Free The Nightmare by Lars Kepler

Penelope Fernandez. This is someone else.”
    Joona meets the chief prosecutor’s eyes. “This dead woman is not Penelope. I’ve seen Penelope’s driver’s license and it doesn’t match. I’m absolutely sure.”
    “But what—”
    “Perhaps Penelope Fernandez is also dead,” Joona says. “We just haven’t found her yet.”

 
    14
    a party in the night
    Penelope tries to breathe slowly, but the air tears at her throat. She slides down the cliff, ripping off sheets of moss as she squeezes between the branches of the spruce trees. She shakes with fright and creeps closer to the tree trunks, where the darkness of night is already gathering. As she thinks of Viola, she begins to whimper. Björn is ahead of her, already sitting perfectly still underneath the spruce trees, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He’s mumbling something over and over.
    They’ve been running in panic, not looking, stumbling over objects, falling, getting up again, clambering over fallen trees. They’ve ripped open sores on their legs, their knees, their hands, but they’ve let nothing stop them.
    Penelope has no idea how close their pursuer might be, if he’s caught sight of them again or even decided to give up and go away. Perhaps he’s found a spot to wait them out. They’re fleeing for their lives, but Penelope has no idea why.
    Perhaps it’s all a mistake , she thinks. A horrible mistake.
    She feels nauseous, feels like she’s going to throw up, but swallows resolutely.
    “Oh God, oh God,” she whispers to herself. “We can’t go on like this. We have to get help. They’ll find the boat soon and then they’ll come looking for us—”
    “Shhh!” Björn shushes her, visibly, shockingly terrified.
    Her hands tremble uncontrollably as images flash through her head. She blinks so that she won’t have to see them, but the visions keep flashing back: Viola dead; eyes wide-open, face wet, sitting on the bed, hair dripping in streams.
    Penelope knows instinctively that the man on the beach, yelling out to Björn at sea, was the one who killed her sister. She’d reacted the instant she’d understood. If she hadn’t, they’d both be dead.
    *   *   *
    When they fled the boat, they’d carried nothing with them, not even a cell phone. Scrambling up the bank, Penelope had turned around only once to see the man in black tying the rubber boat to the pier.
    Penelope and Björn had run, side by side, into the spruce forest, darting around trees and skirting outcroppings; Björn’s voice was a series of painful gasps as the soles of his naked feet tramped over sharp brush. And when he’d seemed to slow down, Penelope had pulled him with her, knowing their pursuer was not far behind. All the while she could hear herself crying as she ran, in a voice she’d never heard before.
    A thick branch whacked her thigh and brought her to a stop. Her breath ripped at her. She moaned and with shaking hands pushed her way under low-hanging branches with Björn close beside her. Her legs throbbed. She kept going straight ahead. She heard Björn behind her and kept plunging deeper into the dark forest without turning around.
    From far outside herself, Penelope contemplated the fact that thoughts change when panic sets in. Fear is not constant. Now and then there’s room for rational thought. It’s like silencing a racket to discover a quiet space in your head, which gives you a clear overview of your situation. Then the noise returns and your thoughts race in circles until the only impetus is to run.
    Penelope kept expecting to find people. There had to have been hundreds of people out and about on Ornö Island that evening. The south end of the island is developed; there had to be people there. There had to be help.
    For a moment, Penelope and Björn hid between tightly spaced spruce trees, but after only a few seconds, their fear overwhelmed them and they began to flee again. Even as she ran, Penelope could feel the presence of her