Page 43 of Meet Me Under the Northern Lights
GUNNAR’S HOME, THE OUTSKIRTS OF REYKJAVIK
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he made his way into the kitchen/living area, Gunnar looked at his watch.
He was on time. A rarity and, in fact, he had slept so well.
He smiled, eyes still only half open as he remembered the time spent with Chloe at the lighthouse, talking until late in the night, kissing with cold lips until they were the exact opposite, starting to trust in this beginning.
And then… thump! He walked straight into something, had to stop himself from toppling over.
‘ Fjandinn !’ he cursed, rubbing his shin.
Why was there a small sleigh in the centre of the space filled with goblin dolls, bulbous eyes fixed on him almost like the creepy characters from Five Nights at Freddy’s .
And then his focus was drawn to the rest of the space suddenly hitting him full force with its bright, garish coils of tinsel, lanterns, hanging stars and baubles, every single inch of wall decorated for Christmas.
And in the corner was the old tree he had been putting there for as long as he could remember.
Had Magnús got the tree down this year? It leaned to the left and no one could work out why.
There were branches missing and the others had to be bent into the gaps so it did not look deformed.
It was covered in silver and blue, red and white, spatterings of gold and lights that were flickering on and off then dancing in time like they were performing to a silent melody.
‘Hildur.’
He said the woman’s name out loud. She had done all this. With the help of Magnús. Hopefully with the help of Magnús as she had a broken foot she was certainly not resting!
‘Hildur!’ he called then.
It was odd that she was not up before him.
If not here in the kitchen then in the bathroom before Magnús took it over for an elongated shower that took all the hot water.
But, given the extent of the festive decorating that had taken place while he had been out, perhaps it was no wonder that she was having a lie in. Unless…
An uncomfortable sensation rode over him then and he started to make his way back down the hall.
Hildur might be strong, but she was not a young woman, and she had a few health conditions.
And now, this latest hospitalisation. The uncomfortableness began to turn into dread at the thought that this might be something other than extra sleep.
He paused at her bedroom door, listening for sounds of sleeping, or, even better, waking.
There was nothing, no sound at all, apart from the ticking of the clock Hildur kept on her bedside table.
Nothing was wrong. His brain repeated that to himself over and over as his clenched hand wavered in front of the door.
He just had to knock, Hildur would shout an annoyed reply and his heart would stop palpitating.
What was he waiting for? He knocked. Nothing. He knocked harder. Nothing.
‘Hildur!’ he shouted, knocking for a third time.
Still nothing. This time he didn’t hesitate to open the door, worst case scenarios falling like a hard snowstorm, all of them involving Hildur being incapacitated or worse.
What he saw wasn’t at all what he had expected.
Nothing. No Hildur slumped in bed, no Hildur crashed out on the floor. No Hildur.
He didn’t waste any more time in her bedroom. Closing the door, he headed along the corridor to Magnús’s room. Maybe Hildur was in there. Don’t panic. Everything is fine.
He knocked hard once and opened the door as he said the name. ‘Magnús, what is?—’
He stopped abruptly when the bed he expected to see full of a gangly boy was completely empty too.
Unslept in. Now his heart skipped all the beats and he had to stop fear rising up in his throat.
Something terrible had happened. No, it couldn’t have.
Because that was an over-the-top reaction.
There were no signs of trouble in the house, only frenzied festive activity that spoke of the two of them being OK throughout the evening until it was time to sleep.
But what had happened then? Had they, God forbid, gone out into the cold for a walk?
Hildur was barely able to walk at all right now and Gunnar would like to think that Magnús knew better than to be so stupid.
He moved, heading towards the front door.
He needed to check outside. Everywhere outside.
The front and back gardens, his shed, maybe even the woodland.
Magnús’s phone. He could call him. And if there was no answer, he could locate him on the Find My Phone app.
OK, breathe. He picked up his phone from where it was on charge in the kitchen and dialled Magnús’s number.
It rang. Nervous anticipation filled him as he went out of the front door to the garden, hoping to God that he didn’t hear the phone ringing from the outside.
And then the ringing stopped and the phone went through to voicemail.
He ended the call, anxiety squeezing his chest as he looked around the neighbourhood.
Nothing seemed out of place. The thin layer of snow on the ground with a few track marks where early morning vehicles had already driven, the streetlights shining beneath a still dark sky, the bike belonging to his neighbour chained to their fence as always…
He looked back to his phone as he stood in the cold, inappropriately dressed without a coat, and searched for Magnús’s location.
It spiralled, over and over until… nothing found.
Now the pressure in his chest pushed harder.
What did he do now? His family was missing.
And then his phone started to ring. An unknown number. He answered fast.
‘ Halló .’
His heart thumped in his chest as the voice on the other end of the call relayed information he was finding hard to take in. Gut-wrenching fear swamped his gut and, having heard enough, he raced back inside for his coat and the keys to his truck.