Hello All. Thank you for your fantastic reviews. Here is a new chapter. Sorry it's a bit long, but I think some of you will find it rewarding. Fair warning, though, this is the chapter where the M rating *starts* to kick in. You have been warned. ~TruthIsOutThere
Harriet Vanger was the first to acknowledge Blomkvist at dinner that night. As usual, it appeared the rest of the family was perfectly content turning the other cheek. Blomkvist was hardly surprised by this behavior. Unjust as it was, he knew very well that the Vanger's viewed him as a crude, journalistic infiltrator. They didn't appreciate anyone who rooted around in their lives.
Harriet, of course, was the exception, perpetually the middleman, caught between her cold and distrustful family, and the rest of the world around her. She had a brilliant way of disassociating herself from either or both parties when necessary. She could appeal to any audience. In this sense, she made the perfect CEO.
"Mikael," Harriet said, warmly, greeting him with a quick embrace. She smiled as she pulled away, though her eyes clearly showed her exhaustion. Blomkvist couldn't imagine organizing something like this, while also trying to run one of the leading industries in Sweden. He felt a sudden pang of sympathy towards Harriet; not only for losing her favorite uncle, but also for all of the trauma she would inevitably have to endure in his wake.
"I must apologize for my family," Harriet said, making no effort to lower her voice. "I think they'd rather pretend you don't exist." She smiled and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "They do the same to me. There really is nothing to worry about."
Blomkvist sipped his drink and gave a small shrug. "I didn't really except any different," he said. This was the truth.
Blomkvist watched Harriet survey the room, forlornly. She patted his shoulder in a way meant that was obviously to be reassuring, but her forceful grip gave away her underlying insecurity, standing here in a room full of glaring faces.
"They absolutely loathe me," Harriet muttered, sipping her drink. "They hate me for leaving Hedestad, and they hate me for coming back." She shook her head.
Blomkvist gave her a surprised look. He couldn't imagine anyone— even the Vanger's— would deny the necessity of Harriet's escape. "Surely, they understand why you left…"
Harriet shook her head, slowly. "They don't understand a thing, Mikael," she said. "Or at least, they pretend they don't understand. It's much easier to simply… forget the entire ordeal with Martin and my father and just… move on." She made a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Moving on means loathing me." She took another sip of her drink. "I suppose that's normal for a CEO. I'm sure my… brother had a similar reception." She raised an eyebrow. "At least that's what Frode keeps telling me." She sighed and glanced around the room yet again. "I can't believe he's gone…"
"Harriet, if there's anything I can do…" Blomkvist began. "Please, let me know."
She smiled at him and gave his shoulder another gentle squeeze. "You were always sweet," she said. Her eyes grew vaguely distant. "Henrik was very fond of you, you know. He thought of you as a friend, though I would understand if the feeling wasn't mutual." She gave Blomkvist a long look. "We, as a society, have a bad habit of glorifying the dead. Now, I loved my uncle dearly, don't you mistake that." She paused. "But I don't see any point in denying the fact that he screwed you over while you were staying here in Hedestad. The information he gave you was ages old." She shrugged. "He should have known better. It's as simple as that."
Blomkvist shook his head. "We all have… moments…" he said, at a loss for words. "Anyway, things worked out in the end. Wennerstrom is—"
"—Dead?" Harriet asked, with the tiniest chuckle.
Blomkvist blinked, slightly taken aback. "Well, yes, but I should be clear; that wasn't my intention…"
Now Harriet laughed more openly. "Of course not, Mikael." She smiled. "Like I said, you're too sweet." She held up her wine glass.
"To uncle Henrik," she said, softly.
"To Henrik," Blomkvist concurred.
They clinked their glasses together and drank deeply, watching group around them buzz with the dullest of intensities. Everyone around seemed bogged down and lifeless, as one might expect from a group mourners.
Blomkvist, however, got the impression this was rather the Vanger default demeanor.
Someone across the room caught his attention.
"Harriet?" Blomkvist said, setting his empty glass of wine aside. "Who is that?" he nodded in Nadia's Ivansson's direction. She sat alone, on a couch, a book in her lap. Of course, Blomkvist already knew who she was. But, as a journalist, he had learned that stories had several sides, all of which were worthy of examination.
"Her?" Harriet asked, following Blomkvist's gaze. He nodded.
Harriet's expression went grim. "That's Nadia," she explained. "I suppose…" she began. "Well, I suppose she's my second cousin."
"Your second cousin?" Blomkvist asked, prompting her to elaborate.
"She's my mother's grand niece. She's staying here for the time being."
"With Isabella?" Blomkvist asked.
Harriet let out a strange sound, akin to a sigh of frustration. "For now," she grumbled, obviously unhappy.
Harriet looked as if she was planning to say more, when her gaze suddenly shifted.
"What is it?" Blomkvist asked, turning around slowly.
That's when he saw her; dressed in leather and torn jeans as usual, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the pressed suits and gowns.
"Lisbeth," Blomkvist said, taken by surprise. "I thought you went to Susanne's?" He glanced down at her hand. She was carrying something— a paper. Blomkvist couldn't help but feel immediately suspicious.
"I did," Salander said. She nodded in Harriet's direction, her form of a greeting. "The food was horrible, so I came back." She made eye contact with him, holding his gaze for an unusually long amount of time.
Blomkvist knew instantly that something was off.
"I have to go upstairs and change. It rained," Salander said. Blomkvist and Harriet glanced at the West windowpane. This was the truth.
"I'll be back," Salander said. She eyed Blomkvist again as she moved towards the stairs.
She wanted him to follow her.
"Damnit," Blomkvist said, once Lisbeth was out of sight. Harriet gave him a concerned look. "I locked up our wing of the house after I left. There was a… dog running around here somewhere. I didn't want it getting into anything."
Harriet nodded in understanding. Clearly, she believed his lie. "It's Nadia's dog," she explained, with a tiny nod.
"I'll have to go unlock that for Lisbeth," Blomkvist said. "I hope you'll excuse me, she's not a very patient person."
Harriet nodded. "Of course," she said. "I've got to make my rounds here anyway." She gave him another tight-lipped smile. "Lots of stuffy, hostile family members who still need greeting."
Blomkvist sucked a breath in through his teeth. "Good luck," he said.
Harriet chuckled. "You too," she said. "I don't imagined Froken Salander is someone who likes to be kept waiting."
"No," Blomkvist said, gauging the reality of this statement. "She doesn't."
Harriet waved him off.
Blomkvist reached the guest quarters and found Salander waiting for him.
"Good. You're here," she said, stubbing out a cigarette.
"What's this about?" Blomkvist asked, confused.
"I found something," Salander said.
"Found something— what?" Blomkvist asked, confused. He walked over to stand beside her, as Salander pulled out her laptop.
Salander gave him a dead-eyed look. She got to her feet, but nudged her laptop towards him, as if encouraging him to see for himself.
"I— I can't stay long," Blomkvist said, but already he was loosening his tie, happy to be free of the stifling party downstairs.
He took a seat on the couch and pulled Salander's computer onto his lap. He gazed at the screen, trying to comprehend the string of names and numbers in front of him.
"Is this… some kind of transaction?" he asked, looking up from the computer.
Salander had disappeared into the kitchen. She reemerged a moment later with an open sandwich and a new cigarette. She took a seat beside him.
"Henrik Vanger," she said, with a nod.
Blomkvist glanced at her, curiously. He followed her gaze to something on the screen. Slowly, it became clear.
Blomkvist squinted at the computer.
"Was Henrik buying something?"
"The telescope," Salander said, taking the laptop back.
"The telescope…" Blomkvist repeated. He looked at Salander. "I still don't see what—"
She handed him a piece of paper. "Take a look at this," she said, getting to her feet. "See if you can work it out."
Blomkvist looked down at the crumpled paper in his hands. It honestly looked like gibberish. A mix of Swedish and Norwegian characters, drawn across a page…
"Lisbeth," he began. "What are you getting at here?"
Salander paused in the doorway, looking back at him blankly.
"That page was written by Nadia," she said, pointing at the paper in Blomkvist's hands.
"Okay… but," Blomkvist got to his feet. "What does this mean, Lisbeth?" He strode across the room until he stood less than a foot from her.
Salander turned away, instantly, growing cold. Blomkvist felt another pang of sympathy, this time for her. For the first time since their reunion, he thought of Salander the way she had been the last time he saw her— ravaged by the media, recovering from the kind of injustices that would make any sane person's skin crawl. How could a person recover from something like that? Blomkvist wondered. For a moment, he marveled in the fact that Salander was functional at all.
"Lisbeth…" he breath, softly. He reached out a placed a hand on her shoulder.
The motion seemed basic to him, but it made Salander's spine go rigid. He fought the instinct to retract his hand— for some reason that didn't feel right, either.
No, Blomkvist thought. If Salander didn't want him to touch her; she would make herself clear.
"You have to explain to me," Blomkvist said, slowly. "I can try but..." He gave a tiny laugh. "I don't think like you do."
Lisbeth turned, slowly, until she was partially facing him. She skillfully avoided eye contract as she reached down and took the papers from his hand.
"A code," she said, holding them up.
"Who's code?" Blomkvist asked.
"Nadia's," Salander continued. She paced back over to her computer. "She was trying to write something."
"Something about the telescope?" Blomkvist asked, still hopelessly lost.
"I'm not sure…" Salander said, slowly. "It doesn't make any sense to me, either." Blomkvist imagined that this probably wasn't very easy for her to admit.
"Lisbeth," he began, slightly frustrated. "What doesn't make any sense to you? What are we looking at?"
Salander closed her laptop and looked up at him, defiantly.
"Nadia Ivansson moves to Hedeby Island," she began. "Two weeks later, a thought-to-be crazy Henrik Vanger buys an expensive telescope and sets it up in his study. He had the viewfinder trained on one place."
"Yeah, I know. Anna told me… She said he always kept it pointed at the same coordinates. On the ground, not in the sky." Blomkvist rubbed his temples, feeling suddenly exhausted. "Knowing you, I assume you've already worked out where it was pointed?" he asked.
Salander nodded, looking thoughtful. She hopped up from her place, perched on the vast windowsill, overlooking the lake.
"Let me show you," she said, heading out of the room. Blomkvist followed her reluctantly, half afraid of what he would find.
Salander stopped just short of Henrik's office. She set her gaze on something outside of the large, dark window across from her. Blomkvist moved to stand by her side.
"See that?" Salander asked.
"What are you looking at, exactly?"
"The street," she said, as if this made things clearer. Salander took a step closer to the window. "That's where we were this morning, when we saw Nadia."
Blomkvist squinted and peered out of the cloudy windowpane. Sure enough, he could just barely make out Isabella Vanger's front porch steps.
"The view is better from Henrik's office, where the telescope was," Salander explained.
Blomkvist stared at her, taken aback. "You think Henrik was watching Nadia?" he asked.
Salander nodded.
Blomkvist gave her a conflicted look. "Lisbeth," he began. "You met the man, yourself. You saw how appalled he was by the misbehavior of his nephew. He didn't really strike me as the type to spy on little girls."
Salander took a drag on her cigarette.
"I don't think he was spying," she said, finally. "I have no reason to believe his intentions were inappropriate." Another drag— longer this time. "On the contrary, I think he might have been trying to help her."
"What do you mean?" Blomkvist asked, raising an eyebrow.
Salander shrugged. "There were cards in Henrik's office," she explained. "Nadia collects cards as well."
"How do you know she collects—?"
Salander shook her head, as if to say, It's not important now.
"Well that still doesn't explain much of anything," Blomkvist muttered, frustrated.
Salander looked up at him, curiously. "Another young girl staying with Isabella Vanger?" she asked. "I'm sure when Henrik heard the news, he was less than thrilled."
"Mmm…" Blomkvist nodded in agreement.
"He probably wanted to keep an eye on her," she said.
"Yes, but, a telescope seems a little extreme, don't you think?" Blomkvist asked.
"That's not what the telescope was for," Salander replied. There was an undeniable degree of certainty to her voice. Blomkvist couldn't help but believe her instantly. It was almost as if they were back, searching for Harriet Vanger together, as they once had. He was struck by her inherent brilliance.
"What was the telescope for, then?" Blomkvist asked.
Salander frowned and turned away from the window. "I'm still trying to work that out," she mumbled. "But I think it has something to do with the cards."
Blomkvist sighed. "Please explain," he said, for what felt like the millionth time that night.
Salander frowned, looking thoughtful.
"Nadia's cards come from her brother and his boyfriend in Norway. They sent her care packages frequently. Always with playing cards," she began. Blomkvist stared at her, slightly perplexed. He wondered when she had time to work this out. "Susanne at the café said she saw Nadia on more than one occasion, sitting at a table in the corner writing in notebook. She always brought her playing cards."
"You spoke to Susanne?" Blomkvist asked, curiously. He wondered if she had received a warmer reception than he had.
Blomkvist had been all but blacklisted by the gossiping Hedeby townspeople almost as soon as Lisbeth had moved in with him, nearly four years before. Immediately, he was presumed to be yet another twisted older man, housing a woman young enough to be his daughter. He had always wondered if Salander was received similarly, or if she was somehow seen as a victim.
Blomkvist almost laughed at the notion. If they only knew…
"I didn't speak to Susanne," Salander said, grabbing Blomkvist's attention yet again. "I was at the café… I overheard things." She paused, like she wanted to say more, but wasn't sure if she should.
"If I remember correctly, the tables at Susanne's are quite small…" Blomkvist began. "Everything Nadia brought with her must have gotten jumbled up. That's probably how the card we have ended up covered in lettering." He paused, thinking. "I don't suppose she left anything behind?"
Salander nodded at the paper in his hand. "I found it in the bin behind the café," she said. "I haven't been able to decipher the code yet. It's half Swedish, half Norwegian, but the words make no sense. It's almost as if it was written in an entirely different language, all together."
Blomkvist studied the paper closely. E-K-W-J-J. It looked like gibberish.
"Do you have a theory?" he asked, folding the paper gingerly and handing it back to her.
Lisbeth looked up at him, her eyes as bright and curious as they had ever been.
"I think she was writing a message," she began, hesitantly. "Possibly for Henrik Vanger."
Blomkvist frowned. "What kind of message?" he asked.
"Could be anything." Salander shrugged. "It must have something to do with the telescope…" she shook her head.
"And the cards," Blomkvist added. "Both Henrik and Nadia had plenty of them. They must be of some significance."
Salander nodded in agreement and took a final drag on her cigarette before stubbing it out in an ashtray on the windowsill.
"We should talk to Nadia," Blomkvist said, abruptly. The journalist in him was taking control.
Skip the sources. Go straight to the focus.
Henrik was dead, that left only Nadia to explain.
Salander looked reluctant. "She won't talk," she said finally, leaning against the wall.
"What makes you so sure?" Blomkvist asked.
Salander shrugged. "She barely said a word to you earlier."
"Well, she might talk to you," Blomkvist said, with a reasonable shrug. Salander frowned and looked at him, quizzically.
"I mean, she's probably seen you on the news," Blomkvist said, with the smallest of smirks. "You're practically a celebrity, you know."
Salander glared at him, but she didn't stay angry for long.
"Her brother's in town," she said, calmly, gazing out the window at the rain. She turned her attention back to Blomkvist. "You could start with him."
Blomkvist looked uncomfortable. "Do you really think it's a good idea?" he asked. "Stirring up trouble at Henrik's funeral…"
"This isn't his funeral," Salander pointed out, quickly.
"Still." Blomkvist sighed. "I don't want to demonize the man. Insinuating that he may have spent his final months spying on a fourteen-year-old girl…" Blomkvist shook his head. "Ill-intentioned or not, that kind of behavior never looks good. I don't want to slander Henrik." He gave a tiny snort. "I've learned my lesson when it comes to speaking without absolute certainty."
Salander shrugged. "So, approach it differently," she said, as if it were just that easy.
"How?" Blomkvist asked.
"You'll think of something," Salander said. Then she turned and strode back into their sitting room. She picked up her laptop.
"I have Plague running a background check on the Ivanssons now. I'll him the code as well. If anyone can crack it; it will be one of us."
"Well, it shouldn't be too complicated, should it?" Blomkvist asked. "I mean; she's fourteen." Even as he said the words, he realized the error in his train of thought.
If Lisbeth Salander had trouble breaking a code, it was a damn hard code. That was that.
Salander typed something up on her computer, and then set it aside.
"I should hear back by tomorrow morning," she said.
"Great." Blomkvist shrugged. "What now?"
Salander glanced around the room, thoughtfully.
"Now you should go speak to Nadia's brother," she said, nodding to herself.
"Right…" Blomkvist wracked his brain for an adequate excuse to do so. He turned towards the door, and then stopped himself.
"Lisbeth," he said. She looked up from her laptop screen. "This isn't our fight," he said. "Honestly. Why exactly are we doing this?"
Salander gave him a long look.
"You don't have to if you don't want to," she said, simply.
She waited for his answer, head cocked slightly to the side, eyes mostly dull, harboring the slightest glint of curiosity.
Indifferent, impartial, and impossible as always, this was the woman Mikael Blomkvist had fought so vehemently with and for for the last four years of his life. She had ignored him, abandoned him, and completely baffled him from the start. She had also saved his life.
Blomkvist realized then that it didn't matter that this wasn't their fight. If this was what it took to be around Lisbeth Salander, then he would have no problem committing himself, fully.
"What's Nadia's brother's name?" Blomkvist asked, sucking in a breath through his teeth.
"Julien Ivansson," Salander replied, calm as always. She slouched back against the couch, as if relaxing into his agreement to work with her. She nodded towards the hallway. "He should be here by now."
Salander waited for a response from Plague for almost an hour before picking up Nadia's scrawlings and disappearing into the large, master bathroom. She undressed quickly, leaving her clothes in a disorganized heap beside the door. Then she filled the bathtub with the hottest water she could stand, in hopes that the heat and intensity would jog something within her.
Salander set Nadia's paper beside the bathtub and slowly lowered herself into the water, feeling her skin sting. She lay back carefully, submerging her face under the steamy surface. Her vision swam as she looked up at the ceiling through the water. She frowned, watching the tile spin and blur above her.
Salander ran through the mental list of combinations she had tested out on Nadia's writing. The letters; E-K-W-J-J didn't seem to amount to much in Swedish or Norwegian on their own, but she still couldn't shake the feeling that there had to be some kind of key…
She had tried all of the basics: anagram, SMS, foreign texts, so on and so fourth. Generally speaking, Salander could crack these kind of riddles in seconds. But not now. This kid was not so simple. Whatever it was she had written, she had heavily encoded.
Salander's breached the surface of the water, and she sucked in a deep breath. She reached out— semi-blind in the heavy steam— and felt around for Nadia's paper. When she found it, she drew it close to her face and examined the letters again, looking for anything she might have missed the first time. The lettering was straight and uniform— no sign of encoding there. The paper was unmarked. This was no plot, either.
Salander frowned and leaned back against the side of the tub. Somewhere in the other room, her email alert sound sounded. She put Nadia's paper aside for the time being. Then she climbed out of the bathtub, wrapped herself in a towel, and paced out into the sitting room in search of her computer.
Salander approached her laptop, drying her hands on her towel. She reached out to grab it when something else caught her eye.
Salander turned towards the large window, overlooking the lake below. She could swear she had seen something. Some sort of light… moving slowly.
Salander stepped closer to the window.
That's when she saw it.
Caught in a tangle of tree branches just above their balcony, was a helium party balloon, with a small LED light inside. Salander opened the window, reaching her damp arm out into the frigid night and tugging the balloon in by the string. She popped it with her teeth, pulled the tiny LED light from the now-deflated balloon carcass, and tore the thing apart further in search of anything unusual.
It took her less than two seconds to find what she was looking for.
A chill ran down her spine.
Salander sprinted over to the window, glancing down at the ground below. No one stood there, waiting. As far as she could see, Henrik Vanger's side-yard was completely deserted.
Damnit.
Salander rushed into the bathroom and dressed in a hurry. She ran down the stairs and reentered the Vanger family procession looking like a mad woman, her hair wet and askew in every way, her eyes wild.
Salander pushed her way through the ogling crowd and out into the night. She didn't stop to find Mikael. She didn't even think to grab a coat. She simply clutched her newest shred of evidence, and strode out into the snow.
Salander surveyed the perimeter of the building in a hurry. She had a feeling whoever had sent this message was already long gone. She spun around quickly, examining the party from the other side of the windowpane. All of the obvious suspects were present— their coats free of snow. Julien, Nordhamm, and Nadia sat together beside a window, deep in discussion. Salander bit her lip, frustrated.
Who sent her this fucking message?
She looked down at the card in hand. King of Diamonds. She flipped it over once, making sure she hadn't missed any markings.
Alas, it seemed only the white edges of the cardstock had been defaced by a deep purple maker.
C-F-D-K-E-K-W-J-J
Someone was trying to send her a message.
Salander glared at the card in frustration.
This damn code was proving to be infuriatingly persistent…
Salander turned on her heel and paced down the drive in search of whoever had left the clue for her. She made it all the way to the front gate before she heard a strange noise, and realized what was happening.
A large shadow darted out across the road.
Someone was running from her.
Salander broke into a sprint, chasing the stranger down the drive and out onto the desolate main road. Despite his turbulent stride, Salander was able to deduce three things rather quickly.
First of all, the person she was chasing was a man. Secondly, he was young— probably no older than fifteen. Finally, this stranger had a limp, like he had hurt himself somehow. He was favoring his right leg, and this left him at a disadvantage. His injury slowed him down, which enabled Salander to keep up.
The stranger veered off at the end of the road, racing downhill into the woods. Salander followed without hesitation. She moved as quickly as she could, darting around mounds of snow and fallen debris. Thankfully, the boy she was following seemed to find the downhill climb fairly challenging, and slowed even further. At one point, Salander thought she had finally caught up to him. Unfortunately the ground leveled out shortly after that, and she found herself chasing the stranger along the narrow shoreline beside the lake. It took her a long moment to realize where they were headed.
The bridge? she thought, curiously. She picked up her pace to keep up with the stranger. What was at the bridge? She wondered.
Salander stopped short as the stranger faded into the shadows. For a moment, she relied only on her hearing. Whoever this was did a good job of evading her for the time being. He stopped as soon as Lisbeth did, leaving her alone in silence.
It only lasted for a moment, though. Just as Salander began to consider doubling back and trying to find the kid again, he darted out from behind a tree, and made a beeline straight for the bridge up ahead.
Salander chased after him at full speed. She followed him up the steep and rocky hillside, and onto the bridge that connected Hedeby Island to the rest of Sweden.
The kid stopped in his tracks.
Salander froze, trying to anticipate his next move.
Who the hell are you? she wondered, taking one tentative step forward.
The kid turned around. Even in the darkness, Salander knew instantly that she had never seen him before. She would remember.
This was a complete stranger.
Salander frowned and squinted into the night, unsure of what to do next. She reached into her pocket and retrieved the playing card, holding it up so he could see that she had, indeed, received his message.
This turned out to be the wrong thing to do.
Without a moment's hesitation, the kid turned and climbed over the railing. For a split second, he stood, precariously balanced, on the absolute edge of the bridge. Salander stared at him, wide-eyed. If she tried to move towards him, he would jump. If she tried to move away…
Salander had no time to finish her thought. In a split second, the kid leaned forward, let go of the railing, and fell from the bridge to the water below. Salander lunged after him, but of course, it was no use. She stood, by the railing, her breath rising in plumes, in the frigid air. She waited for the splash, which came less than a moment later.
Salander glanced around. She was on alone on the bridge. Without thinking, she kicked off her boots and laid the playing card aside.
Salander climbed over the railing, testing her balance on the edge of the cement. She knew, from memory, that this would be a long drop, but certainly a survivable one, if the person jumping intended to survive.
She sucked in a deep breath and let go of the railing.
The fall felt shorter than it was.
Salander knew, the moment she hit the water, that jumping had been a mistake.
The temperature was a shock, jarring to her body. For a moment, she struggled in deciding which way was up, and which was down. Water rushed by her head, filling her ears and making her vision swim. She felt herself begin to rise towards the surface, and gave a good kick, propelling herself to the air above.
When she breached the surface, Salander glanced around, frantically. The normally still water rippled around her as a result of her jump. She had to tread hard to stay afloat.
Salander swam towards the spot where the kid had landed. She couldn't see more than two feet in front of her, surrounded by pitch-black water. There was no sign of another person anywhere. Salander began to wonder whether the kid may have stuffed his pockets with rocks, or some other insanity, to keep himself from floating to the surface. She dove down into the frigid water once again, infuriatingly unaware of her surroundings. She felt around in the open water, knowing it was completely useless. If this kid was suicidal, he was long gone. If he had somehow managed to evade her…
Salander swam to the surface once again and glanced around herself. Still no sign of any other person.
Then again, the lake was vast.
Jumping in had been a big mistake, she thought again, angrily. She had lost all perspective. It would have been smarter to simply patrol the shores.
Salander shook her head, furious with her own rash decision. The icy water around her chilled her to the bone. She began to paddle back towards shore, when something got caught her foot.
It took Salander a moment to realize it was someone's hand grabbing her.
A sharp tug on her ankle pulled Salander four feet down under the icy water. She kicked hard with her free foot, smashing her heel into something that felt plastic. She kicked again, clawing at the finger's now curled around her calf. They didn't budge. Whoever her attacker was, he wasn't reacting to anything simple.
Salander propelled herself downwards in the water, twisting at an uncomfortable angle to reach the face of her attacker. She felt hair— short and thick like that on the head of the kid she had chased. Was it possible this same person was now attempting to drown her? She launched another kick right into his face. Something plastic was definitely in her way. She reached down again, starting to feel slightly lightheaded from the lack-of-oxygen.
Salander felt a heavy diving mask on the face of her attacker. She pulled the goggles back, hoping to obscure his vision. Then she launched another kick right where she imagined his eyes were.
She felt the grip on her ankle loosen.
Salander squirmed, feeling dizzy and frantic. She kicked as hard as she could and clawed at the hand on her foot, causing her attacker to finally lose his grip.
She kicked hard, one final time, propelling herself upwards. When she breached the surface, she stopped for only a moment to gasp for air. Acutely aware that her attacker could reappear at any moment, she wasted no time in making it back to shore.
Trudging out of the water, Salander stopped for a moment. She doubled over and choked on the water she had sucked into her lungs. She glanced out at the dark lake in front of her, desperately hoping to see something… anything.
Salander could feel the adrenaline pulsing in her veins. Walking away at this point would be physically painful. Whoever he was… she wanted to take this bastard out.
The wind rustled the trees overhead, and Salander felt her skin erupt in goose bumps. Nevertheless, she stood stalk-still for nearly ten minutes before finally accepting the fact that she would have to return home to avoid hypothermia. She turned on her heal and trudged up the hill, cursing herself for ever jumping into that damn lake.
By the time Salander made it back to the Vanger estate, she felt numb all over, and longed for the hot bath that had undoubtedly gone cold in her absence.
From her place outside the estate, she could see the dinner was still underway. Instead of barging in through the front door, which would inevitably arise a number of questions she was in no mood to answer, Salander walked around back and knocked, hoping someone in the kitchen would let her in.
Anna opened the door almost instantly.
Her face drained of all color as soon as she saw Lisbeth. Salander tried to imagine what she must have looked like.
"Froken Salander," Anna breathed, stepping aside. "Are you okay?" She ushered Lisbeth into the house, and handed her a small towel.
Salander nodded, trying to decide how to best get upstairs without drawing too much attention to herself.
"Did someone do this to you?" Anna asked, concerned.
"I'm fine," Salander said. Then she glanced over in Anna's direction. "Don't mention this," she said.
Anna nodded slowly, her eyes wide with confusion.
Salander slipped out into the hallway and crept up the stairs, thankful that everyone had moved into the dining room while she was gone.
When she reached the guest quarters, Salander stopped in the window and stared out at the dark lake. She tried to calculate exactly where it was that she had jumped. And where she had been when she was attacked.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought, angrily. I should have never jumped in that water…
"Lisbeth?"
Salander flinched in surprise. She whirled around to see Blomkvist standing in his bedroom doorway, an utterly perplexed look on his face.
She stared at him, blankly, her hair and clothes dripping water all over the floor.
Blomkvist assessed her appearance and shook his head. Rather than ask questions, he reached out to take the playing card, and her boots, which she had been carrying.
"You should take a shower," he noted. He looked like he was dying to say more, but he was choosing to bite his tongue for the time being.
Salander's gaze flickered around the room. She couldn't decide whether to rehash her experience now, or wait until the morning. In many ways, it felt like a waste of time altogether. She had already determined that her impulsive plunge into the water was idiotic. She didn't need Blomkvist saying that as well.
Her teeth chattered, despite herself.
Blomkvist looked down at the card in his hand.
"Same message," he marveled.
Salander nodded.
Blomkvist looked at her for a long moment.
"You know," he said. "It really isn't healthy for you to stand around in your wet clothes. You're gonna catch hypothermia. Go take a shower."
Salander took his advice and disappeared into the master bathroom. She stood under the hot water for half an hour before reemerging and crawling straight into bed. She left the lights on, staring up at the ceiling and trying to make sense of everything that had happened to her. A message, a kid, a chase, an attack… It all felt like too much to take in at once. Like someone was messing with her head.
Salander heard a knock on the door. She propped herself up on her elbows. "Come in," she said.
Blomkvist nudged the door open with his knee. His arms were full. He handed her a cup of coffee, and placed her laptop on the bed beside her.
"Your computer hasn't been quiet all night," he said, eyeing it suspiciously, like it was a child who had refused to behave.
"Plague's background check," Salander said, moving to access her email.
Blomkvist reached out and gently touched the side of her face.
Salander flinched, glaring at him. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Making sure you don't have hypothermia," he said, unfazed by her hostility. "You're very… pale." He took a sip of his own coffee. "Paler than usual."
Salander frowned and opened her laptop.
"Any luck with the code?" Blomkvist asked.
"Nope," Salander said, skimming Plague's e-mail report on Julien and Nadia Ivansson.
"But this is a start," Blomkvist said, in a way that prompted her to agree.
Salander only shook her head, suddenly aware of how unbelievably frustrated she was by this entire ordeal.
"Are you hurt?" Blomkvist asked. He looked at her in a way that seemed like he feared she might spontaneously combust at any moment.
"I'm okay," Salander said. She looked up at him, still slightly confused, but infinitely more comfortable here. She felt as though she could think more clearly about this particular subject while in his presence. Again, she grappled with telling him the story, but eventually decided against it. She really was too tired to talk— too tired to argue.
"Should I be worried?" Blomkvist asked. His eyes were trusting. It was her decision whether to talk or not. He respected that. He always had.
"Not yet," she said. She looked away.
Suddenly, it was almost painful to look upon his face. Salander felt the same rush of unacceptable helplessness she had felt the night she saw Mikael walk away with Erika Berger.
No, she thought, angrily. She had sworn off of this. She would not be helpless towards Blomkvist or anyone else.
No compromises.
"Jesus, you're cold," Blomkvist muttered. Only then did Lisbeth notice his hand on her forearm. "Let me go get you more coffee, or a blanket or something…" he stood up and put his mug down on her bedside table.
"I'm fine," Salander said, quickly. She knew it was irrational to be angry with him about this. Still… it was so hard not to be…
"Lisbeth," Blomkvist said, leaning against the doorframe. "Honestly, I've been involved in enough death and murder scandals that are somehow connected to you. I really can't explain to the police how I let you freeze to death, on top of everything else." He paused, giving her a stern look. "It's exhausting," he said. "And my career really can't take another hit right now."
Salander sighed and watched him disappear in search of more blankets. She lay back against her pillows and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. She could still feel a slight buzz of adrenaline in her veins. She fidgeted uncomfortably under the sheets.
Blomkvist reappeared a moment later and handed her a quilt.
"Why did you leave the party?" she asked, staring up at the ceiling.
Blomkvist took a seat on the edge of the bed.
"I wasn't exactly wanted there," he said, with a shrug.
"I'm sure Harriet didn't mind your company," she said. The words came out more acidic than she had intended. Blomkvist gave her a confused look.
"Harriet had other guests to tend to," he explained. "I stuck around for the gathering beforehand, but at dinner…" he shrugged. "It just didn't feel right." Blomkvist took another sip of his coffee. "I talk to Julien Ivansson, though," he said. "And his boyfriend… Nordhamm. Strange name." Blomkvist shook his head. "They had some interesting things to say, actually. Nothing too groundbreaking, but—"
"— Stop," Salander said, cutting him off. She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm too tired," she said.
Blomkvist reached and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. He sucked a breath in through his teeth.
"Jesus, Lisbeth," he breathed. "What the hell happened to you?"
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and sighed, heavily.
"I went in the lake," she said, through clenched teeth.
"You went… in the lake?" Blomkvist asked, confused. "In that lake?" He nodded towards the window.
Salander gave him a hard look. Too tired.
Blomkvist responded with a resigned sigh. "I'm going to be gone for a few hours tomorrow," he announced, changing the subject. "I'm meeting my daughter's roommate. She's a journalist. Or, she wants to be one. She wants my advice." He looked perplexed. Then he turned his attention to Salander. "She's very curious about you, actually."
Salander gave him a warning look.
"Oh, don't worry," he said, quickly. "I'm not going to talk about you." He paused. "I mean, I'm sure she will. But I promise, I'll do my best to change the subject." He gave her a tiny smile.
Salander snorted. "Just what I need," she muttered. "Another journalist rooting around in my life."
This made Blomkvist laugh. He smiled at her. "Goodnight Lisbeth," he said, gently. He stood up to leave.
That's when something strange happened.
Salander reached out and grabbed his hand, preventing him from leaving her side. She froze, shocked by her own impulsive behavior.
Damnit, you just can't think straight tonight, can you?
Blomkvist stared at her, surprised.
"Sorry," Salander said, instantly. She averted her gaze.
"It's fine," Blomkvist said. He sat back down on the edge of her bed, and watched her, curiously.
"Lisbeth…" he began. His voice was low— quiet. "Why did you—?" He stopped himself.
"Why did I what?" Salander asked, still making a great effort not to look him in the eye.
"Never mind." Blomkvist shook his head. "I don't want to risk it," he said.
"Risk what?" Salander asked.
Blomkvist bit his lip. "Sometimes, I feel like, when I breach certain subjects…" He paused, clearly struggling to find the right words. "Sometimes I feel like you get scared away or something. I don't really understand it."
Salander gave him a hard look. "I don't get scared away," she said, defensively.
Blomkvist shook his head. "It's just…" he trailed off. "Lisbeth," he breathed. "What happened between the two of us?"
Salander shifted away from him immediately.
"One day we were fine and then…" Blomkvist looked conflicted. "It's been killing me for the longest time. I don't understand."
"You don't need to understand everything," Salander said.
"I know," Blomkvist breathed. "I know that. But it doesn't change the fact that you baffle me sometimes. One moment we're together, and then you disappear. I think you're traveling Europe, and the next thing I know, you're here in Hedestad, trying to solve some kind of mystery and… jumping into lakes." He sighed. "Can you see how that might be a little confusing for me?"
Salander didn't respond. Her mind was moving a million miles a minute, as she tried to figure out how to extricate herself from this situation.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, finally.
Blomkvist looked taken aback. "From you?" he asked. "Nothing."
"Then why are you here?" she asked. "Why are you wasting your time? You said it yourself; this isn't our fight. Why are you helping me, if you don't want something?" She let out a sigh of frustrating.
"Lisbeth," Blomkvist said, sounding almost… hurt. "Not everyone has a motive, you know. If anything, I want to be your friend."
"You already have been," Salander pointed out. "You got me through the trial. You helped me. You were my friend. I said thank you."
"I mean long term," Blomkvist said. "I like to be around you," he explained. "I like to talk to you. I like to listen to you. All I want is to know that when I say goodbye… it's not forever." He gave a tiny laugh. "I'm not asking you to change your ways," he said. "All I want is a tiny shred of stability. That's it. I promise. I'll leave it at that."
Salander looked up at him, trying to mask the surprise she felt upon hearing his words.
Not everyone has a motive.
She frowned. "Come here," she said, suddenly, taking them both by surprise.
"What?" Blomkvist looked confused.
"Come here," Salander said.
Blomkvist leaned in closer to her. "What's wrong?" he asked.
Salander shook her head. She leaned forward slightly, so her face was close to his.
You can do this, she told herself. You can do this easily.
Lisbeth Salander did not back down.
Salander placed a hand on the back of Blomkvist's neck, and drew him closer to her. He took a tiny breath of pure anticipation before she kissed him hard on the mouth.
As usual, Salander cut right to the chase. The kiss built quickly, and she pulled him closer until they were both horizontal and he was on top of her.
"I don't think this is a good idea," Blomkvist said, pulling away.
"Are you still seeing that SÄPO woman?" Salander asked.
Something shifted in Blomkvist's gaze. "Monica?" he asked. "No… No… I'm not. It's not that." He shook his head. "I still don't think this is a very good idea."
"You never think it's a good idea," Salander pointed out.
"Has it ever been?" Blomkvist asked. He looked more conflicted than she had ever seen him. "Damn it, Lisbeth, I just don't want this to be the thing that makes you leave again."
Salander cocked her head to the side, curiously. She gave him a long look.
"I'm not going anywhere," she said, with a tiny shrug.
Blomkvist almost laughed. "No, not right now…" he said. He looked away from her, and bit his lip. "But God… what about later?" He glanced at her, expecting some kind of solid response.
"Who cares," Salander asked. She kissed him again, and he kissed her back.
"I care," Blomkvist muttered between kissed. "I really do."
"Don't worry about that now," Salander pressed.
"It's hard not to," he murmured. But it was becoming more and more difficult to get a word in, as their kisses grew hungrier, infused with a bizarre sense of need that made Salander pull him closer as he planted kisses along her jaw line down her neck. She let out a tiny sigh of pleasure, despite herself. Blomkvist's mouth curved into a smile against her throat. He was obviously pleased with himself to eliciting such a sound.
He slid her t-shirt up over her head, and immediately, Lisbeth felt self-conscious. She realized this was the first time he had seen her since her breast augmentation, and she had no idea how he would react.
Blomkvist didn't say a word. Thankfully, he seemed more intrigued than off put.
"When did you have this done?" he asked finally.
"Three years ago," Lisbeth said. "At a clinic in Italy."
Blomkvist nodded, a was a lustful kind of look in his eye. "They're quite nice," he remarked. Then he pressed a series of kisses to her collarbone, moving steadily downward and planting kisses on her breasts, teasing her mercilessly until she could barely contain herself.
Alright, enough, Salander thought, pulling him up so she could kiss him again.
She cast all thoughts of cards and messages out of her mind for the time being, and lost herself in the situation at hand.