The Fire Witness

73

The floor is icy under Flora’s back. She lifts her head and stares at the bathroom, her heart pounding.

There’s no girl there.

There aren’t any drops of blood on the bathtub or the shower curtain. A pair of Hans-Gunnar’s jeans is lying on the bathroom floor close to the toilet.

It must have been her imagination.

She rests on the floor as she waits for her heart to stop pounding. She can taste blood in her mouth. She turns her head and looks down the hall. The door to her room is open. She knows she closed her door. She always closes her door. She shudders and goose bumps rise over her entire body. Icy air is being drawn toward her room. Two dust bunnies roll in the draft down the hall and she follows them with her eyes. They stop at her door, between two bare feet.

Flora moans.

The girl who was lying on the bathroom floor is now standing in the doorway to her room. She steps into the hall.

Flora tries to sit up, but her body is frozen with fear. She realizes that she’s seeing a spirit-for the first time in her life, she is face-to-face with a real ghost.

The girl’s hair is tangled and bloody.

Flora is breathing quickly and her pulse thunders in her ears. The girl is hiding something behind her back as she starts to walk toward Flora. She stops just one step away from Flora’s face.

“Do you want to know what I have in my hands?” the girl asks so quietly that the words are almost impossible to hear.

“You don’t exist,” Flora whispers.

“Do you want me to show you what I have in my hands?”

“No.”

“But I don’t have anything.”

A heavy rock lands with a thud behind the girl. The floor shakes and the pieces of broken plaster jump.

The girl shows her empty hands and smiles.

The rock is silvery-gray and has sharp edges. It looks like it’s from an iron-ore mine. The girl steps on it with one foot. It rocks back and forth. She pushes it away.

“Well, go ahead and die!” the girl mumbles to herself. “Hurry up and die already!”

The girl squats down and puts her ashen hands on the rock. She rocks it, trying to get a good grip on it. It slips out of her grasp. She wipes her hands on her dress and tries again. The rock turns over with a thud.

“What are you going to do?” asks Flora.

“Close your eyes and then I’m gone,” the girl says, and picks up the sharp rock. She lifts it over Flora’s head. Its dark underside looks wet.

The electricity suddenly turns back on. Ceiling lights come on all over the apartment. Flora rolls to the side and sits up. The girl has disappeared. The television starts to blare and the refrigerator resumes humming.

Flora gets up and walks to her room. The door is shut and she opens it. She turns on the ceiling light, opens the wardrobe, and looks under the bed. Then she goes into the kitchen and sits at the table. Her hands are shaking as she dials the phone for the police.

The automatic voice-message system gives her a few choices. She can report a crime, leave a tip, or receive an answer to a general question. The last choice contacts her with an operator.

“Police,” says the friendly voice. “What can I do to help you?”

“I would like to talk to someone working on the Birgittagården case,” Flora says in a shaky voice.

“What does this concern?”

“I… I’ve seen the murder weapon,” Flora whispers.

“I see,” the operator says. “I’m going to connect you to our department that takes tips from the general public. Just a moment.”

Flora is about to protest, but there’s already clicking on the line. Then there’s another woman’s voice: “How can I help you?”

Flora can’t tell if it is the same woman she’s talked to before-the one who got angry when Flora told her about the bloody knife.

“I need to talk to someone who is working on the Sundsvall murder case,” Flora says.

“Talk to me first,” says the voice.

“It was a large rock,” Flora says.

“I can’t hear you. Please speak louder.”

“What happened in Sundsvall. You should be looking for a large rock. Its underside is all bloody and…”

Flora falls silent. Sweat runs down her sides.

“How do you know anything about the Birgittagården murders?”

“I’ve… Someone told me.”

“Someone told you about the Birgittagården murders?”

“Yes,” Flora whispers. Her ears are ringing.

“Keep going,” the woman says.

“The murderer used a rock, a large one with sharp edges. That’s all I know.”

“What is your name?”

“It doesn’t matter. I just wanted-”

“I recognize your voice,” the policewoman says. “You called earlier about a bloody knife. I’ve already written up a report on you, Flora Hansen, but I think you should contact a doctor. You need some serious help.”

The policewoman hangs up, and Flora looks at the telephone in her hand. She jumps, knocking over the paper-towel roll when the grocery bag in the hallway falls over.