Invisible Murder

OMEONE HAD SET her on fire, and Nina knew she had to wake up. Now. The strange darkness enveloping her kept dragging her back; even when she succeeded in forcing her eyes open, it was as if her brain refused to come back online. The floor felt hard and cold against her hipbone and her shoulder. Then she realized that she wasn’t actually on fire. The burning, throbbing pain was coming from the lower rib on her right side. A broken rib can perforate the lung, she thought woozily. Avoid sharp movements. But everything was moving. The room was a big teetering, swirling darkness that for a brief, absurd moment made her think of a gigantic hall of mirrors, the kind where everything is crooked and distorted. She was still desperately thirsty, and the floor she was lying on was terribly cold and dusty. There was dust in her mouth and on her hands.

Ida.

She pictured Ida in Mr. Suburbia’s arms in the darkness in front of her. And Ida on her way down into her dark, subterranean tomb. Nina could hear voices and turned her head toward the sound. A narrow strip of light shone in from a half-open door a little further into the hall, and she recognized Mr. Suburbia’s family-man silhouette next to the door. Nina swore to herself and lay still. Maybe he would think she was still unconscious. Tommi had probably stationed him there to keep an eye on her. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness now so that she could see the wide double doors that led out to reality. It wouldn’t take more than a few seconds of running, and once she was out.… The pain in her side gave a brutal jab as she inhaled. Perforated lungs. She couldn’t run if she had a punctured lung. If she ran, she could puncture a lung. Her thoughts chased each other around in circles, like white mice in a laboratory maze. It felt as if someone had plunged a chisel under her rib and wrenched at it. She didn’t remember how it happened, but when she carefully ran her fingers over the lower edge of her ribcage, she felt a clear angle that shouldn’t be there. A fracture, it was definitely broken. She wasn’t running anywhere.

And Ida was still alone in the dark.

Bang.

The sound of the shot echoed through the empty, tiled hall and made Mr. Suburbia’s silhouette cower.

“What the hell is going on?” he muttered.

He walked over to the doorway but appeared to change his mind and stayed put with his back against the doorframe, peering furtively into the next room. Apparently no one answered him, but they could still hear the Finn in there. It almost sounded as if he were singing.

Singing?

Mr. Suburbia glanced over at her, perplexed, then he turned around and disappeared into where Tommi and Sándor were.

Now, Nina thought. You can’t die here. You have to do it now.

She tried take shallow breaths as she pushed herself up off the floor with both arms. The pain in her side made everything go black before her eyes, and twice she was forced to stop altogether and wait for the world to slowly come into view again. Then she continued hobbling across the floor toward the exit.

Which was when the second shot rang out. She was so startled it almost knocked her over. But she still didn’t look back.

She reached the door. Splinters from the damaged wood around the lock jutted out like barbs, and her fingers were too clumsy to open it silently. The wind from outside grabbed it and blew it all the way open with a distinctive bang. Then she was standing outside in the chilly May evening. The construction site’s puddles glittered yellow-brown in the light from the overhead spotlights. She could see the paved road just a hundred meters away, and on the other side of it, a row of peaceful looking suburban homes with dark beech hedges and birch trees, their black branches swaying in the cool breeze. There were lights on and people at home in one of the closest ones.

Help, she thought. Get help for Ida.

She started walking toward the light, staggering but obstinate, and didn’t stop despite hearing another three shots ring out from inside the mosque behind her.