I can slit my wrists, she reflects. Or my throat. The thought is unexpectedly reassuring; she lets out a sob of relief. Suddenly, she can breathe again. Knowing that she has a means of escape is enough to make her heart stop racing. There’s a way out. Not a tunnel entrance in the woods, but still, a way out. It’ll be quick, she tells herself and closes her eyes so she won’t have to look at the darkness. Then, only my body will be stuck in this hell.

I’ll be free.

And from somewhere inside her, she hears her mother’s voice: You go wherever you want, but I plan on being buried in Langevik, and feels the faint caress of a breeze against her cheek. Mum . . .

Karen smiles and lets her head fall back against the stone wall.

Then it sinks in.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she opens her eyes and turns her head to the side. You must have imagined it, she berates herself, don’t start to hope again. It’s almost over, it’s going to be quick.

Then she feels it again, a faint draught against her face.

She gets up too quickly and lets out a yelp of pain when she inadvertently puts her full weight on her bad knee. Pain and hypotension makes her so unsteady she has to lean against the wall. Did she imagine it? Now that she’s standing up, she can’t feel anything. Desperately, she fumbles around the waistband of her jeans, but finding only greasy lumps of wax and exposed wicks she realises her fall must have broken the candles. Determined, she digs deeper and suddenly her fingers find something. She carefully pulls out an unbroken piece of candle about the length of her finger, gets out the lighter and watches as the flame catches. Then she defies the pain and sinks into a deep squat.

A moment later, the incontrovertible proof draws a strange sound from her throat. The flame is bending toward her and she can feel the draught on her face again.

Somewhere up ahead there’s an exit.

Chapter 80

80

‘OK, I’ll be right there. Make sure you call a doctor, too,’ Karl shouts at Thorstein Byle before throwing the phone down on the passenger seat.

The tyres spin in the snow when he roars off toward the police station. The relief of knowing Karen has been found mingles with a sudden surge of irrational anger. How dare she fucking do something like this?

*

Eight minutes later, Karl Björken stares uncomprehendingly at the woman in front of him. She is sitting with her head bowed on one of the sofas in the waiting room and her long dark hair is hiding her face. Karen’s coat, Karen’s hat and scarf, and yet one look is enough. This is not Karen.

It takes him another ten seconds to put his finger on where he has seen her before.