Fog Island: A terrifying thriller set in a modern-day cult. Mariette Lindstein

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СКАЧАТЬ echoed through the empty building: ‘Come up to Franz’s office. Immediately!’

      The message sounded rushed and urgent as usual, but Sofia had learned to take Madeleine with a grain of salt. Nothing was ever as serious as Madeleine made it out to be.

      She pulled on her boots and winter coat. As she walked up the shovelled path to the manor house she dragged her feet, mostly just to annoy Madeleine in case she could see her from the window. The snow crunched under her boots. The sky was clear and starry; there was a full moon. The cold, crisp air carried the scent of smoke from the fireplaces in the living quarters. Other glorious smells came from the dining room: freshly baked bread, glögg, and roasting ham.

      When she knocked at Oswald’s office door, Madeleine came out with a fretful expression and put a finger to her lips. Sofia could see Oswald on the phone inside.

      ‘What took you so long?’ Madeleine hissed.

      Sofia didn’t have time to respond. Oswald had just hung up the phone and was waving her in.

      No Christmas decorations in his office. Not even a single Advent light or paper star lantern. Everything was bare and white, and, in Sofia’s opinion, just plain boring.

      ‘Come in, Sofia, have a seat.’

      She sat down in front of him. He looked at her and nodded as if she had said something. She had come to understand that this implied some sort of approval. Sofia had been one of Oswald’s favourites since the fire. She could tell because he would come and talk to her now and again after assembly. There were some staff members he didn’t pay any attention to at all. He would even turn his back on certain staff if they tried to approach him.

      ‘So here’s the deal — I have to go away for a few days and I would have loved to take a look at your plans for the library before I go, but I don’t have much time,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back on December twenty-second. I was thinking we could devote the twenty-third to your presentation, and perhaps even the morning of Christmas Eve day, if we need it. That would work out very well for me. I heard you’ve got plans to go home and wonder if you can shift things around a little.’

      The gears in her mind began to turn at crazy speeds. Images of her parents alone at Christmas dinner. The days she’d promised to spend with Wilma. Working on Christmas Eve! She had the uneasy sense that he was controlling her life. That this wasn’t a suggestion but an order.

      Before she could open her mouth, he went on.

      ‘We’re going to have a very special guest here this spring, a journalist named Magnus Strid. With any luck he’ll write good things about us, so I’d very much like to have the library ready so he can make use of it.’

      ‘But — this spring! Isn’t that pretty far off?’ It just slipped out of her.

      ‘I’m a perfectionist, Sofia. I want to give myself plenty of time.’

      A small wrinkle had appeared on his forehead. He was annoyed.

      There went her Christmas plans. She hurried to respond, to make him understand that she could withstand a little pressure.

      ‘Okay then. The twenty-third.’

      ‘Great, Sofia. I look forward to your presentation.’

       *

      She worked just about around the clock until the morning before Christmas Eve day. He’d said he was a perfectionist, so she would live up to his demands. Everything would be better than he could possibly imagine. She was ready with a PowerPoint presentation full of images and summaries, finances laid out in clear numbers, a list with the price of each book, a demonstration of the computer system, and even samples of the fabric for the furniture. She spent the entire night before working, testing everything, practising her speech over and over.

      After three cups of coffee in the morning, and with adrenaline pumping through her veins, she opened the door for him.

      He had dragged along half the staff. Madeleine, of course, but also Bosse, Sten and Benny, some random people from the various units, and even Benjamin, who looked a little self-conscious as he stepped in. She wondered why everyone was there, and nervousness began to radiate from her stomach throughout her body until sweat broke out on her palms and forehead. She hoped no one would notice as she wiped her forehead with her sleeve.

      There weren’t enough chairs for everyone, but Oswald sat down in the visitor’s chair and everyone else gathered behind him. They just stood there staring at her. It was so quiet she could hear the wind blowing outside.

      She tested the screen again, cleared her throat, and wondered if she was about to start stuttering or become tongue-tied. But when she began to speak, her voice carried after all.

      Oswald didn’t say a word during her presentation, didn’t ask a single question or make even a tiny sound. Now and then he gazed out the window, away from the screen, at nothing. The more she explained, the more disinterested he seemed. The room was still perfectly quiet.

      When she was finished, everyone held their breath. They were waiting for the final judgment. It seemed to her that it couldn’t possibly be good news, because when she tried to make eye contact he looked away. She had no idea what she was expected to do. She added that there was also a list of all the books, but Oswald put up his hand to stop her.

      ‘I’ll deal with the list later, Sofia.’

      She looked at him in surprise.

      ‘I knew right away that I would approve your plan. That was a professional presentation. Well thought-out. Good job, Sofia. I’d love to take the list with me so I can read it tomorrow.’ He turned to Madeleine. ‘See to it that she gets everything she needs — money, transportation, the whole lot.’

      Sofia looked around. Benjamin looked relieved, but the others . . . perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought they looked a little disappointed.

      After a while, Benjamin returned and stuck his head through the door.

      ‘Great job!’ he said. ‘You sure know how to butter up Franz.’

      ‘No way. I just put a lot of work in, that’s all.’

      He stepped in, his boots still on. She barely had time to stop him from messing up her freshly-polished floor.

      ‘There’s an organic Christmas smorgasbord in the dining room,’ he said. ‘I came to get you.’

      ‘I’m coming.’

      As he helped her put on her coat, he brushed her hair aside and blew on the back of her neck.

      ‘You’ll be the great heroine here for a while,’ he said. ‘But there will definitely be some folks who are jealous, remember that.’

      ‘Who do you mean?’

      ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’

      ‘Tell me!’

      ‘Just the girls. No one in particular.’

      As they came out to the yard she looked up at the attic again. It was midday, and yet a light was on up in the window.

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