Shadow of Fog Island Page 5

  She went to the door, peered through the peephole, and found it was Elvira. In a split second, her mood took a serious nosedive. All she and Elvira had in common was ViaTerra, and she suspected Elvira wasn’t there for a cheerful chat about old times. What was more, she looked awful: her hair was tangled, there were black mascara tracks down her cheeks; she was dressed all in black and was so pale her skin took on a greenish hue in the stairwell lighting.

  A number of alternatives popped up in Sofia’s head. She could stand perfectly still, quiet, not even breathing, until Elvira left. She could call through the mail slot that she was sick with something contagious like the stomach flu. Or she could open the door, just a crack, and explain that she simply couldn’t deal with this right now. It’s nothing personal, but I’ve cut all ties with ViaTerra.

  This brief moment at the door, which by now felt like a whole eternity, gave her a sense of déjà vu. She had made important decisions at the drop of a hat like this before. And it had always gone awry.

  The air was motionless in her tiny apartment. The faint rumble of traffic outside fell away, as if it had been turned off with a button. The ceiling light faded. I’m going to regret this, she thought, and opened the door.

  As she let Elvira into the entryway, she wondered how she could make this visit as short as possible: ask if Elvira needed clothing or money. Help her, as long as it had nothing to do with ViaTerra.

  Elvira burst into tears as she took off her coat. ‘Those bastards won’t let me go to Mom’s funeral,’ she sobbed.

  But Sofia hardly registered the words, because as Elvira removed her coat everything went strange and wrong. Sofia stared in shock at Elvira’s belly, which was huge and swollen – in stark contrast to her skinny body.

  Elvira shrugged in a gesture of hopelessness.

  ‘Is the baby his?’ Sofia asked, still in a state of mild shock.

  ‘What the fuck do you think?’ Elvira snapped. ‘It’s not like I had that many options when it came to guys seven months ago. How can everything be so wrong? It’s just so fucking unbelievable.’

  She was wearing black maternity pants and a sleeveless black shirt and had pierced her nose and gotten a tattoo on her neck – a bee. Although it was below freezing out, she didn’t have a hat or mittens, just a huge black coat over her light clothing, and boots on her feet.

  ‘Come in and sit down,’ Sofia said. ‘What happened?’

  Elvira stepped into the living room and tossed her coat on the sofa.

  ‘Dad says I can’t go to the funeral.’

  ‘What funeral?’

  ‘Mom’s. You didn’t know? Mom hanged herself.’

  ‘What? For real?’

  ‘People don’t fucking hang themselves for pretend, do they?’ This was a whole new Elvira. Angry as the bee on her neck.

  ‘Sit down and tell me about it. Start from the beginning.’

  Elvira sank onto the sofa and let out a heavy sigh. She glanced around the apartment.

  ‘Nice place.’

  As Sofia went to the kitchenette and put on coffee, she was flooded with a feeling of hopeless melancholy. Mona was dead. Her memories of Mona’s first suicide attempt crowded their way into her brain. That time, Oswald had bullied her so severely that Mona had gone to her room and tried to hang herself from the ceiling fixture. If Sofia hadn’t noticed she was missing, she would have died. She and Sofia had never been close, but now she was ashamed at how Mona had been mistreated in the cult. Elvira’s mother had become the constant scapegoat, picked on by everyone.

  When she came back to the living room, Elvira was staring out the window, her gaze empty and indifferent. Sofia put down the mugs of coffee and took a seat next to her on the sofa.

  ‘Tell me everything.’

  So Elvira did. She had started school and was living with her aunt in Lund. She hadn’t heard from her parents since the trial, but that was only to be expected. But then, on the day after Christmas, Anders had called their home phone and asked to speak to Elvira’s aunt. Elvira had recognized his voice right away and said her aunt wasn’t home, so he had shared the news with her. Mona had hanged herself in her room on Christmas Day. She had died almost immediately and couldn’t be resuscitated.

  ‘You mean they’re back at the manor? At ViaTerra?’ Sofia asked.

  ‘You seriously don’t have a clue, do you? They’ve been there for months. I know because they sent me all my things. And Dad told my aunt – that they were back on the island, I mean. Although nowadays Dad has broken off contact with my aunt too. Just because I’m living with her.’

  Sofia suddenly got a bitter and metallic taste in her mouth, that sick feeling that was linked to all the injustices at ViaTerra.

  ‘But then what happened? What did Anders say?’

  ‘At first I couldn’t even talk, I was so upset. But then I asked about the funeral and all that. And Dad said that my presence was not requested. My own fucking dad. Can you believe it? He said Mom’s funeral would be held at the manor and the guard wouldn’t let me in.’

  ‘Jesus, Elvira, that’s terrible. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Help me get back at them, that’s all I want.’

  ‘But they can’t bury her there, on the property, can they?’

  ‘They’re going to have some sort of gross ceremony and then send the body to the mainland to be cremated.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’

  Sofia aimed a meaningful gaze at Elvira’s stomach.

  ‘Oh, that. Yeah, that’s another little problem. I don’t know how I’m supposed to finish school and become a mum at the same time.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she was biting her lip firmly to keep them from falling.

  Sofia drew in what felt like an endless breath. She really didn’t want to get involved in this mess, but the injustice of it all was whining in her head like a chainsaw. Was it even legal? Can you forbid a child from attending their mother’s funeral?

  ‘Does he even know about this? The baby, I mean,’ she wondered.

  And then something remarkable happened. Elvira began to laugh. It started as a tiny chuckle but grew into a shrill peal of laughter that forced her double over her huge belly. The tears began to flow. She made several attempts to form words, but just cracked up again. And then Sofia began to laugh as well.

  ‘So, does he know anything about the baby?’ she finally managed to say.

  ‘It’s two. Two kids!’

  ‘What? Twins?’

  ‘Yeah. Boys.’

  ‘Jesus Christ. What are you going to do, Elvira?’

  ‘Give them up for adoption, I think. I’m not even fifteen. I don’t have my own place. My life is going to go to shit if I keep them.’

  ‘What does your aunt say?’

  ‘She says I can do whatever I want. But she did say she won’t be taking care of any babies, that’s for sure. So what else can I do?’

  ‘But couldn’t you have… when did you find out?’

  ‘I couldn’t. It seemed wrong. I suppose it’s my religious upbringing, I’ve probably been brainwashed or something. I went to a clinic, but when they were about to start… I started screaming like an idiot.’

  ‘So, does he know?’

  Elvira shook her head.

  ‘I think you have to tell him.’

  ‘Not before I’ve made his life into its own little hell. Right now he’s in prison, and I’m sure he’s got it made there. I want to do something. That’s why I came to you.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘I don’t know, Sofia. I just don’t get how this can be my fault. He ruined my whole life, and no one cares.’

  ‘I care.’

  Sofia stood up, the gears in her mind turning full-speed. Warning bells were going off, but it didn’t matter. There was no justice to be found for a defector like Elvira. The only way to deal with this sort of thing was by taking matters into your own hands.

  ‘I know what we
can do. It’s an idea I had before I escaped, actually. We’ll start a blog. We’ll call it “At the Mercy of the Cult” or something along those lines. No, even better: “Cult Kid”, because you were just a kid when everything happened. And we’ll write your story and spread it everywhere. We’ll get a Facebook page, and contact the media, and…’

  Elvira laughed.

  ‘That sounds awesome. I knew you would help me.’

  ‘I know someone who might be of use. I’ll get in touch with him tonight and call you tomorrow.’

  Elvira left the apartment soon thereafter. Some colour had returned to her cheeks and her eyes were clearer. It had started to snow, and Sofia watched from the window as she wandered down the street. Snowflakes hung about her head like a halo. Her figure slowly receded into the darkness beyond the reach of the streetlights.

  Sofia took her phone from her pocket and sent a text to Ellis. Then she called Benjamin to tell him everything: about Elvira, the babies, and Monica’s suicide. The resurrection of the cult. They spoke until Benjamin’s voice grew sleepy, and she realized he wanted to go to bed. Then she thought of Simon, out there on the island. It was eleven p.m., too late to call. At first she thought she would send an email, but he always took forever to respond to those, so she sent a text instead, although she wondered if he even knew how to text. Hers was short: Elvira’s pregnant. Oswald’s. Mona hanged herself. VT is back at the manor. Call when you wake up.

  The response was almost immediate.

  There are some things I need to tell you. Can we meet up?

  Her curiosity was piqued.

  Can’t you send an email?

  This time the response was immediate. Apparently Simon did know how to text, and fast.

  Better to tell you in person.

  Her heart leapt; she really did want to see him again.

  I’d love to, but I’m not setting foot on that %€#& island ever again.

  This time it took a moment, but at last her phone dinged.

  Then I’ll come visit you.

  And that’s how Simon popped back up in her life again.

  8

  Simon awoke to the sun streaming through the window. He tried to hold onto the slippery fragments of a pleasant dream where everything in the garden was growing and thriving, but he saw the ring of frost around the windowpane and realized with a heavy heart that it was still winter.

  His phone dinged and he knew immediately that he’d received an email from Sofia, but decided to get through the workday before reading it. He always enjoyed hearing from Sofia, but she was unpredictable: her messages demanded his undivided attention, and right now he just wanted to get to work.

  But after a few hours he found he was too curious, so he opened his phone and found the email, which contained only a link. Once he’d opened it he gasped; the image was so shocking. There was Elvira, totally nude, her arms crossed to hide her breasts. Her belly was exposed, and it was enormous. A long tendril of her loose hair coiled down to her navel. The rest was a golden wave down her back. Her eyes were made up to look huge; her lips were parted and her front teeth rested on her lower lip. Cult Kid, read the title.

  Simon typically didn’t surf the internet during his working hours, but now he sat down on an overturned bucket to read the blog. It was Elvira’s story in grisly detail. It was especially unpleasant to read the description of what Oswald had done to her in the attic, forcing her to have sex while choking her; he had nearly strangled her.

  There was a childish tone to the text and it had obviously been written by Elvira herself – there were a number of spelling errors and curse words. But that only made it better. More real. There were already several comments on the entry.

  An anxious, crawling sensation filled his belly, and he realized he was sweating even though it was rather chilly in the greenhouse. This is going to be big, he thought, with a hunch that the blog was a bomb soon to explode. He didn’t know if this was a good or bad thing, but he knew one thing for sure: the truth was out, and Franz Oswald would certainly not give it his stamp of approval. He fervently hoped that Sofia and Elvira knew what they were getting into.

  The trip to Lund went more smoothly than he’d expected, even though he disliked travel. Strangers, unpleasant odours and sounds. His parents had never taken him on trips; they couldn’t leave the animals alone on the farm. But he wanted to see Sofia, and of course there were things he needed to tell her. When he reached Central Station in Gothenburg he stopped at Pressbyrån to buy a newspaper, and right away he noticed the headlines on the posted billboards.

  STRANGLED AND RAPED BY THE CULT LEADER

  Fourteen-year-old Tells All

  SHE WAS FRANZ OSWALD’S SEX SLAVE

  Now Forced to Bear His Children

  MARKED FOR LIFE BY THE CULT

  Fourteen-year-old Speaks Out

  Only the more sensational evening papers had the story on the front page, but Simon even found an article about Elvira in Göteborgs-Posten. The papers had used the image from the blog, with those huge, innocent eyes gazing into the camera.

  Simon sat on a bench at the station and tore at his hair. Good or bad? He couldn’t decide. But he was glad Oswald would have something to worry about in prison. And in some ways he was relieved, because what he was going to tell Sofia was nothing compared to this.

  She met him at the station. She had grown out her hair; it reached her waist. There was no makeup on her face and she was wearing an anorak with a huge fur collar and jeans with big holes at the knees. In the middle of winter. Her cheeks were rosy red and he wondered if it was from the cold or because she was glad to see him again.

  ‘Come on, let’s go eat, you must be hungry.’ He always was. She knew that.

  ‘Quite the commotion you two have caused,’ he said once they were seated at the restaurant.

  ‘About time, wasn’t it?’

  He let her speak first. Her mouth moved nonstop. They’d already had over one hundred thousand hits on their site; others had written to them to tell their own stories. Elvira had already been booked on a talk show on TV, and there would be more offers down the line.

  It’ll go on like this for a few months, while she’s got that big belly, Simon thought. And then I’m sure there’ll be a heck of a fuss when the babies come. But what will she do after that? He wondered how long a person could live that way.

  Sofia realized she’d lost him in the middle of a sentence.

  ‘Are you listening?’

  ‘Of course. It’s just a lot to take in. Is she going to give the babies up for adoption?’

  ‘She still hasn’t decided. But how could she keep them? Don’t you imagine they’d just be a constant reminder of him?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s how kids work. I guess they’re just themselves when they come out.’

  Sofia nodded. She took Simon’s hand on top of the table. ‘It’s so great to see you again.’

  ‘Same to you. I’m glad you two did this. And I hope Oswald reads the blog.’

  ‘There was something you wanted to tell me?’

  ‘Yes, is Benjamin coming? Because if he is, I’ll tell you both.’

  ‘No, not this weekend. It’s just you and me.’

  So he couldn’t put it off any longer. He told her everything he knew about the cult’s return to the manor: who was there, when they gathered, all about the gate and the lock. Her expression didn’t change as he spoke. She just nodded now and then, squinting as if she were trying to transform his words into images.

  ‘Well, that’s terrific!’ she said when she was done. ‘Well done, changing the lock. You should have emailed me. That’s the kind of news I like to hear. And Elvira told me they’re back on the island, so I knew that part already.’

  ‘And then there’s this.’

  He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and placed it on the table in front of her. As she read it, he watched her face; he noticed that she was startled when she read the very last line.
She rested her finger on it and looked up at him.

  ‘What do you think this means?’

  ‘Not sure. It could mean anything from that they’re going to send you your stuff, to that they’re planning to kill you.’

  He immediately regretted those last words.

  ‘Someone from the police sent my stuff. Ages ago. I asked them to, because I didn’t want to go there again.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s not it then.’

  Simon thought she looked lovely as she sat there trying to figure out what the bullet point meant. She stared at nothing as if in a trance, her features soft and smooth. Sofia had always been apt to zone out while they were talking. One second she was there; the next she was swept away in her thoughts. He understood why men were drawn to her, why Oswald had become fixated on her. There was so much life in Sofia, in her eyes, her body, and even out to the ends of her unruly hair. Yet she was capable of looking so calm when she was pondering something. She was like the fog out on the island. Encircling everything with her attention, then setting it free in a split second when she was done thinking.

  ‘Simon, what the heck do they mean by this?’

  ‘Maybe it doesn’t mean anything,’ he said. ‘You know how it was there. One disaster after the next. They’ve had more than six months to come after you. But nothing has happened, right?’

  ‘No, but now we’ve got the blog…’ Her gaze turned inward again.

  ‘Simon, you were always so good at ferreting things out. “Think like him,” you used to say about Oswald. What do you think he’s really up to these days?’

  Simon thought about the blog and then about Oswald, and it made him shudder.

  ‘To be honest, I think he’s royally pissed off. He’s already being hung out to dry by the media, and then that’s how he finds out he’s going to be a father. You know what, I bet his mind is elsewhere for the moment, not on you. Although if you two keep blogging, of course, you’ll have to be prepared to accept the consequences.’