Chapter 27
What the hell had Filip even been doing at school the Monday after his brother was murdered?
Acting as if nothing had happened, or like he didn’t even care?
Maybe, someone said, Filip had only gone to school to get away from home, which seemed to be explanation enough.
And who can say how any of the rest of them would have reacted?
Whatever his motivation, he’d left something behind at the end of the day. That evening, Killian called Sander to say that Filip’s teacher had come down the hallway holding Filip’s backpack.
“Filip just forgot it, apparently, guess he had other things on his mind. Gunilla asked if I could bring it to him.”
“And you said yes?” Sander asked.
“What the hell else could I say? He’s got homework for over vacation and shit in there.”
“As if he’s going to do any of that now,” Sander muttered.
“Can you come with me? I’m not about to visit that fucking house by myself.”
Given how things had gone in the chapel on Sunday, it probably was a good idea for Sander to go with him.
They met up in the dark and reluctantly headed for the Soderstroms’ place, Killian with Filip’s backpack slung over his shoulder, and Sander with a strange, tense feeling in his body.
“I asked Felicia if she wanted to go to the movies with me,” he said after a long silence.
Killian turned his head. “What did she say?”
“It sounded like she wanted to.”
“What, did she say so?”
“She said I can ask her, and we’ll see.” Now, saying it out loud, he could tell that it didn’t really sound as if Felicia wanted to go to the movies with him. “I mean, that’s not how she said it; or, that is what she said, but it was more like how she said it. You know.”
Killian walked on, his gaze on the ground. His shoes left deep tracks in the snow.
“Okay,” he said.
“What?”
“Nothing, I’m happy for you. I just don’t want her to, how do I put it, disappoint you again.”
“I wasn’t disappointed last summer.”
“Right, okay.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Okay. Great.”
They kept walking. At last, Sander said: “And I’m not going to be disappointed this time either. After all, I’m moving away. And she knows that, too, I told her today.”
There was a flash in Killian’s eyes. “But if she did want to be with you, would you stay?”
“Killian, I don’t know. If anything happens between us, I suppose it’ll just be like a short-term thing.”
Killian seemed to be considering the implications of all this. “Have you told your parents? That you’re moving away?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
“What is it you think you’re going to find in Stockholm?” All of a sudden, Killian sounded exasperated. “What do you think is there that isn’t good enough for you here?”
“I don’t exactly know. I think I can learn something about who I am.”
“What do you mean, who you are? Don’t you know?”
“Sure, but not like that.”
“What? I don’t get it.”
Sander sighed. Killian was so dense sometimes.
No one here gets it, he thought, but he didn’t say it. Instead, as if to change the subject, he stopped mid-step and said: “Did you look inside his backpack?”
“No.”
“We saw him today, at school, me and Felicia. Don’t you want to see what’s in there?”
“But it’s Filip’s.”
Sander opened the zipper while Killian watched. Inside, they found an old cap, some textbooks, some loose-leaf paper, and a notebook. He took out the notebook and handed the backpack to Killian as he began to page through it.
“What are you doing?”
“Filip was walking along and writing in a notebook.”
He found the right page, and his eyes scanned the text that had been so hastily scribbled down, intense and uneven, scrawling.
A car came down the road, headlights bright white. Sander turned his back to it and ripped out the page.
“What was it? What does it say?”
“It’s a crib sheet, for a test. He can’t have that in the notebook; if anyone finds out he’ll get in trouble.”
“But you can’t just rip it out.”
Sander folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. Down the road, the Soderstroms’ house was a dangerous tower, big and dark and secluded.
“Come on,” Sander said in a low voice. “Let’s get this over with.”