Читать книгу Fog Island: A terrifying thriller set in a modern-day cult - Mariette Lindstein, Mariette Lindstein - Страница 9

3

The view from the large windows afforded a glimpse of the sea beyond the forest. The waves rolled in, crashing against the cliffs and tossing up foam.

They were on the third floor of the manor house, where the staff worked. Madeleine had herded them quickly up the stairs, explaining that the first and second floors were still being renovated into living areas for the staff. It smelled like wet concrete and sawdust down there. They could hear a table saw, and they had to climb over a large roll of insulation near the landing.

Nothing was in need of renovation up here. Everything — walls, ceilings, and furniture — was a glistening white or pale grey. There were no interior walls, just an open-plan office with desks and computers scattered here and there. The staff seemed to sit wherever they liked; everyone appeared to be in high spirits, offering smiles and friendly nods. There were two doors on the other side of the large room. Madeleine noticed that Sofia’s gaze was drawn to them.

‘Those are offices for Franz and the staff manager,’ she said. ‘Otherwise everyone works in this area. Aside from those who take care of the guests and the farm, of course.’

Sofia looked back at the doors, wondering if Oswald would emerge and whether he was even in his office, but she didn’t want to ask.

‘So it’s a working farm?’ Wilma asked.

‘Yes, we’re almost completely self-sufficient,’ Madeleine stated with pride. ‘We grow all our own vegetables and fruit here, and we make our own milk and butter. We’ve even got some sheep. And the manor house is heated with solar and geothermal energy. But those of us who work up here are actually Franz’s staff. We take care of personnel matters, mail, purchasing, and that sort of thing, so Franz can focus on his lectures and research.’

‘Could you tell us a little about Franz Oswald?’ Sofia said. ‘Where he’s from, things he’s done?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Madeleine said brusquely, sounding slightly annoyed. ‘Franz wants us to focus on the guests and the program, not on him. He is what he is. Our leader.’

Sofia considered Madeleine’s profile. She looked anxious and a bit distracted.

‘But you don’t pray to Oswald, or worship him?’

‘No, of course not! We’re not a bunch of fanatics, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ Madeleine’s voice had risen into a falsetto. Their conversation was about to go off the rails, but Wilma took over. She guided them back to the right track so skilfully that Madeleine probably wasn’t even aware of how her tense features smoothed out again. They went back to polite questions and mild flattery.

Fifty people on staff? Wow. What kind of work do they do? What a fantastic job you’ve done with this place! Wilma could butter anyone up.

Sofia listened with half an ear as she gazed out at the cubicles again. She wondered if the staff were as happy as they seemed and found herself thinking that if everything Madeleine had told them was true, this place would definitely count as an environmental organization.

A woman in a chef uniform suddenly popped up beside them.

‘Lunch is served in the guest dining room!’ she said.

‘Okay,’ said Madeleine. ‘Time for you two to get a little taste of what we grow around here.’

The dining room was large and bright, with tall, rectangular windows. The hardwood floor was highly polished and almost completely covered with sheepskin rugs. The chairs and tables were white. The room didn’t have the usual food smells; instead a faint whiff of seaweed and fish emanated from the kitchen. Muted classical music streamed from the walls. There were guests seated at most of the tables, yet it was surprisingly quiet. The mood was serene, like that of a temple or of a sleepy bar in the early morning hours. Sofia found herself whispering when they spoke.

Her gaze was repeatedly drawn to the other tables, to see if she recognized anyone. Madeleine had mentioned that many of the guests were celebrities. But the other tables weren’t very close by, and she didn’t want to stare.

Lunch was tomato soup and fish with vegetables and herbs. When she was finished eating, she felt a gentle clap on her shoulder. She turned around and there was Oswald, his hands on the back of her chair. He looked angry — even furious.

‘How long have you been here?’ He turned to Madeleine without waiting for a response. ‘I’m the one who invited them, and I wanted to show them around myself.’

His voice was restrained and calm, yet his displeasure settled over them like a heavy blanket. He had no uniform; instead he wore black jeans and a fitted white T-shirt that showed off his muscles and tan. They shook hands and he offered a smile, but its warmth quickly faded.

Madeleine’s cheeks went a deep red. Her head sank so low that her chin nearly rested on her chest.

‘I just thought you had so much to do, and I wanted to help. I figured you had more important things on your schedule,’ she said, nearly whispering.

‘You can go now. I’ll take over,’ he said, waving his hand at her as if she were a pesky fly.

Madeleine slowly slunk out of her chair and disappeared down the aisle with tiny, mincing steps.

Oswald turned to Sofia and smiled again, but irritation lingered in his eyes.

‘I did want to meet with you, but I didn’t know you were coming today and now, as you heard, my schedule is jam-packed. But we can have a look at the guest houses, at least. Did you find the ferry ride agreeable?’

‘Yes, we learned all about the ghosts at the manor,’ Sofia said before she could stop herself. She never could hold her tongue.

But Oswald only laughed.

‘Yes, that Björk is such good advert for us. People end up totally fascinated by the miserable history of the manor. Come meet the evil Countess! But surely you don’t believe all that stuff.’

‘Of course not,’ Wilma said quickly, pinching Sofia’s pinkie finger.

‘Good,’ Oswald said. ‘Then let’s get on with the tour!’

He held the dining room door for them and led them to the annexes. He walked close to Sofia, holding a gentle hand under her elbow as if to guide her. He was hardly touching her, but it was very purposeful and made her shiver with pleasure.

She wasn’t the sort of person who turned heads in the street, yet Oswald had chosen to be close to her — even though Wilma was right there, with her busty figure and confident gait.

Before they reached the buildings, his hand brushed the area between hip and back where all the nerves meet, and the contact almost took her breath away.

The guest-house annexes looked like barracks with a row of numbered doors on the front side, but the solid timber and massive iron door handles hinted at the good quality of the construction. An expensive renovation, just like the manor house.

‘Let’s see!’ Oswald said, taking a key from his pocket. ‘Number five should be empty right now. This is a typical room. They’re all nearly identical.’

The room was actually a suite, made up of a living room, bedroom, and bathroom. It still smelled new, like lumber and plastic.

They poked around, curious, but all Oswald was interested in was describing the lighting and ventilation, which he said was absolutely revolutionary.

‘The ceiling light emits ultraviolet rays, to counteract reactions to the lack of sunlight in the winter. The ventilation system constantly lets in fresh air, and if the air is cold it is automatically warmed. All the walls are completely soundproofed, so you’re never disturbed in your sleep. As you can see, there’s no TV or computer. The guests don’t use their phones while they’re here either. We have a computer in the common room, for emergencies. But tranquillity is the goal here. You have to dare to leave behind what you think is essential to discover what is truly essential.’

He paused to make sure they were still with him.

‘But the most important part is the bedroom. Come here, I’ll show you.’

He herded them into the room, closed the door, and pressed a button, and black curtains unfurled to cover the windows. It was pitch black.

‘Now there’s not a speck of light,’ he said. ‘You won’t even be able to see the outlines of the furniture. This is how you must sleep for the body to get true rest. Fascinating, isn’t it?’

Sofia shuddered and held tight to Wilma’s shirtsleeve. This reminded her of the first time she had slept out in the country when she was little. She had woken up in the middle of the night, in the dark, and thought she had gone blind. She had screamed her head off until her mother turned the lights on and off probably a hundred times to show her that she hadn’t lost her sight. Yet she had been incurably afraid of the dark ever since.

At last, Oswald put the lights back on and led them back into daylight. Then they headed for the recreational area, which had a sauna, saltwater pool, and gym. In one corner of the gym was a contraption three metres high; it looked like a metal egg.

‘What’s that?’ Sofia asked.

‘You can go in there and train your perception. Sound, light, colours, smells, temperatures — all the impressions that are thrown at you in a holy mess in your daily life. In “the egg”, as we call it, you can experience them all separately. It’s an important part of our program.’

They passed a large classroom full of people studying. Some were reading; others were sitting still on chairs, their eyes closed.

‘This is where we study the theses,’ Oswald said.

Sofia had comments and questions on the tip of her tongue, but Oswald looked at his watch and suddenly seemed to be in a rush.

‘You can see the farm and the greenhouse next time,’ he said. ‘But there is something I’d like to show you before you head home.’

He took them to a freestanding building alongside the guesthouses — a wooden structure with a porch; it might have originally been a servants’ quarters. Sofia was expecting more hypermodern design inside, but this house was completely empty: just floors, walls, and endless bookshelves. It smelled pleasantly of wood and polish, and the afternoon sun had just found its way through the windows to form a golden streak on the floor.

‘This is going to be our library,’ Oswald said, giving her a meaningful look.

‘I see . . .’ she said hesitantly.

‘I’ve heard you’re a whiz at literature, that you love books.’

‘Where’d you hear that?’

‘It said on the form you filled out after the lecture that you just received your bachelor’s degree in literature.’ He was giving her that significant look again. ‘I need someone who can create a real library here. With books that fit in with our philosophy. There are no limits, financially. All that matters is that it’s done right.’

‘So you need a librarian?’

‘No, what I don’t need is a librarian, with old-fashioned ideas about what should be in a library. I need someone who can think independently. So when I saw your form, I thought of you. And then I noticed that Wilma studied literature too, and I thought maybe I had found the right people for the job.’

Sofia was astounded. He had just offered them a job.

‘What’s the catch?’

‘You’d have to become part of the staff, of course. We work on contract. Two years at a time. And I’m not sure whether you two have boyfriends . . .’

‘We don’t have boyfriends, but I’m not signing any contract,’ Sofia said firmly. ‘No matter how interesting it sounds.’

Wilma cleared her throat. A small warning, to let Sofia know she was about to cross a line into rudeness again. But Oswald didn’t look defeated; if anything, he was amused.

‘I thought as much. But I have a suggestion. Come for two weeks and go through the program, like our guests do. No cost to you, no commitment. If you still don’t want to take over the library when you’re done, you can go right back home again.’

Sofia and Wilma looked at each other, speechless. Wilma was just about to open her mouth, and Sofia knew what would come out. The trip to Rhodes with her mother, the internship she’d arranged at a newspaper, blah blah blah. But Wilma closed her mouth again and smiled at Oswald.

‘Can we talk it over in private and let you know?’

‘Of course! It was nice to have you here. Let me know when you decide. I’ll tell Madde to meet you in the dining room for afternoon coffee before you leave.’

He was already walking off, but then he turned around and looked directly at Sofia.

‘You seem clear-sighted. I’m sure you can tell that this place is something very special.’

Then he winked at her, turned on his heel, and vanished.

*

Everything was silent on the ferry home. She hardly heard the shrieking of the gulls, the lapping of the waves, or the pleasant hum of the engine. Her thoughts were torn, bouncing around inside her head like tiny demons. The peaceful, well-organized atmosphere of the manor clashed with her own chaotic life. And the thought of working with books was a tempting one.

Wilma was also noticeably quiet; she was staring down at the foam where the keel of the ferry broke the surface.

‘Jesus, what a place!’ she said.

Sofia laughed.

‘Like a different universe, right?’

‘I think you should try out the program.’

‘Without you?’

‘I promised to go to Rhodes with my mom, and I can’t blow off this new job. And you were obviously the one he was into. The air practically crackled when he looked at you.’

Sofia’s cheeks grew warm.

‘Oh, quit it. But who knows, maybe I’ll do it. No way I’m signing any contract, though.’

‘Of course not,’ Wilma said.

Sofia was dragged back into the roiling sea of thoughts in her mind. But then the mainland came into sight on the horizon and the sound of the sea and the ferry engine returned. It was as if the sea was a bridge between two worlds — the real world, where they were headed, and the strange, dreamlike world they had just left.

She didn’t know whether this new world, the one she had just discovered, was a new adventure awaiting her, or just a creepy illusion.

I’m practically right next to him before he notices me.

He’s fixing the chicken wire, on his knees in the dirt. He has put his garden gloves on the ground and is holding the barbed wire with his bare hands.

His entire being disgusts me. The start of a bald patch on the top of his head, the sweat gathering in beads on his neck, and the pungent odour of grime, earth, and grass pouring off him.

I lean down, place my mouth near his ear, and say ‘Hello, Doctor!’

Loudly.

He jumps and seems relieved once he realizes it’s me. He looks like a little piglet, lying there in the dirt.

‘Well hello there, Fredrik! Nice to see you.’

‘Not that nice,’ I say.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean it’s not so nice, what you do to Lily.’

Sudden, naked fear appears on his face and he readies his fat, protruding lips. But I cut him off before he can say a word.

‘You don’t need to say anything. I know everything, do you understand me? She told me the whole damn thing, but I’m not going to tattle. Why would I?’

He starts to speak again but I put up my hand, and then I feel the rush, that intoxicating mixture of power and strength.

He squints up at me; the sun is at my back. I want him to see me like this, like a backlit angel of justice.

‘All I want is for you to leave us alone,’ I say. ‘And I want access to the attic. I need to look for something there.’

‘Of course you can go in the attic, Fredrik. But what on earth did Lily tell you?’ He makes an attempt to get up. I just turn my back on him.

‘You know perfectly well what she told me,’ I say as I walk away.

I’m so pleased that I have to repress the urge to do a little victory dance there in the sunlight. Now I’ll have Lily to myself and free run of the estate.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a plan. A grand plan.

He is only a tiny, flimsy part of it. And anyway, it’s all for his own good.