I Remember You Read online

  ‘The devil’s afoot. Keep that in mind,’ she said. He smiled awkwardly, freed his hand and lifted his cup. Before he could take a sip, she added: ‘I fear things are going to go badly for you. Very badly.’

  Chapter 21

  They’d waited too long to get going. It grew darker with each step as they walked along the narrow trail towards the old factory, which lay further up the fjord. But the sky was clear and there were no signs of it changing, or of the snow resuming. At times it was difficult to make out the trail beneath the snow, but luckily in most places it was slightly sunken, making it easy enough to follow. Katrín had lost count of the streams she’d had to jump over, mostly with Putti in her arms since he whined and fussed every time they approached even a small one. His short legs weren’t made for great endeavours, and he feared being left behind on the other side of these fearsome rapids. Several of the streams were bridged with logs or planks of wood. For most of the way the path had run alongside the beach, but it had been sloping uphill for some time now and below them were sheer rocks over which the water gushed, in some places capped with silvery ice.

  ‘How much further do you think it is?’ Katrín was last in line, since she was in the worst shape and kept turning back to make sure Putti was still following them. He’d slowed down a bit, yet she still found it amazing how energetic he was under the circumstances; it was the equivalent of them having to wade through hip-deep snow. ‘There’s no boat to be seen. Maybe we should turn around?’ She was afraid her aches and pains would make the return trip unbearable if they went too far.

  Garðar had said nothing during their hike. He wasn’t limping, which must mean that his heel was better, so his reticence wasn’t caused by pain. Maybe he was nervous. He turned and looked back at Katrín but said nothing, just looked away again and kept walking. Líf led the group, and seemed to be ignoring Katrín’s suggestion. ‘We’re nearly there. Garðar and I went there when we came to look at the house; it’s half an hour away at most.’

  Of course, that time everything wasn’t covered in snow, but Katrín decided there was no point saying so. Líf would disregard all attempts to dissuade her. Katrín hoped her uncharacteristic cheeriness didn’t mean she’d cooked up a plan to dupe them into going further and further, until they unwittingly found themselves walking all the way to Ísafjörður. But then again, Líf hadn’t suggested that they bring food along, so it seemed unlikely, unless she’d completely lost her grip on reality and thought that they could live off the land along the way. The thought of forcibly dragging her back over slippery tree stumps and unbridged streams was less than appealing. ‘What were you doing all the way out here?’ Katrín almost lost her balance when she tripped on a bump in the middle of the path, concealed by the snow.

  ‘Oh, it was just a ridiculous idea I had.’ Líf’s pace hadn’t slowed even though she’d stumbled on the same bump as Katrín. ‘I’d read about it and thought maybe we could buy the whole shebang and turn the factory into a hotel or something. Don’t laugh when you see the state of the buildings.’ She stopped suddenly and pointed ahead. ‘See, we’re just about there. You can see the chimney. It’s just down here.’

  Katrín paused at the top of the slope and stared down at the strip of low ground where the factory stood. The snow hadn’t managed to cover the ruins, which stood out darkly, distinctly, against the otherwise snowy white landscape. A towering chimney captured their attention, apparently only days away from collapsing. ‘Look, can you see the hole at the top of the chimney?’ She pointed, and both Líf and Garðar stopped their downward progress to look. ‘Is it safe to go near it?’

  ‘That was the Coast Guard. They used the chimney for target practice in the Cod Wars. Shot at it with a cannon.’ Líf resumed walking, and Garðar followed.

  Katrín hesitated before following them. The light was steadily dwindling and she didn’t want to lose her step as she descended, in case she fell and hurt herself. Every step down also meant another step up on the way back. Putti had stopped with her on the edge of the slope and seemed worried, whining and barking to dissuade her from going down. Then he gave up and followed. Now the entire fjord was visible and Katrín found the unnaturally calm sea incredibly beautiful in the twilight. ‘I still can’t see a boat,’ she called down to Líf and Garðar, who were steadily increasing their lead, ‘Shouldn’t we turn back soon? It’ll be dark before long.’ They said nothing; they didn’t even slow down. ‘We came here to look for a boat, remember?’ Still no reaction. Irritated, she considered scooping Putti up in her arms and heading back without them. She was even seized by the childish notion that it would teach the other two a lesson if she got lost and froze to death. But a frantic bark from Putti brought her back down to earth. ‘What’s wrong, boy?’ She turned and saw that something in the sea seemed to be bothering the dog. She leaned down to him and tried to work out what he was staring at, before noticing two black humps sticking up from the surface of the sea just beyond land. At first she thought it was two wet, shiny stones, rocks on the seashore. But it wasn’t long before she realized their movements were being watched. ‘Seals!’ At this Líf and Garðar did stop, and turned around to see what was up. Katrín pointed at the sea, where the seals’ heads were still poking up, and smiled. Garðar smiled back at her but Líf simply shook her head and continued walking.

  Katrín nudged Putti forward with her foot and made to set out after them, her mood now lighter. Putti stayed where he was, growling and staring at the seals. ‘Enough of that nonsense. They’re not about to come to shore, so you’re safe.’ Putti stopped growling and gave her a mournful look, as if he wanted to tell her something. He made do with licking her hand, and she tried to cheer him up by scratching him briskly behind the ear. ‘Come on. Let’s get this over with. Then we’ll go home. I don’t want to be here any more than you do.’ She stood up and walked away, Putti right behind her. When she saw how reluctantly he was moving she picked him up, though that would slow her down even more. And in fact she was in no hurry; it would be dark on the way back, whether or not it took her a few minutes longer to make it down the slope. From time to time she looked towards the seals and was never disappointed; they shifted their positions slightly, but continued to stare in her direction. Of course they were too far away for her to get a good look at their faces, but she recalled the saying, ‘seals have men’s eyes’. Putti, however, was now carefully avoiding looking at the sea, probably because his primitive dog logic told him that if he couldn’t see the seals, they were no longer there. When Katrín put him down at the base of the slope, he shook himself and seemed to perk up again, since the seals were no longer visible.

  ‘Isn’t it fantastic?’ Líf was sitting on a low concrete wall tossing a cigarette pack from one hand to the other, as if wondering whether she should have one more or preserve them for later. ‘What do you think?’ She gestured around her with the pack.

  ‘Well, I won’t laugh at your idea about the hotel.’ Katrín studied the ruins. Everywhere she looked she saw reddish-brown; rusted tanks and hulking lumps of iron in among half-collapsed brick buildings. A brick or two poked up out of the snow, as did twisted shapes of wrought iron. ‘But God, this place is weird.’ The factory must have been among the biggest in the country in its time, but it had truly seen better days. Katrín could see that the buildings were unrestorable. The roof of a large room located beneath the tall chimney had collapsed and now hung in strips from long iron rods, and none of the walls had withstood the ravages of time, though they had fallen into ruin in a variety of ways. ‘Why did they need such a tall chimney?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Líf leaned her head back so she could look up at it. Unbelievably, it was in the best state of repair of all their surroundings.

  ‘They were liquefying something. Making cod-liver oil, maybe.’ Garðar had been silent for so long that he was slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat. ‘But don’t ask me about all this iron junk. I haven’t got the faintest idea what it’s for.’
Rusting cranes, winches, bolts, pipes and tanks lay silently around them, revealing nothing.

  ‘I’d like to know what this thing is behind me.’ Líf peered into a long pit beneath the wall where she sat. A huge iron pipe supported by welded-on struts leaned over it, a short distance from them. ‘There’s all sorts of stuff in there that must have had some purpose.’

  Garðar glanced into the pit and then looked speculatively up and down the pipe’s length. When he spoke it was clear that he was just as clueless as they were about the factory’s former activities. ‘This had something to do with processing offal, I reckon.’

  ‘Ugh.’ Líf turned away from the pit, though without leaving her perch on the wall, where she was comfortable enough. ‘You should look inside, if you think it’s strange out here.’ She pointed Katrín to a large opening leading into the darkened factory. ‘But don’t go in. Just look through the hole.’

  Katrín felt ill at ease, but she said nothing. She thought she heard a noise from the beach below them. She checked to see whether Putti was still with them, or if the seals had come ashore and he’d perhaps gone after them. He hadn’t; he was still standing next to her, looking dejected. Katrín glanced at the mountains across the fjord; they would soon be invisible in the dark. She found it isolating to think that across the huge span of territory lying before their eyes, there was probably not another single soul. She was momentarily struck by the question of what she would do if Garðar and Líf were gone when she turned around. She couldn’t hear them; neither the scraping of their shoes nor their breathing. This was probably just because she’d pulled her hood over her head, but it felt as if she were entranced by the sea and the dark blue, white-capped mountains, just as Putti had been spellbound by the seals. If she didn’t turn around, Líf and Garðar would still be there and would continue to be there until she pulled her eyes away from the sea and saw that they were gone.

  ‘Katrín? What’s up?’ Líf stretched her leg out and kicked lightly at Katrín’s bottom. ‘Did you hear me? I said you should have a look inside.’

  Although Katrín didn’t like being badgered, the contact was a relief. Of course they weren’t gone, she was just tired, both mentally and physically; her mind was playing tricks on her. She turned around and smiled at the familiar faces that looked back at her in surprise. Garðar seemed a bit jumpy, as if he’d heard a noise, though he didn’t say anything. Líf was the only one who was acting normally, though her normal state would be considered abnormal by most people. She’d put the cigarette packet in her pocket and now rolled her eyes impatiently. Katrín decided to do as she suggested; perhaps they could head home after this total waste of time. ‘Fine, I’ll take a look, but then shouldn’t we be getting back? I’m really tired and hungry, and soon there’ll be no light left at all.’ She walked off towards the building, which looked even darker than before. The opening, so intriguing according to Líf, was pitch-black, the bricks at its edges like stained, rotten teeth in a hideous mouth.

  ‘Go with her, Garðar.’ Líf was in her element. She had a talent for giving orders, and when Katrín heard the crunching of snow behind her, indicating that he’d obeyed, she could imagine Líf smiling from ear to ear. She was relieved he was there. Although she wasn’t planning on spending much time here – she’d just stick her head in, say, ‘Wow’ and that would be that – it was better not to be alone. Putti followed her, of course, and although his faithfulness undeniably warmed her heart, it didn’t provide the same security as Garðar’s presence.

  Once she was standing in front of the hole she no longer wanted to see what was inside. How interesting could it be? Adrenalin streamed through her veins without her understanding what caused it. It was as if her subconscious sensed some imminent danger that her usual senses weren’t picking up. Did she catch a glimpse of something moving in the darkness? Could the boy be staying in there? They hadn’t seen any tracks in the snow, but it was perfectly possible that he’d managed to cover them. Katrín peered as far in as she could without having to go any closer to the opening.

  ‘What? Did you see something?’ Garðar had come up next to her. He took one step closer to the wall and ran his hand over it. ‘It’s incredible that this is still standing.’

  ‘Do you think the child could be in there?’ Katrín spoke quietly enough for Líf not to hear. ‘I thought I saw some movement.’

  Garðar peeked in through the hole. ‘No. There’s no one here; no one would choose to stay in these ruins.’ He took hold of an iron hook cemented into the stack of bricks and tried to move it, unsuccessfully. All he got for his efforts were rusty streaks on his gloves. ‘Shit.’ He grabbed a piece of rope hanging on the wall and tried to wipe his glove on it. ‘Have a look inside and let’s go. I have a bad feeling about this and I want to get back as quickly as possible.’

  Katrín was glad to have finally found out what was bothering him. She moved up to the opening, feeling much more daring and happier given this new development. Soon they would be back at the doctor’s house, eating at the dinner table by candlelight. But she’d barely stuck her head through the opening when she saw the outline of the boy inside, on the other side from her. Suddenly he looked up; in the darkness his skin appeared inhuman, grey, his eyes large and sunken in his fish-cheeked face. The boy stared at her, then opened his mouth and screamed soundlessly. Katrín started and fell backwards. At the same moment, a large chunk of brickwork from the section above the hole fell to the ground in front of her with a loud crash. Several bricks hit her, but although it hurt, the pain was nothing in comparison to her terror and the hammering of her heart. Putti yelped, scampered awkwardly over to her and huddled against her thigh. The dust now hanging over everything clouded her vision; she could hardly see a thing. ‘Garðar! Garðar!’ She couldn’t form the words, but wanted to warn him before the boy did him any harm. Then all the dust drifted suddenly to the ground and she could see more clearly. She was hugely relieved to see that Garðar had managed to jump away when the wall collapsed, though he hadn’t come out of it much better than she had. His face was bleeding and he limped as he tried to hurry over to her.

  ‘Jesus. Jesus.’ He seemed just as startled as she was. Frightened yells behind them told them that Líf had also been taken by surprise. ‘Are you hurt? Where?’

  Katrín felt the tears running down her cheeks, at first warm but then cold as they trickled saltily over her lips. Her body couldn’t take this. Not now. She managed to moan: ‘My legs.’ She tried to lift herself up and managed it with the help of Garðar, who at first wanted her to stay still while he examined her injuries. Although her tears were still flowing, anger was her strongest emotion. ‘I’m leaving. Even if I have to crawl.’ She made the snap decision not to tell him about the boy for fear that he would rush into the death-trap of a building. The pain was awful when she finally got to her feet, but she paid it no heed; she had to get out of there. ‘Líf! Come here and take Putti. I think he’s hurt.’ She leaned on Garðar, who winced despite trying as hard as he could not to let his own pain show. Some bricks must have hit his shoulder.

  Together they hobbled up the slope, Putti still whining in Líf’s arms. When they were halfway up, with Katrín on the verge of giving up because of her pain, she spied the seals, still dawdling in the same spot. The creatures appeared to be watching their progress with the same lazy interest as before. Maybe it was the poor light, or pain was confusing her, but suddenly Katrín felt sure that they weren’t the heads of seals at all but of humans; the mother and son who had vanished beneath the ice sixty years before.

  Chapter 22

  Time went by slower on the flight back to Ísafjörður than it had on the way south. Freyr had barely been able to keep his eyes open when he’d needed to, but as soon as he fastened his seatbelt his fatigue vanished, or rather took a little break. There was no prospect more appealing than closing his eyes and forgetting everything, even if only for a short flight, but it was impossible: he had too much to think about.
An odd discomfort and anxiety welled up inside him, and in the end he even ordered coffee from the friendly flight attendant. After that there was no turning back and he lost control of his thoughts. He felt like he did when he couldn’t sleep at night. At those times, everything seemed hopeless and the tiniest problems became insurmountable. His trip south had yielded no real explanation for Halla’s death, and he was surprised now that he’d ever thought the autopsy would provide a definitive answer. There were far too many unanswered questions for that, too many complexities. In addition he was disappointed, though not surprised, not to have got hold of Lárus, the only member of the old group of schoolmates still alive. The man had neither answered his phone nor been at home when Freyr finally took a taxi there. It was possible that he had been there but didn’t come to the door; the apartment was in a block and it was equally likely that the doorbell was broken. Nonetheless Freyr rang it several times, and even circled the building in the hope of finding the windows to apartment 5.03, but to no avail. He thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t gone into architecture all those years ago, as he’d considered doing for a time; he clearly had terrible spatial awareness. But it didn’t really matter, as Freyr had no idea what he would do if he saw a light or movement in the apartment. He’d hardly planned on bursting in on the man.

  But he felt worst about Sara. His disappointment was even greater considering that he’d allowed himself to hope that finally she was showing signs of improvement. Of course he should have known better, evaluated the situation professionally instead of letting himself be influenced by optimism. But he wasn’t the first psychiatrist in history to misjudge a relative’s circumstances. Although he no longer loved Sara in a romantic sense, he was still very fond of her and that fondness would never go away, any more than he could stop loving his parents. Although their relationship had taken a different turn than they’d planned on their wedding day, they still stood in its shadow; in any case, the way things were at the moment they were still a long way from feeling able to look for happiness once more in the arms of other people. If Benni’s fate were never explained, they might remain this way all their lives. His disappearance bound them with slender but strong threads, the web of their shared tragedy.