Never Coming Back: A Novel
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A harrowing and unforgettable thriller that has taken Sweden and Britain by storm―a twisted plot of revenge and tragedy by a writer whose edgy and gritty style evokes Henning Mankell and Hakan Nesser
Mike Zetterberg lives with his wife Ylva and their daughter in a house just outside Helsingborg in Sweden. One evening, Ylva doesn't come home as expected. Mike passes it off as a drink with a work friend, but when she's still missing the next day, he starts to worry. As Mike battles suspicion from the police and his own despair, he is unaware that Ylva is still alive, just a stone's throw from his own home: Ylva has been drawn into a twisted plot of revenge that leads back into her and her abductors' shared past.
Given the sudden and mysterious circumstances of her disappearance, Mike becomes the chief suspect. But what no one knows is that she's being held hostage in the cellar of the house across the street. A secret camera has been set up in her own home so that Ylva can only watch her family on the screen. They cannot see her―and they most certainly cannot hear her scream.
This superbly-told tale of horrific tragedy and brutal revenge now makes its American debut in paperback.
really matter. Couldn’t they understand that what had happened had tormented her too? Not in the same way, obviously. But that didn’t make it any easier. In a way, it made it worse. They didn’t have the guilt, never needed to think about what they could’ve done. A day hadn’t passed when Ylva hadn’t blamed herself. She had gone through all the stages of denial and self-loathing, without finding peace. Ylva would just have to live with it. She manoeuvred herself off the bed, staggered over to
the bed. ‘Has Mummy not come home?’ ‘I don’t know, doesn’t look like it. Maybe she stayed over with one of her friends. Maybe it was late and she couldn’t get a taxi.’ ‘Aren’t you going to ring her?’ ‘Not quite yet. If they were late last night, she’ll still be asleep.’ ‘What if she’s not sleeping?’ Which was precisely what Mike was trying to avoid thinking, but his brain didn’t care about him, and images rolled in front of his eyes: Ylva dressed in yesterday’s party clothes walking from the
her age and terrifyingly at ease with the violent situation. The woman kneeled in front of Ylva, who was breathing heavily, her eyes darting everywhere. ‘Look at me.’ Ylva looked up with uncertainty. Her hair was hanging down in her face and the woman gently pushed it to the side and tucked it behind her ears. ‘Stop panting.’ The woman spoke in a quiet voice, almost a whisper. Ylva gasped a few times more, the woman closed her eyes, smiled, and waited. ‘Can we talk now?’ the woman asked, so
days a week. Sometimes she stayed over and cleaned the house the following day. Mike felt like a spoilt teenager, but he knew that the benefit was mutual. Kristina had lived up to her sudden importance. They talked a lot about Mike’s father, nearly more about him than about Ylva. Any talk of Ylva ended in guesswork and speculation, conjectures that didn’t lead to anything positive, but that continued to ferment in his subconscious, only to surface a few days later as horrible dreams. And on
I told him about Annika. For obvious reasons, I didn’t go into details. Your husband said that my loss was greater than his, that he couldn’t imagine losing his daughter.’ Gösta lay quietly for a while. ‘And I have to agree with him,’ he said, and rapped Ylva on the hip. ‘Turn round, I want to take you from behind.’ Family Journal was interested. They were happy with Calle Collin’s last job, and had already talked about inviting him down to Helsingborg for a meeting with the editors to