The Missing

7

A cloudless morning. Sunlight glinting off the shiny paint of the car, which is parked on the road outside the cabin. It’s my car. The car we drove to get here. Now there it stands, its headlights like wide-open, empty eyes, and it seems to be mutely shouting at me. Save yourself while you can, escape before it’s too late. But that’s not a viable idea. It’s impossible to flee from here. I can’t leave Marhem until I’ve found Alex and Smilla.

I move a little closer, tilting my head to one side as I study the tracks in the gravel next to the car. The tracks left by another vehicle as it roared off with an angry lurch. Pensively, I follow the indentations until they straighten out and merge with the others on the road. I think about what happened the other night. About how I woke up, heard sounds from outside, and noticed that Alex wasn’t in bed. A loud, agitated voice penetrated the window, which was slightly open. And then: the sharp slamming of a car door followed by screeching tires.

The sun is roasting hot, burning my forearms, but I stand still and keep staring at the tracks on the road. I think about that other car and the two people who were inside. About the one who stayed and the one who left. Finally, I turn my back on the tracks, not wanting to think anymore.

A while later, I find myself down at the dock, shading my eyes with my hand and staring at the lake, across its secretive, steel-gray surface.

Then I’m back in the boat, in the middle of Lake Malice, with the island in view. I put in at the same place as yesterday, then unsteadily make my way ashore, head up the slope, and take a look around. Not even twelve hours have passed since I last stood in this exact same spot, and there’s no time to lose. With great determination, I set off. This time, I carry out my search in a more methodical manner. I cover the island bush by bush, one thicket after another. The black shoe is still lying where I found it last night, but this time I walk right past, refusing to be distracted.

The island is definitely less scary in daylight, but the terrain is just as difficult to traverse. Fallen trees and overgrown vegetation are mixed with patches of marsh and mud. My shoes are constantly sinking into brownish-black muck, and I have to fight to pull free. Alex and Smilla must have encountered the same trouble when they were exploring the island. It couldn’t have been easy for Smilla, since the land is far from hospitable. In spite of her initial enthusiasm, she must have grown tired of the adventure very quickly. And yet she and Alex chose to continue their game instead of returning to me and the boat. Did something happen? If so, where have they gone? Did something prevent them from coming back? What could that be? I stop midstride. There is something inside of me that is protesting, resisting. Somehow, all my thoughts and the questions I’m asking seem spurious. Phony. Like I’m trying to fool myself.

I sit down on a tree stump, take out my cell, and call Alex. Mostly just for something to do, a way of distracting myself. He still doesn’t pick up, and once again I listen to his polite and professional recorded greeting. I end the call. Maybe it would be best if I didn’t try calling anymore. Every time I hear Alex’s voice, it brings up so many things, painful things. I tuck my legs under me and my mind is instantly flooded with thoughts of how it all started.

It was a few days after the launch party for the new beauty products, maybe a week at most. I left work early and went out to the parking lot next to the shopping mall with my jacket open. Most of the snow had melted away, and the sun held the promise of approaching spring, but the wind was brisk, and there was still no warmth in the air. I noticed the dark car parked by the entrance but didn’t pay it much attention until someone honked the horn and rolled down the passenger-side window. It was Alex. I automatically reached up to brush a few strands of hair out of my face. I went slowly to his car, placed my hand on the edge of the open window, and leaned down.

“What are you doing here?”

He laughed hoarsely, grinned, and asked if I’d had a bad day, or was I always so high and mighty? At first, I didn’t understand. Then I blushed, realizing my question could be interpreted as arrogant rather than an expression of genuine surprise. Before I could explain or apologize, he went on.

“I’ve been waiting for you. You’re the reason I’m here.”

Because of me? Could that be true? But why? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t say a word.

“I was thinking I could give you a ride home. Hop in.”

He sounded so calm, so confident. As if it were the most natural thing in the world to offer me a lift, even though we didn’t know each other at all. I raised my head to glance toward the bus stop. In a few minutes, my bus would leave, taking me home to the kitchen table, the silence. And the loneliness. Which protected me. And weighed on me.

“How did you know when I’d get off work?”

“I have my ways.”

I think Alex finally leaned over and opened the car door for me, and that’s why I got in. Because he made the decision for me. I’d hardly sat down and murmured my address before he leaned over. I felt the blood surge to my cheeks. Then I realized that I’d misunderstood. He was reaching for the seatbelt on the passenger side. With great care, he pulled it across my body and buckled me in. No one had ever done that for me as an adult. There was something so protective about the gesture. Such a show of old-fashioned chivalry. I liked it. A lot.

Alex put on his sunglasses, and we headed for the highway. Now and then, he’d turn to look at me. The crooked smile was gone and the mood had shifted to a more serious tone. I wanted to say something clever and interesting but could only come up with platitudes about the weather. My heart was pounding, and my mouth had gone dry. When at last we pulled up in front of my building, I gathered my courage and placed a hand gently on his arm.

“Thanks for the lift.”

Alex didn’t reply. Nor did he turn toward me. He didn’t move at all except for a slight shrug. His hands still gripped the steering wheel, and he was staring straight ahead. As if steeling himself for something. Or—it occurred to me—as if he wanted to get away as fast as possible. Maybe he didn’t like my perfume. Maybe I wasn’t thin enough. Or maybe the short car ride had been sufficient to prove that my personality was anything but exciting.

I wanted to scream at myself.

How could I ever have thought that someone like me would be attractive to a man like him? Waves of heat washed over my face and through my body. No matter what I’d hoped or imagined, it was all an illusion. Of course. My hand shook as I fumbled for the door handle. I had to get out of this car. I had to get in my building and up to my apartment. To the emptiness and the silence.

“Please don’t go.”

His hand grabbed mine, holding me back. Slowly, I turned. Alex’s face was now close to mine, so close that I could feel his warm breath against my cheeks when he opened his mouth to speak.

“There’s something about you. I don’t know what it is, but you make me want to… take care of you.”

For some reason, probably because of the slight hesitation before he spoke those last words, I had the impression that he’d actually intended to say something else. I wanted to look into his eyes, but they were hidden behind dark sunglasses.

He ran two fingers lightly over my palm, and a thrill of pleasure raced up my forearm and through my body.

Alex let me go and gestured toward the backseat. I turned to see two shiny shopping bags with fancy labels. I could see tissue paper sticking out of both of them. It took a moment before I regained control of my voice.

“What’s that?”

“Lingerie. For you.”

Did I laugh? Did I think he was joking? Or did I realize at once that he was totally serious? In any case, it took a few seconds before I murmured that I wasn’t accustomed to such things. Meaning, to receiving gifts. I wasn’t used to this sort of situation at all.

Alex finally took off his sunglasses and looked right at me.

“Let me do this. Let me take care of you.”

There they were again. Those words that caressed my skin and left a warm feeling in their wake. Take care of you. Something opened inside of me. I imagined allowing myself to be cared for, lowering the walls. Not having to rely solely on myself. Letting someone past my meticulously polished façade. Was that really possible? Did I dare?

“How do you know what size I wear?”

My voice was barely more than a whisper. Alex looked me in the eye, his gaze unwavering.

“Because I see you. I mean, I really see you. I truly do. And I want you to know that.”

It wasn’t merely what he said, but how he said it. With emphasis. It silenced me. I couldn’t utter a single word. I just sat there and stared at him while he stared back. It felt like he could see into me, into the depths of my soul. As if, somehow, this stranger understood who I was and what I’d been through. I took a deep breath, and my body moved of its own accord. My hand went around Alex’s neck, my lips pressed against his. He went up to my apartment with me, and we drew all the curtains. There, in the shadows, our story began. And in the shadows it would continue.

I’m shivering. The sun can’t penetrate the thick foliage. The light here on the island isn’t warm and golden like up at the cabin. Instead, it’s a hazy gray. One leg has fallen asleep, and I shift position, placing my feet back on the muddy ground.

Through the soles of my shoes, I feel some sort of current. At first, I ascribe it to the increased blood flow in my legs. But then I make a slight movement, and a powerful whirl of energy rises up from the earth, circles my ankles and calves, takes hold of me. I shout and jump up, yanking my feet away. A hissing sound issues from somewhere, followed by a long, drawn-out smacking sound when the mud lets go of me.

I set off, heading as far away from the middle of the island as I can go, trying to take deep breaths to calm down. But it’s not easy. My body is shivering in spite of the heat. To be pulled down into the dunes. Could that happen here? Has it already happened? Are Alex and Smilla—helpless, their screams muffled—somewhere beneath my feet? Fragments of the horror stories about Lake Malice that Alex told echo again through my mind. No! I do my best to push aside the ghastly scenes that are creeping into my consciousness. No, no, no.

All of a sudden, I’m at the water’s edge. This side of the island is rimmed with rocks, both big and small. Some are sticking up from the surface, others lurking underwater, covered with swaying algae. It looks both enticing and dangerous. I squint to look across the lake, measuring with my eyes how far it might be from here to the mainland. Too far, I quickly conclude. Smilla can’t swim. She hasn’t yet learned how to swim. But she does love to play in the water, like a reckless little daredevil.

I look back down at the silent rocks. Did Smilla decide to go wading and venture too far out? Did Alex take off his shoes and wade in after her, but slip and hit his head on a rock? I close my eyes to ward off such disastrous thoughts. But they only get worse.

Did some force—the same force I seemed to encounter last night when I stared over the side of the boat into the lake as I waited for Alex and Smilla to come back—lure them out into the water, blinding them and leading them straight into a death by drowning? I gasp. I slap my face to drive out all such terrible thoughts. But this time it takes quite a while before my pulse slows and my shoulders sink back into place.

Now that I’ve searched nearly the whole island, I’m more convinced than ever that they’re no longer here.

Slowly, I start walking along the shoreline. I shouldn’t let myself get so upset. The mud grabbing my foot was just my imagination, another phantom in my jittery mind. The lake does not possess evil forces. Nor does the island. The idea that two people—a grown man and a four-year-old girl—could be sucked down into the dunes or drawn into the water by evil forces is the stuff of movies and books. And lousy ones, at that. So why do I feel so anxious?

I realize why. I stop next to an area that looks like a campsite, and the answer comes to me. If nothing supernatural is going on, there has to be some rational explanation for Alex and Smilla’s disappearance. And that is far more frightening.

I stare at the ground. Between a green tarp and a dirty old mattress, I see a pile of charred wood. Scattered around this primitive fire pit are cigarette butts and empty beer cans. And a knife. A knife with a stained blade. I move closer, bend down, and carefully study the area around the mattress. I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Something that could lead me to Alex and Smilla. On one side of the mattress, I see a shriveled condom. Memories of what Alex did to me the other night flood over me. I flinch and step back, disgusted.

My foot lands on something squishy, and I look down, expecting more mud. Instead, I find myself staring straight into a pair of glassy eyes the size of peppercorns. Tiny legs stick out from under my shoe. I jerk my foot away but can’t stop staring at the brownish-red jumble of intestines and guts lying on the ground. When I finally realize what I’m looking at, the merciless nausea returns. It’s a squirrel. A disemboweled squirrel. I spin around and vomit into a juniper bush. Then I flee.