got to the point: she had heard about Simon’s gardens. She wanted to hire him, because the pension was going to move to using only locally-grown and organic resources. She laid it on thick, all the good things she’d heard about Simon from the guests at ViaTerra. His heart swelled in his chest and his thoughts were drawn to the greenhouse and fields at ViaTerra. The grapevines and tomato plants that would wither and die away. The crops that would turn into an overgrown wasteland. He pictured everything he’d created over the last few years neglected, ruined, and abandoned. His mother’s voice quickly returned, only to fade out and become part of the sound of the water hitting the sides of the ferry. The tension in his chest let go.

  ‘When would I start?’ he asked.

  ‘As soon as you can.’

  ‘I’ll take the next ferry back,’ he told Inga Hermansson, hanging up without waiting for a response.

  He returned to the island that same day and got started on his job at the pension. His memories of the cult faded as soon as he got his hands in the earth. But now he wondered if ViaTerra had come back to life after all, a living being, moving and breathing. Somewhere. Somehow.

  No one said anything for a moment once he’d finished speaking.

  ‘But surely you don’t think they’ll come back to the island?’ Elvira said in horror.

  ‘Who knows?’ Simon said. ‘It feels like something’s up.’

  ‘Aw, it’ll just be a huge mess if Madde’s in charge,’ Benjamin said. ‘And why should we even care? What could they do to us? Not a damn thing.’

  ‘I don’t even want to think about it,’ said Sofia. ‘But Simon, you’ll keep an eye on the place, won’t you?’

  Simon nodded. He felt like they were brushing off his concerns. But it was best to keep his mouth shut until he had something concrete.

  ‘What are you going to do now, Elvira?’ Sofia asked. ‘Do you have anyone to take care of you?’

  ‘I’m going to live with my aunt in Lund. And finish school. After that, we’ll see.’

  A shadow passed over Elvira’s face and a wrinkle appeared between her pale eyebrows. She was brooding over something, and Simon wasn’t sure it had to do with the trial.

  The black circles under eyes looked permanent. And her eyes had already been bloodshot this morning. Something wasn’t quite right with Elvira.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t need any help? Are you upset about how Anders and Mona are treating you?’ he asked.

  ‘No, it’s fine. We’ve never been all that tight anyway. Sure, I like them and stuff, but we’ve always been part of religious groups and I’ve had enough. It’s Dad, he’ll never give up. He says we have to forget about the material world. You know? And when you do that, it doesn’t matter where you live or whether you go to school.’

  ‘Or whether a sadistic pig rapes your daughter,’ Sofia added. As soon as the words left her mouth, she sucked in air as if to pull them back inside. But Elvira didn’t seem to take offence; she just nodded and rolled her eyes so hard her long eyelashes brushed her eyebrows.

  ‘But there’s one thing I don’t get,’ Benjamin said. ‘How come Anders and Mona let you testify against Oswald? You’re not of legal age yet.’

  ‘They said I should do what I wanted. They disowned me. In their eyes, I no longer exist.’

  ‘That’s so messed up!’ Sofia said.

  ‘It’s better this way. I just want to be normal, and stop being a cult kid. Make some friends. Finish school.’

  Simon looked at Sofia, who was sitting across from him. Her cheeks had taken on some colour and her eyes had regained their lustre. He expected she would be just fine, now that the trial was over.

  ‘How about you, what will you do now?’ he asked her. ‘Do you have a job?’

  ‘I’m looking,’ she said, and suddenly she seemed to be gazing inwards. Simon realized at once he had hit a nerve.

  4

  There it was again. The question she had been dreading, waiting for; the question she knew would come. She had rattled off the answer silently in her head, practising on her way. This time, she told herself, it would go just fine. All she had to do was seem unconcerned, bordering on nonchalant.

  The woman with the round face and grey eyes squinted at her over her glasses.

  ‘So what have you been doing for the last two years?’

  Sofia prepared herself to respond. Dammit, she was stumbling over her words again; her voice sounded rough and guilty, full of that stupid confusion, as if this lady had caught her red-handed somehow.

  ‘Well, I sort of got side-tracked. I joined a cult.’

  The woman was startled.

  ‘Which I have left now,’ Sofia hurried to add. ‘I mean, I am definitely no longer a member.’

  ‘I see. Which cult was it, if I may ask?’

  ‘You might not have heard of it. ViaTerra.’

  But it seemed the woman had heard of ViaTerra. She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, then gazed out at the lawn. It was an overcast morning; heavy clouds drifted by and cool air was drawn through the cracked window, bringing the smell of rain. Sofia shivered. She tried to catch the woman’s eye, but now she was gazing down at the desk. There was a strained, anxious tension between them that hadn’t been there before. The mood was suddenly awkward.

  ‘Well, I have your CV, so I’ll be in touch if we’re interested.’

  The hell you will.

  There was that sinking feeling in her stomach. Several job interviews had ended this way. And no one had contacted her. ViaTerra. The very act of uttering the words automatically disqualified her for employment. Surely anyone so stupid as to join that crazy cult couldn’t be a good fit for a job. Sofia had applied to several positions since returning to Lund. She wanted to work in a library. But finding a job was easier said than done. Especially with a background as a cult member.

  The woman looked up, mildly annoyed now. ‘You’re all set, then.’

  This was the moment when you were supposed to stand up, say thanks, and never apply for another job there ever again. But Sofia wasn’t feeling quite normal today. She was desperate for this job as an assistant librarian at the university library. She loved the library. The smell of old dust and leather. The light when the sun shined in on the great room. The blazing colours of the trees beyond the windows in the autumn.

  The lump in her throat grew until she felt like she might cry – this whole situation was so unfair.

  She rose to leave, but she couldn’t get her legs to move. Should she say what she was thinking? Vent about the injustice? A series of roadblocks to
wered before her. It wasn’t a good idea to be pushy. She risked getting a bad reputation if she made a fuss; she might destroy any chance she had of landing a job at another library.

  Don’t act like a victim!

  She caught the woman’s eye again.

  ‘I know you think I’m crazy for having joined that cult, but the thing is, I am extremely qualified for this job. I have a bachelor’s degree in literature and have built an entire library on my own. I can rattle off the alphabet forwards and backwards, if you want to hear. Really fast. I’m good with computers. And I promise that not a single book will end up mis-shelved.’

  The woman’s lips twitched with amusement.

  ‘I’ll be in touch this afternoon. Just have to check on a few things.’

  The bus home was crowded and Sofia had to stand. When soft jazz began to stream from her phone, she thought at first it was coming from the guy next to her. She’d changed her ringtone a number of times. Blaring ones made her jump, because she always thought it would be the police calling to say Oswald had escaped and was coming after her. But this ringtone only sounded like a gentle thought, and the music was already dying away when she got her phone out of her pocket. She recognized the voice immediately; it was matter-of-fact and a bit formal, but now with a hint of warmth.

  ‘When can you start, Sofia?’

  ‘Immediately. Tomorrow, if you want me to.’

  ‘Tomorrow is Saturday.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  Her dad met her in the entryway. She wanted to share her news right away, but she couldn’t get a word in edgeways.

  ‘Sofia, there’s a very nice studio available downtown. I was there and had a look. I know you don’t have a job yet, but your mom and I can help you until you get back on your feet…’

  ‘I do have a job!’

  And at that moment, her life turned around.

  Everything that had been crushed to pieces became whole again. Details she hadn’t noticed before took on an almost eerie sharpness: how the sun laid a glittering net over the city in the evenings, the heavenly scents that poured from bakeries and cafés each morning, and the monotonous, soothing sound of the highway in the distance before she fell asleep.

  Things she used to take for granted took on new meaning. Having weekends off, eating whatever she wanted, spending time with her parents and friends. Sleeping in was especially significant after the forced sleeplessness of the cult. One Sunday she set her alarm for six, got up for a while, and then crawled back into bed and fell asleep again. Just because she could. Writing emails and sending texts without having them censored was freeing, not to mention surfing the internet however she liked.

  All of these little things made her happy.

  The apartment was small, with a corner for sleeping, a corner for the kitchen, and a living room that hardly fit a sofa set, a stereo, and a few shelves. But she decorated in bright colours and kept it neat and tidy, with a zealous devotion that was really quite unlike her. She wrapped herself in blankets and sat on the balcony in the mornings, watching Lund appear as a mirage before the rising sun, soaking in the feeling of freedom that had returned now that she had a stable place on earth.

  Her job mostly involved shelving books, but she immediately found a rhythm, fell into a comfortable routine. She thought often of her time in ViaTerra and always tried to figure out why she had stayed so long, but she always came to the same conclusion: that it didn’t really matter why. It wasn’t the sort of mistake you make twice, and that was what counted.

  She got back in touch with Wilma, who had been her best friend before she joined the cult. Wilma had changed since she began to work in the fashion industry, dressing in natural-coloured, faded, half-wrinkly clothes that still looked surprisingly expensive. Her hair was bobbed and dyed black. Her soft, lovely curves had been dieted out of existence, and whenever they went out to eat she mostly poked at her salads. Sofia wondered if they had grown apart, but Wilma was determined that they should see each other once a week. The first few times they met, she made Sofia tell her everything that had happened on the island, down to the tiniest detail. Wilma was especially fascinated by Oswald.

  ‘In some ways, I understand why you were drawn to him,’ she said one day. ‘He’s super hot, there’s no denying that. Do you know where he buys his clothes? I mean, everything he wears is the latest fashion.’

  ‘He thinks he’s above things like fashion, Wilma. Everything is tailor-made. He’s the only person I’ve ever heard of who has his jeans made to order.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Whatever you think of him, he treated the staff like shit.’

  ‘I can’t believe he turned out to be such a monster. It’s hard to wrap my head around.’

  ‘You’re wrong about that,’ Sofia said. ‘People like Oswald are far too easy to understand. He seems like a perfectly normal guy – that’s the problem.’

  ‘I wonder if he could be converted…’

  ‘Believe me, Wilma. He’s impossible to change, you would never manage it.’

  ‘I can’t believe he was so obsessed with you. I mean, no offence, but…’

  ‘Wilma, can you just shut up?’

  ‘Fine, I’ll stop. But just one more thing. After having a super-hot guy like Oswald be into you, I don’t get why you have to hang around with a boring, spineless guy like Benjamin.’

  ‘You don’t know him, Wilma. Benjamin is good for me. He’s everything I need.’

  Wilma made a face and went back to poking at her salad.

  Sofia remained faithful to Benjamin. The mere sight of him set her heart aflutter. He had stayed in Gothenburg, where he could live with his sister and work at a carrier company, but he visited Sofia in Lund on weekends. Every Friday evening at eight, there he was, outside her door. She always prepared herself before his visits; she would start fantasizing about sex sometime on Wednesday night, and by the time she got home from work on Friday she was so horny that she spent the half hour before he showed up pacing her apartment. As if his train might have suddenly arrived early. She put on sexy underwear. As soon as he came through the door they clung to one another, giddy with excitement. Most times they were too impatient to make it to the bed and ended up having sex on the floor in the hall. Their relationship had never been simple, but the sex had always been good. Better than good.

  It was a cold, snowy winter. But the days grew longer and brighter in January. Only the nights were dark and difficult. She still dreamed about Oswald, and it only got worse when Benjamin was there. Maybe he reminded her of her time on the island. Sometimes he couldn’t deal with her screams and woke her up gently.

  ‘You were having a nightmare again.’

  Typically, she was drenched with sweat and all in a daze.

  ‘You were shouting, really loud.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘I can’t handle you suffering like this.’

  ‘I’m sure it will get better. There must be something I haven’t figured out yet.’

  ‘What is there to figure out? You have to let it go sometime, Sofia.’

  ‘Let what go?’

  ‘All the trauma.’

  She clung to him until her heartbeat slowed. ‘Don’t you ever have nightmares, Benjamin?’

  ‘Sure, sometimes. But they’re just annoying. Not like yours.’

  ‘What do you dream about?’

  ‘It’s always the same dream. I’m in a city. It’s Gothenburg, but not Gothenburg at the same time, because there are hills and a cliff over the sea.’

  ‘Like on Fog Island?’

  ‘Right. I feel anxious and confused. I walk around looking for something, but I’m not sure what. Then I come to a tunnel and my skin starts to crawl. Someone is standing there. Different people from ViaTerra. Sometimes it’s Madeleine, sometimes Bosse or Benny. And then I remember I’m looking for you and ask where you are. It’s always the same answer: “Don’t you know? She came back. She’s working with Franz again.” And then I
get so desperate. I know I have to get you out, but I don’t know how. And when I wake up, it takes me a minute to realize I’m at home. And that you’re fine.’

  ‘I wonder why we can’t stop dreaming about that place. Why are we so stuck?’

  ‘Oh, my dreams will probably go away eventually. They’re nothing compared to yours. Can’t you please go see a psychologist? Oswald almost raped you. You need professional help.’

  ‘They’ll just say I’ve got Stockholm Syndrome because I can’t get him out of my head. I don’t feel like listening to all that nonsense.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘Yeah, I do. Why doesn’t anyone ever say, “It’s great that you managed to get out of there, that you put him away?” No, they just want to know how many times he molested me in the office.’

  ‘He didn’t do that, did he?’ Benjamin asked, horrified.

  ‘No, you know that already.’

  ‘Call a psychologist, please. At least give it a try.’

  So she promised she would, but she never got around to it.

  5

  Anna-Maria was having a hard time focusing on the road ahead of her. The knowledge that she would soon see him again was dizzying, and this meeting was crucial. They would be laying the groundwork for their collaboration, now that he was an inmate. In some ways, she would become his lifeline out to the real world, and the thought that he would be dependent on her was a little bit intoxicating.

  The loops of razor wire were visible from a long way off, and then Skogome Prison itself appeared down in its valley. Nestled cosily in amber-coloured forest, but bleak thanks to its concrete walls. Grey, drab, and ugly. She’d been there before; sex offenders were her speciality. She understood them. Could follow along in their reasoning.

  The parking lot was surprisingly empty, even though it was visiting hours. She parked her car, approached the outer gate, and identified herself. The gate unlocked with a dull buzz. When she got to the main guard post, she left her ID and placed her phone in a locked cabinet, exchanging pleasantries with the female guard in the booth. She recognized the woman immediately: her name was Helga McLean. She had worked there for years. Tough as nails.