The whispers from the shadows hissed at me, tormented me.

  What was becoming of me?

  My body, once young, healthy and strong had been reduced to an empty husk. I was thin and weak, my muscles had wasted through the months of forced inactivity. My skin, grubby, pale and thin, stretched tightly over my bones. This dress, something that I had cherished, an object that I’d once seen as a token of hope and love, was now a symbol of torment. It had fitted me so beautifully but was now loose, hanging from my skeletal, shapeless frame like an old sack. My hair, I’d always loved those long golden waves, now hung limp, lifeless and ragged. Every time I ran my trembling fingers through the tangled strands, fresh clumps came away in my hands.

  I was nothing but a corpse, abandoned, left to rot in the damp gloom of that basement.

  My body was already broken, now my mind was beginning to crack.

  Was anyone out there looking for me? Mum? Dad? Lela, surely she would be trying to find me? But how could they ever find me? Even I didn’t know where I was. And Lars, nobody would ever suspect Lars of having anything to do with my disappearance. Shy, quiet, studious Lars. I was the only one who had seen his true side. A monster lurking beneath the calm, quiet waters.

  I pulled my legs into myself, hugging my knees tightly to my chest. My body complained at my movements, tight tendons, straining and stretching as I rested my chin on the top of my knees. Eyes stared blankly into the endless gloom.

  A single tear ran down my cheek, a wet trail cutting through the grime.

  With a guttural growl rising up from inside me, I grabbed the empty pasta bowl and threw it across the basement with all the force that my pitiful body could manage.

  The bowl flew for a couple of metres before clattering to the floor. A loud, reverberating clunk but it didn’t break.

  I couldn’t even do that, I couldn’t even break a porcelain bowl.

  What use was I to anyone?

  I could feel the heavy air, oppressive and damp, pressing down on me. The smell of rot and decay was strong, a sickly sweetness filling my nostrils.

  Would anyone out there even want to find me? Perhaps Lars had been telling the truth, perhaps Mum and Dad had really given up and just moved on. I’m sure that their lives would be much simpler without that troublesome daughter of theirs causing problems for them. And what about Lela? She doesn’t need me anymore, she’s got Asmund beside her.

  This was all my fault. Everything I’d done, the betrayals, the cruelty. All my life I had just gone around, doing what I wanted to do, never a thought for how it might affect those that I love, those that loved me. The terrible things that I’d done to my brother, the terrible things that I’d watched others do to him. The cruel laughter, that high pitched, sharp cackle that had come from me while I watched him tormented, crying out for mercy. Crying for a mercy that I never gave him, that I never had any intention of giving him. Quite the opposite in fact, those cries never raised any feelings of sympathy in me, they made me feel contempt and disdain. Watching him, battered on the ground, pleading for it all to stop had made me feel superior to him, powerful.

  It had been the same with Lela. I’m going to be honest now, I’ve not been entirely truthful with you about what happened between myself and Asmund. It’s true, I struggled to feel any remorse for what I’d done to Lela, for what had happened between myself and Asmund. I think I refused to let myself really accept that I’d done anything wrong.

  But now I sit here writing this 30 years later, all the events laid out before me. Knowing the things that I did before that basement, the things that happened while I was in there and the things I did afterwards, I can see it all now so clearly. If only I could have understood back then, my life could have turned out so differently.

  When I told you that I couldn’t remember much about that night, that was a lie. If I’m completely honest with you, there are quite a few things that I’ve not been entirely truthful about but that night, the party at Lela’s I remember very well.

  It was early evening, I remember the sky, crystal clear and scattered with thousands of twinkling stars. It was unseasonably warm for the time of year, it must have been, I can remember wearing an acid wash denim skirt with a blue denim jacket thrown over an orange t-shirt, not something that you’d usually expect to wear in Oslo in late September.

  My taxi pulled up outside Lela’s house at around 8pm. I dropped a handful of coins into the driver’s hand with a clink, thanked him before pulling the door handle and throwing the car door open. Swinging my legs out of the car, I stepped into the warm evening air. A cool breeze lifted my hair slightly as I closed the door with a dull thud.

  I looked up at Lela’s house, it was a house that I knew so well. We had been next door neighbours until my family had moved to the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t a large house but it felt like a second home to me, clad in peach painted weather boarding with white window frames and door. Surrounded by a white picket fence, stone paved steps leading up to the front door.

  The steady, recognisable beats of Guns ‘n’ Roses reverberated from inside the building, getting louder as I made my way up those steps, towards the front door. Pushing the door open, I was instantly hit with the heady atmosphere of a party, cigarette smoke hanging thick in the air, the loud beat of the music suddenly resonant in my ears and the smell, a mixture of perfume and aftershave.

  The front door led directly into the large living room. The walls were covered with a light pine panelling and the floor was covered with a dark green carpet. In the corner of the room was Lela’s pride and joy, her hi-fi system. The turn table spinning around and around on top of a CD player and under that, flickering with red and green lights, the amplifier. The lights were turned down dim, Sweet Child o’ Mine pounding from the surround sound speakers that were mounted on the walls.

  I didn’t need to look for Lela, I knew exactly where she would be. A wide smile crossed my face as my eyes settled on her, a slender form clad in a leather jacket and blue jeans. Her arms in the air, long dark hair swinging back and forth as she danced to the music.

  Asmund was there too, of course. Standing at the edge of the room, his elbow resting on the white sideboard, a beer in his hand. Long blonde hair fell halfway down his back tied with a red bandanna. He was wearing a black Aerosmith t-shirt and torn jeans, fairly normal for him. I remember him standing there, chatting casually with his younger sister, Ingrid. Ingrid was a year younger than myself and Lela. She wasn’t what I’d call beautiful exactly but there was something alluring about her, she had an innocent, ‘girl next door’ charm. She turned towards me as I entered the room, her long skirt swaying as she offered me a friendly smile and wave. Asmund merely nodded in my direction.

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  It was a good party, a usual night at Lela’s. I drank, danced, laughed and flirted. Yes, I’m not ashamed to admit that it wasn’t particularly unusual for me to leave those parties on the arm of a man that I’d only just met and head back to his house for the night. I had managed to earn myself a bit of a reputation, but it didn’t worry me, I had my reasons for what I did.

  I watched Asmund and Lela that night, watched them as they talked over their drinks. Watched as Ingrid whispered something in Lela’s ear, a comment that made my best friend giggle and blush, a message from Asmund that Lela denied knowing anything of when I asked her about it later.

  “Message? I don’t know what you’re talking about, babe.” she would say to me with a giggle and sly wink.

  I watched them when the music went silent, when the pair walked over to a couple of guitars propped up against the wall, picked them up and took a position in the middle of the room. The pink and chrome of Lela’s guitar glinted in the light next to the highly polished shine of Asmund’s deep black instrument. A white sticker stood out against the black. Arctic Howl, the words clearly visible against an intricate design. Arctic Howl, the band name they had given themselves, the logo was one that I had designed and drawn for them.

  I listened as they strummed the strings, powerful, evocative music springing from the speakers. Lela’s voice, beautiful and haunting contrasted with Asmund’s deeper tones. People formed a circle around them as they played their own compositions, rock ballads, a superb mingling of influence from Lela’s English and Asmund’s Nordic backgrounds.

  There was something about them, about the way that they acted together. They were never outwardly physical, there was never any public shows of affection other than an occasional holding of hands or quick kiss. But it was the little whispers to each other, the passing of notes when they thought that no one was looking, cryptic comments that only they understood, those small things that suggested they had something deeper than just a physical attraction. I had had my fair share of boyfriends, it’s true, but I’d never had anything like the relationship that the two of them shared.

  I took a deep breath as I watched them, a feeling of resentment began to grow in me, jealousy. Not in that way, I had no designs on Asmund, I wasn’t attracted to him in any way but I felt jealous because he had something, was part of something that I never could be part of. That something was Lela.

  We were best friends, we were as close as sisters but that part of her life, her life with Asmund was something that I felt shut out from. It wasn’t a new feeling, it had been gnawing away inside me for a long time.

  It was when watching them performing together that the idea first came into my head. The idea that would set the wheels in motion, leading to my ruin.

  The party finished earlier than usual. By around 10:30pm it was only myself, Lela, Asmund and Ingrid left standing in that living room, the door closing behind the last guest. Lela raised the tonearm on the record player, the music stopped as the stylus lifted away from the spinning disk, leaving a loud ringing hum in my ears.

  Lela’s dark eyes fixed on mine, her warm smile drawing me in, “It looks like an early night for us tonight, were the Arctic Howl not up to scratch?”

  “You were amazing, Lela. You always are.” I stepped forward, pulling her into a close embrace. Our bodies pressed tightly together, the smell of her perfume mixing with the subtle scent of the cherry vodka on her breath was intoxicating to me.

  There was a dark intensity in her eyes as our bodies parted, “Asmund was wondering if you’d like a lift home? Ingrid has kindly offered to stay here a while and help me tidy up.”

  It’s funny how events just seem to line up for you sometimes. This was the perfect opportunity for me, Asmund offering me a lift, Ingrid conveniently staying behind, “Oh that’s so kind of him.” my voice was slow and deliberate, trying hard not to give away the excitement that I felt rising in me.

  The perfect chance to put that little idea of mine into action.

  I pulled closed the door of Asmund’s car, a red Volkswagen Golf. The door closed with a thump, I pulled my seatbelt across myself, clicking it place before glancing over at him. “It’s still early, why don’t we grab a quick drink back at yours first?”, my voice took on a soft, sultry tone.

  His face was shrouded in the darkness of the night but I saw the slight turn of a smile on his lips as his shoulders shrugged, “Why not? Ingrid will be a while yet. I’ll pick her up once I’ve dropped you home”

  Asmund lived with his sister in a flat not far from the city centre, a small two bedroom flat that was made up of a single lounge leading to the bedrooms, another door led to a small, simple kitchen. They had no parents, they had spent their childhoods being shipped from foster home to foster home.

  Asmund flicked on the lights as we stepped into the flat, my eyes blinking as they got accustomed to the light. It was only a small lounge, against one wall a double sofa sat facing the TV with a low table between positioned between them. Straight away I noticed a bright red lipstick and dark eyeshadow laying on the table, the colours screamed out Lela. Ingrid’s tastes were much more conservative.

  The walls were adorned with posters of just about every band that I could imagine, Aerosmith, Guns ‘n’ Roses, Def Leopard, Bon Jovi, The Cure... the list goes on.

  “Make yourself comfortable, what do you fancy to drink? I’ve got some beer, there might be some vodka or akevitt left if Lela and Ingrid haven’t cleaned me out already.”

  I fixed my eyes on his as I walked over to the sofa, hitching my skirt up slightly higher than was absolutely necessary. “Oh, a beer would be lovely, thank you.” my voice deliberately soft.

  When Asmund returned, he sat beside me and handed me a cold bottle of Mack Pilsner, condensation forming droplets which ran down the green glass. My fingers brushed his softly as I took the bottle from him.

  Taking a sip from the bottle, I slid closer to him, my thigh pressing against his. I could feel the warmth of his body though those torn jeans. He looked over at me, his eyes widening slightly in surprise and uncertainty, I just glanced back at him through lowered lids, subtly moistening my lips with my tongue.

  Our eyes locked, my lips parted slightly, turning up with the smallest hint of a smile. I gazed deeply into his eyes, taking another deliberately slow sip from the bottle.

  I was playing a game that I knew all too well. Asmund stood no chance against me, I was an anaconda luring my prey into a deadly embrace.

  Softly, I ran a hand up his back, stopping with it resting behind his head. His breath quickened noticeably but his eyes never left mine. My stare was hot and smouldering and with only the slightest pressure at first, I pulled his head towards mine. Was there a very brief moment of resistance from him? It lasted only a couple of heat beats before he melted. I leant in towards him, our lips brushed softly at first, followed by the slightest exploratory flicker of my tongue. The taste of beer was strong on his lips. My other hand took his, placing it on to my leg. One deep breath and then I pounced, pulling him in tightly, our tongues entwined passionately.

  My trap snapped shut.

  So, you see? When I told you that I didn’t remember who made that first move between us, that was a lie. It was all my idea, I suggested going back to his flat, it was me who made that first move and when things started to get more intimate, it was me who, when remembering Asmund’s art project and that Polaroid camera, suggested taking those photos.

  Why? Well as I’ve already said, I was jealous. I was jealous that Asmund was part of something with Lela that I never could be, part of something that I wanted to be part of. By doing what I did it made me feel like we were truly sisters, there was now nothing that we didn’t share.

  Why did I keep those photos? The truth is that I saw them as a part of that special bond that I now shared with my best friend, something that linked the two of us together.

  My mind was twisted, I was jealous, spiteful and vengeful. I know that now, I can see it. It was that side of me, the things that I did in my past, not just to Lela, but to Lars and so many other people around me that led me to be in that basement. It led to the things that were to happen after the basement. It’s a side that has never left me, it’s the side of me that led me to be sitting in the place that I’m in now, led me to write this.

  I guess I could lay the blame for the way that I am on to other people, onto the things that happened to me. It doesn’t help, I’ve never been able to forgive myself for everything that happened, those things that I did. In a way, I suppose that’s the reason that I decided to write this. Put it all down on paper in the hope that someone might read it, that they might have even the tiniest amount of understanding and sympathy for me.

  I don’t expect forgiveness, I don’t deserve it. Not from you and certainly not from Lela but my real hope is that maybe she will read this and at the very least understand that I am now sorry.