Stalker

5 (#u6eac72a4-6874-5b24-86fa-ce89bca53a5d)

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.

‘God, 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 scraping sound from the other side.

‘Hello?’ 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 scrape 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 scraper 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 passageway. 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 glass 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 glass-fronted cabinet containing the collection of Dresden china that Björn inherited. Her heart starts to beat faster. She’s almost at the end of the passageway, 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 passage.

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 scraper 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.

Her head lolls sideways and she can see that there’s some old popcorn among the dust under the sofa.

Through the roaring sound inside her she can hear peculiar screams, and feels rapid stabs to her stomach and chest.

She tries to kick free, thinking to herself that she has to get back to the bathroom. The floor beneath her is slippery, and she has no energy left.