Камилла Лэкберг – Buried Angels (страница 3)

But it was hard to claim that her work was more important than Patrik’s. He protected people, solved crimes, and helped to make society function better, while she wrote books that were read as entertainment. So she put up with the fact that she was usually the one who drew the short straw, even though it sometimes made her feel like screaming.

With a sigh she got up and went to join her husband in the kitchen.

‘Are they asleep?’ asked Patrik, taking out the fixings for his favourite sandwich: flatbread, butter, caviar, and cheese.

Erica shuddered, knowing his next step would be to dunk the sandwich in a cup of hot chocolate.

‘Yes, for once I managed to get them to take a nap at the same time. They had a good play session this morning, so all three of them were worn out.’

‘Great,’ said Patrik, sitting down at the kitchen table to eat.

Erica went back to the living room to fit in a little more writing before the children woke up. Stolen hours. That was all she could count on these days.

She was dreaming of fire. Horror etched on his face, Vincent was pressing his nose against the windowpane. Behind him she saw the flames shoot up, higher and higher. They were getting closer to him, singeing his blond locks as he screamed soundlessly. She wanted to throw herself at the glass, shattering it so she could rescue him from the flames that threatened to engulf him. But no matter how she tried, her body refused to obey.

Then she heard Tobias’s voice. It was filled with reproach. He hated her because she couldn’t save Vincent, because she was standing there watching as he was burned alive right before their eyes.

‘Ebba! Ebba!’

His voice made her try again. She had to run forward and break the glass. She had to …

‘Ebba, wake up!’

Someone was tugging at her shoulders and forcing her to sit up. Slowly the dream faded. She wanted to hold on to it, throw herself into the flames, and maybe for one brief moment hold Vincent’s little body in her arms before they both perished.

‘You have to wake up. Fire!’

Suddenly she was fully awake. The smell of smoke prickled her nostrils, making her cough so hard that her throat hurt. When she looked up she saw that smoke was billowing through the doorway.

‘We have to get out!’ shouted Tobias. ‘Crawl underneath the smoke. I’ll follow you. I’m going to see if I can put out the fire.’

Ebba rolled out of bed and dropped to the floor. She could feel the heat of the floorboards against her cheek. Her lungs were burning, and she felt so terribly tired. How could she possibly manage to move? She wanted to surrender, to sleep. She shut her eyes and felt a heavy lethargy spread through her body. She would rest here for a moment. Just sleep for a while.

‘Get up! You have to get up!’ Tobias’s voice was shrill, rousing her from her torpor. He wasn’t usually scared of anything. Now he was yanking on her arm, hauling her on to all fours.

Reluctantly she began crawling forward. Fear had begun to take hold of her too. With every breath she could feel more smoke filling her lungs, like a slow-acting poison. But she’d rather die from smoke than from fire. The thought of her skin burning was enough to make her move faster as she crawled out of the room.

All of a sudden she got confused. She ought to know which way the stairs were, but it felt as though her brain had stopped functioning. The only thing she could see was a thick grey fog. Panicking, she started crawling straight ahead, so that at least she wouldn’t get stuck in the smoke.

As she reached the stairs, Tobias raced past, holding a fire extinguisher in his hands. He ran down the stairs in three bounds, as Ebba stared after him. It was like in her dream – her body no longer seemed willing to obey her, and her joints refused to move. Helplessly she stayed where she was, down on all fours, as the smoke got thicker and thicker. She was coughing again. One fit of coughing followed another. Her eyes were running, and her thoughts shifted to Tobias, but she didn’t have the energy to worry about him.

Again she felt an overwhelming urge to give up. To disappear, to rid herself of the grief that was tearing her apart, body and soul. She felt that she was on the verge of fainting, so she lay down, resting her head on her arms, and closed her eyes. Everything around her was soft and warm. A great lethargy again came over her, welcoming her. It meant her no harm, it wanted only to receive her and make her whole.

‘Ebba!’ Tobias was pulling on her arm but she resisted. She wanted to be carried off to that beautiful, quiet place she was heading towards. Then she felt a slap on her face, a blow that made her cheek sting. Shaken, she pulled herself up and looked into Tobias’s face. His expression was both worried and angry.

‘The fire’s out,’ he said. ‘But we can’t stay here.’

He made an attempt to pull her up, but she pushed him away. He had taken from her the one opportunity for rest that she’d had in a long time. Furious, she pounded her fists against his chest. It was a huge relief to let loose all her rage and disappointment, and she kept on striking him as hard as she could, until he finally caught hold of her wrists. Gripping them tight, he drew her towards him. He pressed her face against his chest, held her close. She could hear his heart beating fast, and the sound made her cry. Then she let him lift her up. He carried her out, and when the cold night air filled her lungs, she let go and sank into a daze.

FJÄLLBACKA 1908

They arrived early in the morning. Her mother was already up with the little ones, while Dagmar still lolled in bed, savouring the warmth under the covers. That was the difference between being her mother’s real child and one of the bastard kids that she cared for. Dagmar was special.

‘What’s going on?’ shouted her father from the bedroom. Both he and Dagmar had been awakened by an insistent pounding on the door.

‘Open up! It’s the police!’

Then whoever it was evidently lost all patience because the door was torn open, and a man wearing a police uniform stormed into the house.

Frightened, Dagmar sat up in bed, trying to hide behind the blankets.

‘The police?’ Her father came into the kitchen, fumbling to button up his trousers. His sunken chest was sparsely covered with grey hair. ‘If you’ll just let me put on a shirt, I’m sure I can straighten everything out. There must be some misunderstanding. This is the home of respectable people.’

‘Does Helga Svensson live here?’ asked the policeman. Two more officers were waiting behind him. They had to stand close together because the kitchen was cramped and filled with beds. At the moment they had five young children living in the house.

‘My name is Albert Svensson and Helga is my wife,’ said Pappa. By now he had put on his shirt and was standing there with his arms folded.

‘Where is your wife?’ There was a note of urgency in the policeman’s voice.

Dagmar saw the worried furrow that had appeared on her father’s brow. He was so easily upset, her mother always said. Delicate nerves.

‘Mamma is in the yard out back. With the children,’ said Dagmar. Only now did the policemen notice her.

‘Thank you,’ said the officer who had done all the talking. He turned on his heel and left the room.

Her father followed close behind. ‘You can’t come storming into the home of decent people, scaring the life out of us. You have to tell us what this is all about.’

Dagmar threw off the bedclothes, set her feet on the cold kitchen floor and dashed after them, wearing only her nightgown. She came to an abrupt stop behind the men. Two of the officers were gripping her mother by the arms. She was struggling to get free, and the men were straining with the effort to hold on to her. The children were shrieking, and the laundry that her mother had been hanging on the line had fallen off in all the commotion.

‘Mamma!’ cried Dagmar, running towards her.

Then she threw herself at the legs of one of the policemen and bit him in the thigh. He screamed and let go of Helga, turning around to punch Dagmar so hard that the child fell to the ground. In surprise, she sat there on the grass, her hand pressed to her stinging cheek. In the eight years of her life, no one had ever hit her. She’d seen her mother give the children a swat now and then, but she had never raised a hand to Dagmar. And for that reason her father had never dared strike her either.

‘What are you doing! Did you hit my daughter?’ Helga kicked out at the men in fury.

‘That’s nothing compared to what you’ve done.’ The policeman again gripped Helga’s arm. ‘You are accused of killing a child, and we have the right to search your house. And believe me, we plan to make a thorough job of it.’

Dagmar watched as her mother seemed to collapse. Her cheek still felt as if it was on fire, and her heart was racing in her chest. All around her the children were screaming as though it was Judgement Day. And perhaps it was. Because even though Dagmar didn’t understand what was happening, the expression on her mother’s face told her that their world had just been torn apart.