Chapter 37
It’s still dark outside when I sit down at the kitchen table. Dad is sleeping and Mom is in the bathroom. I can hear the shower running.
I open the laptop and search for Rasmus Sylvander.
If only I had my phone! Unfortunately, it’s at the bottom of the sea and has taken Rasmus’s phone number down with it.
The first result is one of his social media pages, but his number isn’t displayed there. Thankfully, I find his mom’s number online. I hope with all my heart that there’s only one Linda Sylvander and that his parents won’t be mad at me for calling so early in the morning.
With clammy fingertips, I tap the number into my father’s cell phone, which I sneaked out of his bedroom, and wait.
“Hello?”
Rasmus’s mom sounds like she has a frog in her throat, as if she’s just woken up.
“Hi,” I say. My voice is still raspy and hoarse. “This is Rasmus’s school friend Tuva.”
We only met the day before yesterday. It feels like an eternity has passed.
“Oh, Tuva,” she says, surprised.
“I’m sorry for calling so early.”
“No, no, don’t worry. Rasmus is up. Would you like to talk to him?”
“Yes, please.”
It goes quiet on the other end, and I hear my own rapid heartbeat while I wait with the phone pressed tight up against my ear.
The sun hasn’t risen yet. The kitchen faucet is dripping.
“Tuva? Are you okay?” Rasmus says suddenly on the other end.
He speaks quickly and loudly, and it sounds like the phone is too close to his face. “You weren’t at school yesterday, and Mrs. Lindgren said you were in a boat accident, but no one would say what happened. I tried calling you a million times!”
He sounds out of breath. And frightened.
I’m annoyed at myself.
I should have called him yesterday, should have reached out to let him know I wasn’t hurt. But these last few days have all been such a whirlwind of horror and confusion. I was so tired yesterday evening that I couldn’t think straight.
“It came after us,” I say in a small voice. “It sank our boat.”
The only sound is the faint electric hum of the refrigerator.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“I’m not sure.”
It’s true. But I’m not what matters right now anyway.
“You can’t go to school today,” I say. “Make something up. Say you’re sick so you can stay home.”
“Why?”
“It’s important. We need to talk.”
“?sterman will be here soon.”
“Please, can you just . . . just trust me on this.”
“What am I supposed to say to my parents? You have to tell me what’s going on.”
“It might be dangerous.”
“What do you mean, dangerous?”
He has no idea what’s going on, and I don’t know how to explain.
But I remember those pale-blue eyes in the night. That voice, no longer sugary sweet and patronizing, but shocked at the sight of me sitting up in bed. So shocked and angry that she cursed.
“It was Ms. Granberg,” I say at last. “The school nurse. She must have killed Axel. She tried to kill me too.”