‘Did you notice that there’s a page missing?’ Jessica asked, moving over next to him. Patrik looked at her in astonishment.
‘No, I didn’t think of that.’
‘You can see from the page numbering.’ She pointed at one of the pages. ‘The first page you have is 5 and 6, then there’s a jump to 9 and 10, and 11 and 12, and the last one is 13 and 14. So the page numbered 7 on one side and 8 on the other is missing.’
Patrik’s thoughts were spinning. He understood with lightning-fast certainty what that meant. Somewhere there was another victim.
He really shouldn’t. He knew that. But he couldn’t help it. Sister didn’t like it when he begged, when he pleaded for what was unattainable. But something inside him made him do it. He had to find out what was out there. What was beyond the forest, beyond the field. Where she drove every day when she left them alone in the house. He simply had to find out what it looked like, the existence they were reminded of when an airplane flew over them up in the sky, or when they heard the sound of a car far, far in the distance.
At first she had refused. Told them it was out of the question. The only place they were safe, where he, her little jinx, was safe, was in the house, their sanctuary. But he kept on asking. And each time he asked he thought he could see her resistance wearing down. He could hear how insistent he sounded, how the stubborn tone slipped into his voice every time he talked about the unknown, which he wanted to see, if only once.
Sister always stood quietly beside him. Watching them, with a stuffed animal in her arms and her thumb in her mouth. She never said a word about having the same sense of longing. And she would never dare ask. But he sometimes saw a flash of the same desire in her eyes, when she sat on the bench by the window and looked out over the forest that seemed to go on for ever. Then he could see that the longing was just as strong in her.
That’s why he kept asking. He pleaded, he begged. She reminded him about the story they’d read so often. About the curious brother and sister who got lost in the forest. They were alone and scared, held captive by an evil witch. They could get lost out there. She was the one who protected them. Did they want to get lost? Did they want to risk never finding their way home to her? After all, she had already saved them from the witch once … Her voice always sounded so small, so sad when she answered his pleas with more questions. But something inside him made him keep asking, even though the distress tore and ripped at his breast when her voice trembled and tears filled her eyes.
But the temptation to know what was out there was too strong.
‘Welcome!’ Erling waved them into the hall and stood up a bit straighter when he saw the cameramen following behind.
‘Viveca and I think it’s so nice that you agreed to come over for a little farewell dinner. Here in our humble abode,’ he added towards the camera with a chuckle. The viewers would probably appreciate this brief glimpse into the lives of ‘the rich and famous’, as he had said to Fredrik Rehn when he presented the idea to him. Fredrik of course had thought it was a stroke of genius to invite the cast members to a farewell dinner at the home of the top dog in town. It was undoubtedly incredibly fitting.
‘So, come in, come in,’ said Erling, sweeping them into the living room. ‘Viveca will be right in to offer you a drink and welcome you here. Or perhaps you don’t imbibe?’ he said with a wink, laughing heartily at his own joke.
‘Look, here comes Viveca with the drinks,’ he said, pointing to his wife, who didn’t utter a word. They’d had a talk about this before the dinner guests and camera crew arrived. She had agreed to stay in the background and let him have his moment in the spotlight. After all, he was the one who had made the whole show possible.
‘I thought that you should taste some adult beverages for a change,’ said Erling, beaming. ‘A genuine “Dry Martini”, as we call them in Stockholm.’ He laughed again, a little too loudly, but he wanted to be sure that he could be heard on screen. The young people sniffed cautiously at their drinks, each of which held an olive speared on a toothpick.
‘Do we have to eat the olive?’ said Uffe, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
Erling smiled. ‘No, you can skip it if you like. It’s mostly for decoration.’
Uffe nodded and tossed back the drink while carefully avoiding the olive.
Some of the others followed his example. Erling, looking a bit bewildered and holding his glass up in the air, said, ‘Well, I had intended to bid you welcome, but some people are obviously thirsty. So skål!’ He raised his glass a bit higher, received a vague murmur in reply, and then sipped his Dry Martini.
‘Could I get another?’ said Uffe, holding out his glass to Viveca. She glanced at Erling, who nodded. What the heck, the kids had to have a bit of fun.
By the time dessert was served, Erling W. Larson was beginning to feel some regret. He vaguely recalled that Fredrik Rehn had warned him at their meeting not to serve too much alcohol during dinner, but he had stupidly waved aside Rehn’s words of advice. If Erling remembered rightly, he’d thought that nothing could be worse than the time in ’98 when the whole management team had gone on a business trip to Moscow. What had actually happened there was still a bit fuzzy in his mind, but he did recall a smattering of images, which included Russian caviar, a hell of a lot of vodka, and a brothel. What Erling hadn’t considered was that it was one thing to get pissed on a business trip and something altogether different to have five drunken youths in his own home. Even the food had been something of a disaster. They had hardly touched the whitefish roe on toast, and the risotto with coquilles Saint-Jacques had been greeted by gagging sound effects, especially from that barbarian Uffe. The climax of the evening seemed to be taking place even now, as he could hear the sounds of vomiting coming from the loo. Thinking that at least they had eaten the dessert, he saw with horror how the chocolate mousse was being regurgitated all over the beautiful, newly installed floor tiles.
‘I found some more wine, Earl the pearl,’ Uffe slurred, triumphantly coming in from the kitchen with an open wine bottle in his hand. With a sinking feeling in his stomach Erling realized that it was one of his best and most expensive vintage wines that Uffe had decided to uncork. Erling could feel rage bubbling up inside, but restrained himself when he realized that the camera was zooming in on him in the hope of just such a reaction.
‘Imagine that, what luck,’ he said through clenched teeth. Then he sent a look Fredrik Rehn’s way with an appeal for help. But the producer seemed to think the councilman had asked for it, and instead held out his empty wine glass to Uffe. ‘Pour me some, Uffe,’ he said, deliberately ignoring Erling.
‘Me too,’ said Viveca, who had spent the entire evening in silence, but now defiantly looked at her husband. Erling was seething inside. This was mutiny. Then he smiled at the camera.
Less than a week left before the wedding. Erica was starting to get nervous, but all the practical matters had been taken care of. She and Anna had worked like fiends to arrange everything: flowers, place cards, where the guests would stay, the music, all of it. Erica gave Patrik a worried look, as he sat across from her at the breakfast table chewing listlessly. She had fixed him hot chocolate and crispbread with cheese and caviar, his favourite breakfast. It usually made her feel sick just looking at it. Now she was prepared to do almost anything to get some nourishment into him. At least he wasn’t going to have any trouble