“I have to call Alex,” I say out loud, taking my hands away from my face. “That’s why I came back.”
I feel like I’m explaining things to both the cat and myself. The words—spoken firmly and clearly—are my defense against the silent and treacherous thoughts. Those thoughts are not trustworthy. If I allow them to take charge I’ll end up plunging into the dark. If I look up and try to take in the whole picture, fear will paralyze me. It’s important to look at one detail at a time, to focus on one thing at a time. That’s the only way I can hold on to my sanity.
There’s no landline in the cabin, so the first thing I need to do is find my cell phone. I take off my shoes and carry them back to the front entryway. Wiping up the floor will have to wait. Resolutely I head for the bedroom at the end of the hall.
The room that belongs to Alex and me is dominated by a big double bed. My heart lurches when I think about the last time we were in that bed together. With an effort I manage to quell the dizziness and calm the anxious fluttering in my stomach.
Everything is nice and tidy on Alex’s side of the room. His clothes are hanging in the wardrobe or neatly folded and stowed in the dresser drawers. He has even made the bed on his side. The side where he usually sleeps. Where he slept last night. But where is he now? My side of the mattress is covered with summer dresses, jeans, and tops. My purse is on the bedside chair along with a pile of paperbacks and two lipsticks. Draped over the back is my lacy red bra, the one I bought when we decided to go on this trip. That was the same day I bought Alex the black silk tie. I swallow hard, an almost reflexive action. Don’t think about that now. Don’t think at all. Just focus on doing what has to be done.
Quickly I rummage through my purse, turning all the pockets inside out, and finally turning the whole thing upside down. But no cell phone falls out. How strange. Where could it be? I hurry back to the kitchen. Tirith darts past, heading for his bowl, hoping I’ll feed him. He circles it a few times, then sits down in disappointment and licks his lips.
“Everything’s going to be fine, I just have to find…”
I keep chattering—mostly to calm myself down—as I rush around the kitchen, sweeping the newspapers aside and moving the dirty dishes on the table. I check under Smilla’s Barbie dolls, behind the coffeemaker, and on the shelf above the stove. No cell phone. I even open the fridge and scan the shelves inside before heading to the living room.
As I search the room, I imagine what I’ll say to Alex. What our conversation might be like. And how he’ll laugh when I call him.
You’ll never guess what happened!
I can almost hear him telling me how he and Smilla disappeared. Giving me an absurd and yet completely natural explanation. Because there must be some explanation, there has to be. The only problem is that right now I can’t for the life of me imagine what it might be. This is crazy. That’s the thought that crosses my mind as I run my hands over the springs under the sofa cushions. They’re gone. But it’s not possible to simply disappear like that. Not from an island.
I tear open the curtains to look on all the windowsills. In my hurry I knock over a little glass figurine. I see it tumble through the air as if in slow motion, hit the floor, and shatter into a thousand pieces. The rational and focused approach that I’ve fought so hard to maintain slowly slips away. Desperation is nipping at me from all sides. A shrill ringing in my ears propels me back to the bedroom. Again I rummage through my purse but find nothing. Feverishly I toss aside the clothes on the bed, along with the books and the lipsticks on the chair. My phone’s not there.
So I run over to Smilla’s room and ransack all her belongings too. Dolls and teddy bears, activity books, and stickers. I move fast, my actions bordering on manic. I know that I’m looking for something, but by now I’ve forgotten what it is. All I can think about is Smilla. Sweet little Smilla. My thoughts are whirling, running wild. I lose control and feel myself drawn helplessly down into the vortex I was fighting to avoid. Missing. They’re missing. But that’s impossible! A grown man and a four-year-old girl can’t just get swallowed up by the earth.
No, not by the earth, but by the lake, by the water that is laced with evil.
People have disappeared, blood has been spilled. Alex’s words echo in my head, panic races up my spine.
Out of the corner of my eye I see something move, followed by a loud bang. I spin on my heel and yell. The sound of hundreds of tiny beads rolling across the floor fills my ears, and at the same moment I catch sight of Tirith. My shout makes him freeze midstride. He looks both alarmed and guilty. As silence returns to the room, his gaze shifts from me to the jar of beads that has toppled over. He must have followed me in here, padding soundlessly into the room. Maybe he mistook my search for some sort of game and wanted to play too. Maybe he knocked Smilla’s jar of beads off the shelf by accident.
I fan out the fingers of one hand and press them to my chest as I take several deep breaths. Then I reach out my other hand toward the cat. After a brief hesitation, he approaches. I stroke his back slowly, steadily. An attempt to calm both of us. He rubs against me, and on impulse I pick him up in my arms, pressing his warm body close. Hot tears fill my eyes, and my vision blurs. A sob rises in my throat and spills from my lips.
“She’ll come back,” I whisper. “You’ll see. She’ll be back soon.”
I can hear how phony those words sound. And it’s obvious I don’t believe them myself. Does the cat notice too? I bury my face in Tirith’s fur and hear him start to purr. When I lift my head, he narrows his eyes and pokes his nose toward me. Then he licks my cheeks, running his rough tongue over my face. As if he wants to console and encourage me. We sit like that for a while until he slips out of my grasp and onto the floor, where he begins grooming himself. I get up and go back to the living room, my hands clenched at my sides. Where is that damn cell phone? I need to find it now! If only I could get hold of Alex, everything would be fine. Not if, I instantly correct myself. When. When I get hold of him.
I search the living room again, looking in every conceivable spot, every nook and cranny, both around and underneath all the furniture. But the phone seems to have vanished into thin air. My pulse is pounding in my ears. All I want to do is scream hysterically. Then I hear a sound and freeze. A second passes, then I hear it again. The muted and distant but unmistakable sound of a phone ringing. My phone. It sounds like it’s coming from the bedrooms. I run, or rather stumble, back down the hall, stopping outside the bedrooms. I stand still, my heart hammering, and listen for the next ring. Don’t let it switch to voice mail! I can’t let that happen!
It rings again, clearly coming from the bedroom I share with Alex, from the bed itself. I rush inside. Strangely enough, the sound is coming from Alex’s side. I grab the duvet he spread so neatly and yank it off. I’m staring at an object lying on top of the smooth white sheet. My cell phone. Hidden under the duvet on Alex’s fastidiously neat side of the bed.
I can’t understand how it ended up there, but I can’t waste any more time thinking about that. The phone lights up and rings again. Fumbling, I pick up the phone and stare at the display. An all-too-familiar number. Not now! I don’t know why I take the call. All I know is that, as I answer, I shut my eyes tight.