Harbor John Lindqvist (grave mercy TXT) 📖

There was no question of a honeymoon, but they decided to take a trip on the ferry to Finland and back. Some fine dining and a few symbolic dance steps, God (and their hips) willing.

At five o’clock they caught the bus back to Nåten, and at quarter to six they were on board the tender once again. Simon looked out over the dark sea and thought that it had changed. He no longer saw the surface, he saw the depths. He had studied the maritime charts, he had talked to people and he knew that the bay was between twenty and sixty metres deep outside Nåten. To the north and east there were deep trenches of a hundred metres or more.

The depths.

The colossal extent of it, the immense amount of water just between Domarö and Nåten, just lying there biding its time in its darkness, showing only its shining, harmless surface.

In his mind’s eye Simon could see the ferry to Finland they would travel on before long. Silja Symphony. Hundreds of cabins and a long shopping mall down the centre. Ten storeys; at least one hundred and fifty metres from prow to stern.

He looked down at the sea, foaming up around the bow and thought: It could sink here and it would be gone. There would be no sign of it at all. It would be lying down there.

A shudder ran down his spine and he put his arm around Anna-Greta’s shoulders as they approached Domarö.

A welcome committee was standing on the jetty. It consisted of the same people who had been in the mission house, apart from Tora Österberg and Holger, who were missing. And Karl-Erik.

Tora hadn’t felt strong enough to come, and Holger was sitting with Göran, keeping an eye on Karl-Erik. ‘So that he doesn’t come up with something else,’ as Johan Lundberg put it.

Lasse had been taken to the hospital in Norrtälje and had his wounds stitched, but had refused to stay one minute longer than necessary. When he was delivered back home his wife Lina had been just as unreasonable. She was normally the kindest, most helpful person you could imagine, but she had spat and hissed at Lasse’s companions, transformed beyond recognition. She had let her husband in, but that was it. She hadn’t even offered them coffee.

All this was relayed to Anna-Greta. Simon was deliberately ignored, and despite the fact that Anna-Greta took his hand to keep him within the circle, the group managed to close around her and exclude him. After a couple of minutes he had had enough. He squeezed Anna-Greta’s hand and whispered to her that he was going to see how Anders was getting on.

He felt a pang of guilt when he turned around after a few steps and saw her standing on the jetty surrounded by dark figures, like a flockof crows. Although perhaps it wasn’t guilt, he thought as he continued on towards the Shack. Perhaps it was jealousy.

She’s not yours. She’s mine. Mine!

The Shack was dark and silent, but when Simon went into the kitchen he could see light seeping out from beneath the bedroom door. He opened it gently and discovered Anders, fast asleep in Maja’s bed with his arms around Bamse the Bear. Simon stood looking at him quietly for a while, then went out and closed the door silently behind him.

In the kitchen he switched on the light, found a pen and some paper and wrote a note about the wedding. As he was just about to leave he caught sight of the bead tile. He studied it carefully. Then he added something to the note and left the house.

Anna-Greta was already home. There hadn’t been all that much to discuss, really. The only course of action on which they could agree had already been put in place: to keep Lasse and Karl-Erik under supervision and see how things developed. She pulled off her best boots and massaged her feet, which were feeling the effects of all that walking in Norrtälje. ‘I’m sorry the others were like that,’ she said. ‘I’m sure they’ll get used to the situation in time.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Simon, sitting down. ‘Did you tell them? About Elin?’

‘How could I possibly do that?’

‘No. Of course not.’

Anna-Greta put her feet up on Simon’s knee and he kneaded them absently. His hands were back in place, a natural part of his body.

Magic. Mysterious.

The whole thing was like a magic trick. An effect that could be seen on the surface, which seemed fantastic, but behind it all lay a mechanism that was basically very simple, if only you understood it. Perhaps. Perhaps not. Simon wished he could put his former talent to work on this particular effect and find the hiddencompartment, the secret mechanism. Perhaps it was all as simple as an invisible thread or a false base, if you could just see it. But he couldn’t see it.

‘There is one thing I don’t understand,’ said Anna-Greta, wiggling her toes and making them creak slightly. ‘Elin. Anders. Karl-Erik. Lasse. Lina. Why those people in particular? Why them?’

‘There are a lot of things I don’t understand. And that’s one of them. Where are the strings?’

Hide and seek

When Anders managed to get hold of the alarm clock and decipher the position of the hands through eyes gritty with sleep, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was twenty to seven. Judging from the light outside it was morning, not evening. Which meant he hadn’t slept more than quarter of an hour, despite the fact that he had been bone weary.

He rolled on to his back and pressed the clock to his chest. Strangely enough, he felt rested in a way that he hadn’t felt for a very long time. His body was soft and his brain was empty, relaxed. It felt as if he’d slept…

Hang on a minute…

There was one other possibility. That he had slept for an entire day. That it was Saturday