Marked For Revenge

She’d had no problem swallowing the tablet that neutralized her stomach acid. It had slid right down. But the capsule looked so huge, she thought now, pressing against the coating with her pointer finger and thumb.

The man grabbed her arm and slowly pushed her hand toward her mouth. The capsule touched her lips. She knew what she was supposed to do and her mouth instantly went dry.

“Open up!” he said between clenched teeth.

Pim opened her mouth and placed the capsule on her tongue.

“All right then, chin up and down the hatch with it.”

She looked at the ceiling and felt the capsule drop far back on her tongue. She tried to swallow, but she couldn’t. The capsule refused to go down.

She coughed it up into her hand.

The man slammed his fist onto the table.

“Where did you find this piece of garbage?” he said to Noi, who turned white as a sheet. “I can’t afford idiots, do you understand that? Time is money.”

Noi nodded and looked at Pim, who avoided meeting her gaze.

“Try again,” Noi whispered. “You can do it.”

Pim shook her head slowly.

“You have to!” Noi insisted.

Pim shook her head again. Her lower lip quivered and her eyes watered. She knew that she was lucky, that she should be happy that she had this opportunity. She wasn’t used to good luck, but when Noi told her about the possibility of earning quick, easy money, her heart had leaped in excitement.

“Okay, that’s it! Get out of here!” The man grabbed Pim’s arm and pulled her to standing. “I have plenty of others who want to earn some cash.”

“No! Wait! I want to!” Pim screamed, resisting. “Please, I want to! Let me try again. I can do it.”

The man held her tightly. He glared at her for a moment, at her narrow, bloodshot eyes, red cheeks and compressed lips.

“Prove it!” he said.

With a bottle in one hand, he grabbed her jaw, forced her mouth open and squirted lubricant into her mouth three times.

He held up the capsule.

“Here,” he said.

Pim took it and popped it into her mouth. She attempted to swallow. Poking it with one finger to move it farther back into her mouth, she only gagged more.

She grew more panicked.

She stuck the capsule down her throat again, thrust her chin up. But that only resulted in more gagging.

Her palms were damp with sweat.

She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, poking the capsule as far down her throat as she could.

She swallowed.

Swallowed, swallowed, swallowed.

Slowly, it slid down toward her stomach.

The man clapped his hands together and grinned.

“There you go,” he said. “Only forty-nine left.”

* * *

The first blow was aimed at her head, the second at her throat.

Jana Berzelius deflected Danilo’s fists with her lower arms.

He was in a rage, darting from side to side, trying to land blows from every direction. But she fought against him, got her right fist up, ducked, jabbed with her left and then kicked. She missed but repeated the movements, quicker this time, striking Danilo’s knee. His leg buckled slightly, but he kept his footing. She knew she had to make him lose his balance and fall, so she kicked again—this time at his head. But as she did, he grabbed her foot, wrenching it forcefully to the left. She was twirled around and landed flat on her back on the cold, hard ground. In almost the same movement, she rolled to the side, hands in defensive position, and jumped to her feet.

Danilo was standing completely still in front of her, waiting, his nostrils flaring and teeth bared.

He rushed toward her, throwing himself forward. At the same moment, she bowed her head, holding her fists in front of her face. Using all of her strength, she raised her foot and kicked in defense.

She hit her target.

As Danilo crumpled to the ground, she pounced on top of him and was about to put one knee on his chest when, with a primal roar, he threw his weight around so that they rolled together and he ended up on top. He sat astride her, punching her in the ribs with all of his strength.

Grabbing her hair, Danilo pulled her head toward him, lifting it from the ground. She tried to lift her upper body to lessen the pain, but his weight on her chest made that impossible.

“Why are you following me?” He leaned forward, hissing in her face.

She didn’t answer. She was thinking feverishly: this can’t happen, she couldn’t let him win. She knew far too well what he was capable of. But she was trapped, her arms under his legs. She reached out with her fingertips, trying to find something to defend herself with, but there was only ice and snow.

An unpleasant feeling began to wash over her. She hadn’t counted on ending up on the bottom. She had been intending to ambush him—she’d had the advantage from the beginning.

She clenched her fists and flexed her muscles, summoning all of her energy. Swinging her legs into the air, she drove her knees into his back. Danilo arched backward, losing his grip on her hair. She kneed him again and again, trying unsuccessfully to hook one leg around his neck.

He wouldn’t budge.

He grabbed her hair again.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he snarled, beating her head against the ground.

The pain was incredible. Her vision went black.

He slammed her head against the ground again and again, and she felt how the strength ran out of her body.

“Stay away from me, Jana,” he said.

She heard his voice as if in a fog, far away from her.

She didn’t feel the pain anymore.

A warm wave washed over her, and she realized she was about to lose consciousness.

He raised his fist, holding it near her face without striking her. It was as if he was hesitating. Meeting her gaze, panting, he said something unintelligible that echoed as if in a tunnel.

She heard a shout that seemed to be coming from far away.

“Hey!”

She didn’t recognize the voice.

She tried to move, but the pressure on her chest made it impossible. Fighting to keep her eyelids open, she looked straight into Danilo’s dark eyes.

He glared back at her. “I’m warning you. Follow me one more time and I’ll finish what I started here.”

He held her face a half inch from his.

“One more time and you’ll regret it forever. Understand?”

She did, but was unable to answer.

She felt the pressure on her chest release. The silence told her Danilo was gone.

She coughed violently and rolled to her side, closing her eyes for a long moment...until she thought she heard the unfamiliar voice again.

* * *

Anneli Lindgren laid a plate with two pieces of crispbread on the kitchen table and sat down across from her live-in partner, Gunnar Öhrn. Both worked for the county police, she as a forensic expert; he as a chief investigator.

Steam rose in wisps from their teacups.

“Do you want Earl Grey or this green tea?” she asked.

“Which are you having?”

“Green.”

“I’ll have that, too, then.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“No, but you’re always saying I should drink it.”

She smiled at him and as she opened the tea bags, music came drifting in from Adam’s room. She heard their son singing along.

“He seems to like it here,” she said.

“Do you?”

“Of course.”

She could sense Gunnar’s anxiety in the question, so she answered quickly and without hesitation. It was the only way to avoid any follow-up questions. He was always nervous about everything, overthinking, analyzing, obsessing about things he should have let go of long ago.

“Are you sure? You like it here now?”

“Yes!”

Anneli dropped her tea bag into her cup and let it swell with hot water as she listened to Adam’s voice, the music and lyrics he had memorized, and watched the color from the tea leaves seep into the water, counting the number of times she and Gunnar had lived apart but then together again. It was too many to remember. It might be the tenth time, maybe the twelfth. The only thing she could be sure of was that they had lived together off and on for twenty years.

But it was different now, she tried to convince herself. More comfortable, more relaxed. Gunnar was a good man. Kind, reliable. If he could only stop harping on every little thing.

He rested his hand on hers.

“Otherwise we can try to find a new apartment. Or maybe a town house? We’ve never tried that.”

She pulled her hand away, looking at him without bothering to voice an answer. She knew the look on her face was enough.

“Okay,” he said, “I get it. You’re happy here.”

“So stop nagging.”

She sipped her tea, noting that there were approximately ninety seconds left of the song Adam was playing. One guitar solo and then the refrain three times.

“What do you think about the meeting with the National Crime Squad tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’m not thinking anything in particular. They can come to whatever conclusion they want. We did a very good job.”

“But I don’t understand why Anders Wester would come here anyway. I have nothing to say to him.”

“What? That really sexy guy is coming?”

She couldn’t help teasing him. There was something in his unnecessary worry, his jealousy, that she got a kick out of. But she regretted it immediately.

He glared at her.

“I’m only kidding,” she said.

“Do you really think so?”

“That he’s handsome? Yes, at one time I did.”

She tried to look nonchalant, amused.

“But not anymore?” he asked.

“Oh, stop it,” she said.

“Just so I know.”

“Stop! Drink your tea.”

“Are you sure?”

“Stop nagging!”

She heard the guitar solo. Then Adam’s voice singing the refrain.

Gunnar got up and poured the contents of his teacup into the sink.

“What are you doing?” Anneli asked.

“I don’t like green tea,” he said, heading for the bathroom.

She sighed, at Gunnar and at the music she could barely stand. But she didn’t want to end the evening with yet another argument. Not now, when they had just decided to try living together again.

She was already tired.

So tired.

* * *

“Hello? Are you okay?”

Robin Stenberg knelt down beside the woman who was lying on the ground in the fetal position. The chain from his ripped jeans clattered as it touched the hard concrete. He saw she was bleeding heavily from the back of her head and was just about to poke her when she opened her eyes.

“I saw everything,” he said. “I saw him. He went that way.”

He pointed toward the river, his hand trembling.

The woman tried to shake her head.

“Ffff...ffeh...ehlll,” she tried to say, her voice thick.

“No,” he said. “You didn’t fall. You were attacked. We have to call the police.”

He got up and dug around in his cargo pockets, looking for his cell phone.

“Nuuuh...” she said.

“Shit, you’re bleeding really bad,” he said. “You need an ambulance or something.”

He paced back and forth, unable to stand still.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he repeated.

The woman moved a little, coughing.

“Don’t...call,” she whispered.

He found his phone and typed in the passcode to unlock it.

The woman coughed again.

“Don’t call,” she said again, clearer this time.

He didn’t hear her as he typed in the emergency number. Just as he was about to hit the green call button, his phone disappeared from his hand.

“What the...”

It took a few seconds before he understood what had happened.

She had gotten up and now stood before him with his cell in her hand. Blood was dripping down from her head over her left ear.

“I said you shouldn’t call.”

For a moment, he thought it was a joke. But when he saw her threatening look, he understood that she was serious. He saw how she was examining him and despite being fully dressed, he felt almost naked.

Her eyes swept quickly over him, noting his black hat, heavily lined eyes, tattoo of eight small stars on his temple, pierced lower lip, lined denim jacket and worn-out military boots.

“What’s your name?” she asked, more a command than a question.

“R-Robin Stenberg,” he stammered.

“Okay, Robin,” she said. “Just so we understand each other, I fell and hit my head. Nothing more.”

In shock, he nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

“Good. Take this now and go.”

The woman tossed his cell to him. He caught it clumsily, stumbling backward a few steps and began to run.

It wasn’t until he was inside his apartment on Spelmansgatan and had locked the door behind him that the magnitude of what he had just witnessed sunk in.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE INTERNATIONAL TERMINAL at Suvarnabhumi Airport in Bangkok was swarming with people. Long lines wound around from every desk, and from time to time the clerks yelled out names of people who were requested to contact the information desk. The sound of suitcases arriving on the conveyor belt at baggage claim thundered through the hall.

Large groups were chattering noisily, babies were crying and couples were arguing about their travel plans.

“Passport, please.”

The woman behind the check-in desk put her hand out.

Pim held her passport with both hands to hide the fact that they were trembling. She had been told not to panic, to relax, to try to look happy. But as the line in front of her got shorter, her anxiety grew.

She had fiddled so continuously with her ticket that it was now missing a bit of the paper in the corner.

Her stomach hurt.

The nausea came in waves, and she wished she could just stick her finger down her throat. She wanted to spit—the amount of saliva in her mouth increased with every wave of nausea—but she knew she couldn’t. So she swallowed, again and again.

Two lines away, Noi stood obsessively flicking her backpack strap. They avoided looking at each other, pretended they were strangers.

For now, it was as if they had never met.

Those were the rules.

The woman behind the counter tapped on her computer keyboard. Her hair was dark and pulled into a tight ponytail. The airline emblem was embroidered on the left pocket of her black jacket, underneath which she was wearing a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar.

Pim stood with one arm on the counter. She leaned slightly forward in an attempt to reduce the pain in her swollen belly.

“You can put your bag on the belt,” the woman said, examining Pim’s face. Taking a deep breath, Pim swung her suitcase onto the conveyor belt.

Nausea ran through her like an electric shock.

She grimaced.

“Is it your first time?”

The woman looked at her questioningly.

“Going to Copenhagen, I mean?”

Pim nodded.

“You don’t need to worry. Flying isn’t dangerous.”

Pim didn’t answer. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say. She kept her eyes on her shoes.

“Here you go.”

Pim took her boarding pass and immediately left the counter.

She wanted to get out of there, away from the woman, away from her wondering gaze.

She didn’t want to talk to anyone.

No one.

“Hey! Wait!” The woman behind the counter called to her.

Pim turned around.

“Your passport,” she said. “You forgot your passport.”

Pim went back and mumbled thanks. Clutching her passport to her chest with both hands, she walked slowly toward security.

* * *

Alone again, Jana Berzelius sank slowly to her knees. The pain was excruciating.

She just wanted to close her eyes. Carefully, she touched the back of her head, feeling the wound. Her fingers were immediately covered in blood. She wiped them on her jacket and looked around. Her maroon hat lay fifteen feet to her left, next to her briefcase. She carefully crawled to it, feeling the hard ice against her legs, knowing she couldn’t stay out here on the cold ground.

Then she noticed the bitter taste of metal. She spit and saw that it was red.

As red as the color of her hat.

She counted to three and struggled to her feet again. It felt like someone was stabbing her in the head, and the world was spinning. She supported herself with one hand on the wall of the pink archway.

She didn’t yet have the strength to walk.

So she stood there, letting the blood run down her neck.

* * *

Pim was shaken awake by the plane flying through turbulence.

She clutched the armrests, breathing quickly. Nausea radiated through her body, causing her heart to pound even faster.

She craned her neck in an attempt to see Noi, who was sitting in a window seat seven rows behind her. The headrests were in the way.

The plane was quiet. Most of the passengers were sleeping, and the flight attendants had withdrawn behind the curtains. The lights were off, but here and there a reading light glowed above someone’s seat. Some people were reading, others watching movies on the tiny screens mounted on the seat backs in front of them.

The plane shook again, this time more forcefully.

Her palms were damp with sweat, and she kept her death grip on the armrests, closing her eyes and trying to focus on taking long, slow breaths.

Her stomach was aching.

She suddenly had the urge to go to the bathroom and glanced over the headrests toward the bathrooms at the rear of the plane. After a brief moment’s consideration, she unlatched her seat belt and slowly stood. Walking carefully down the aisle, she gripped one headrest after another along the way to keep her balance.

Her stomach cramped up again, and she started panicking.

The plane’s jerky movements made her sway and bump against the seats.

A quiet voice from the cabin crew encouraged all passengers to remain in their seats and fasten their seat belts.

Pim stopped, hesitating, but continued toward the bathrooms.

She had to go, there was no stopping it. No waiting, either.

Not even for a minute.

She stumbled forward and had just reached the back of the cabin when the plane suddenly dropped. She lost her balance and fell to the side, but she was able to keep herself mostly upright until she reached the door of the bathroom. Rushing in, she closed the door behind her and locked it.

The pain in her stomach was unbearable.

She opened the lid and looked into the toilet. The stink of industrial toilet cleaner and urine hit her in the face. On the floor lay damp, trampled, ripped hand towels. The white plastic faucet dripped, and she could hear the thunder of the engines clearly.

Pim gave a start when there was a knock at the door.

“Hello? I’m sorry, but you must return to your seat,” yelled a voice in English.

Pim tried to answer, but her body crumpled in pain. She pulled down her pants and sat on the cold seat.

“Can you hear me? Hello?” the voice outside continued.

“Okay,” Pim said.

Then she could say nothing more.

Panic had captured her in its iron fist. The pain in her stomach slowly sank farther down in her gut.

She held her breath, sitting absolutely still for thirty seconds. Then she got up and again looked into the toilet.

There it was. A capsule. Lying there in the toilet.

“I’m sorry, but you really have to return to your seat now! All passengers!”

There was pounding on the door and the handle jiggled up and down.

“Yes! Yes!”

Pim wiped herself, tossed the paper in the wastebasket, pulled up her pants and carefully reached her hand into the toilet to retrieve the capsule.

She retched when she saw the brown film on its surface.

Holding it under running water, she carefully rubbed the rubber membrane with soap and water a few times.

She knew what she had to do now. She had no other option.

When the pounding on the door started again, she opened her mouth and placed the capsule on her tongue, tilting her head back, her panicked gaze fixed on a point on the ceiling.

She sweated profusely as the capsule slowly slid down into her stomach.

* * *

It was early morning when Jana Berzelius saw her reflection in her two-hundred-square-foot bathroom. She had managed to stumble home and pass out on her bed the night before. She decided to work from home today, having no desire to put in an appearance at the Public Prosecutor’s Office, or risk questions or curious glances from colleagues or clients. She didn’t want anyone to see her in the rare moments when she wasn’t totally put together.

She rested her hands on the square sink mounted on a black granite countertop. There was no cabinet underneath, instead only a shelf with folded snow-white washcloths in two perfect stacks. The shower was enclosed with dark tinted glass and the showerhead came directly out from the ceiling. The floor was Italian marble, and the room also held two closets and a white bathtub. Everything was sparkling clean.

Jana stood there in a camisole and panties. Her skin was covered in goose bumps.

Her face was swollen and her neck ached.

She cleaned the wound on the back of her head, replacing the bloody bandage with a clean one.

She was thinking about Danilo. She had thought about him all morning. He had attacked her, abused her and again tried to kill her. The thought of it all made her tremble in rage. If that skinny Goth kid hadn’t appeared, she might not be standing here—she might be dead.

Danilo had been vicious and brutal. He had had the advantage and had left her feeling completely powerless.

It was a strange and unpleasant feeling.

She shook her head and tucked her hair behind her ear, his words echoing in her head.

I’m warning you. Follow me one more time and I’ll finish what I started here.

She tried to massage her aching muscles but gave up, letting her hand fall back to the sink.

One more time and you’ll regret it forever. Understand?

The message was unmistakable. It was a death threat, and she was completely certain that he meant it.

But what was he so scared of that he would want to kill her?

He was the threat—a threat to her, her career, her life. So why did he want to kill her? He could destroy absolutely everything for her if he wanted—but as long as he stayed away from her, he was no threat. As long as she stayed away from him, she was no threat to him, either.

She shouldn’t have followed him. I have to keep him out of my life, she thought, becoming aware that she stood at a crossroads. She had to make a decision.

She had nothing to gain from him. Next time, he would kill her. She knew that for a fact. She simply couldn’t let there be a next time.

Never.

Never.

Never.

She’d made up her mind. He would never be a part of her life again. She was finally going to put her past behind her.

Her hands trembled against the cold, hard porcelain.

The walls were closing in on her, and she was having trouble breathing. She understood that letting him go was the most important decision of her life. It meant letting go of her horrific childhood, her past, and moving on with her life—but she had lived her entire life with the uncertainty of who she was and had just begun to find answers.

She looked into the mirror. Her eyes narrowed.

There is no time for hesitation, she thought, turning around and yelling as if Danilo were standing there. She hit the door, aiming again, kicking, screaming.

Panting, she sat down on the floor.

Her mind was racing. Memories of him washed over her like a tidal wave. His face in hers, his ice-cold eyes, his hard voice.

I’m warning you.

“I have to,” she whispered. “I don’t want to, but I have to.”