The Girl Who Died, Ragnar Jonasson [small books to read .TXT] 📗

‘Sometimes you … you just don’t have a choice,’ she stammered in a small voice. She wanted to say: You don’t have any power over me, Guffi. What I decide to do is none of your business.

‘You always have a choice.’ He fixed her gaze with his. ‘For example, I’ve got two alternatives this evening: I can let you go home or I can walk out of this room, lock the door behind me and leave you to think things over.’

Una couldn’t believe her ears. Her muscles tensed and she had an urge to leap to her feet and dodge round him, but she knew her limbs couldn’t be trusted to obey. ‘What are you saying?’ she asked at last, the tremor in her voice unmistakeable now. ‘Are you threatening … are you …?’

Guffi didn’t answer. His face impassive, he stood there rock-like, blocking the door, demonstrating that she wouldn’t have a chance of getting past him. And she knew she couldn’t take him on, in spite of the age difference. He was powerfully built; his shoulders and chest were strapped with muscle under his old fisherman’s jersey.

He couldn’t be serious. No sane man would dream of coming out with something like that except as a joke. But he didn’t appear to be joking as he glowered at her from under his heavy brows.

‘I’m not implying anything, Una. I just want you to understand how serious this is. We don’t like your prying; don’t appreciate the way you’re … sticking your nose into our affairs. I was dead against your coming here in the first place, but Salka got her way. That won’t happen again, I can tell you. My poor wife wanted me to give you the benefit of the doubt. She said it would be good to have fresh blood in the village, and I listened to her. We decided to let you take care of the Christmas concert.’ He paused, then added heavily: ‘And look how that turned out.’

Una gasped at the injustice of this. ‘That … that wasn’t my fault. There’s no way I’m responsible for what happened to Edda.’

‘That’s irrelevant,’ he snapped. ‘Your presence here has brought us nothing but trouble. And now you want to call the police about something you think you saw – about some wretched lowlife who’s disappeared. Well, I’m telling you, we’ve always taken care of our own affairs here in Skálar.’

Una rose to her feet. ‘I think that’ll do,’ she said, anger helping her to get her voice under control. ‘I’m tired. I’m going home now.’

‘I decide when this conversation is finished,’ he said flatly. ‘Sit down, Una.’

Instead of meekly obeying, she stood her ground, though she had no intention of getting into a physical struggle with this man if she could possibly avoid it. Her mind was racing. She suspected that he might actually be prepared to lock her in here to convince her not to ring the police. He must be confident that he could get away with it: his word against hers. He wielded the power in the village; he had the locals on his side. With a sudden sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she wondered if he could have done something like this before? Or gone further, even? Was there a specific reason why he didn’t want the police brought in?

‘I’ve already made the call,’ she said in a low voice. She had the feeling that this might just save her.

‘You’ve made the call?’ He sounded shocked. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘To the police. An officer’s coming here tomorrow, to ask around about Patrekur.’

‘You’re not serious?’

‘I swear it – I rang earlier. I grabbed the chance while Salka was out. Visiting you.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Of course it damn well matters.’ Spinning round, he opened the door and stormed out.

Una hurried out of the room after him, then hesitated a moment before following him upstairs, relieved that he didn’t look round or speak to her.

When she reached the top, she saw that he was waiting in the hall, but there was nothing in his body language to suggest that he meant to prevent her from leaving this time.

‘It was nice of you to visit, Una,’ he said in his deep voice. ‘You must drop by more often.’

She gave him a look. Then, without a word, she opened the front door and fled back to Salka’s house, never once glancing over her shoulder. Although she knew there was no one behind her, she felt as if there were eyes watching her from every side.

Never had she felt so alone, so frightened or so utterly defenceless.

XXV

Lullaby, my little Thrá,

may you sweetly sleep.

The voice was pure, low and hypnotic. It seemed to come from all directions at once. Una could feel the notes spreading through her body as if icy water were flowing through her veins, and sensed the words filtering in, seeping through her dream into her unconscious.

Lullaby …

Then she saw her.

The girl was standing there, staring at Una, in the same white dress as always, her eyes empty, her face pale, a vision in black and white, her lips moving in time to the words, only ever the one verse, never more; then her eyes closed and she stood quite still, as if watching Una through her eyelids, as if waiting for something, and Una waited too, listening to the silence. The girl didn’t move, just remained perfectly still, waiting, her eyes closed, her face expressionless.

Then without warning her lids flicked open to reveal bloodshot eyes, and suddenly everything was red, and Una flinched as if someone had shaken her and sat bolt upright in bed, wide awake, confused about where the nightmare ended and reality began, unable to understand anything any more …

She had a splitting headache. At first she couldn’t remember why, then she realized the wine was to blame. Better to blame the wine than herself. She’d had to open a bottle