The Missing

2

Of course I go look for them, in spite of my conviction that it won’t do any good. Alex’s dark-blue sweatshirt is folded up and lying in the stern. I grab it and stand up to pull the boat in. Uneasiness slithers down my spine. With a clumsy movement that’s halfway between a step and a jump, I go ashore. I shout Alex’s name, then Smilla’s. No answer. My arms feel stiff as I pull the sweatshirt over my head. The fabric has a masculine scent that envelops me. It smells like Alex.

I feel a sharp stab in my gut but ignore the pain and start heading up the slope. I haven’t gone more than a few steps when my chest tightens and I’m breathing hard. It’s steeper than I thought. My body feels heavy and sluggish, refusing to cooperate, but I grit my teeth and force myself to continue, climbing upward. My foot slips in a muddy patch, and I have to put out my hand to keep from falling and sliding backward down the hill.

Finally I manage to reach the top. I try shouting again but can muster only a hoarse croak. My throat burns, protesting the strain, and my chest feels two sizes too small. Even though I make a great effort, my lungs are unable to supply the air that’s needed. It feels like I’m trying to scream in the middle of a nightmare. My stomach cramps convulsively, wave after wave. I make another attempt to yell, but my body doubles over. Bending down, I emit a loud belch and then a dirty yellow sludge comes pouring out of me. My legs tremble and I totter to one side, then the other before dropping to my knees.

I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of the sweatshirt. I stay on the ground for a moment, as if felled by some superior foe. I push the thought away. Foe? Superior? No! I get back on my feet. My body still feels weak, but at least it’s obeying. Instead of trying to shout again, I focus on surveying the island. There aren’t many open spaces. Between scattered leafy trees and juniper bushes, I see waist-high grass and underbrush. There’s no place that would allow easy passage. Especially for a four-year-old girl. I don’t see Alex and Smilla anywhere.

I stumble forward, knowing what I have to do, but not sure which way to go. In one spot the grass has been pushed aside, and the ground looks trampled. So I head in that direction, following what I imagine are the tracks of a man and a little girl eager to play. Once in a while I pause to call their names, though not really expecting an answer. A perfunctory feeling comes over me, as if I’m acting in accordance with some preordained plan. I’m simply behaving the way I know I ought to behave, doing what I have to do. As if I’m playing a role.

The silence hovers, heavy and ominous, among the trees until, suddenly, there’s a rustling in the grass just a few feet away. I flinch and instinctively clench my fists. Then I catch sight of a hedgehog scurrying away as fast as its little legs can go. When I look up again, the grass in front of me no longer shows any sign of being pushed aside or trampled. There’s no indication that a man and a little girl have gone this way. I spin around to look behind me. Then forward again. And off to the sides. But there’s no trace of people having passed this way, or even of my own path. I’m standing in a sea of tall grass. Silent and motionless, it surrounds me on all sides.

A wave of dizziness crashes over me, and I cover my eyes and stretch out one arm to keep my balance. Just as I take my hand away from my face and open my eyes, the last scarlet rays of the sun sink behind the treetops across the lake. I’m alone in an unfamiliar place, alone with the silence and the darkness that is now rapidly descending. I choose a direction at random and start moving through the inhospitable terrain.

A man and a little girl go ashore on a small island and don’t come back. What could have happened? I tell myself there could be any number of plausible explanations. Maybe they got caught up in a game and forgot all about the time, or maybe they simply… Frantically I try to come up with other possible scenarios. Perfectly natural reasons. Innocent and benign. But the problem is that none of them can explain why Alex and Smilla are still missing, and why they don’t respond to my calls. I open my mouth to shout again, and I’m shocked at the hysteria I hear in my own voice.

As I stumble onward, I train my eyes on the ground and the trees. My feet move faster, and my movements become more disjointed. I proceed aimlessly, no longer aware in which direction I’m going or where I’ve come from. I’m so stressed that I can’t orient myself properly. Nowhere do I see any trace of human life. A sob rises from my chest. Smilla!

At that instant, I catch sight of something. I stop, noticing a trembling that spreads through my whole body. I see a rock a couple of yards up ahead. And then, a short distance from there, something else. A dark object. Even though I don’t immediately understand what I’m looking at, I know with every fiber of my being it’s not part of the vegetation. It belongs to a person. Slowly, filled with dread at what I might find, I approach and crouch down in the grass. It’s a single black shoe, tattered and worn. The tiny holes that once held shoelaces now gape. The tension in my chest eases a bit: I’ve never seen this shoe before. It doesn’t belong to Alex or Smilla. That much I know. Not understanding why, I hold out my hand, sensing how it’s slowly but surely being sucked down toward the shoe. As if my fingers are being controlled by some outside force, a force rising up from the ground beneath my feet.

With a gasp, I jerk my hand back and stand up. What are these strange ideas and notions that keep creeping into my mind? Remnants of Alex’s ghost stories must be lingering in my consciousness. The stories about Lake Malice and its malevolent powers. Briskly I continue on, reminding myself that those tales are nothing more than supernatural nonsense mixed with old superstitions. Yet I can’t help looking over my shoulder several times. My feet cut through the grass faster and faster until I’m practically jogging.

I weave between the tree trunks, their shadows growing deeper, their scraggly branches reaching for me like long, malevolent arms. Something grabs hold of me, twigs scrape at my scalp like claws, and I scream loudly, unable to stop myself. The sound of my own terror is too much for me. Thoughts spring into my mind and race wildly, no longer under my control, whipping up greater and greater waves of emotion inside me. I’m not going to find them. I’m never going to find them.

But then—at that very moment—something occurs to me. Make a phone call. If I can’t find them, I need to call. Of course. That’s the first thing to do when someone goes missing. Why didn’t I think of that before? I slow down and, breathing hard, shove my hand in the pocket of my capris. Empty. I check the other pocket, but my cell phone isn’t there either. Where could it be? Did I lose it somewhere on the island? Or did I leave it back in the boat? Fragments of memory slowly coalesce.

I didn’t take my cell with me when we left the cabin. It was an impulsive decision to set off on this excursion, and I actually hadn’t intended to go along. Yet I did. My chest tightens again, but this time it’s not from straining to breathe. Again I look around, desperately trying to see a tiny scrap of pale-pink fabric, a flutter of blond hair. But she’s no longer here. I know that. I can feel it. I left my phone back at the cabin, probably in my purse. There’s only one thing to do.

Yet it doesn’t feel right. How can I leave the island without having found Alex and Smilla? How can I simply leave them to their fate? To their fate… There’s something terrible about those words. This doesn’t make sense. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

No! I push away the sinister whispering inside me and start walking faster. Once I get hold of my phone, everything will work out. I’ll be able to call Alex, or he’ll call me. Who knows, maybe he has already tried to reach me. I pick up the pace even more, ignoring how exhausted I feel. I need to get my hands on my phone ASAP. The only question is whether I’ll be able to find my way back to the spot where we tied up the boat.

I take another step forward and I’m falling into the dark. The ground disappears from beneath me. At the last second I manage to stay on my feet, but my stomach lurches. When I calm down, I stand still for a long time, staring at the sight in front of me. It’s the hill I came up. The hill that, from this direction, is more like a treacherous precipice. How could I be back here already? In my confused state I could hardly tell which way I’d been heading. But here it is. Below I can see the outline of the boat, rocking among the reeds as if nothing has happened. I stare at it with mixed emotions. Clearly Alex and Smilla aren’t down there waiting for me, but at least the boat is still there. The next second it occurs to me what a strange thought that is. Why wouldn’t the boat be there?

Something is nagging at me. A certain uneasiness. Or is it regret? If I could turn back time, do things differently, undo what was done… I shake off the feeling and once again glance over my shoulder. It’s dark now, everything immersed in shadow. I picture two silhouettes, one tall and one short, emerging from the dim light and rushing toward me with loud shouts and laughter. But no one is there. No one’s coming.

A bird flutters past, so close that I think I can feel the rushing of its wings. I glimpse the contours of a sleek body and a dagger-shaped beak. The loon dives for the water. For a moment I stare after it. Then I step over the edge.