It started with a phone call I couldn’t remember.
Freya and I had spoken about Songström before. In the dark of the night I would whisper to her about it, describe how it looked, what lived inside. I’d tell her I hated it, that I never wanted to go back. I told her to keep away.
When the sun rose, however, when the morning came, she’d deny I’d ever said a thing. She’d look at me, unable to speak.
We lived an existence together, but sometimes we were so very much apart. Sometimes, I had to remind myself we were actually a couple at all.
Bobby didn’t want to talk about Freya. Bobby just wanted to talk about whatever it was he’d done that day and that was fine. Bobby was a good friend; my only friend, apart from Freya.
*
The day the end came for me, for Bobby, for Freya, had been like any other day. I went to work at the supermarket, on the day shift, which I liked because it meant I could meet Freya for coffee at lunchtime.
The morning had dragged. I couldn’t focus on just one job; I had to keep moving around the store to avoid the management. Lately, they’d been arguing with me a lot, and whilst I didn’t like it, I could put up with it. I was about to clock off for lunch, when Bobby called me over. He worked on the floor, talking to the customers.
“Look at this,” he said, and indicated a television. “Looks fucking good, doesn’t it?”
Bobby swears a lot. It’s a shame, but it’s also who he is. Bobby is not like me.
The television was indeed impressive in size. It was currently showing an underwater scene from a movie I didn’t recognise. I nodded to him.
“Looks okay,” I said.
“Doesn’t anything make you fucking happy?” Bobby asked.
“You do,” I told him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. Bobby wandered off, muttering, towards a woman looking at some new mobile phones.
I looked at the picture again. There was something worrying about the water.
*
When I got to the café, Freya seemed anxious. I noted she hadn’t ordered anything.
“Everything all right?” I asked her.
“Listen, Sammel,” she said, unusually aggressive. “Just listen. I need to tell you about this, and you need to take it in, got it?” She tapped me gently on the head. “It needs to get in there and stick. It’s really important. Got it?”
“Got it,” I nodded. The tapping didn’t hurt, but it was embarrassing. The café was opposite the supermarket, a place we regularly met. The staff knew me. Served me. Smiled at me. I didn’t want them thinking I was stupid, or forgetful, however stupid or forgetful I was.
“Look at this,” Freya was saying, as she fiddled with her handbag. Freya carried everything in her handbag. I didn’t know how she did it.
“Can’t we talk about this at home?” I asked, but she pretended not to hear.
“It’s in here somewhere,” she said. Her voice was starting to rise, which meant she wasn’t far off tipping the whole bag upside down onto the table.
“What is it? Perhaps I could look for it?” I asked. The waiter brought my coffee over and put it on the table. “Thank you,” I said.
“Here, here it is.”
She removed a spectacle case from her bag. It was battered, the black leather covering coming apart at the edges. She put it on the table.
“This is the box which sits on the shelf in our room. The one you told me never to open,” I said to her.
“That’s correct. Today you can open it.”
I didn’t move. “Why? What’s different about today?”
“Just open it.”
I looked at her face, trying to work out exactly what the contents might be.
“Open it,” she said, slowly and deliberately. Her gaze somehow intensified. I felt under pressure.
Then I smiled. I realised she was excited, and I couldn’t remember the last time she’d been excited. I reached forward and put my hands on the case.
“Is this going to be weird?” I asked.
“Of course.”
I found the seam where the case opened and put my fingernails into it, twisting as I did so. It was unlikely to be anything nasty, but, at the same time, I wasn’t going to take any chances.
I lifted the top a little and peered into the darkness within. Something was shining in there. I pushed the topmost part of the case fully open, revealing a cube of dark stone, about an inch wide on each side. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought it might be Onyx.
I looked at Freya, confused. She looked at me, down to the cube, and then back up at me.
“What is it?” I asked, and even before I’d finished, her hands had darted out and plucked the cube from the case, removing it from the square recess it had been slotted into.
“This is Sikkilite,” she said. “Have you ever seen it before?”
I shook my head.
“It’s very pretty,” I said, but I was just being nice. In truth, it was no worse nor better than any other polished stone I’d ever seen.
“It doesn’t matter whether it’s pretty or not,” she said, her eyes shining. “That’s not why we’ve got it.”
She was being secretive, but only because she wanted me to ask more questions. I was happy to play along. “Why have we got it?”
“Because,” she started, leaning in closer. “When we die, it keeps our souls intact.”
I waited to see if she’d say any more, to see if she’d elaborate on such a bold claim. She didn’t.
“Well,” I told her. “I really don’t know what to say.”
Freya laughed, a tinkling sound, too young for her years. “Isn’t it exciting?” she asked.