Joona Linna: Stalker Part 2

Susanna can hear applause on the television as she leaves the bathroom. The thin silk of the kimono sticks to her damp skin.

There's a cold draught along the floor.

Her feet leave wet footprints on the worn parquet tiles.

There's a dark shimmer from the windows at the far side of the dining room. Black gla.s.s sparkling behind the ferns in their hanging pots. Susanna feels like she's being watched, but forces herself not to look out, scared of frightening herself even more.

Nonetheless, she keeps her distance from the closed door to the bas.e.m.e.nt as she approaches the kitchen.

Her wet hair is soaking through the back of the kimono. It's so wet that it's dripping inside the fabric, trickling between her b.u.t.tocks.

The floor gets colder the closer she gets to the kitchen.

Her heart is pounding hard in her chest.

She suddenly finds herself thinking of the young man with serious head injuries again. He was sedated with Ketalar. His whole face was crushed, squashed up towards his temples. His father kept repeating quietly that there was nothing wrong with his son. He could have done with someone to talk to, but Susanna hadn't had time.

Now she is imagining that the heavily built father has found her, that he holds her to blame, and is standing outside the kitchen door in his dirty overalls.

A different song on the television now.

There's a breeze blowing straight through the kitchen. The door to the garden is wide open. The thin curtain of plastic strips is fluttering into the room. She walks slowly forward. It's hard to see anything behind the dancing curtain. There could be someone standing just outside.

She holds her hand out, pushes the swirling plastic strips aside, slips past them and reaches for the door handle.

The floor is chill from the night air flowing into the kitchen.

Her kimono slips open.

She has time to notice that the gloomy garden is deserted. The bushes are moving in the wind, the swing swaying rhythmically.

She quickly closes the door, not bothered about catching part of the curtain in it, and hurriedly locks it, then pulls the key out and backs away.

She puts the key in the bowl of loose change and adjusts the kimono.

At least it's locked now, she thinks, as she hears a creak behind her back.

She spins round and then smiles at her own reaction. It was just the window in the living room shifting on its hinges when the flow of air stopped.

The audience is booing and whistling at the judges' decision.

Susanna thinks about getting her phone from the bedroom and calling Bjrn. He ought to be waiting at the gate by now. She wants to hear his voice as she searches the house before settling down in front of the television. She's wound herself up too much to relax otherwise. The only problem is that there's no reception at all in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Maybe she could put it on speaker and leave it halfway down the stairs.

She tells herself that she doesn't have to creep about in her own home, but can't help moving quietly.

She pa.s.ses the closed door to the bas.e.m.e.nt, sees the dark windows in the dining room from the corner of her eye, and carries on towards the living room.

She knows she locked the front door after her run, but still wants to go and check. It would be just as well then she won't have to think about it again.

There's a whistling sound from the open window in the living room and the curtain is being sucked back towards the narrow opening.

She starts to walk towards the dining room and notices that the wild flowers in the vase on the heavy oak table have run out of water, before coming to an abrupt halt.

It feels as though her whole body is covered by a thin layer of ice. In an instant adrenalin is coursing through her blood.

The three windows of the dining room act as large mirrors. The table and eight chairs are lit up by the light from the ceiling lamp, and behind them stands a figure.

Susanna stares at the reflection of the room, her heart pounding so hard it almost deafens her.

In the doorway to the hall someone is standing with a kitchen knife in their hand.

He's inside, he's inside the house, Susanna thinks.

She's shut and locked the kitchen door when she should have escaped into the garden.

She moves slowly backwards.

The intruder is standing completely still with his back to the dining room, staring at the corridor to the kitchen.

The large knife is hanging from his right hand, twitching impatiently.

Susanna backs away, her eyes fixed on the figure in the hall. Her right foot slides across the floor and the parquet creaks slightly as she shifts her weight.

She has to get out, but if she tries to get to the kitchen she'll be visible along the pa.s.sageway. Maybe she'd have time to get the key from the bowl, but it's by no means certain.

She continues backing away cautiously, now seeing the intruder in the last window.

The floor creaks beneath her left foot and she stops and watches as the figure turns round to face the dining room, then looks up and catches sight of her in the dark windows.

Susanna takes another slow step back. The intruder starts to walk towards her. Whimpering with fear, she turns and runs into the living room.

She slips on the carpet, loses her balance and hits her knee on the floor, putting her hand out to break her fall and gasping with pain.

The sound of a chair hitting the dining table.

She brings the standard lamp down as she gets up. It hits the wall before clattering to the floor.

She can hear rapid footsteps behind her.

Without looking round she rushes into the bathroom again and locks the door behind her. The air in there is still warm and damp.

This can't be happening, she thinks in panic.

She hurries past the basin and toilet and pulls the curtain back from the little window. Her hands are shaking as she tries to undo one of the catches. It's stuck. She tugs at it and tries to force herself to calm down. She fiddles with it and tugs it sideways, and manages to get the first catch open as she hears a sc.r.a.ping sound from the lock on the bathroom door. She rushes back and grabs hold of the lock just as it starts to turn. She clings on to it with both hands, and feels her heart racing in terror.

5.

The intruder has slipped a screwdriver, or possibly the back of the knife blade, into the little slot on the other side of the lock. Susanna is holding on to the handle of the lock, but is shaking so badly that she's scared she might lose her grip.

'G.o.d, this can't be happening,' she whispers to herself. 'This isn't happening, it can't be happening ...'

She glances quickly towards the window. It's far too small for her to be able to throw herself through it. The only hope of escape is to run to the window, undo the second catch, push it open and then climb up, but she daren't let go of the lock.

She's never been so terrified in her life. This is a bottomless, mortal dread, beyond all control.

The lock now feels hot and slippery under her tensed fingers. There's a metallic sc.r.a.ping sound from the other side.

'h.e.l.lo?' she says towards the door.

The intruder tries to open the door with a quick twist, but Susanna is prepared and manages to resist.

'What do you want?' she says, in as composed a voice as she can muster. 'Do you need money? If you do, I can understand that. It's not a problem.'

She gets no answer, but she can hear the sc.r.a.pe of metal against metal, and feel the vibration through the lock.

'You're welcome to look, but there's nothing especially valuable in the house ... the television's fairly new, but ...'

She falls silent, because she's shaking so much it's hard to understand what she's saying. She whispers to herself that she must stay calm, as she clutches the lock tight and thinks that her fear is dangerous, that it might make the intruder think bad thoughts.

'My bag's hanging in the hall,' she says, then swallows hard. 'A black bag. Inside it there's a purse containing some cash and a Visa card. I've just been paid, and I can tell you the code if you want.'

The intruder stops trying to turn the lock.

'OK, listen, the code is 3945,' she says to the door. 'I haven't seen your face, you can take the money and I'll wait until tomorrow before I report the card missing.'

Still holding the lock tightly, Susanna puts her ear to the door, and imagines she can hear footsteps moving away across the floor before an advert break on television drowns out all other sounds.

She doesn't know if it was stupid to give him her real code, but she just wants this to end, and she's more worried about her jewellery, her mother's engagement ring and the necklace with the big emeralds she was given after Morgan was born.

Susanna waits behind the door and keeps telling herself that this isn't over yet, that she mustn't lose her concentration for a moment.

Carefully she changes hands on the lock, without letting go of it. Her right thumb and forefinger have gone numb. She shakes her hand and puts her ear to the door, thinking that it's now been more than half an hour since she told him the code to her card.

It was probably just a junkie who saw an open kitchen door and came inside to look for valuables.

The last part of the programme is over. More adverts, and after them the news. She changes hands again and waits.

After another ten minutes she lies down on the floor and peers under the door. There's no one standing outside.

She can see a large stretch of the parquet floor, she can see under the sofa, and the glow of the television reflected on the varnish.

Everything's quiet.

Burglars aren't violent, they just want money as quickly and simply as possible.

Trembling, she gets up, takes hold of the lock again, then stands still with her ear to the door, listening to the news and weather forecast.

Grabbing the shower sc.r.a.per from the floor as a rudimentary weapon, she steels herself and cautiously unlocks the door.

The door swings open without a sound.

She can see almost the whole of the living room through the pa.s.sageway. There's no sign of the intruder. It's as if he had never been there.

She leaves the bathroom, her legs shaking with fear. Every sense is heightened as she approaches the living room.

She hears a dog bark in the distance.

Carefully she moves forwards, and sees the light from the television play on the closed curtains, the upholstered suite and the gla.s.s coffee table with the tub of ice cream on top of it.

She's planning to go into the bedroom, get her phone, then lock herself in the bathroom again and call the police.

To her left she catches a glimpse of the gla.s.s-fronted cabinet containing the collection of Dresden china that Bjrn inherited. Her heart starts to beat faster. She's almost at the end of the pa.s.sageway, and only then will she be able to see all the way to the hall.

She takes a step into the living room, looks round and notes that the dining room is empty, before realising that the intruder is right next to her. Just one step away. The thin figure is standing there waiting for her by the wall at the end of the pa.s.sage.

The stab of the knife is so fast that she doesn't have time to react. The sharp blade goes straight into her chest.

Her muscles tense around the metal deep inside her body.

Her heart has never beaten as hard as it does now. Time stands still as she thinks that this can't be real.

The knife is pulled out, leaving behind a burning easing of tension. She presses her hand to the wound and feels warm blood pumping out between her fingers. The shower sc.r.a.per clatters to the floor. She reels to one side, her head feels heavy and she can see her blood splattered across the shiny material of the raincoats. The light seems to be flickering and she tries to say something, that this must be some sort of misunderstanding, but she has no voice.

Susanna turns round and walks towards the kitchen, feels quick jabs to her back and knows that she is being stabbed repeatedly.

She stumbles sideways, fumbling for support, and knocks the display cabinet against the wall, making all the porcelain figures topple over with a clattering, tinkling sound.

Her heart is racing as blood streams down inside the kimono. Her chest is hurting terribly.

Her field of vision shrinks to a tunnel.

Her ears are roaring and she is aware that the intruder is shouting something excitedly, but the words are unintelligible.

Her chin flies up as she is grabbed by the hair. She tries to hold on to an armchair, but loses her grip.

Her legs give way and she hits the floor.

She can feel a burning sensation of liquid in one lung, and coughs weakly.