The Sandman

141

Reidar pulls up onto the pavement and leaves the car with its door open by the red railings leading to Kvastmakarbacken. His phone is ringing under his seat, but he doesn’t bother trying to retrieve it. His legs are shaking as he climbs over the fence and runs through the deep snow towards the entrance that’s been cleared of snow.

Number 1B is an old stone building that stands alone on a hill. Beyond it there’s nothing but main roads and industrial estates. Reidar slips on the steep stone steps, hitting his knee hard enough to make him cry out.

He’s trying to breathe calmly, and limps on up the steps, even though the pain is making him groan.

Leaning on the wrought-iron railing, he tugs at the locked door as he feels blood trickling from his knee inside his trousers.

An illuminated sign bearing the number 1B is glowing dull yellow from the entrance.

Reidar bangs on the door as hard as he can, and eventually the window alongside creaks as someone pushes it open.

‘What are you up to?’ a bald old man asks through the gap.

‘Open the door,’ Reidar gasps. ‘My daughter’s in here...’

‘Oh,’ the old man says, then closes the window.

Reidar starts banging on the door again and after a while the lock begins to turn. Reidar yanks the door open, marches in and shouts into the stairwell:

‘Felicia! Felicia!’

The old man looks scared and backs away towards his door, and Reidar follows him.

‘Who are you?’ he asks. ‘Was it you who wrote the letter?’

‘I’m just—’

Reidar forces his way past the man and marches straight into his flat. On the left is a cramped kitchen with a table and one chair. The man remains standing in the doorway as Reidar walks into the next room. In front of a red sofa covered in blankets is a television on legs. Reidar’s feet leave wet marks on the linoleum floor. He pulls the wardrobe open and hunts through the clothes hanging inside it.

‘Felicia!’ Reidar yells, looking in the bathroom.

The old man steps out into the stairwell when he sees Reidar coming.

‘Unlock the basement!’

‘No, I—’

Reidar follows him. His eyes are darting about the walls, doors, and the worn stone steps leading down.

‘Open it!’ Reidar shouts, grabbing the man’s tanktop.

‘Please,’ the man begs, pulling the keys from his trouser pocket.

Reidar snatches the keys and runs down the steps, weeping as he opens the steel door and rushes in amongst the storage compartments.

‘Felicia!’ he cries.

He’s coughing as he walks round the chicken-wire walls, calling for his daughter, but there’s no one there and he runs back upstairs again. His chest is starting to hurt, but he carries on to the next floor and kicks on the door. He opens the letterbox and calls for Felicia, then goes up to the next floor and rings on the door. The building smells of damp and rotten wood.

Sweat is pouring down his back and he’s starting to have trouble breathing.

A young woman with her hair dyed red opens the door and Reidar forces his way past her without saying anything.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ she yells.

‘Felicia!’

A man in a leather waistcoat and long black hair stops Reidar and shoves him backwards. Reidar sticks out an arm and manages to pull a calendar onto the floor. He tries to get past the man again, but is struck so hard he stumbles back, tripping over shoes and junk mail and falls to the floor. He hits the back of his head on the doorstep, loses consciousness for a few moments, then rolls onto his side as he hears the woman shouting that they need to call the police.

Reidar stands up and comes close to falling again, pulling a coat down off its hanger and muttering an apology as he turns back towards the flat.

‘I have to get in,’ he says, wiping blood from his mouth.

The man with long black hair is holding a hockey stick in both hands and is glaring at him intently.

‘Felicia,’ Reidar whispers, feeling tears pricking his eyes.

‘I’ve got her, but I don’t think she’s very well,’ a woman says behind his back.

Reidar turns to see an old woman in a blonde wig with bright red lips. She’s standing on the dimly lit staircase, a couple of steps down, cradling a striped cat in her arms.

‘What did you say?’ he gasps.

‘You were calling for Felicia,’ she smiles.

‘My daughter...’

‘She was stealing food from me.’

He walks towards the woman on the stairs. She’s frowning and holding the cat out in front of her. Now he can see that the cat’s neck is broken.

‘Felicia,’ the woman said. ‘She was in the flat when I moved in, and I’ve been looking after her and—’

‘The cat?’

‘It says Felicia on the collar...’