The Dangerous Game by Mari Jungstedt Read Free Book Online Page B

isolated setting. The dog was definitely an author’s best friend.
    By now, Olof Hellström had been living in the house for six months. And his book was practically finished. At Christmastime, he would go back to Stockholm.
     
    He was spending this particular night writing. That was often the case. There’s no one else I need to consider, he thought, rather bitterly. He was sitting at the kitchen table, with only a candle for light as he worked on the last chapter. He was astonished that, once again, he’d actually managed to write a whole book. The months in this house had done him good. His publisher would be pleased and he was ready to face the big city again.
    Every once in a while he would look out at the darkness. The house stood close to the sea, its black and endless expanse visible outside the window. Now and then, the moon would peek out from the clouds and cast a white glow over the lawn leading down to the water.
    He heard a sound outside. A faint clattering, like the sound of a boat motor. He gave a start. Who the hell could that be? Hardly anybody came out here in the winter.
    The dog growled from under the table. She sensed that something wasn’t right. Olof hushed her, then decided to leave her in the house. On his way out, he put on his jacket and grabbed a pocket torch.
    The night air was cold and fresh, with almost no wind. The boat motor was now clearly audible. He walked briskly across the grass, soft with night-time dew.
    The clattering sound had slowed, sounding intermittent, as if the motor might be shut down at any second. That meant the boat was about to dock. And even if it was an ordinary fishing boat, that would be odd. Those boats always left from the small-boat marina, which was further away. Here the shore was rocky, and there was only a private dock that belonged to the house. Olof Hellström suddenly felt uneasy. He didn’t want to get involved in anything.
    A two-metre-high stone wall ran along the shore on this side, hiding him from view. He turned off his torch well before he came to the wall. The fact that a boat had arrived here in the middle of the night was so unexpected that he didn’t want to make his presence known. When he reached the end of the wall, he cautiously peered around it.
    Down by the water a beacon emitted a red light towards the sea to guide boats into the harbour. In the glow from the beacon he saw a man pull up next to the dock and climb out of a small fibreglass vessel that was hardly bigger than a rowboat. Surprised, Olof watched as the stranger shoved the boat back out to sea instead of tying it to a mooring post. The man wore dark clothing and seemed in a hurry. He dashed across the wooden planks and headed for the road. Olof Hellström was puzzled and didn’t know what to do. Should he shout, or not? He decided not to. Then the man stopped and turned around.
    Olof stood there as if paralysed, and waited. He now regretted not bringing the dog.

DREAD WRIGGLES ITS way like a poisonous snake through her stomach as time for the next meal approaches. A voice screams inside her that she won’t. But no one hears. No one is listening. No one cares. What she feels or wants is no longer taken into consideration. She has become dehumanized, degraded into some sort of living doll that must get fatter at all costs. Just so that the staff on the ward can improve their statistics and boast of the results. As a human being, she is worth nothing.
    She and her personal nurse, Per, trudge down the corridor towards the dining room. There they will pick up their lunch and carry it on trays to the food lab, which is a room that is used by those who can’t handle eating with the rest of the patients in the dining room. Agnes has brought along a device that tells her how much she should put on her plate and how fast she should eat. It’s like a little computer attached to a plate that functions as a scale. Everyone on the ward has their own device. Agnes calls hers the