What struck Freyr most was the copy of the letter that Halla had left behind when she’d killed herself. The letter was identified by a yellow Post-it note stuck to the paper, since it was entirely unclear from the contents that it was a farewell letter. It looked as if the photocopier hadn’t been able to copy it entirely, since the beginnings and ends of words at the edges of the page had been cut off. Halla had apparently used the entire page, leaving no margins – although that didn’t really matter, since what she had written made no sense anyway. The text was very much in the spirit of what Freyr had witnessed from those who had completely lost their grip on reality. The thread tying together their thoughts and perceptions had frayed. The message that Halla clearly wished more than anything else to leave behind was perfectly incomprehensible to anyone other than herself, and with her suicide she’d ruled out the possibility that it would ever be understood. Judging by the letter, Halla had either suffered trauma the same day that she committed suicide, causing the psychosis that ended with her terrible deed, or else her husband had lied to Freyr about her mental health. It was very clear from what she had written that everything was not as it should be. But there was something else that gave Freyr even more cause for concern after reading the letter: the repeated references to his son.
Got to find Benni, got to find Benedikt Freysson, got to find Benni, got to find Benedikt. Can’t find Benni, can’t find Benni, where is Benni? Forgive me, Bernódus, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. Can’t find Benni, can’t find him, can’t find him. Forgive me, Bernódus, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. Forgive me, Bernódus.
Freyr put the paper down, rested his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands. He stared at the text without blinking, until his eyes stung and he was forced to close them. And when he saw nothing but darkness, he finally felt better.
Chapter 9
The moon cast a dim light through the windows. The white, newly painted walls helped brighten the room and Katrín thanked her stars that Garðar had had his way and the purple colour she’d suggested had been rejected. Anything that could possibly counter the effects of the darkness was useful. They’d decided to spend the night in this room because it was so much brighter than all the others in the house, being the only living space they’d finished painting. It was useless to complain about the paint smell or the toxic fumes, despite the fact that they’d all suffered from the headaches that it caused. Having one light room was worth it, though the light diminished for a second as Líf went over to stare out of the window. ‘I’d be happy to go home.’ She turned to Katrín and Garðar as they tried to make themselves comfortable on the mattresses that were serving as a sofa. Putti lay curled up at Katrín’s feet and she felt the warmth emanate from his little body through her thick woollen socks. ‘Tonight, I mean.’ Líf’s blonde hair fell loosely around her neck and despite the fact that any trace of make-up had long since vanished from her face, she looked incredibly good, seeming more like she’d just come from a massage at the spa she was constantly talking about than from a shift doing construction work out in the wilderness. ‘If that person who’s around here somewhere were all right, he would come and say hello, not scatter shells all over the floor and make a giant mess on it in his dripping wet boots.’
Garðar sipped from the can he was holding. ‘Come on. There must be some explanation for this, even though we might not be able to see it at the moment. It’s pointless getting all worked up about it; the shells were probably there to begin with without us noticing them, and the water could have just leaked onto the floor. As you may have noticed, this house is somewhat lacking on the maintenance front.’
‘Oh, wake up. It needs to rain in order for water to leak in. No, there’s a crazy person around here and he’s hiding in one of these houses. I get goose bumps at the thought of what this message is supposed to mean.’ Líf rubbed her upper arm. ‘“Goodbye”? What’s that supposed to mean? Does he want us to go, or is he planning to kill us and wants to say goodbye before he does?’ She turned back to the window and stared out. ‘Would we have noticed if a boat had sailed here in the night, or even in the morning?’ She stared at the shore, which was about a hundred metres below the house, and out at the sea. ‘I don’t see any boats, but maybe the man left it further up the fjord.’
‘Of course we would have heard a boat. Do you remember how noisy that tub was that brought us here?’ Garðar took another sip of his drink. ‘There’s no one here but us.’
Katrín wasn’t quite as convinced as Garðar, although she didn’t agree with Líf. They’d been so exhausted the night before that helicopters could have landed outside the house without them noticing. She felt that Líf’s theory might well hold up, but it hadn’t crossed her mind that a boat could have landed somewhere other than at the pier. Of course that was possible; the skipper had said that even here people often had to be ferried to land in rubber rafts. Meaning it was probably possible to sail past Hesteyri, drop anchor out of sight further up the fjord, then row to land in a rubber raft that would be easy to drag under cover. Using that method, someone could arrive here without anyone else noticing. ‘Let me have a sip.’ She took the can and drank from it. Despite the cold in the house, the drink was lukewarm. They hadn’t yet lit the stove downstairs, which was connected only to a radiator in the room they had slept in until now. That did little for the room in which they now sat, in their thick sweaters and woolly socks. ‘Shouldn’t we worry about this tomorrow? Everything seems much more manageable in the daytime than in the evening and at night. I’m not sure I’m in the mood to talk about this any more.’
‘I can’t sleep with some nutter on the loose out there.’ Líf looked back at them, leaving a frosty haze on the windowpane. ‘What if he comes tonight? The lock downstairs wouldn’t keep out a child. It was probably him that I heard when I woke up.’
Garðar heaved himself up to standing. Putti looked up but stuck his muzzle immediately back under his tail and went back to sleep. ‘There’s no one here but us, believe me. There’s nothing to fear – I’ll even prove it to you by going down and fetching the beer. Maybe a little alcohol in your blood will help cheer you up again.’ Katrín gulped down the drink. She couldn’t imagine that he would really abandon them and go out into the night. When they’d come home from their hike earlier, she’d gone straight to the living room to have a look at the shells that Garðar had mentioned. As they walked slowly home she’d held so tightly to the shell that she’d brought with her from the grave that deep, coarse stripes had formed in the palm of her hand. She didn’t release her grip until she was standing looking at the white shells, exactly the same as hers, on the floor of the living room, irregularly forming the letters of the word Goodbye. So it was a farewell. None of the three of them would confess to having done this. Katrín had the feeling that Garðar suspected Líf, although he seemed to believe her when she denied it – her stunned expression when she’d looked at the unevenly formed word had no doubt helped her credibility on this front. Katrín was convinced that someone besides the three of them was responsible for these shells, and she still hadn’t managed to get rid of the unease that had gripped her in the living room. She would never let Garðar go out alone into the night, at least not while it was still unclear whether someone else might be waiting for him outside. Líf’s nutter, for example. ‘You’re not going out alone.’ Katrín wiped drops of the fizzy drink off her chin and chest. ‘You either forget about getting the beer or I’m coming with you.’ She didn’t want any beer, and wanted even less to go out into the darkness. The dog looked up again and stared sorrowfully at her, as if he agreed with her completely.