‘The human psyche is strange. This isn’t the first time that someone has lived with a corpse for weeks, months, or even years. Denial is a very powerful force.’ Patrik took a sip of coffee.

‘That poor little boy.’ Erica sighed. After a pause, she said, ‘Do you think there’s anything to the rumours?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know. What people always say about Gråskär, or Ghost Isle – that the dead never leave the island.’

Patrik smiled. ‘No. And now you’ve got me worried that the blow to your head has addled your brain. It’s an old wives’ tale. Nothing but a ghost story. That’s all.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Erica, but she didn’t look entirely convinced. She was thinking about the newspaper articles that she’d shown Nathalie, about the lighthouse keeper and his family who had disappeared from the island without a trace. Maybe they were still out there.

Nathalie felt so strangely empty inside. She knew what she had done, but she felt nothing. No grief, no pain. Just emptiness.

Sam was dead. The doctors had cautiously tried to tell her that, but she had already known. The moment the water had closed over Sam’s head, she understood. The voices had finally reached her and made her release her hold, persuading her that it would be best if he was allowed to join them. They would take good care of him. And she was glad that she had listened.

As the boat carried her away from Gråskär, she had turned around to take one last look at the island and the lighthouse. The dead were standing on the rocks, gazing at her. Sam was with them, standing next to the woman. On the other side of her stood her son. Two little boys, one with dark hair, the other blond. Sam looked happy, and his expression assured Nathalie that he was fine. She had raised her hand to wave, but then lowered it. She couldn’t bear to say goodbye to him. It hurt too much that he was no longer with her. He belonged to them now. To Gråskär.

The room she was in was small but bright. There was a bed and a desk. She spent most of her time sitting on the bed. Occasionally she was required to talk to someone, a man or a woman. Both of them spoke in kindly voices as they asked her questions that she wasn’t always able to answer. But day by day she began to see things more clearly. It was as if she’d been asleep and had now awakened. Slowly she was being forced to distinguish between what had been a dream and what was reality.

Fredrik’s scornful voice was real. He had enjoyed watching her pack for Italy before telling her that he was going without her. And that the other woman would be accompanying him instead. If she offered any objections, Fredrik said he would tell the authorities about her cocaine habit, and then she’d lose custody of Sam. In his eyes, she was nothing more than a weak woman. Superfluous.

But Fredrik had underestimated her. She’d gone into the kitchen and sat down to wait in the dark until he’d gone to bed. Once again he’d taken pleasure in crushing her and exerting his will over her. This time, however, he had made a serious mistake. She might have been weak before Sam was born, and she still was to a certain extent. But her love for Sam had made her stronger than Fredrik would ever be able to understand. She sat on one of the bar stools in the kitchen, with her hands resting on the cold marble of the countertop, waiting for Fredrik to fall asleep. Then she got out his gun, went upstairs, and with a steady hand fired it again and again into the bedclothes, into the bed. And it felt good. It felt right.

It wasn’t until she went to Sam’s room and saw his empty bed that panic took hold and a fog slowly settled over her. She knew at once where he must be. Yet when she lifted the blanket and saw his little bloodstained body, it came as such a shock that she collapsed in a heap on to the thick carpet. The fog intensified, and even though she knew that she was living in a dream, Sam still seemed so alive.

And then there was Matte. Now she remembered everything. The night they spent together, and the feel of his body against her, so familiar and beloved. She remembered how safe she felt, and how a possible future became linked to the past they had shared, erasing everything in between.

Then came the sounds from downstairs. She woke up to find Matte gone. The warmth of his body was still there, and she realized he must have just got out of bed. She wrapped a blanket around her and went downstairs, only to see his look of disappointment as he held up the bag of cocaine. She had put it in a drawer, which she apparently hadn’t shut properly. She wanted to explain, but the words wouldn’t come out. She really had no excuse, and Matte would never understand.

As she stood there, wrapped in a blanket, her bare feet cold on the wooden floor, she had watched Matte open the door to Sam’s room. Then he turned around and gave her a look of alarm. He made her put on some clothes, telling her that they needed to go back to the mainland and summon help. Everything had happened so fast, and she had passively done as she was told. In the dream, in the world that wasn’t real, she had protested with all her heart over leaving Sam behind on the island. But neither of them had said a word as they crossed the bay in Matte’s boat.

Then they were driving in his car. Her mind felt strangely empty of all thought, except for her concern for Sam. And the fact that once again something was happening that would take him away from her. Without thinking, she had grabbed her purse from the house when they left the house and brought it along. Sitting in the car, she could feel the weight of the gun inside the purse.

As they walked towards the block of flats, an insistent buzzing had started up inside her head. Through a haze she saw Mats toss the paper bag in a litter bin. Standing in the front hall of his flat, she had reached into her purse and felt her fingers touch the cold steel. He hadn’t turned around. If he had, and she had looked into his eyes, she might have been able to stop herself. But he was moving away, with his back turned, and she had raised her hand, gripping the butt of the gun, with a finger on the trigger. A loud bang, a thud. Then not a sound.

She had to get back to Sam. That was the only thought in her head. She went back to the dock, took Matte’s boat over to the island, and then let it drift away. After that there was nothing to keep her from being with him again. Fog took over her mind. The rest of the world disappeared. The only thing left was Sam, and Gråskär, and the thought that they had to survive. That was her only refuge; otherwise nothing but emptiness remained.

Nathalie sat on the bed, staring straight ahead. In her mind she pictured Sam, holding the woman’s hand. They would take care of him now. They had promised her that.

FJÄLLBACKA 1875

‘Mamma!’

Emelie instantly stopped what she was doing. Then she dropped the saucepan on the floor and dashed outside as fear fluttered like a little bird inside her heart.

‘Gustav, where are you?’ She looked all around.

‘Mamma, come here!’

Now she could hear that he was calling from the shore. She lifted her heavy woollen skirts and raced over the rocks that formed a ridge in the middle of the island. From on top she saw him. He was sitting at the water’s edge, holding his foot and crying. She ran to her son and knelt at his side.

‘It hurts,’ he sobbed, pointing at his foot. A big piece of glass was sticking out of his sole.

‘Hush …’ She tried to calm her son as she thought about what to do. The shard was buried so deep. Should she pull it out right now or wait until she had something to use as a bandage?

Quickly she made up her mind.

‘We’ll go see your father.’ She glanced up at the lighthouse. Karl had gone over there a few hours ago to help Julian. She didn’t usually ask her husband for advice, but she wasn’t sure what would be the right thing to do in this situation.