I just screamed.  I’m alone in the apartment and I screamed, louder than I meant to, this strangled, cracking screech that didn’t sound anything like my voice.  I heard our neighbor’s footsteps above and knew they must have heard me and worried for a second they would come down and ask if I am okay, and then remembered I’m in Sweden and nobody cares if a stranger is screaming.

I am so angry I don’t know what to do with myself.  It’s like there is a volcano deep inside me, spilling out a neverending stream of toxic rage, burning me from the inside, choking me so I can hardly breathe and nothing will make it stop.

She said it was my fault.

That I’ve been investigating, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, not to protect Anders, not to protect myself, but because of guilt that I am responsible.

Where the ever loving fuck does she get off?  She was waiting for me when I left the apartment yesterday.  I wasn’t going anywhere in particular, just a walk to stretch my legs and pass some time until Anders got back from work, and I was happy to see her.  My one friend in Sweden, the sole, single person on this whole god damned continent that has my back.

That isn’t fucking true.  Anders, obviously, has my back, I just mean someone who isn’t involved, who is there only for me.

Except that’s bullshit.

She is a snide, gossipy bitch so obviously only pretending to be my friend to get the dirt on the tragedy, who was clearly so jealous of Hanna she made up stories about her, made insinuations about her and Anders, made me hate her and doubt him, did, in fact, exactly what she accused Hanna of.  Projection, much?

“How would anybody know where you would all be that weekend if you didn’t announce it to the world on your blog?”

Uhh, maybe from any one of the dozens and dozens of other colleagues and friends and family any one of us talked about our weekend plans with?

“Anyone reading knew that Daniel was alone when you wrote about phoning Tove.”

Right, and also anyone who was watching Daniel because they were planning on freaking killing him.

God damn her supercilious tone and judgement.  “I don’t even know why people write these things, it is so self involved.”  Because offering her unsolicited opinion on something none of her freaking business isn’t?

And then to claim she was trying to help me.  “It doesn’t look good.  I advise you to delete it before the police discover its existence if they haven’t already.”

I advise you to keep your fucking obnoxious opinions to yourself.  Anybody who thinks that anybody was murdered – killed, their life taken away for good – because of a stupid blog is freaking crazier than the killer themselves.