Björn extends his hand to lead Penelope to the water. His legs wobble with fatigue. He slips, then steadies himself on a rock as he gets back up. Penelope looks stiffly straight ahead with an empty gaze as she takes off her shoes, ties the laces together, and hangs them around her neck.
“Come on,” Björn whispers. “We’re just going swimming. Don’t think about it. Just keep swimming.”
Penelope wants to ask him to wait. She’s not sure she can do this, but he’s already wading into the water. She shivers and looks out towards the island opposite them and further out in the archipelago.
She wades in and feels the cold water around her calves and then her thighs. The bottom under her feet is rocky and slippery but soon disappears deeper underwater. She has no time to hesitate but glides into swimming as she follows Björn.
Her arms ache and her clothes drag on her as she starts to swim to the far shore. Björn is already way ahead.
It’s a major effort. Every stroke feels unendurable as every muscle cries out for rest.
The island of Kymmendö is a sandy beach on the other side. Penelope kicks with exhausted legs, fighting to stay afloat. The first rays of sun over the treetops are blinding. They hurt her eyes and she stops swimming. She’s not cramping up but her arms can do no more; they’re giving up. In just a few seconds, her wet clothes start to drag her below the surface before her arms obey her commands again. When she breaks the surface and gasps for air, she’s terrified. Adrenaline pumps through her body and she sucks in more air, but she has lost her direction. She sees only ocean. Desperately she treads water and swirls around just keeping herself from wild screams. Finally she spots Björn’s bobbing head, barely above the surface of the water, about fifty metres ahead. Penelope starts to swim again, but she’s not sure she’ll ever make it to the other island.
The shoes around her neck hinder her strokes and she tries to get rid of them, but the laces tangle in her crucifix. Then the thin chain of her crucifix snaps and everything sinks to the bottom of the sea.
She swims onwards, feeling her heart pound in her chest. It takes a moment or so to realise she can see Björn staggering up onto land. He’s looking back for her when he should be finding cover. For all they know, their pursuer could be on the north shore of Ornö Island, searching for them through his binoculars.
Penelope slows down more and more. She feels the weight and the slowness in her legs as the lactic acid spreads through them. She can barely swim at all. Björn looks fearful. He wades back into the water towards her. She is almost ready to give up, but takes one stroke after another. At last she feels the ground beneath her feet. Björn is in the water beside her and he wraps his arm around her and pulls her close and then up onto the pebble-filled sandy beach.
“Hide,” Penelope whispers hoarsely.
He helps her past the beach and in among the spruce trees, until they can no longer see the ocean. They fall down on some moss and blueberries and hug, as much to warm themselves as to comfort each other.
“We can’t keep this up,” Penelope says through chattering teeth, her face pressed into his chest.
“We’ll help each other.”
Eventually they get back up, steadying each other, and walk again on stiff legs in silence as they make their way east. Twenty minutes later, they emerge on the other side of the island. The sun is high in the sky now; the air is getting warmer. Penelope stops short when she sees a tennis ball lying in the high grass of a meadow. Its greenish-yellow colour is completely foreign to her. She glances up and sees the tiny red house. It’s almost completely hidden behind a tight hedge of lilac bushes. The curtains in all its windows are closed and there’s a hammock without pillows in the arbour; the lawn is overgrown and a broken branch from the old apple tree lies across the path of grey paving stones.
“Nobody’s home,” Penelope whispers.
They sneak closer, prepared to hear a dog bark or someone yell. They spy through the gaps between the curtains and continue around to the front and try the door. It’s locked.
“I’ll break a window,” Björn says. “We have to rest.”
Next to the wall, there’s a clay pot holding a tiny bush with narrow pale green leaves. Penelope smells the sweet scent of lavender. She bends down to pick up one of the stones from the pot. This stone is plastic and underneath it, there’s a little lid. She opens it and takes out the key before she puts the fake stone back.
Inside, the hall floor is made of pine. Penelope feels her legs shake. They’re about to give way. The wallpaper is a plush medallion pattern. Penelope is so tired and hungry that the house appears unreal—a gingerbread house from a fairy tale. Covering the walls are framed photos. Björn and Penelope recognise many faces from popular Swedish television programs: Siewert Öholm, Bengt Bedrup, Kjell Lönnå, Arne Hegerfors, Magnus Härenstam, Malena Ivarsson, Jacob Dahlin.
They walk through the house, past the living room and into the kitchen. They cast a look around with worried eyes.
“We can’t stay here,” Penelope whispers.
Björn goes to the refrigerator and opens the door. The shelves are filled with fresh food. The house is not abandoned after all. Björn grabs some cheese, a log of salami, a pint of milk. Penelope finds a baguette and a box of breakfast cereal in the pantry. They rip the bread apart and pass the cheese back and forth between them as they eagerly bite off chunks. Björn gulps milk straight from the carton. It runs from the corners of his mouth down his throat. Penelope gnaws the salami and follows that with handfuls of breakfast cereal. Taking the milk carton from Björn, she swigs so much she chokes, then drinks some more. They grin nervously at each other, moving away from the window as they devour the food before finally slowing down.
“Let’s find some warm clothes before we have to leave again,” Penelope says.
As they search the house, they feel the warmth of the food expanding inside. Their blood seems to flow more freely, even as their stomachs ache.
There’s a wall-length wardrobe with mirrored doors in the master bedroom. Penelope rushes forward and pushes half of the door to one side.
“What’s this?”
There are gold jackets, black glittering cummerbunds, a golden tuxedo, and a medium-length fluffy fur coat. Penelope’s eyebrows lift as she rummages through banana hammocks of all kinds: see-through, tiger-striped, camouflage, and stretch-fabric G-strings.
She slides open the other wardrobe door and finds simpler clothes: sweaters, jackets, pants. She searches quickly and pulls out some items. Unsteadily, she takes off her soaked clothes.
She catches sight of her naked self in the mirror. She’s black and blue all over and her hair dangles in black strings. Her face is marked with scratches and bruises across her cheekbones. Blood still seeps from one of the gashes on her thigh and her hip is scraped from the fall down the cliff.
She pulls on a pair of pin-striped trousers and a T-shirt with the saying “Eat more oatmeal!” and a hoodie over that. The hoodie is so long, it hangs to her knees. She warms up enough so that her entire body wants to relax. She suddenly bursts into tears, but stops them, smudging away the tears from her cheeks. She goes into the hall to look for shoes. There she finds a pair of blue sailor boots that fit. Back in the bedroom, Björn, even though he is wet and muddy, has pulled on a pair of lilac velour pants. His feet look horrible. They are covered with dirt and wounds; he leaves bloodstains wherever he walks. He pulls on a blue T-shirt and a narrow-cut blue leather jacket with wide lapels. Penelope begins to cry again, her tears now streaming out in waves. She can no longer hold them back. It’s as if all the anguish and terror are now making their way out.
“What’s going on?” she sobs.
“I have no idea,” Björn whispers.
“We haven’t even seen his face. What does he want from us? What the hell does he want? Why is he after us? Why does he want to hurt us?”
She jerks the sleeve of her sweater across her face.
“I think,” she says,
“I mean … what if … what if Viola has done something bad, something stupid? You know her boyfriend, Sergei, the guy she broke up with, he must be connected to something criminal … maybe … all I know is that he worked as a bouncer.”
“Penny—”
“I’m just saying, Viola, she’s so … maybe she’s done something wrong.”
“No, it’s not her,” Björn whispers.
“What do you mean? We don’t know anything! You don’t have to comfort me.”
“There’s something I have to—”
“He … the man who was after us … maybe he just had something to tell us. No, I know, that’s ridiculous … I mean, I don’t know what I mean.”
“Penny,” Björn says seriously. “Everything that’s happened is my fault.”
He looks at her. His eyes are bloodshot, and his cheeks burn red against his pale skin.
“What are you saying now?” she asks in a deadly quiet voice.
He swallows awkwardly before he explains.
“I’ve done something incredibly stupid, Penny.”
“What? What have you done?”
“That photograph,” he answers. “It’s all because of that photograph.”
“Which photograph? The one of Palmcrona and Guidi?”
“That’s the one. I got in touch with Palmcrona,” Björn answers honestly. “I told him I wanted money for the picture, but—”
“You didn’t,” she whispers.
Penelope stares at him and instinctively steps backwards, managing to knock over the bedside table with its water glass and clock radio.
“Penny—”
“No! No! No! Just shut the hell up!” she’s screaming. “I don’t get it! What the fuck are you trying to tell me? You can’t mean it … you couldn’t have … have you lost your mind? You tried to blackmail Palmcrona? Where was your mind?”
“Listen to me! I regretted it at once. I know it was wrong! He got the picture. I posted him the picture.”
The room falls silent. Penelope tries to comprehend what Björn has told her. Confused thoughts circle through her mind, and she fights to understand Björn’s confession.
“That picture belonged to me,” she says slowly. She’s still trying to control her thoughts. “It might be extremely important. Maybe an incredibly important photograph. I was given it in confidence. Someone may be able to explain—”
“I needed money. I didn’t want to have to sell my boat,” Björn whispers. He looks like he’s about to cry.
“I still don’t get it—you sent the picture to Palmcrona?”
“But I had to, Penny. I know it was yours and that it was wrong to send it, but I had to give him the picture.”
“But I’ve got to get it back!” she says desperately. “Don’t you understand? What if the person who sent it to me wants it back? This is big. It’s dealing with Swedish arms exports. This isn’t about your money or lack of it … this has nothing to do with you or me … this is way beyond just us, Björn.”
Penelope looks at him in despair. Her voice rises until she’s practically shrieking.
“This is about the lives of human beings! You betrayed me.” With those words her voice falls heavily. “I am so angry with you, I could hit you. This is something I just can’t deal with now.”
“But, Penny, I didn’t know,” he whines. “How was I supposed to know? You never tell me anything. All you said was this picture would embarrass Palmcrona. You never said—”
She interrupts him. “What does that matter?”
“I only thought—”
“Shut the fuck up!” she screams. “I don’t want to listen to your idiotic excuses! You tried to blackmail someone—you’re a greedy little bastard! I don’t know you at all. And you sure as hell don’t know me!”
She falls silent and they stand facing each other. A seagull screams as it flies over the water and then there are other seagulls adding their screams as complaining echoes.
“We have to get out of here soon,” Björn says without energy.
Penelope nods and then they hear the click as the outer door opens. Instinctively they move together deeper into the bedroom. They hear the heavy footsteps of a man. Björn tries to open the French doors, but they’re locked. Penelope tries unlatching the windows, but she already knows it’s far too late.
51
the winner
“What the hell are you doing here?” the man in the doorway demands in a hoarse voice.
Penelope understands immediately that he’s the owner of the house—not their pursuer. He’s short, broad, slightly chubby. His face seems familiar, as if he’s someone she once knew.
“Are you drug addicts?” he asks with interest.
His face clicks into place. They’ve broken into Ossian Wallenberg’s house. He was a beloved television celebrity, last on the air ten years ago. He hosted many popular variety shows: Golden Friday, Up the Wall, Lion Evening. And he had contests on his shows: games, and prizes, and special guests. Every Golden Friday ended the same way. Ossian would lift up his guest. He’d be smiling and his face would turn red. Penelope remembered that as a child, she’d once seen him pick up Mother Teresa. The delicate old woman had looked completely terrified. Ossian Wallenberg was known for his golden hair, his extravagant clothes—and his studied viciousness.
“We’ve been in an accident,” Björn says. “We have to notify the police.”
“I see,” Ossian says indifferently. “I only have a mobile phone here.”
“That’s okay. Please, we need to borrow it. We’re desperate.”
Ossian takes out his mobile phone, looks at it, and then closes it again.
“What are you doing?” Penelope practically yells.
“I do whatever I want to do,” Ossian replies.
“Look, we really need to borrow your phone,” she says.
“Then you’ll need my PIN number.” Ossian smiles.
“What game are you playing?”
Ossian leans on the doorjamb and observes them for a while.
“Just think, a pair of drug addicts have found their way to little old me.”
“We’re not—”
“No one cares,” says Ossian.
“Let’s go,” Penelope tells Björn.
But Björn seems incapable of moving. His cheeks and lips are white and he supports himself with one hand on the wall.
“Sorry that we broke into your house,” he says. “We’ll pay for everything we took. But really, we have to use your phone right now. Like she said, it’s a desperate situation—”
“And what’s your name?” Ossian interrupts, smiling.
“Björn.”
“You’re looking handsome in my jacket, Björn, but why not the tie as well? I’ve got a tie that matches the suit perfectly.”
Ossian walks to his wardrobe and takes out a blue leather tie. Playing along, Björn submits to having it tied around his neck.
“You should call the police!” Penelope says. “Tell them that two drug addicts have broken into your house and you caught them in the act.”
“That’s no fun,” Ossian replies.
“So what do you want?” Penelope asks desperately.
Ossian steps back and studies his intruders.
“I don’t like her,” he says to Björn. “But you, on the other hand, you have style. My jacket really looks good on you. Let her keep that ugly sweater, right? She looks like Helge the Owl. She doesn’t even look Swedish. She looks like a—”
“Cut it out,” Björn says.
Ossian walks close to Björn and shakes his finger in his face.
“Be good,” he teases.
“I know who you are,” Penelope says.
“I’m glad,” Ossian says with a smile.
Björn looks at her and then back at Ossian. Penelope collapses onto the edge of the bed and tries to breathe calmly.
“Wait a minute,” Ossian says. “I know you, too … I’ve seen you on TV. I recognise you.”
/> “I’ve been on some political debates—”
“And now you’re dead.” Ossian smiles.
Her entire body tenses. What strange words. She tries to understand what he’s talking about while she looks for a way to escape. Now Björn slides down along the wall to the floor, completely white and unable to say a word.
“If you don’t want to help us,” Penelope says, “then we’ll just leave and find someone who will.”
“Of course I want to help you! Of course!”
Ossian walks out into the hallway and returns with a grocery bag from which he takes a carton of cigarettes and an evening newspaper. He tosses the paper on the bed and leaves for the kitchen with the cigarettes. On the front page, Penelope sees a picture of herself, a larger picture of Viola, and one of Björn. Over Viola’s picture is the word DEAD and over their pictures is the word MISSING.
BOAT DRAMA—THREE FEARED DEAD! screams the headline.
Penelope can see her mother in her mind’s eye: terrified and broken by sorrow—perhaps completely frozen, her arms wrapped around her body, just as she’d done when they had been arrested.
The floor creaks as Ossian returns.
“Let’s play a game!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m really in the mood for a game! A competition!”
“A competition?” Björn whispers uncertainly.
“You can’t tell me that you don’t know what a competition is?”
“Of course, but—”
Penelope studies Ossian and realises they’re in a precarious position. No one knows that they’re still alive. He could even decide to kill them, since everyone else believes they’re already dead.
“He’s testing his power over us,” Penelope says.
“Will you hand over your phone and your PIN number if we play?” asks Björn.
“Only if you win,” Ossian answers, and smiles at them with glittering eyes.
“What happens if we lose?” asks Penelope.
52
the messenger
Axel Riessen walks to his kitchen window and looks out over the rosebushes, past the iron fence, down the street, and towards the wide staircase of Engelbrekt Church.