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Back Cabin Fever Save as PDF
Chapters (92)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Alex Dahl
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Contents
  7. Epigraph
  8. Prologue
  9. Part I
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. 18
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. 24
  34. 25
  35. 26
  36. 27
  37. 28
  38. 29
  39. 30
  40. 31
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. Part II
  55. 45
  56. 46
  57. 47
  58. 48
  59. 49
  60. 50
  61. 51
  62. 52
  63. 53
  64. 54
  65. 55
  66. 56
  67. 57
  68. 58
  69. 59
  70. 60
  71. Part III
  72. 61
  73. 62
  74. 63
  75. 64
  76. 65
  77. 66
  78. 67
  79. 68
  80. 69
  81. 70
  82. 71
  83. 72
  84. 73
  85. 74
  86. 75
  87. 76
  88. Epilogue
  89. Five months later
  90. Acknowledgements
  91. About the Author
  92. An Invitation from the Publisher

There was a day I remember later that spring when I felt particularly unhinged. I already lived for Fridays by then, but it was increasingly obvious that one hour a week just wasn’t enough. I wanted more. It was midweek, and like I had started to do on a few occasions, I made my way over to Kaffebrenneriet when I took a break for lunch. I stood outside your office for a while, feeling numb with jealousy at the thought of someone else up there with you, bathing in your irresistibly soothing presence. I wished I could go up there and shove that person out of the door so I could sit across from you. Standing there, I felt tinged with bitterness – the more I knew about you, and the more I saw, the more I wanted. It’s normal to get attached to your therapist; I’ve read all about it. But I knew that what I was doing wasn’t normal. I knew it, but I couldn’t stop.

I went across the street and bought a coffee. I sat in the window seat and waited for you to appear. I’d learned by then that you finish at four on Wednesdays. Four o’clock came and went and you didn’t appear. Maybe a client had canceled and you’d left early and I’d missed you. I could have screamed. All I wanted was a quick glimpse. But in that moment, I had an idea. I would try to find out why you kept going to Rosenborggata, it would be like uncovering a mystery. And I would go to your house.

35

Kristina

My blood runs cold at Leah’s mention of my house. My home is my sanctuary, the physical container for my life, the hub of my marriage. To think that she repeatedly followed me on Fridays to Rosenborggata, observing me as I weighed up whether or not I could face going up that day, is bad enough. The idea that she could have gone to my home is unthinkable, that she might have stood in my living space among my personal photographs and possessions, drinking them in and storing them in her illicit bank of information about me.

My head is throbbing and my stomach feels liquid and strange. I have to fight the urge to just flee from this disturbing place and Leah’s increasingly insane narrative, but the need to read just one more section is too powerful. I have to know what she’s done. And what she knows.

36

Supernova