Or else I could bike home. The downside to that was, it would take at least fifteen minutes. It was getting dark and the streets were empty. I needed people around.
I checked my phone again. Amina was offline everywhere. She was probably sleeping.
Someone else?
There, among the little profile pictures across the top of Messenger, I caught sight of his face. His big smile and diamond eyes. A green dot glowed in front of his name. Online. I had forgotten to remove Chris from Messenger.
Shit! I had decided to forget him, delete him from my life, but now that I thought about it Chris seemed like the best option after all. He knew Linda. Maybe he could explain that there was nothing between us anymore. Maybe he could convince her to leave me alone. If there was anyone who could calm me down, it was Chris.
I looked at his picture again, and in that moment I realized how much I missed him. Tears burned behind my eyes as I headed into Lundag?rd Park.
Here and there a bike skidded past on the gravel paths, and an older lady was dragging her scraggly dachshund around by the statue of Tegnér, but for the most part everything was quiet and still.
What should I do?
I called Amina again. Still no answer.
I made a hasty decision and messaged Chris.
Are you there?
I stared down at the screen, but nothing happened. Several times I spun around to look over my shoulder, thinking I’d heard footsteps, seeing glowing eyes in the bushes.
Still no response on Messenger.
I looked up Chris’s number and sent a text. I waited five minutes, then called multiple times in a row. Nothing.
What was I going to do?
I parked my bike outside Tegnérs and sent even more messages, to both Chris and Amina. I wrote in all caps that they had to get back to me ASAP. It was important.
I headed into the club to hide in the crowd. After dashing around aimlessly, in the hopes of finding a familiar face to take my mind off Linda Lokind, I stood at the bar sipping at a pear cider and checking my phone at least ten times a minute. Still nothing.
People were giving me strange looks. A guy with Ronaldo hair attempted to flirt out of habit, but I waved him off like a gnat. I surfed the net for a while and texted Amina for the eleventh time.
When I came back out, the darkness was just about impenetrable. I got on my bike and pedaled through the park, swerving around a puddle and nearly crashing into two rivet-studded dudes who asked if I had a light. I didn’t respond, just looked around in the dark and decided to bike home. Just as I took a right onto Kyrkogatan, I glanced over my shoulder, wobbled, and almost toppled over.
Linda Lokind was standing across the intersection, looking like a ghost in the dull yellow umbrella of light cast by the streetlamp. Both hands were shoved into her pockets, and she was staring at nothing.
With that, I veered up onto the sidewalk and climbed off my bike. There’s this little pub at the end of Sandgatan, I think it’s called Inferno—the door was wide open and music and laughter were streaming out, so I shoved past a couple tattooed guys with full beards and into the dim bar.
It had to have been Linda. This time I was sure of it.
Or was I? Could I have been mistaken after all?
Hunched over a glass of wine in a deep corner, I lingered. My heart was pounding. Was it really Linda? Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t really gotten a good look at her face.
I recalled her words in the park. How she threatened to hurt Chris. What if he was in danger? Or worse? She could have hurt him already. And now … was she out to get me too?
Where was Amina? Why hadn’t she gotten back to me?
I glanced at the dimly lit bar. No Linda. People were drinking beer, bullshitting, laughing like nothing was wrong. I finished my wine and got the hiccups as a result. At last my phone vibrated.
Everything’s ok. Sleeping. See you tomorrow. <3
It had come from Amina’s phone.
I read it over and over.
What the fuck was this?
Amina and I have been texting each other since preschool. I know how my best friend writes as well as I know her voice.
Amina doesn’t use punctuation when she texts.
Amina does not shorten okay to ok.
That text had been written by someone else.
82
I pedaled so hard I couldn’t feel my legs beneath me. Nothing else existed; it was just me and my bike. Traffic, cars, and people whizzed by at the periphery. I saw nothing, heard nothing. My thoughts flew by without taking hold.
All I could see ahead of me was Amina. I had to get a move on. I had to get hold of Chris.
On my way up and out of the railroad tunnel on Trollebergsv?gen, I saw the police station up ahead and it occurred to me I could turn to the police. This was serious. Someone wanted to make sure I thought Amina was fine. Someone who wasn’t Amina.