Could he be the murderer?
Saga apologises and pushes her way back through the crowd, slings her bag over her shoulder and walks out of the departure hall.
The man behind the counter at the car-rental firm looks oddly hopeful when he sees her come back in.
‘Not a chance,’ she says before he has a chance to open his mouth.
She rents a Ford Mustang, like last time, and starts to drive back to the treatment centre.
Chicago’s suburbs are laid bare in the grey light.
The gates of Timberline Knolls are open and Saga drives straight past the security lodge and pulls up in the visitors’ car park.
She bypasses reception and half-runs between the main buildings, cutting across the grass lawn she crept across in the darkness not all that long ago, to get to Grace’s building.
She opens the door and walks straight through the cafeteria, where a few patients are having lunch, knocks on Grace’s door, and walks in without waiting to be asked.
Grace is sitting with her back to the door, just like last time, staring out at the beautiful rhododendron bush behind the building.
The white pill bottle is on the floor by the woman’s feet.
‘Grace,’ she says gently.
The woman’s breath forms a patch of mist on the glass, and she wipes it off with her finger before breathing on the window again.
‘Can we talk?’ Saga says as she comes closer.
‘I’m not feeling very well today,’ Grace says, and slowly turns around. ‘I think I’ve taken three, I should probably get some sleep …’
‘Is three pills too many?’ Saga asks.
‘Yes,’ the slender woman says.
‘Then I’ll call for a doctor.’
‘No, they just make me tired, that’s all,’ she mumbles.
Grace opens her thin hand to reveal more of the pink capsules, then picks one up and raises it towards her mouth before Saga gently stops her.
‘That’s probably enough now,’ she says.
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t want to upset you,’ Saga says. ‘But when I was here last time, you told me about the Rabbit Hole, and what the boys did to you.’
‘Yes,’ Grace says in a low voice.
‘Did anything else happen in the Rabbit Hole?’
‘They hit me, I fainted several times, and …’
Grace falls silent and starts to pick at the buttons of her cardigan with trembling fingers.
‘You fainted, but you’re still sure that all the boys took part in the rape?’
She nods, then puts her hand to her mouth as if she’s about to throw up.
‘Shall I call for help?’ Saga asks.
‘Sometimes I take five pills,’ Grace replies.
She looks at the window and runs her finger through the condensation, making a squeaking sound. Saga sees a couple of women in nurses’ uniforms approach along the path from the right.
‘Grace? You say you’re sure they all joined in, but …’
‘I remember everything,’ the woman says with a smile. ‘Every little mote of dust in the air …’
‘Do you remember Rex?’
‘He was the worst,’ Grace replies, and looks at her through half-closed eyes.
‘You’re sure? You saw him?’
‘He’s the reason I ended up there. I trusted him, but he …’
Grace rests her cheek against the wall, closes her eyes and lets out a silent burp.
‘Did he go with you to the clubhouse?’
‘No, they said he would be coming later.’
‘And did he?’
‘Have you smelled the stench that comes from a rabbit hole?’ Grace asks, gets up and walks over to the armchair. ‘It’s only a tiny opening in the ground, but down below there’s a whole labyrinth of dark passageways.’
‘But you didn’t see Rex, did you?’ Saga asks patiently.
‘They kept pulling at me, none of them wanted to wait … they were growling, all dressed up with big white ears …’
She rests her hands on the back of the armchair and rocks forward – it looks like she’s nodded off in the middle of a thought.
‘You wouldn’t rather lie down on the bed?’
‘No, it’s OK, it’s just the pills.’
She slowly tries to settle down on the armchair, but when there’s not enough room for her to curl up she gets to her feet again.
Saga can hear knocking and cheery voices, and realises that medical rounds are underway.
‘Grace, what I’m trying to say is that memory is a complicated thing. Sometimes we think we remember things because we keep repeating them to ourselves. What would you say if I told you Rex wasn’t there, because—’
‘He was there,’ Grace interrupts, one hand fumbling across her neck. ‘I saw … I saw at once that they had the same eyes.’
‘The same eyes?’
‘Yes.’
‘You had a child,’ Saga whispers, and a shiver runs down her spine when she realises that the child is the unknown factor that Joona had been talking about.
‘I had a child,’ Grace repeats quietly.
‘And you think that Rex is the father?’ Saga asks, shaking her head.
‘I know he is,’ she replies, brushing away a tear. ‘But I didn’t tell Mum and Dad … I spent three weeks in the hospital, and said I’d been hit by a truck, and that all I wanted was to come back to Chicago …’
She wobbles again and puts her hand to her mouth.
‘I … I should probably lie down,’ she whispers to herself.
‘I’ll help you,’ Saga says, guiding her slowly across the floor.
‘Thanks,’ she says, and sinks onto the bed, lies down on her side and closes her eyes.
‘Did you give birth alone?’
‘When I realised it was time, I went out to the barn so I didn’t make a mess,’ she says, blinking tiredly. ‘They say I became psychotic, but to me it was reality … I hid myself away in order to survive.’
‘And the child?’
‘Mum and Dad used to come some weekends, and when they did he would have to take care of himself, I used to hide him in a cot … because I had to be indoors, sit at the table, sleep in my bed.’
Grace reaches to open the drawer in the bedside table. She puts her hand in and closes her eyes for a few moments, gathering her strength before pulling out a framed photograph and handing it to Saga.
In the picture a young man with a shaved head is squinting at the camera. He’s wearing sand-coloured combat fatigues, and a bulletproof vest and is holding an MK12 by his side.
He’s the unknown factor in the rape.
The man in the picture has burned his cheeks and nose in the sun.
On his shoulder is an oval black and yellow badge, bearing an eagle, an anchor, a trident, a flintlock pistol, and the words ‘Seal Team Three’.
The Seals.
‘Is this your son?’
‘Jordan,’ she whispers with her eyes closed.
‘Does Rex know about him?’
‘What?’ Grace gasps, and tries to sit up.
‘Does he know you gave birth to a child, and that he’s the father?’
‘No, he must never know,’ she says, and her mouth and chin start to tremble so much that she has trouble speaking. ‘He has nothing to do with Jordan. He raped me, that’s all. He must never meet Jordan, he must never look at him … that would be awful …’
She sinks back onto the bed, puts both hands over her face, shakes her head and then lies still.
‘But what if he wasn’t there?’ Saga starts to say, but breaks off when she realises that Grace is asleep.
Saga tries to wake her, but it’s impossible. She sits down on the edge of the bed, checks her pulse, and listens to her regular breathing.
105
DJ sits down heavily in one of the armchairs in the foyer and leans back against the headrest. The rain is drumming on the windows and roof. On the table in front of him lie three of the five hunting rifles.
His heart is beating far too fast and his body is twitching spasmodically. His neck tenses, as if someone were holding it tightly. His narcolepsy threatens to overwhelm him.
He’s destroyed all the phones, the wireless router and every computer in the hotel.
He’s trying to think strategically, keeps asking himself if there are any other preparations he needs to make, but his thoughts devolve into peculiar fantasies each time.
DJ was planning on finishing them all off inside the enclosure, but only managed to get rid of one of them because of the storm.