“I’m not going anywhere with you!” I cry out, stumbling back a few feet. “I just want to know where my father’s body is! Tell me where it is!”
The man shakes his head, putting his finger to his lips. “Please, don’t wake them.”
“Don’t wake who? I want to wake up everyone!” I roar, throwing my arms out. “I don’t know who you are! For all I know, you’ve broken in here and stolen his body!”
“Please, Hanna,” he says.
“Don’t call me that! You don’t know me.”
“I know of you. Very well.” He licks his lips quickly, pupils growing as small as pin pricks. “Your father spoke of you all the time. Every day we’d work together, he would tell me everything about you. I know that you were a dancer, that now you do martial arts, and it suits you even better. That you work in fashion. That you live in a house in North Hollywood, but that’s nothing like the actual Hollywood, and you have a housemate who has a hair salon in the garage. That you used to write your father letters and draw little nature scenes with each one, a magic forest.”
“Stop,” I whisper. Everything inside me is shaking. How does he know all this? “You can’t…how do you know all this?”
“Because I was close to your father,” he says, his voice rising with a hint of bitterness. “Maybe as close as you were to him. And when I tell you I know where he is, you have to believe me, and you have to leave this place while you can.”
“Is he…alive?”
I hold my breath as my hope, my desperate hope, seems to float in the air between us.
His thin, dark brows come together. “He might not be dead.”
I stare at him in disbelief, my hope transforming to anger. “What the fuck is that even supposed to mean? You know what, I don’t care. Maybe you knew him, maybe you found out that information because you murdered him yourself, I don’t know, but I’m done. I’m going to get help.”
The fact that he thinks I’m going to leave this hotel with him, a creepy stranger, just because he knows some facts about me, just because he can’t give me a straight answer about my father…
I turn around to head for the door when I stop.
Eero is standing in the doorway. The sight of him gives me a pause, my spine prickling. He’s dressed head-to-toe in what looks like reindeer fur and bearskin, and there’s a string of bones and canine teeth around his neck. Hardly bedtime attire.
“What’s going on in here?” he asks in a booming voice. He’s staring over my head at the mystery man. “Rasmus. What are you doing here this late?”
Ah, his name is Rasmus. Suits him.
“My father’s body is gone,” I say to Eero, trying to summon the strength and anger I had seconds ago with Rasmus, but now my voice is coming out quiet and unsure. I gesture to the casket behind me, but I don’t turn around. For some reason I’m afraid to break eye contact. “I just wanted a look at him and he’s gone. Go and look. He’s not in there. The casket is empty.”
Eero doesn’t move. Instead he gives me a close-lipped smile while his eyes shine in the light. “It’s been a long day, Hanna. Perhaps it’s best if you go to your room.”
“Eero,” Rasmus says in a pleading voice. “Why not tell her the truth? She’s Torben’s daughter after all.”
“What truth?” I ask. “What fucking truth? Please, one of you just tell me what the hell is going on.” I feel like I’m being led in circles and getting dizzier as I go.
“You need your rest,” Eero says, taking a step toward me.
“No.” I swallow and move backward instinctively. “I do not need any more rest. I need answers. My father is supposed to be in that casket, it’s his funeral tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening!” I can’t help but yell that last part, my words echoing in the room.
“Your father is dead, my dear,” he says to me after a moment. “And he’s in that casket. I guarantee it. Just go and look and you’ll see him again.”
I keep my eyes glued to him. I don’t move. I feel like turning around would be a mistake and I can’t explain why.
“What’s happening in here?” I hear Noora’s voice, and it brings me just a smidge of comfort as she appears behind Eero.
“She thinks her father isn’t in the casket,” Eero says, but he’s not taking his eyes off me either. In fact, the more he stares at me, the harder it is for me to get my thoughts in order.