I screwed my eyes shut against the sunlight that slashed in through the green curtains; their pattern was strange and unfamiliar. The sickly scent of stale sweat and the heavy, cloying odour of animalistic musk hung in the air, coating my nostrils.
The room tilted violently beneath me as I tried to move. Bile rose in my throat, burning hot and acidic. Taking a heavy gulp, I forced it back down and kicked off the heavy, suffocating duvet from around me.
A pitiful groan escaped my lips.
The inside of my head was a drum. Every heartbeat landed like a hammer blow behind my eye sockets. My limbs throbbed; each movement brought a fresh wave of pain surging through cramping, tired muscles and protesting joints.
“Good morning, how are you feeling?” A deep, husky voice rumbled from the pillow beside me.
My breath hitched coldly; my body turned to ice. I was suddenly, acutely aware of the warm body pressed up against the bare skin of my back. Of the weight of the arm that was wrapped around my waist and the thick leg that hooked over my hip.
Another groan slipped out of my mouth, more pathetic than the first. The hazy, jagged memories from the previous night began to slot together.
“Johannes…” I murmured weakly. My voice was raw, scraping against my parched throat like sandpaper.
Behind me, the body quivered with a soft, low laugh. A shiver raced down my spine as his fingers began to drag, slowly and deliberately, along my collarbone.
“How are you feeling this morning? It was a wild one last night,” the deep, rasping voice said, the back of his fingers now dragging a slow path across my chest.
I forced myself to sit up; the room pitched violently around me. My stomach churned as my hand clutched my middle tightly. Stomach acid burned my throat once again as I waited for the walls to come to a halt.
“I’m sorry, I really have to go.” I murmured.
Throwing off the duvet, I stood, my legs shaking as I grabbed the side of the bed for support. Goosebumps pricked my skin. I could feel the weight of his eyes crawling over my skin, roving across every centimetre of my naked body.
I scrambled to collect my clothes from the floor, my underwear, the ripped jeans, the Bon Jovi t-shirt. Bundling them up, I clutched them tightly to my chest like a shield.
“Come on, Heidi. Why don’t I at least fix you a cup of coffee and perhaps some breakfast before you run out on me?” Johannes said.
Glancing back, this wasn’t the man I remembered from the club. He had the same dark hair, the same square jaw. But eyes that had twitched and darted now looked straight at me, dark and impenetrable. Shoulders that had been slumped were set firm against the headboard. His mouth spread into a smile as our eyes met, the faintest trace of lines spreading out from their corners.
The room swam around me again. I was going to need that coffee if I was to make it to the door.
“Thank you.” I whispered, “Coffee would be good.”
“Get yourself a shower and come and find me in the kitchen when you’re done.” His smile widened as he spoke, but it never reached the darkness of those eyes.
The flat was a claustrophobic tangle of cramped, cluttered rooms. A single bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen-diner.
In the grey, damp smelling bathroom, a weak stream of tepid water dribbled over my shoulders and gurgled down the plughole. I scrubbed at myself with a coarse sponge, desperate to cleanse the odour of cheap aftershave and cigarette smoke from my skin.
I dried myself quickly, hurriedly dressed, and stepped into the kitchen.
It was a small, dimly lit room. The only source of light struggled in through a small, grime-streaked window on the opposite wall. Grey and white patterned paper peeled from the walls, and a coarse brown carpet that looked like it hadn’t been hoovered in years covered the floor.
Johannes stood beside the sink, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts.
“Here,” he said, sliding a steaming mug towards me. “There’s some rye bread and salami. And painkillers are in the top cupboard, if you need them.”
Painkillers!
The cupboard was surprisingly neat, with a half-empty bottle of paracetamol tucked beside a green first-aid kit, a brown bottle of cough mixture, and a couple of small metal canisters, asthma inhaler refills.
Flicking the plastic cap open with my thumbnail, I tipped two round, white tablets into my palm. Throwing my head back, I gulped them down quickly with a mouthful of bitter, over-steeped coffee. The acrid, burnt taste lingered in my mouth with a metallic twang.
By the time I had finished off a couple of slices of rye bread and salami, I could feel the paracetamol beginning to work its magic. My body was feeling lighter again. The pounding in my head had eased to a manageable dull ache.
Turning to leave, my eyes snagged on a large photo hanging above the worn leather couch. A wedding photo! Johannes looking sharp in a dark suit, his arm wrapped around the waist of a blonde woman bathed in a white lace dress.
I froze, my blood running cold. My gaze snapped to his left hand. There, glinting in the dim light, was a thin band of gold.
“You’re married?”
Johannes didn’t even look up. He just turned the page of his newspaper with a rustle. “Yeah, she’s in Trondheim. Her mother’s sick and I’m not expecting her back for a couple of weeks.”
“But last night… you said that you’d been stood up?” My shrill voice stuck in my throat.
He let out a casual, dismissive huff. “Yeah, I hooked up with some girl last week. I’ve had her back here a few times. She didn’t show last night, but luckily you did. Don’t play the victim with me now, Heidi. We both got what we wanted last night.”
****
The watery sun did little to warm my skin as I stepped out onto the street. A damp, white mist hung low over a wide, open expanse of white, glinting, frost covered grass and swallowed the distant trees. I turned in a slow circle, my eyes scanning the frozen park in front of me and the grey blocks of flats looming up behind. Torshovdalen! The park’s name finally clicked in my head.
I walked, my feet dragging on the frozen ground until I found a wooden bench. Collapsing onto its seat, the icy covered slats bit at me through my jeans. Thrusting my hands into my pockets, I pulled my knees tightly to my chest.
The world was silent; the park was desolate and abandoned.
The exhilaration of the previous night was gone, replaced with an empty, hollow ache that filled every corner of my soul. Had Johannes ever really been a victory? Had I ever really been in control? Or had I just been a convenient plaything for a bored, married man, now rejected and discarded?
I had thought myself a lioness, but Johannes was the viper.
Of all my talk of the ‘new Heidi’, it felt like nothing more than an empty lie.
I was alone.
Memories flickered through my mind, snippets of drunken conversations.
“Who?” the barmaid had said in a dull, bored tone when I had asked about my dad. “Oh, the skier they found dead out by the lake?”
People didn’t care. They had forgotten, moved on as if the news was nothing more than a minor traffic delay!
Dad had been strangled to death! Mum was still missing! How could these people not care? Didn’t anyone want to know the truth?
My jaw clenched as I sucked in a shuddering breath that burnt my chest.
A random hijacking? It made no sense.
There had to be more to it. But what else could it be? Dad had been popular. He wasn’t the sort of person to have enemies.
There had to be something that the police had missed. A note, a letter or a photo perhaps, anything that might explain what had happened. If Lela wasn’t going to help me, I’d find it myself.
Forty minutes on public transport to get home. First spent with the smooth, lazy hum of one of the new, light blue trams, then a clattering ride on an old, red metro train towards the small Besserud station. From the station, a narrow, winding road climbed the hill to my house.
It was a strange feeling walking up the winding road to my house. It was a walk that I had done countless times. It was familiar. Even now, after all these years, I can still sit here, close my eyes and describe every tiny detail. Back then, after the horrors of the basement, the familiarity was a comfort, one of the few safeties that I felt on that day. But even here, time had marched on relentlessly without me. A garden gate, once red, had been repainted a jarring blue. A new car sat in the driveway of a house on the corner, a gap in the hedge where a gnarled old apple tree had been cut down.
Setting my eyes on the road ahead, I quickened my pace. There was no point in looking backwards, I had to keep going forward.
Stepping up to my red painted door, the key turned in the lock with a crisp click. My hand closed around the cold brass doorknob.
What was I looking for? I had no idea, but there had to be something here.
Anything to fill in the gaps in my mind and bring sense to the situation.
I headed straight for the kitchen, across the floor to the table littered with papers and magazines. That had been where I’d found the newspaper; perhaps there would be other things buried there. Letters or notes, perhaps?
Grabbing the coarse, rough fabric of Lars’ duffle bag, I heaved it, hurling it to the floor. It landed with a clatter. Splitting open, its contents spilt onto the ground. A red plastic bowl rolled away with a dry, hollow scuttle across the hard tiles. Losing its momentum, it slowed to a rhythmic tap, tap, tap, wobbling on its rim.
My heart twisted, a sharp, icy grip snatching it. The dry rustle of laughter rose up, vibrating from within my skull.
“No!” A defiant scream tore from my throat that drowned out the voice that frantically called out to me from the depths of my mind.
It was just one of Bella’s bowls. Nothing but a piece of red plastic, it didn’t matter. The past was gone; it was time to move forward.
My hands gripped the tabletop tightly, nails sunk into the wooden surface.
There had to be something here!
My breath hitching, my chest constricting into a hard knot as I scanned over the table. There was nothing here of any use.
Grabbing at the papers frantically, I flung them aside. Pages ripped and covers tore away, tumbling to the floor like dead leaves. It was junk, all of it. Nothing but Lars’ useless clutter.
I snatched up the newspaper again. It was the only thing on that table of even the slightest value. I searched over the article again and again. There had to be something there, something that I had missed.
It flashed before my eyes. A vision of Dad’s red Mustang hurtling along the Holmenkollveien. The deep roar of the engine boomed in my ears; the sharp smell of exhaust fumes hung in the air. The road was busy, a thriving highway in and out of Oslo. How is it possible to hijack a car on that road without a single witness?
The smell shifted, sharper, thicker. The stench of burning rubber and melting plastic. The Mustang was a blackened wreck. It’s red paint, charred and blistering, orange flames still licking out of the windows. Glass shattered in the heat. Around me the trees of the northern forest rose darkly. Miles from the highway, miles from where Dad’s body had been dumped.
None of it lined up.
Suddenly, it was Mum’s face that flashed before my eyes. Her long blonde hair, the loving smile that could brighten any room. Where was she? Could she still be alive somewhere?
My arms wrapped around myself as an icy shiver crashed over my body. The room around me grew dark, the shadows reaching in towards me.
Mum’s smiling face twisted in agony, a silent scream that I couldn’t hear. My eyes slammed shut, my head shook from side to side, but the haunting image wouldn’t leave me.
She was naked, battered and bruised. Her eyes were glazed and distant, her knees pulled to her chest as she cowered in the damp corner of some dark and forgotten basement.
The image struck me like a punch to the gut. I doubled over; the breath freezing in my chest. Through short, sharp pants I struggled for air, desperate to relieve lungs that burnt with fire. My heart pounded in my ears, thumping out a chaotic rhythm. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead; it ran like droplets of ice down my back and chest.
My knees buckled. I hit the cold, hard floor with a thud.
My eyes blurred; her name was a constant babble on my lips.
“Mum…”