Missing

telling you this because I need your help. I don’t dare go into a shop even.’
    His wide, frightened eyes were fixed on her. She sighed.
    ‘OK, I’m sorry. Forgive me.’
    Just imagine what anybody watching them would make of her sitting astride a defenceless fifteen year-old. She stood up, letting him go.
    ‘Go away now.’
    He stayed where he was, very still and looking as if he hardly dared to breathe.
    ‘Go!’
    He twitched in response to her loud voice. Then he crawled out of his sleeping bag and started slowly walking towards the door, his back tense as if he feared she would jump on him from behind.
    ‘I need my anorak.’
    He stopped at once, let the anorak slide to the floor and walked on. When he reached the door he suddenly leapt at it and rushed out. She could hear his running footsteps in the corridor outside.
    Slumping down on her mat, she knew staying in the attic was not possible now. She had to leave, at once. She packed his things neatly and then started on her own. A few minutes later everything was tidied away. Just inside the door, she turned to cast a last glance at the clock. Bye, bye.
    Into the corridor, down the stairs. On the ground floor she stopped for a moment. The mere thought of opening the door to the world outside made her feel sick. This everlasting fear would destroy her in the end. She chose to walk round to the back door leading into the school-yard. The thought of the street was too frightening.
    The door slammed behind her, shutting her off from her refuge for good. Crossing the yard, she walked towards the Vitaberg Park. She had no idea what to do next. Then she heard someone shouting behind her. The sound alarmed her and she stopped, looking around for somewhere to hide.
    ‘Sylla! Wait!’
    Then she saw him come running round the corner and waited until he reached her. At first he didn’t speak and she started to walk off.
    ‘I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at first, but I was so fucking scared.’
    He was a little breathless. She turned to look at him and discovered a new expression in his eyes, a seriousness that she had not seen before. Then he stared at the ground, as if ashamed by his own admission of fear.
    ‘Don’t worry about it.’
    ‘No, it’s because I know you’re speaking the truth, Sylla.’
    She kept walking, unable to bear the thought of starting to plead with him again.
    He hurried after her.
    ‘Sylla, please. You see, I saw the news on the poster in the Co-op window.’
    She stopped. He was obviously trying hard to choose the right words.
    ‘The story is that you murdered someone else last night.’

S he felt uneasy.
    ‘Are you absolutely sure he’s asleep?’
    Patrik sounded impatient.
    ‘Relax. He’s on nightshifts and doesn’t usually wake up until the afternoon.’
    She was feeling uncomfortable. What would his father do if he found a woman with unnaturally jet-black hair, camping with her rucksack in his son’s room? Old enough to be his mother, too.
    They were in the block of flats where Patrik lived, whispering together at the bottom of the stairs.
    ‘And your mother, are you sure – really sure, sure – that she isn’t coming home?’
    ‘Sure. Not until tomorrow night.’
    Maybe he was right but then, maybe he wasn’t. Besides, was it really right to involve him?

    When she learned the latest news she’d had to go and sit down on the nearest park bench. He had followed her silently, leaving her in peace. Sitting there looking out over the empty school-yard, she felt her courage ebbing away again. Staring at the large clock-face, she thought she should have followed her impulse of a few nights ago and made the school attic her last resting-place.
    He tried to say something hopeful to cheer her up.
    ‘Listen. I can tell the police you were with me all last night.’
    She only snorted at that, but then felt guilty because it had sounded like a put-down.
    ‘They would just have added pederasty to my list of crimes.’
    He sounded grumpy.
    ‘I happen to be fifteen years old. Actually.’
    What’s the answer to that?
    ‘Patrik, I’ve had it. I might as well confess and put an end to the whole saga.’
    ‘Shit, no! Don’t!’
    He was really upset.
    ‘Listen, you can’t confess to something you haven’t done!’
    ‘What do you suggest then?’
    ‘Can’t you go there and … like, talk to them?’
    ‘Same difference.’
    ‘I don’t get it. Why?’
    ‘Surely you can see that? The police have already made up