As I step out of the vehicle and train my weapon on Fin’s chest, I watch the smile on his face dissolve into utter confusion. He stays rooted to the spot under the porch light, his eyes darting around, trying to figure out what he should do.
‘Anna,’ he calls out, trying and failing to plaster the smile back on his face. ‘What are you doing here?’
My footsteps squeak across the snow as I head towards him. ‘What do you think? I’ve come to get my daughter.’ I stop about twenty yards away.
‘Why have you got a gun?’
‘Because if you don’t hand her over I’m going to kill you.’
His skin pales.
‘There’s no need for that, is there?’ He takes a couple of steps towards me.
‘Stay where you are,’ I yell, my voice filling up the night air.
‘Come on, Anna. This is crazy.’ He takes two more steps in my direction and I grip the rifle tighter, my finger twitching over the trigger. All I have to do is squeeze and Fin Chambers will take a bullet to the chest. At this close range, it will make quite a mess.
‘I mean it, Fin. Don’t come any closer.’ My palms are sweating, my fingers slick against the rifle. I wonder if I will actually have the courage to shoot him if he ignores my warning.
My heart pounds as he comes closer and closer still, moving away from the cottage. Sweat trickles down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I blink and lean forward, trying to wipe away the moisture with my cuff. I can’t seem to think straight. Why can’t I just shoot him? I realise now that the practice of shooting a person is quite different to the theory. What if Olivia hears the gunshot and comes outside to see Fin’s blood-covered body. It could traumatise her. Not to mention the fact that I could go to jail. And, no matter what Fin has done, we did love each other once. Can I take his life?
‘Bring Olivia to me,’ I say, my voice high and thin.
‘No,’ he replies, with a taunting smile.
‘Come any closer and I swear to God I’ll kill you,’ I say, my voice trembling now. I’m losing it. God, please don’t let me fall apart now.
‘If you were going to kill me you’d have done it already.’ His voice is calm, lazy, mocking.
I realise it’s started snowing, tiny white flakes whirling and dancing through the night towards me. Maybe I don’t have to kill him. I can just injure him. Shoot him in the leg, disable him. I aim the gun lower, at his left leg.
‘Mamma!’ Olivia’s voice. I jerk my gaze towards the cabin to see her standing under the porch light, arms stretched out towards me. I notice her feet are bare. Bloody Fin. Why didn’t he put her socks on?
‘Livi! Stay there a minute,’ I call out in Swedish.
Before I have a chance to turn my attention back to Fin, he is upon me. Pushing the gun barrel down towards the ground and wrenching the weapon from me in one fluid movement. I scream, but it’s no good. He shoves me away so I fall sideways into the snow. I’ve blown it.
‘Mamma!’ Olivia is screaming now. She stumbles across the porch in her pyjamas.
‘Livi,’ I call out. ‘It’s okay. Mamma’s here.’ I push myself up onto my feet and stagger forward, but Fin has already backed up. Has already reached her. As he scoops her up under one arm, I yell: ‘Don’t touch her!’ But he yanks open the cabin door and shoves her inside, slamming the door. He locks it from the outside, then stuffs the key into his jeans pocket.
My baby’s thin cries come through the cabin walls and, as much as I ache to press my lips to her soft cheek, I also want to smash my fists into Fin’s face at his rough treatment of her. I howl in frustration, cursing myself for my earlier indecision. If I get the chance again, I won’t hesitate to shoot the bastard.
‘Let her go!’ I cry with a choking sob. ‘How could you just push her like that?’ I stride over to where he’s standing on the porch, not caring that I’m walking towards the barrel of a loaded gun. ‘She’s just a baby. She’s your daughter, for Christ’s sake! Touch her again and I’ll kill you.’
‘Yeah?’ Fin sneers. ‘Well you had the chance just now but you didn’t take it, did you?’ He points the Ruger at my head, stopping me in my tracks. ‘How did you find me?’ he barks. ‘Where’s Sian? She was supposed to–’
‘That bitch?’ I say through gritted teeth.
His face darkens. ‘What have you done? You better not have hurt her, Anna.’
‘That’s rich,’ I say with more bravado that I’m feeling. ‘You can’t lecture me about hurting people. You’ve done it all your life.’
‘Tell me! Or, I swear to God, I’ll kill that squalling brat in there.’
I shake my head in disbelief. ‘You value that evil cow’s life over the life of your own daughter?’
‘How do I even know she’s mine?’
‘Oh, give me a break, Fin. How can you even doubt it? We were living together. I told you I was pregnant. I was working and studying all the hours of the day and night. When would I have had time for an affair? And anyway, I was in love with you. More fool me.’
‘Whether that kid has got my DNA or not, it doesn’t matter. I love Sian.’
‘Fine. That’s fine. You and Sian can go and live happily ever after in your evil love pit. Just give me my daughter and let us go. I never want to see either of you two psychos again.’
‘That’s not going to happen,’ he says, starting to shiver, his sweater no match for a Swedish winter’s night. ‘You’re going to go back to England and you’re going to get rid of your husband and father-in-law. It’ll be easy – car accident, food poisoning – I dunno, use your imagination. Then you’ll transfer your inheritance over to us and we’ll hand you the kid. If you deviate from this in any way – call the police, try to save her, whatever, then baby gets it, okay?’
‘You’re such a cold bastard,’ I hiss, shaking my head. ‘I can’t believe I wasted so many years with you.’ My predicament hits me in the solar plexus. I’ve screwed this whole thing up royally. I had the opportunity to save my daughter and I blew it. Why the hell didn’t I shoot Fin in the leg when I had the chance? I can still hear Olivia’s cries – softer now, but more heartbreaking if that’s possible. ‘Even if Olivia wasn’t yours,’ I continue, ‘how can you even think about killing a two-year-old child?’
‘Easy,’ he says. ‘I’d do anything for Sian. She’s the one I should’ve been with all along. Me and her, we’re the same.’
‘Psychotic, you mean.’
‘Call it what you want, Anna. You may have a beautiful face, but you’re spineless. Boring as fuck, if you must know.’
I wince at his words, despite the fact that I’d rather be boring than be anything like Sian.
‘Sian is more of a woman than you’ll ever be,’ he adds. ‘I’d do anything for her.’
‘Really.’
‘I just said so, didn’t I?’
‘Well that’s fortunate for me,’ I reply as it suddenly occurs to me that maybe I do have a shot at getting Olivia back tonight.
‘What do you mean?’ he says, eyes narrowing.
I start to unzip my coat pocket.
‘What are you doing?’ Fin takes a step towards me, thrusting the rifle down towards my chest.
I raise my hands in the air. ‘Careful with that, Fin? Do you even know how to use a gun?’
‘I’m guessing this trigger has something to do with it.’ His voice drips with sarcasm.
‘I’m just getting my phone out of my pocket,’ I say. ‘I’ve got something I want you to see.’
‘Slowly,’ Fin orders.
I push my fingers beneath the rubber torch in my pocket and locate my phone, drawing it out of my pocket. Once Fin sees I’m true to my word, that it’s just my mobile, his shoulders relax.
I bring up the video I took before I left England. It’s a short clip of Sian, tied up, unconscious on the kitchen floor.
‘Shit.’ Fin’s face falls and then flushes with anger. ‘Is she . . .’
‘Dead? No. But she deserves to be. She’s j
ust a bit tied up at the moment.’ I shouldn’t provoke Fin – not while he has a gun pointed at my chest – but I’m so mad, I can’t censor my words.
‘You’re pissing me off, Anna. I’m this close to putting a bullet in you right now.’
‘That would be unfortunate for Sian.’ My voice has begun to tremble again – fear, cold, anger, all of the above.
‘Call Will,’ Fin hisses. ‘Get him to release Sian, or I’m going to kill you right now. No more games.’
‘No,’ I reply, squaring my shoulders. ‘Give me my daughter first.’
‘I told you, you don’t get the kid until we get the money.’ His teeth are chattering now, his hands shaking, almost blue with cold. ‘Call Will. Right now.’
‘No,’ I repeat.
‘Okay then, I’ll kill you, and then I’ll kill your brat. And then I’ll go to England and kill your husband and your father in law.’
‘That’s a lot of dead people to hide,’ I say, trying to buy some time. Trying to come up with a plan. ‘I’m pretty sure the police will work out it was you.’
‘Yeah, well, you won’t be around to find out,’ he says. And then his voice changes, becomes more determined. ‘Turn around.’
Oh my God. This is it. He really means to kill me.
‘You do realise that rifle’s not even loaded,’ I bluff.
‘What?’ He glances down for a nanosecond and as he does so I shove the gun up and out of his hand. It goes off with a boom into the night sky, reverberating in my gut, paralysing us both for a moment, eyes wide, ears ringing.
And then I run.
Chapter Twenty Seven
I don’t look behind me. I sprint towards the trees as fast as I can, hoping to draw him away from the cabin, away from Olivia. She’ll be okay in there by herself for a short while, won’t she? She knows not to touch the woodstove, doesn’t she? Don’t think about that. Think about reaching the trees. Fin is more of a danger to her than anything in the cabin. Hopefully, she’ll curl up on the bed and cry herself to sleep with her doll.
My feet pound the snow, my breath comes in ragged gasps. The thought of Olivia being hurt threatens to drain my energy. I’m one step away from throwing myself onto the ground in surrender. From begging Fin to save her. But then my resolve kicks in. Must stay strong for Olivia. For Will. Must hold my nerve. Must keep going. I’m no good to anyone if I’m dead. I have to stay alive until I can figure out how to rescue her.
‘Anna!’ Fin yells. ‘I’m going to kill you!’
I ignore his taunt and concentrate on getting to cover. I make a snap decision to head northwest into the forest, rather than towards the road. There’s more cover. Less chance of being hit by a bullet. If I can lose him, maybe I’ll be able to double back, grab Olivia and make our escape. If only it can be that easy.
I run flat out, expecting a bullet in the back of my head at any moment. But I’m slowed by the uneven carpet of snow, by my new boots, stiff and heavy, by my rucksack, a dead weight on my shoulders. Sucking frigid air into my lungs, I finally reach the treeline. I weave my way through the trees, just a little way in, then I duck behind a thick fir to catch my breath. To risk a glance back at Fin.
He strides towards the trees, not running and not aiming the rifle in my direction. Instead, he’s fiddling with the gun, and I realise he’s clueless about what to do. He has four bullets left, but he needs to figure out how to get the next one from the magazine to the chamber. I allow myself a tiny moment of relief before continuing on into the dark forest.
Fin is wasting time. If he stopped to think for a moment, he’d realise he doesn’t need to fire the gun to stop me. He simply needs to catch me and tackle me to the ground, whack me over the head with the rifle stock. Instead, he’s letting me have a crucial head start.
Maybe he’s finally wised up, as I suddenly hear his thudding footsteps drawing closer, merging with the thudding of my heart.
I wind and weave my way through the forest, brushing the soft, low branches, accidentally knocking snow from the trees, so it falls over me in random showers, onto my shoulders, down my neck. I pull my hood up over my hat and push on, my eyes barely able to see in the snowy gloom, keeping ahead of him but making just enough noise so he can follow me – I have to keep him away from the cabin until I figure out what to do.
A shot rings out, a dull crack dampened by the snow, the splinter of wood as the bullet hits a tree. Shit, he’s worked out how to chamber the bullets. I can’t go any faster – it’s too dark, the ground too uneven, the cold air making it hard to catch my breath, my lungs squeezed. I can’t even use my torch as that would act as a beacon for Fin to target me. I desperately need to put some more distance between us. It wasn’t a threat – he really does mean to kill me. I cringe as another shot whizzes past, hitting a bough just up ahead to my right. Too close.
As I duck low-hanging branches and weave through the dark tangle of firs, I try not to think about Olivia in the cabin, alone. About the fact that I’m heading away from her when every part of me is screaming out to run back and scoop her up in my arms.
‘I’m gonna get you, Anna!’ In the hush of the snowy forest, his voice sounds hoarse. He’s panting hard. I think he’s falling further behind. But I don’t dare hope. Fin has two bullets left. I tense up ready for the next crack of the gun, praying he doesn’t manage to hit me. I suck in more air and push myself harder, taking longer strides despite my throbbing leg muscles and the strain in my chest.
The gun goes off once more. My brother’s rifle in the hands of a madman. I should never have brought it with me. As my boots pound the snow and I weave through the trees, I can’t help wondering what it would feel like to have a bullet bury itself in my head. Would I realise it instantly? Or would there be a delay in the pain? Maybe I wouldn’t feel a thing – my life extinguished in a millisecond. I try to push the thought away, to ward off the panic. I’m still alive. Still unhurt. Yet I can’t stop the images flashing up in my head – the bullet piercing my skull, a bloom of red staining my blonde hair, matting it together, a mess of brains and bone and blood.
But the chances of it happening are decreasing. He now only has one bullet left.
My shoulders begin to ache, the weight of my rucksack slowing me down, but I can’t toss it. I may need its contents. They could very well save my life if I get stuck out here for too long. At least my peripheral vision is starting to kick in now, my eyes adjusting to the dark.
As kids, we spent long summers learning how to navigate so we would never get lost out here. But that was a long time ago, and Pappa’s lessons are not so fresh in my mind. Snippets of information glimmer and fade. And I’m realising that navigating at night is harder than in daylight, navigating in winter is harder than in summer. Natural features are less distinct. Landmarks smoothed over by carpets of snow. Boundaries between land and frozen water trickier to spot. Shapes blurred. Vegetation covered. Everything looks the same. Everything is white. And while the snow still falls, our footprints are erased. Our route back to the cabin is disappearing flake by flake.
As I move deeper into the forest, I begin to snap small, dead limbs off the trees. Once I have a decent handful, I drop them in a pile to my right. Then I do it all over again, leaving little markers behind. Even if they become covered in snow, I can use my torch to try to spot the regular mounds on my way back . . . if I get the chance. The other benefit to leaving these markers is the noise I’m creating, snapping the dead branches – it means Fin can follow me more easily. And now the moon has begun to glow through the snow clouds, its eerie light bright enough for Fin to follow my fading footprints.
I still hear him, the dull thud of his footsteps on the snowy forest floor, the crackle of twigs, the swish of branches as he tries to catch up with me. It’s a fine balance, though – I need him to keep following without actually reaching me. Without seeing my shape to aim at. Occasionally, I hear him swear or cough, signs that he’s tiring, weakening, starting to feel the cold. We go on like
this for a while.
‘Anna!’ His voice comes from further away now. I can no longer hear his footsteps behind me, but I keep going, slowing my pace only slightly. ‘Anna, wait! You’re going to get lost out there!’
What he really means is he is going to get lost out here. Me, I should be able to find my way back, as long as he doesn’t catch me. I don’t reply. Don’t give him the opportunity to latch onto my voice and find me.
‘Anna, come back! Look, I promise I won’t hurt you.’
I don’t believe him for one minute.
‘You can take Olivia,’ he calls, his words turning into a wracking cough. ‘I’m going back, okay? It’s too cold out here. You’ll freeze to death if you keep going.’
Why is he suddenly telling me I can have Olivia? It must be a trap. He hasn’t been able to catch me, so he must be trying to lure me back instead. But I’m not falling for it. I won’t show myself so he can use his last bullet on me.
I stop and turn, squint through the gloom, past the spinning flakes of snow and the needle-covered branches, but I don’t see him. I’m panting hard, my lungs grateful for the respite. I remember that Fin isn’t even wearing a coat. No wonder he says he’s cold. I have the opposite problem – now that I’ve stopped, I realise how warm I’ve become. That I’m in danger of sweating through all my layers. So I push down my hood and remove my hat. Unzip my coat and my fleece to let the air cool me down for a moment. Pappa always told us that if we sweated outside in the winter at night, we could end up freezing to death as our warm sweat would eventually become cold.
‘Anna!’ Fin’s voice sounds even further away now. ‘I mean it! I’m going back.’
I wonder if he’ll be able to find his way to the cabin from here. He might just do it, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t take the risk of him hurting Olivia. But what can I do? I can’t stop him; he still has the damn gun.
I listen out for any sounds. Branches snapping, footfalls, a cough. But the forest has fallen quiet. Just my breath, my heartbeat and the silent snow filtering through the gaps in the trees. I move like a hunter now, calling on my childhood lessons of how to blend with nature – becoming part of the landscape, trying to remember how to move like the animals, like the trees, like the wind. Mindful of that last bullet.