The Missing

34

I’m still in Marhem, still in the cabin. I’m lying in bed with my clothes on and the covers pulled up to my chin. In fact, I’ve pulled the duvet from the other side of the bed on top of me. From his side. The man who will never again lie next to me. If you ever come near me again, I swear I’ll kill you. I’m shivering and my teeth are chattering, but I nod emphatically. I really do mean it. It could happen. I have it in me. For all these years, I’ve fended off that thought, the one lurking in the shadows. I’ve tried to convince myself I’m not like that. But to no avail. Now I know.

In spite of the double layer of blankets, my body is shaking with cold. A throbbing headache is making the daylight hurt my eyes. I should get up and pull down the blinds, but I can’t muster the energy. Mama, I think, hurry up. She reacted with such calm when I fell apart on the phone. She asked me where I was. After I’d explained and given her clear directions, she said:

“Stay there. I’ll come and get you.”

“No, you won’t. I waited so long, but you… you never came.”

Thoughts and memories blended together in my agitated state. I saw myself sitting on the floor in my room, saw the uniformed officers come and go, saw Ruth come and go. And I saw the door to what had been Mama and Papa’s bedroom. The door that remained closed for so long.

Mama was silent a second longer than necessary. Then there was something different about her voice. As if the outer layers had been peeled away.

“This time I’m coming. Right now. I promise.”

And I knew she meant what she said. Taking action is my mother’s forte. There has never been any doubt about that.

My eyelids flutter, and I realize I must have dozed off for a while. My joints ache, and my skin feels hot. I’m still in Marhem, alone, sick, and miserable. Tirith is dead. The search for Alex and Smilla is over. There’s no reason for me to stay awake.

Filled with longing, I reach for the release that sleep brings. Allow myself to be swept away once more. I slip into a hazy space, drifting in and out of restless slumber. I dream that I gave my mother the wrong directions, and she’s driving around and around without ever arriving, without ever finding me.

A knock on the front door wakes me. At first I think it’s part of my dream, but then I realize it’s real. I’m suddenly wide awake. Mama! She’s here. Everything’s going to be fine.

I’m still weak, but at least my body obeys when I force myself to get out of bed and head toward the front hall. I have no choice. Mama doesn’t have a key, and in spite of my miserable condition, I was very careful about locking the door when I came in. I remember having a sense of some approaching threat. As I shuffle to the door, I’m frowning. What sort of threat did I imagine? From where? From whom? I can’t recall now. It escapes me.

I’m at the front door. I reach for the lock. I picture the person standing outside. My hands are shaking. Why? Why am I shaking? Because I’m sick, because I have a fever. Why else? I turn the lock and cautiously open the door.

“Mama?”

But it’s not her. It’s… I can hardly believe my eyes. It’s my psychologist. The blond. The woman whose office I left years ago. The woman whose ominous words have been ringing in my ears these past few days. She’s changed her hairstyle, and she’s wearing different clothes, but I recognize her instantly. And I realize that I must be dreaming. This woman can’t be standing here, on the steps to Alex’s cabin. Not for real. The fact that she’s holding an oar makes the whole thing even more absurd and dreamlike.

In a daze, I think there must be a reason for her to seek me out. She must have a message for me. Suddenly, I’m afraid I’ll wake up before the dream version of the psychologist has time to tell me what she needs to say.

“You were right,” I mumble. “Everything you said was right. But what now? What am I supposed to do now?”

She stares at me for a long time, opening her blue eyes wide and then narrowing them again.

“So it’s you? It’s you.”

Then she raises the oar. Maybe this isn’t a dream, I think. Maybe I’m delirious.

Then the psychologist emits a scream, shrill and piercing. Hysterical. I flinch. Because I know that voice, that scream. In a sudden moment of clarity, I’m carried back to the night we arrived in Marhem. The car outside. The one who stayed and the one who left. Smilla and the woman with the scream. Smilla and her mother. Smilla and Alex’s wife.

I take a step back as something dark whistles through the air. It strikes my shoulder and the side of my head. I fall against the wall and throw out my hand, but in vain. I feel my body tumble to the floor. Then everything goes black.