Chapter 22
We have come deep into the woods and are following the path as best we can. Just a few days ago I was running alone here in the fog. It feels like a long time ago.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Rasmus asks.
I frown. “Don’t you?”
“No. Axel always did the map reading. I’m not very good at orienteering.”
“I thought you were good at everything,” I say before I can stop myself.
Rasmus steps over a large root and gives me a look over his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The light coming through the treetops is faint and dappled. The deciduous trees are losing the last of their leaves.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Just forget it.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I get the feeling that someone is watching us. It’s probably just my imagination, but my gut tells me there’s someone else in the vicinity. Or something.
I stop and grab hold of Rasmus’s sleeve. “Did you hear that?”
I’m sure I’ve just heard something. A snapping twig. Some rustling leaves, even though there isn’t a breath of wind.
“Heard what?”
“That sound. Like something moving.”
We stand still for a few moments. The path is barely a path anymore, just a narrow track through the dripping bushes and undergrowth.
Nobody knows we’re here.
I picture Axel’s lifeless body again. Could he be lying somewhere close?
Discarded like a pile of trash.
Suddenly, the idea of actually finding him is unbearable.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Rasmus says, and I can hear the panic starting to rise in his voice.
I bite the inside of my cheeks and try to think.
“I’m sure it was nothing.” I’m trying to reassure him, but he looks more nervous than ever.
“What if it was them?”
“We would have seen them.”
“Yeah,” Rasmus says in a weirdly high-pitched voice. “Or no. I don’t know. Last time they appeared without any warning.”
“Do you remember anything at all?” I ask. “About what happened?”
Rasmus looks around. “No. But maybe I will. When we get there.”
We have no idea what we’re looking for. We’re here to find answers. And maybe Axel. But we don’t even know where we should be searching.
It feels pretty hopeless, but what other choice do we have?
We carry on. The path narrows more and more until we have to walk in single file. I think I recognize this place, but I can’t be sure. It looked different last time, when the air was milky and streaked with thick fog.
I duck beneath a low-hanging branch, and my hair gets tangled.
“Ow!”
I carefully try to detach myself but just wind up getting more stuck. It hurts so bad that tears spring to my eyes.
“Hang on a sec,” says Rasmus.
It feels strange when he starts disentangling my hair. I blush, both because I didn’t brush my hair this morning and because he’s standing so close to me.
“What are these scars on your neck?” he asks as he frees the last strands of my hair from the branch.
I tuck the white-blond mess behind my ear before answering.
“I was in an accident,” I say eventually.
I start walking again. The whole situation has left me a little out of breath.
“What kind of accident?”
I feel a prickle of irritation. I don’t like talking about it. But of course, he doesn’t know that.
“It was when I was little.”
“What happened?”
“My parents were out sailing. A storm broke and the boat capsized.”
“Wow,” says Rasmus. “Is that how you got the scars? You cut yourself on something?”
“I’ve got more,” I say without answering the question. “More of the same.”
Rasmus stops in the middle of the path. “Can I see?”
I shrug to pretend it’s no big deal and brush aside my hair to reveal both sides of my neck. It feels strange, almost like being naked. I feel goose bumps rising on my skin.
I know what he’s looking at. Three scars on either side of my throat, almost like claw marks. Six parallel lines just behind my jawbone, beneath my ears.
“Whoa,” he says, fascinated.
In a weird way, I feel sort of flattered.
“What happened?” he presses.
I let my hair fall back into place and frown.
“I don’t know, exactly,” I say. “I don’t remember. But I fell in the water when the boat capsized. Mom and Dad thought I was dead. They searched and searched but couldn’t find me. They thought I must have drowned.”
When I tell the story, it feels like it’s about somebody else.
“Eventually, they had no choice but to swim to shore for help. They landed on Gronsk?r—you know, the little island with the old stone lighthouse?”
Rasmus nods.
“When Dad managed to drag himself onto the beach, I was just lying there. A wave must have washed me ashore. I was soaked and had wounds on my neck, but I survived.”
Without thinking, I touch my scars. “It was in all the papers,” I add. “They called me a miracle baby.”
Rasmus looks impressed.
“That’s incredible,” he says.
“Mm-hmm.” Suddenly, I regret telling him.
“Do the others know about that?” he says.
“What others?”
Silly question. I know who Rasmus means.
“The others in our class.”
“Yeah . . .” I say, dragging out the word. “I’m sure they do.”
Now I’d prefer to just drop it, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint.
“Why has nobody mentioned it?” he asks.
“Why would they?” This comes out as a pointed retort, which I immediately regret.
“Huh?” Rasmus sounds surprised. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” I snap.
“Have I upset you?” he asks.
“You know what I mean.”
There’s no point in trying to hide my irritation. Is he playing dumb or something? Maybe he’s making fun of me. Maybe he has been this whole time.
“No one in class likes me. They hate me. They used to yell stuff at me and bully me when we were little. At least they leave me alone now.”
My bitter words echo in the silence.
“I thought it was you who didn’t like them? That you didn’t want to hang out with them.” Rasmus looks genuinely surprised.
“Of course I don’t want to. But I didn’t start it.”
Now I sound horribly childish, but I can’t bear standing here explaining years of bullying. How can he not understand something so obvious? We’ve been in the same class for months now.
Maybe that’s what it’s like when you’re good-looking and charming and everybody loves you.
“Maybe if you were just a little more . . .” Rasmus begins.
I hate his superior tone, as if he knows exactly how to fix everything.
“What?” I go on the attack; I can’t help it. “If I were a little more like Hanna and Isabelle? If I giggled all the time and applied lip gloss and braided my hair and clung to Axel like a baby monkey?”
Suddenly, I realize what I’m saying.
It’s too late. Rasmus’s lips form a thin line as he turns away from me.
I’ve gone too far.
He’s the only person in class who will actually talk to me, and now I’ve ruined everything. He’ll never want to speak to me again.
Then I hear that sound again. Heavy steps nearby. Heading in our direction.
“Do you hear that?” I gasp.
Whatever we were arguing about doesn’t matter now. We don’t need words. Our eyes meet and we run.
I may be short but I’m fast. Rasmus is clumsier. He trips over a rock and almost falls, but I pull him up and we keep running.
A voice calls out behind us. It doesn’t even sound like words, just some sort of inhuman noises. It’s getting close now.
Fear throbs throughout my body; my tongue feels too big for my mouth.
The steps are approaching too quickly. We can’t get away. Was this how Axel felt? Did he have time to try to escape?
Will anybody miss me when I die?
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder and brings me to such an abrupt halt that I nearly fall over.
“Rasmus!” I shout in desperation, and he stops.
He actually stops and turns around. He does care about me.
I’m amazed. It gives me the boost I need to break free from the grip on my shoulder.
I get a few yards farther before I’m grabbed again. This time the hold is much firmer.
However, Rasmus’s eyes are no longer filled with pure, unadulterated terror.
I gather my courage to turn around. It takes a few moments before I recognize who it is.
Officer Henriksson is holding on to my arm. He’s out of breath.
His bass voice, which only a few moments ago sounded like a monster’s roar, is deep and cold as he says:
“What do you two think you’re doing out here all alone?”