The Circle (2 page)

Elias dials Linnéa’s number as his boots pound down the spiral staircase. She answers as he reaches the foot of the stairs and throws open the door to the ground-floor corridor.

‘Linnéa.’

‘It’s me,’ he says. He’s aching with anxiety.

‘Yes, it is,’ she answers at last, as she always does.

Elias relaxes slightly. ‘I feel so fucking bad about yesterday,’ he says quickly. ‘I’m sorry.’

He’d wanted to say it this morning as soon as he saw her, but he’d never had a chance. Linnéa had kept out of sight all day. And she had disappeared before the last lesson.

‘I see,’ is her only response.

Her voice doesn’t sound angry. Not even sad. It’s empty and resigned – as if she’d
given up
– and that frightens Elias more than anything else. ‘It’s not … I haven’t gone
back
to it. I’m not going to start again. It was just one joint.’

‘You said that yesterday.’

‘You didn’t seem to believe me.’

Elias walks along the rows of lockers, past the deserted group of hard wooden benches screwed to the floor, past the bulletin board, and still Linnéa hasn’t said anything. Suddenly he becomes aware of another sound. Footsteps that aren’t his.

He turns around. There’s nobody there.

‘You promised you’d quit,’ Linnéa’s voice says.

‘I know. I’m sorry. I let you down—’

‘No,’ Linnéa interrupts. ‘You’re fucking letting yourself down! You can’t be doing this for
my
sake. Then you’d never—’

‘I know, I know,’ he says. ‘I know all that.’ Elias reaches his locker and opens it, stuffs a few books into his black cloth bag and slams the thin metal door. He hears the other footsteps again before they go silent. He turns. Nothing there. Nobody at all. And yet he feels watched.

‘Why did you do it?’

She’d asked the same question yesterday, repeated it several times. But he hadn’t told her the truth. It was too scary. Too crazy. Even for a head case like him.

‘I told you. I was freaking out,’ he says, trying to keep his voice free of irritation, so as not to set things off again.

‘I know there’s something else.’

Elias hesitates. ‘Okay,’ he says softly. ‘I’ll tell you. Can I see you tonight?’

‘Okay.’

‘I’ll sneak out as soon as my mum and dad have gone to sleep. Linnéa?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you hate me?’

‘I hate the fact that you’re asking such a stupid question,’ she hisses.

Finally. That’s the Linnéa he knows. Elias hangs up. He smiles as he stands there in the corridor. There’s hope. As long as she doesn’t hate him there’s hope. He has to tell Linnéa. She’s his sister in all but blood. He doesn’t have to go through this alone.

And at that moment the lights go out. Elias stiffens. A dim light filters its way through the windows at one end of the corridor. Somewhere close by a door shuts. Then silence settles in.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, he tries to assure himself.

He starts walking towards the exit. Forces himself to keep to a slow, steady pace. Not to give way to the panic rising inside him. He rounds the row of lockers on the corner.

Someone is standing there.

The caretaker. Elias has only seen him a few times, but he’s impossible to forget. It’s those big ice-blue eyes. Eyes that stare at Elias as if they could see all his secrets.

Elias peers at the floor as he walks past. And still he can feel those eyes burning into the back of his neck. He quickens his pace, nausea rising in his throat. It’s as if his heart is throbbing so hard that it’s triggering his gag reflex.

Everything’s been getting better over the last six months.
He’s
felt that things are happening inside him, that he’s changing. The new psychologist at the CAP centre isn’t an idiot like the last one, and it seems she actually understands him a little. Above all, he has Linnéa. She makes him feel alive, makes him want to leave the suffocating yet familiar darkness.

That’s why it’s so hard to understand why this is happening
now
– now when he can finally sleep at night, now that he can even feel happy.

Three days ago he had seen his face change in the mirror. He had seen it stretch and contort beyond recognition. And he had realised he was going mad. Hearing voices and seeing hallucinations. It had scared the shit out of him.

For three days he had held out against the razor blades and Jonte’s merchandise. He had avoided mirrors. But yesterday he had caught sight of himself in a shop window, had seen his face quiver and pour away as if it were made of water.

That was when he called Jonte.

You’re losing it
.

A strange whisper in his head. Elias looks around and discovers he’s climbed the spiral staircase again and is back in the corridor outside the principal’s office. He doesn’t know why. The lights flicker and go out.

The door to the stairwell slowly swings shut behind him. Just before it closes he hears it. The sound of a soft shoe sole on the stairs.

Hide
.

Elias runs along the dark corridor. After each row of
lockers
he expects someone
or something
to suddenly appear. Just as he’s rounded a corner he hears the door to the stairwell open far behind him. The footsteps draw closer, slowly but surely.

He reaches the big stone steps that form the school’s backbone.

Run up the stairs
.

Elias’s legs obey, clearing two at a time. Once he’s reached the top floor, he continues running towards the little corridor where a locked door leads to the school’s attic. It’s a dead end, one of the school’s forgotten places. There are a few toilets here that no one else uses. He and Linnéa usually meet here.

The footsteps draw closer.

Hide
.

Elias opens the door to the toilets and slips inside. He closes the door carefully behind him and tries to breathe as quietly as possible. Listens. The only sound he can hear is a motorcycle accelerating in the distance.

Elias puts his ear to the door.

He can’t hear anything. But he knows. Someone’s standing there. On the other side.

Elias
.

The whispering is louder now, but Elias is sure that it’s only in his head.

It’s finally happened: I’ve lost my mind, he thinks, and at once the voice responds:
Yes. You have
.

He looks out of the window towards the pale blue sky. The white tiles glisten. It’s cold in here. He’s filled with an immense loneliness.

Turn around
.

Elias doesn’t want to, but he turns just the same. It’s as if he’s no longer in control of his body. The voice is controlling it, as if he were a puppet of flesh and blood.

He’s standing in front of the row of three sinks with mirrors mounted above them. When he catches sight of his pale face he wants to shut his eyes, but he can’t.

Smash the mirror
.

Elias’s body obeys. His grip tightens around the strap of his book bag and he swings it through the air.

The sound echoes off the tiled walls when the mirror shatters. Big shards break off and crash into the sink where they splinter into smaller pieces with a tinkling noise.

Someone must have heard, Elias thinks. Please, let someone have heard.

But no one comes. He’s alone with the voice.

Elias’s body goes up to the sink and picks up the largest shard. He understands what’s going to happen. He feels dizzy with fear.

You’re broken. Impossible to fix
.

Slowly he backs into one of the open cubicles.

It’ll soon be over. Soon you’ll never have to be afraid again
.

The voice sounds almost comforting now.

Elias locks the door and sinks on to the toilet seat. He struggles to open his mouth, tries desperately to cry out. His grip on the glass shard tightens and the sharp edges cut into his palm.

No pain
.

And he feels no pain. He sees the blood trickle from his hand and drip on to the grey-tiled floor but feels nothing. His body has gone numb. Only his thoughts remain. And the voice.

Life won’t get better. Might as well end it now. Spare yourself the pain. Spare yourself the betrayals. It never gets any better anyway, Elias. Life is just a humiliating struggle. The dead are the lucky ones
.

Elias doesn’t try to resist as the glass shard cuts through the long sleeve of his shirt exposing the scarred skin beneath.

Mum, Dad, he thinks. They’ll get through this. They have their faith. They believe we’ll see each other again in Heaven.

I love you, he thinks, as the sharp edge starts to slice through his skin.

He hopes that Linnéa will understand that he didn’t choose this. Everyone else is going to think he killed himself, and that doesn’t matter. As long as she doesn’t.

He cuts into his flesh differently from how he ever has before. Deeply and purposefully.

It’ll soon be over, Elias. Just a little more. Then it’ll be over. It’ll be better like this. You’ve suffered so much
.

The blood pumps from his arm. He sees it happening but feels nothing and now black spots dance before his eyes. They dance and grow until the whole world is pitch black. The last sound he hears is the footsteps out in the corridor. Whoever’s out there isn’t bothering to move quietly any more. There’s no reason to now.

He tries to keep thinking about Linnéa. Like when he was
little
, and thought he could escape his nightmares if he could just hold on to one bright thought as he drifted off to sleep.

Forgive me
.

He doesn’t know whether those words came from him or the voice.

And that’s when he feels the pain.

2

WHEN SHE REGAINS
consciousness, she’s lying huddled in the corner where they had left her.

It’s pitch dark in the cell. Her whole body aches.

She sits up, pulls her legs under her smock and wraps her arms around her knees. She still can’t hear anything from her right ear and there is a throbbing ache behind her eye, which is sealed shut with pus and coagulated blood.

Footsteps echo outside and the heavy door opens. Torchlight fills the room and she looks away when she sees her scarred feet bound together with a thick chain. Two guards wrench her up from the floor and tie her hands behind her back while the torchbearer looks on. The rope cuts into her wrists, but she refuses to let them see how much it hurts.

The man with the torch saunters forwards with an arrogant smirk. He has no teeth and his breath smells of rotten flesh. The heat from the torch sears her face as he brings it closer.

‘Today you’re going to die, harlot,’ he says, and strokes her face with his free hand, letting it continue down towards her breasts.

Seething hatred fills her, makes her strong and hard.

‘I curse you,’ she hisses. ‘Your prick shall fester and fall off! My lord Satan will come for you on your deathbed, and demons will torment you for all eternity.’

The man pulls away his hand as if burned.

‘God spare us,’ mumbles one of the guards.

It gives her a little consolation to see them so frightened.

Someone pulls a sack over her head, and she is dragged through the labyrinthine passageways.

A gate opens on creaking hinges.

Outside. There is the fresh smell of dew. She braces herself for the hateful baying of the mob, but all she hears is birdsong. The red light of dawn filters through the weave of the sackcloth over her head. A cuckoo caws to the south. It is a death knell. A deep, animal instinct takes over. She has to flee. Now.

Driven by panic, she rushes forward blindly. The iron shackles knock against her ankles as she runs. No one tries to stop her. They know there’s no need. She doesn’t get far before she falls headlong on to the damp ground. The guards laugh and call out behind her.

‘Looks like she’s in a hurry to get to her lord Satan,’ she hears the toothless one shout.

Powerful hands lift her underneath her arms and someone else grabs hold of her feet. They toss her roughly through the air. She soars for a moment before slamming on something hard and getting the breath knocked out of her. A horse snorts and the world sways back and forth. She’s lying in a cart, that much she can work out.

‘Is anyone there?’ she whispers.

Nobody answers.

Just as well, she thinks. We are all alone in death.

Minoo is woken by her shivering. She’s freezing, as if she had slept with the window open all night. She’s having trouble breathing – it feels as if something big and heavy is sitting on her chest.

She pulls the covers up to her chin and curls into a ball. She’s had many nightmares, but never one that had such a physical effect on her. Never has she felt so relieved to see the familiar yellow and white striped wallpaper of her room.