They were in some sort of cellar. Usually it did service as an isolation cell. They were put there if they had failed some exercise or command, if they didn’t finish their food or hadn’t shown enough endurance when running. Sometimes simply because the older ones felt like it.
She had been locked up in there twice before. The first time she had misunderstood the routines and had gone to the toilet without permission. She was locked up in the room with no light for three days and was forced to defecate on the floor. The stench was as bad as in the container. That seemed to be the only thing she still remembered from the journey with her mother and father. The memory of them faded with every day that passed. But using a stone, she had carved their faces on the wall next to her bed. Hidden behind a small cupboard so no one else could see—but every evening she pushed the cupboard to one side and said good-night to her parents.
The second time the girl had been forced down into the isolation cell was when she had picked at the carvings on her neck. The man with the ugly scar had found the bloodstains on her sleeve and pulled her by her hair across the yard. Five days, that was how long she had to stay there that time. The first day she slept almost the entire time. The second day she thought about trying to escape; and the third day she had trained herself how to kick hard and attack with a knife. She had found a little piece of wood on the floor and used it as a knife. On the last two days she explored the room in all its darkness. She rarely left the rooms in which they trained so being down in the cellar was both unpleasant and exciting. In her curiosity she examined every object she could find. She particularly liked the old workbench that stretched along one wall, with its tin cans of paint and various plastic containers. The girl examined them all as best she could in the dim light. On the second wall were two shelves with cardboard boxes and newspapers. A rusty bicycle stood leaning against the wall under the stairs and a brown suitcase stood in front of that. An old door was propped up against the stair railing, with a stool next to it. The girl noted that nobody had moved anything since she had been there.
“It’s time,” said the man with the ugly scar and gave her a gun. “Now is the time for you to prove to me that you deserve to be my daughter. The target is not the usual one.”
The man nodded to the woman who was standing against the wall on the top stair. She opened the door and let Minos in. He slowly walked down the steps and tried to accustom his eyes to the dark.
“This is your new target,” the man said to her.
When Minos heard those words, he stopped short on the stairs. In that same instant he forgot everything he had learned. Panic took over, and he tried to dart back up toward the door. But the woman who stood there pulled out her gun, pointed it at his head and forced him down the steps again.
Minos begged for mercy.
He threw himself at the man’s feet and screamed.
The man kicked him away. “You’re a loser. If you had done as you’d been told, you would be standing here instead of Ker. It is only the strongest who survives, and she is one of them.”
Minos’s eyes rolled with fright. He was kneeling now on his bare knees and shaking.
The man went up to the girl and grabbed her hair and forced her head back. He pulled hard to show that he was serious, and looked her straight in the eye.
“Soon you’ll be in complete darkness. So you will have to make use of your other senses. Do you understand?”
She understood. Her heart started pounding.
“Make me proud!” the man whispered.
The stairs creaked as the man and the woman climbed back up and left the cellar. When the door was shut, the girl held the gun tightly and immediately raised it.
The dark surrounded her. She didn’t like it and her breathing became rapid. She wanted to scream but knew an echo would be the only reply. An empty echo. Her heart was thumping and the darkness began to voluntarily release its hold.
Now she heard Minos as he bumped into the bicycle. She assumed he had crawled in under the stairs. She tried to calm herself. Breathe deeply. She could manage this; she would conquer the darkness. She gained control of her breathing, inhaling slowly and deeply and exhaling through her nose. She concentrated and listened. Silence. Numbing silence.
The girl took one step forward, stopped and listened again. Then another step, and then one more. After three more steps she knew she would reach the staircase and would have to step to the side to get past them and reach the area where Minos was.
She stretched out her hand to feel the staircase railing and counted the steps in her head: One, two, three. Now she felt the cracked railing in her hand. After three more steps, she let go of the wooden rail and blindly felt for something with her hand in front of her. With her next step, she kicked the suitcase on the floor; the sound gave her a start. At the same time she heard Milos crawling up through the space near her. Pointing the gun in front of her, she followed his sound from right to left. But it disappeared just as quietly as it had come. The movement had made her breathe faster, and she closed her mouth again so she could listen. Where was he now? She slowly turned her head so that she could hear her target. She searched her memory. Could he be sitting under the workbench?
Or next to the shelves?
She stayed where she was, silent and not moving. Waited for a signal, a breath or a sense of movement from him. But all she could hear was silence.
She knew there was a risk she would be ambushed.
Perhaps Minos was already standing behind her back?
That thought made her turn around. Her brow became sweaty and her damp hands warmed the steel. She must do something. Couldn’t just stand there waiting for him.
The earth floor was uneven and she put one foot forward to keep her balance. Let the other foot follow after.
Then she stood completely still again. Hesitating. One more step forward, then another. She turned to the right and the left, all the while with the gun pointing forwards. Her senses worked hard to compensate for her eyes.
She stretched out one hand in a sweeping movement and felt the hard surface of the bench. She knew it was two meters long and she felt her way alongside it with her hand. When she reached the end, she stopped.
Then she finally heard it.
A breath.
The signal.
She reacted instinctively and pointed the gun in the direction of the sound. And then she was hit by a hard blow across her arm. She lost her balance and concentration. A second blow was more painful, straight to her head, and she put up her arms to shield herself. She mustn’t drop the gun.
Minos was close, dangerously close. His anger was dreadful. He hit out again. And again. The girl tried to keep her footing, to focus. When Minos tensed up for a final blow, she reacted. She threw a punch in the dark, and hit her mark. Minos grunted.
She hit out again. This time with the gun. The third time she hit his forehead and heard the heavy thud as he fell to the ground.
She put both hands on the gun and pointed it down to the floor.
Minos was whining. His voice felt cold as metal and cut like a knife through the darkness.
A sense of calm immediately settled over her. She felt strong, with a greater presence than ever. She was no longer afraid of the dark.
“Don’t do it,” said Minos. “Please, don’t do it. I’m your friend.”
“But I’m not yours,” said the girl and fired the gun.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
WHEN ERIK NORDLUND went in through the main door to the police station, he hoped the meeting would take about ten minutes at most.
In the reception area he met with a whole crowd of people. Most of them were applying for passports.
The uniformed woman behind the counter recorded his name, picked up a phone and called Henrik Levin.
Within one minute, Henrik was down in reception.
“Detective Chief Inspector Henrik Levin. Hello. Thank you for coming.”
They shook hands and took the elevator up to the third floor, walked down a corridor and into the office.
“Coffee?”
“Yes, that would be nice.”
“Milk, sugar?”
“Sugar.”