Chapter 18
Kjell
"Damn, how could this happen?" Jakob's voice on the other end of the line sounds so defeated that it makes me feel sick instantly.
"What?" I rub my arms dry with a towel.
"You didn't see it?"
I've never heard him like this before. Pure horror lingers in his words. "Tell me, what's going on?"
I stroll into the bathroom as Jakob explains the problem. When I arrive, a shocked face stares back at me from the mirror.
"What? This can't be serious," I stammer clumsily. How did Aftonbladeti get these details? Finding out that Sky, alias Skady Blohm, is Gustav Blohm's daughter is one thing, if you know where to look. But everything else...
"Six years after a fierce family feud, the daughter of fashion mogul Gustav Blohm reappears in Stockholm," Jakob reads from the article. "Everything indicates that she's finally forgiven her parents for their divorce and is ready to join the family business."
Sky left because of the divorce? No. It had something to do with this show. Aftonbladeti is digging deep.
"Did she wait too long, perhaps? Rumors have it that her father is in a coma." Jakob sighs wearily. "We could have covered that too. Except for the divorce and the coma, we had the same information."
"But..." Yes, but what? I don't know. Sighing, I toss the wet towel onto the tiled floor.
"Do you have any idea how much money Aftonbladeti is making from this article?" He sounds like he's fighting back tears. "Dammit, we really could have used that money!"
He's right, and that should be all I'm thinking about right now. Yet I can't push away these other questions that well up within me. Did Sky see the article? How is she dealing with it?
She's so afraid of revealing anything about herself; she practically hides. It must be terrible for her to read rumors about herself in Sweden's largest newspaper. With a circulation of over two hundred thousand copies, the article has already spread across the country.
"Besides, this is just the beginning," Jakob reminds me.
Yes, dammit, he's right. From now on, they'll be chasing Sky. Everyone will want the best story.
Fuck.
"Listen," I say quickly and rush to the bedroom to pull on a sweater. "Let me handle this."
"Pffft." Jakob sighs tiredly. "How do you plan to handle it? The damn article is already printed!"
I'm well aware of that. "I'm going to see Sky now."
"Bring me something we can publish in Ryktesspegeln ," he pleads. There's desperation in his tone. I can empathize with him because so much is at stake for him. For both of us.
But it's the same for Sky—something I shouldn't care about at all. Not in the slightest. Because even though I forget it far too often, nothing about her is real. She lies; that's the only thing I'm sure of about her.
"I'll see what I can do," I reply vaguely. I end the call before he can put more pressure on me, and I hastily leave the apartment.
The night lies dark over the city, with only the numerous lights illuminating the paths. I ponder intensely.
"Where are you, Sky?" I murmur into my scarf.
If Sky knew about the article, where would she flee to? Her father's house? Perhaps, as that would be a haven. But would she find solace there? She hasn't told me much about her childhood or her parents' home. All she ever wanted was to be at Touch av lyx . That was her true home.
She's on the rooftop!
I rush into the subway station, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other during the ride and swiftly maneuvering through the crowd after disembarking.
It takes twenty minutes, which feel like half a lifetime, for me to stand in front of the entrance to the modern skyscraper where Touch av lyx has its headquarters.
At the reception, I introduce myself as the photographer from the Milan photo shoot and explain that I'm here to clarify some open questions. None of it is a lie—thankfully. I've been to Milan. I've taken photographs. And now, there are open questions.
The well-groomed staff member types something into his computer. "I'm sorry. You're not registered."
I put on a remorseful expression.
He eyes me skeptically, then sighs extensively. "It's always the same," he mutters and waves me through. "Do you know where you're going?"
"I'll find my way," I reply and head confidently toward the elevator.
During the ride up, I can hardly keep my legs still. It's strangely stuffy in here too. I'm sweating, and my pulse won't calm down. And when the elevator doors finally open, I feel uncomfortable once again. I look around searchingly, spot a metal door labeled N?dutg?ng , and head straight for it.
I swing it open and step outside. Lit only by the city lights, I spot Sky at the front, leaning forward with her hands on the stone railing.
She couldn't be...?
"Sky," I call to her as I run toward her. "Hey, it's me, Kjell."
She doesn't move, just stares into the abyss about fifty yards below her.
Breathless, I reach her, stand closely beside her, and place my hand on her back. She jerks her head around, and what I see in the next moment makes me flinch. Her eyes are empty, the corners of her mouth hang heavily downward. I search for signs that she has been crying but find none.
"Today, there are no stars." Her gaze roams unsteadily across my face. "No sparkle. Nothing. Everything is dark."
Everything is dark. Just like her. I can't help it; I cup her face in my hands and look deeply into her eyes. The warmth of her cheeks transfers to my fingers. "They're still there."
Her eyelids flutter. She presses her lips together and takes a sharp breath. Help me , her silent plea implores.
"What should I do?" My thumbs move instinctively over her cheeks. I can't stop looking at her.
She averts her gaze and nods toward the wide railing. Automatically, I glance over.
What is that?
Reluctantly, I release Sky to reach for the paper package.
A tortured whimper escapes her lips as I carefully unwrap the package. I hear her heavy breathing and feel her tension.
Fractions of a second later, I freeze.
"Is that... cocaine?" I ask in a hushed voice, looking at the white powder.
"Crystal." Sky whispers the word, yet a cold shiver runs down my spine.
I stare at the package in disbelief. "What do you want with it?" Okay, that was a stupid question, but I just can't get this together.
Sky and drugs? This is...
Now she wraps her arms tightly around her body and sobs. "I can't do this, I can't handle it, it's too much," she gasps.
"Have you taken anything?" I ask, alarmed.
She shakes her head—thank goodness!
Swiftly, I tuck the fabric into my pants pocket and step closer to her. "Is it because of the article?"
"So you've seen it too," she says nervously. "You know who I am." With trembling fingers, she scratches her forehead until red streaks appear.
I place my hand on hers to stop her and nod. "Is that why you...?"
"Because of everything. Father, Stig, Kahlo, Touch av lyx , being back here." She sniffles. "I thought this was my chance to finally do something right, but everything is going wrong."
Seeing her like this hurts too deeply in my chest. It makes me forget why I'm here. I pull her into an embrace, holding her tightly. "What can I do?"
Sky just stands there, arms hanging limply by her sides, stiff as a statue. Because I can't think of anything better, I sway her back and forth. Gently, we rock from side to side.
"Dance with me," she murmurs suddenly, so softly that I can barely hear her.
It's a strange request, but if it helps her, I'll fulfill it. My left hand finds her right, and I position my free arm on her back.
How did the waltz go again? On three? Or four? And do I step back first, or forward, or to the side?
As I ponder earnestly, she starts humming with a choked voice and takes a step back with her left foot. Awkwardly, I follow with my right foot.
The fact that I stumble doesn't seem to bother her. Continuing to hum softly to herself, she now steps her other foot backward, and I follow again. We sway to the side, then back to the starting position, and with each passing second, my memory returns.
My steps become smoother, and we merge into one. Although we don't leave our spot, Sky's muscles relax. Her humming becomes more melodious, and the movements of her chest calm.
I interlock my fingers with hers, caress her palm with my thumb, hear her sigh softly, and let myself fall into the moment that feels so real. So pure. And so honest.
For minutes on end, we dance together, merging, breathing in the same rhythm. I join in the melody, feeling the vibrations of my humming deep in my chest, from where it warmly spreads throughout my entire body.
My eyelids droop. Sky's head gently nestles against my chest, and even though I know she can hear my confused heartbeat, it doesn't bother me. I smell the scent of her hair, feel the warmth of her presence, and want nothing more than to let everything else be just fine.
I don't want to wonder if she's pretending or not. I don't want to know who the real Sky is. Maybe because I imagine I already have a hint. Maybe simply because I now feel a cool drop on the tip of my nose, followed by another.
I open my eyes and spot snowflakes dancing with us through the night. Thoughtfully, I tilt my head back and gaze at the sky.
It's the first snowfall of the year, falling heavily upon us. It should hurt inside me, but to my surprise, the recurring pain of the memory of my parents' confession doesn't surface.
Instead, something entirely different happens: It feels beautiful.
"You see, you don't have to reach for the stars," I whisper, pressed close to Sky, and I don't care how cheesy it sounds. "They fall from the sky for you all on their own."