But one thing she was sure of: it was Christmas Eve.
Then she heard music. Or thought she did. Yes, surely it was the carol service? The church choir singing the Christmas service on the radio. The sweet notes of ‘Silent Night’ – she could hear them loud and clear.
When she opened her eyes, the music was abruptly cut off and the darkness, the screaming darkness, closed in on her. The world started spinning again and she felt sick. She was losing her grip, losing her balance, suffocating in the airless cellar.
Oh God, where’s Einar? she thought. He must be coming soon, to open the door and let her out into the fresh air.
There’s nothing to be afraid of.
She waited for a while, shivering, crouching there in this strange, lightless limbo. She didn’t know how long for. Then she stood up, cautiously, to avoid banging her head again, her breathing coming in fast, shallow gasps, her mind filled with a single thought: she had to get out. She started moving fast, blundering, confused, then slowed down, but still managed to crash into something. She was lost in a rectangular labyrinth.
She held out her arms in front of her, feeling for the way out. What was that? A shelf. And that was some kind of tool, yes. Concentrate. That meant the door must be on the other side. She had to get out, had to get some air, whatever happened. She felt her way cautiously along the wall, knowing that this way she would find the door in the end.
Erla wished the music would come back. She couldn’t understand how she could have heard the carol so clearly, couldn’t understand anything any more. All she knew was that she had to get out. ‘Silent Night’ was such a beautiful carol; it had always been a great favourite of hers. She stood still, closed her eyes, and there it was again, the singing. She smiled, though she couldn’t really work out what was happening. Surely the service had finished hours ago? It must be night by now.
How she longed for tomorrow morning. After this horrible experience, she was going to take it easy, put her feet up and read the books that were still lying unopened under the tree. There was the lamb too, they still had that, and some malt brew to drink and a whole box of chocolates. She smiled again at the thought and felt herself growing calmer. After a moment, she started moving slowly, tentatively, her numb fingertips brushing the wall, knowing that any minute she would feel the door.
Then a man’s voice called out: ‘Are you in there?’ The words smashed into her thoughts, shockingly loud and real, followed by a rattle, as someone took hold of the door handle. Someone wanted to get in, but now she remembered that she had locked the door from the inside.
Einar. He’d come for her at last.
She took a couple more steps, felt wood under her fingertips, gripped the handle and turned the key.
She opened the door.
XXVII
Christmas Day.
This was normally one of Hulda’s favourite days of the year. After all the stress of getting the house clean and dinner ready on Christmas Eve, the twenty-fifth was a day of relaxation, which she liked to spend quietly absorbed in the books she’d been given, especially since Dimma had grown old enough to entertain herself. Even Jón generally took a break from work and lounged in front of the TV or read the papers.
The twenty-fifth was sacred; they never left the house and avoided all social contact – not that they received many invitations. Jón was an only child. His parents, who’d had him late, were no longer alive and he didn’t have many relatives. So there were just the three of them in their little family. They had always looked out for one another, and Hulda had felt it was her role to look after Jón and Dimma. But this year nothing was as it should be and she was at a loss to know why. It was as if the family was disintegrating, as if Dimma was tearing her and Jón apart. Of course, the world doesn’t stand still, she knew that; things change. But these were no ordinary changes. There was no obvious explanation for Dimma’s strange withdrawal.
Hulda was almost counting down the minutes until the holiday was over and she could call a psychologist. There must be some sort of emergency service available, but following her conversation with Jón she had decided not to look into it. No, the family would just have to paper over the cracks until Christmas had run its course.
It didn’t help that Hulda was on duty today. Rare though it was for anything serious to happen on the twenty-fifth, someone still had to be available in CID. But she couldn’t keep her mind on the job. Her thoughts were entirely preoccupied with the problem of Dimma. She hadn’t seen her daughter for nearly twenty-four hours. The girl hadn’t come out of her room at all on Christmas Eve except to go to the bathroom, in spite of all their attempts to put pressure on her to join them at the table. Hulda wasn’t worried about her being hungry as Jón had taken a tray of food up to her room. Besides, Dimma was perfectly capable of feeding herself, sneaking out to fetch something from the fridge when no one else was around. Teenagers were constantly hungry.
Hulda didn’t usually slope off home at midday, but this time she was going to make an exception. Her shift was supposed to last all day, but she’d take a good long lunch break and just hope that nothing would come up at the police station while she was away. If the worst came to the worst, they could always call her at home. She hadn’t achieved a single thing that morning anyway. The office was almost empty,
