“I’m going now,” she said.

“Do you really have to? You could sleep over.”

But Jeanette shook her head and began to go down the stairs.

“I’ll walk you home,” Kerstin said.

“No, you won’t. Don’t be so bloody clingy.”

That hurt. Wounded her. Clingy—that wasn’t a good thing to be. Almost anything was better than that.

“Okay,” said Kerstin, swallowing hard. “Take care of yourself, sweetheart. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jeanette raised her hand without looking her in the eye and vanished round the corner as she went down the stairs. Kerstin continued to stand there until she heard the street door slam.

67. Sandra

67

Sandra

MANY HOURS LATER, when darkness descended on the town and those activities that didn’t stop altogether took on more cautious and low-key modes of expression, she found herself sitting in the darkened hospital room with Erik’s hand held in hers. They were alone together for the first time, and he was sleeping deeply and peacefully while a solution of nutrients and antibiotics was fed straight into his small body through an insertion in the crook of his arm.

Everything was going to be okay. They had promised her that: there were no physical injuries, the malnutrition would soon be dealt with, and any infections had been nipped in the bud. He was warm and safe, no longer subject to thirst or hunger. He would see a psychologist, but given his young age, poor grasp of time, and the diffuse memories he had expressed, the whole thing would hopefully vanish into a blurry haze. He had woken up from a nightmare, but so long as no one dug too deeply and reinforced those impressions, he would forget about it all soon enough.

All Erik could remember was that he had been sitting in a cold and dark room, that he had been hungry and so thirsty that he’d had to drink the dirty water from puddles on the ground. Nothing about being abducted, nothing about his rescue. There was nothing but darkness, thirst, and hunger to build his nightmares around, and who didn’t have nightmares about darkness? Thirst and hunger were passing feelings, acute needs in the moment, but hard to relate to when not being experienced. The horrifying nights and days would shrink in his consciousness, seem unreal, and be forgotten. That could only be good for his mental well-being in the future, even if it was a little strange that he didn’t remember being separated from his kindergarten group and then being transported somehow from the woods at Furulundsskogen. Had he been drugged? Surely he had to have been—who would have been able to trick him into coming with them otherwise without him remembering it?