Elísa smiled at him, clearly relieved. She was dressed in very ordinary clothes: jeans, shirt and jacket. The garments were all clean and ironed, but on closer inspection had been worn a great deaclass="underline" her shirtsleeves were threadbare at the edges and her jeans lighter-coloured at the knees. Nothing about her fit the stereotype of a medium; perhaps she took steps to counter this by avoiding long, colourful skirts and making sure to straighten any curls out of her long hair. ‘Thanks. Sara and I are making good progress and I’m hoping that by working together we can help her get past what’s bothering her.’ She looked at Sara and gave a little smile. ‘But from what Sara has told me, her problem seems to be connected to you somehow. I know this might sound strange to you, but I don’t know exactly how or why it concerns you. Contact with those who are no longer among us isn’t like a conversation between two people; there may be a few words here and there, but it’s often more like a kind of… effect on a person, which that person might not necessarily understand.’
‘Is that really so different from the kind of work you do, Freyr?’ His ex-wife’s voice had softened slightly, which woke memories of the Sara he once knew. ‘Doctors might understand how muscles and organs work, but you actually have no idea what causes a person to be happy or sad. Do you? You can’t explain what an emotion is, yet you assume they’re there and don’t doubt their existence.’ Freyr nodded to acknowledge this, not wanting to irritate them by explaining psychiatry’s theory on emotions. Science’s investigations and definitions of well-documented phenomena were worlds away from the simplified explanations of occultists.
‘What are you expecting me to say? Or do?’ He felt even more exhausted as soon as the words were out; by asking this he’d become a participant in Sara’s latest desperate attempt to cure herself, and given her the green light to continue on this course. It could only end one way, with more disappointment.
‘You appear again and again, both in Sara’s dreams and in conversation. It’s no coincidence; it happens repeatedly, and even more frequently in recent days.’
‘And what would you like me to do about that?’ Freyr longed to lean his head on the soft back of the armchair, shut his eyes and ask to be left alone for half an hour.
‘I don’t know.’ Well, you couldn’t say Elísa wasn’t honest. Freyr had to concentrate on not laughing out loud. The woman, who seemed to realize he didn’t think much of her, added: ‘When people die without coming to terms with their end, they get trapped between worlds. They can’t move on to the next level of existence, because the ones they leave behind are still too connected to them and want justice to be done, or for a reckoning to take place. If that doesn’t happen, these wayward souls try to find a way to tell their loved ones what happened, but that’s not always achievable – often they can’t manage to make contact with the living. This stage is most evident while family members or close friends of the deceased are still alive, and more often than not the dead give up when there’s no one left with an interest in resolving the matter. The soul can get stuck in limbo, its demand for justice turns into an obsession and that’s when you get hauntings in old houses or cemeteries.’
Freyr was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his attention on the conversation. ‘Do you have any coffee, Sara? I slept badly, so I’m having trouble following this.’
She stared at him, her expression impenetrable, but then stood up and walked into the kitchen. Elísa continued: ‘The longer the soul remains at this stage, the harder it becomes to deal with. In extremis, even the best and brightest soul can experience a total reversal and become extremely dangerous. We need to prevent such a thing from happening to your son. You wouldn’t want to have to deal with him if things went the wrong way.’ This last thing she whispered, to ensure that Sara didn’t hear.
‘And how do we stop that from happening?’ Freyr wanted that coffee so badly that it took a huge effort for him not to get up, abandon the woman mid-sentence and run into the kitchen.
‘Find him. Solve the puzzle of what actually happened to him and bury him with his relatives. Free him from the torment of knowing his mother is living in a hell of uncertainty, and you as well.’
Freyr couldn’t play along any more. ‘Don’t you think we’ve done everything we possibly can, spirits or no spirits? Believe me, no stone was left unturned.’
‘Nonetheless, you have to keep trying.’ Elísa stared at him, her dark blue eyes steady beneath her overplucked eyebrows. ‘If it’s not too late.’
‘Too late?’ Freyr could hardly keep up. The only thing he knew for certain was that this woman wasn’t helping Sara – quite the contrary. Her methods were working against Sara’s recovery, enabling Sara to put off accepting the tragic fact that they would probably never know what happened. Maybe Sara seemed a bit better right now, but it wouldn’t last long.
‘I sense your son’s presence. Very strongly. But I also sense a tremendous anger that is disproportionate given how little time has passed since his disappearance. I have no explanation for it, but I know there’s not much time left.’ Elísa glanced quickly towards the kitchen door. ‘You simply must resolve this. If you think the situation’s bad now, I can assure you you’ll soon be looking back on this time as the best you had since your son disappeared.’
Sara walked in with coffee and Freyr was genuinely relieved to see her. It wasn’t simply that he would now get his long-desired dose of caffeine, but also that he was saved from the medium’s doom-laden prophecies. He didn’t think he had the strength to argue with her or even comment on what she’d said, though he certainly didn’t agree with her. He reached out to pick up the cup Sara had placed in front of him, but started when the medium placed her cool hand over his. He gave her a puzzled look.
‘The devil’s afoot. Keep that in mind,’ she said. He smiled awkwardly, freed his hand and lifted his cup. Before he could take a sip, she added: ‘I fear things are going to go badly for you. Very badly.’
Chapter 21
They’d waited too long to get going. It grew darker with each step as they walked along the narrow trail towards the old factory, which lay further up the fjord. But the sky was clear and there were no signs of it changing, or of the snow resuming. At times it was difficult to make out the trail beneath the snow, but luckily in most places it was slightly sunken, making it easy enough to follow. Katrín had lost count of the streams she’d had to jump over, mostly with Putti in her arms since he whined and fussed every time they approached even a small one. His short legs weren’t made for great endeavours, and he feared being left behind on the other side of these fearsome rapids. Several of the streams were bridged with logs or planks of wood. For most of the way the path had run alongside the beach, but it had been sloping uphill for some time now and below them were sheer rocks over which the water gushed, in some places capped with silvery ice.
‘How much further do you think it is?’ Katrín was last in line, since she was in the worst shape and kept turning back to make sure Putti was still following them. He’d slowed down a bit, yet she still found it amazing how energetic he was under the circumstances; it was the equivalent of them having to wade through hip-deep snow. ‘There’s no boat to be seen. Maybe we should turn around?’ She was afraid her aches and pains would make the return trip unbearable if they went too far.
Garðar had said nothing during their hike. He wasn’t limping, which must mean that his heel was better, so his reticence wasn’t caused by pain. Maybe he was nervous. He turned and looked back at Katrín but said nothing, just looked away again and kept walking. Líf led the group, and seemed to be ignoring Katrín’s suggestion. ‘We’re nearly there. Garðar and I went there when we came to look at the house; it’s half an hour away at most.’