“Needs his milk,” Mrs. Ketow said. “You want to come in?”

Anna stepped into the narrow hallway behind her. The apartment was almost identical to Abel and Micha’s, the wallpaper almost the same. The dark cupboards looked newer than the ones on the fourth floor, but they were equally ugly. And yet, everything felt different here. This apartment didn’t breathe. It was dead. Maybe, Anna thought, it was that way because there weren’t any children’s drawings taped to the walls; maybe it was because of the broken plastic toys lying on a dresser in the hallway. There wasn’t disorder in Mrs. Ketow’s apartment, but there was something else … Anna searched for the word. Indifference, she thought. That was it. Nobody cared. The apartment was a lot sadder than the apartment upstairs. It was so sad, Anna wasn’t able to breathe for a moment. The office for shells and sisters would probably not have found anything wrong with this apartment; everything was as it should be if a social worker chanced to come by. In the back part of the apartment, the other two children were shouting. Mrs. Ketow found the bottle and stuffed it into the mouth of the screaming baby, like she’d done with the pacifier before; it was like pressing buttons to make a machine work properly. Then she lit a cigarette and opened the kitchen window. “Smoke isn’t good for the kids,” she said. “The social worker told me that. I do what they say in general, I mean, they’re paying for these kids. I look after them well.”

“I’m not a social worker,” Anna said. “I don’t care what you do. I just want to know where Abel and Micha went.”

“If you ask me, you won’t see them again,” Mrs. Ketow replied and took a drag. “I saw them, him with a big backpack like he’s going on a trip and the little one, too. That was this morning … five or so … I get up early ’cause of these damn kids. They’re a lot of work, three kids. I’ll tell you … with three of them, I work a whole fuckin’ day … what about you? You’re young. You want kids? What do you want from life?”

“I want to find Abel and Micha,” Anna said and turned to go.

But she couldn’t find Abel and Micha. There was no trace of them anywhere. She wasn’t a detective, and besides, those who don’t want to be found won’t be found …

At home, she avoided Linda’s questioning looks, mumbled something about studying, and went straight to her room. She knew that Magnus was angry that she’d refused to explain anything to her mother. But wouldn’t Linda have been more worried if she’d explained? Anyway, this was not about Linda.

Anna felt like she was drowning in the blue air of home. She almost longed for the ugly gray staircase at 18 Amundsen Street. She took out Sören Marinke’s card and laid it on her desk.

Had it been a lie? Had Michelle really called? Were Abel and Micha with Michelle now? Or had Abel just run away with Micha because he knew that Marinke would take her from him sooner or later? If Marinke found out they’d fled, he’d send the police after them. Wherever they were heading, they would need a good head start. Anna mustn’t call the number on Marinke’s card … but then she picked up the phone and dialed it anyway.

She had to call. She had to find out what he knew. She invented a complicated introductory sentence, saying she wanted to talk to him and to find out whether he’d returned to the Tannatek’s place or not … she knew she’d feel tongue-tied. Her heart raced.

But the voice that finally came through the telephone line belonged to a woman.

“I … I’d like to talk to Sören Marinke,” Anna said.

“I’m sorry but that’s not possible at the moment,” the woman answered.

“Would it be better if I tried again later?” Anna asked. “I can do that. It’s just that he had asked me to call him …”

“You won’t be able to talk to him today,” the woman said. “He’s not in the office.”

“So … do you know when he’ll be back?” Anna asked.

“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Is he ill?” Anna asked. “This is an important call; it’s about one of his … what do you say … cases? Maybe I can talk to someone else?”

“I’m afraid not. There isn’t anyone else. I’m sure he’ll get back to you once he’s in the office again. We’re hoping that will be tomorrow.”

“On his card his cell phone number is also listed,” Anna said. “Do you think it would be rude to call him on it?”

The woman at the other end of the line sighed. “You can try, of course,” she said. “But you won’t have any luck. We tried the same thing.”

“I … I don’t understand …”

“Neither do I,” the woman replied. “Listen, honey, Mr. Marinke hasn’t come into the office today and he isn’t answering his phone, and I think he’s probably sick, but no one knows for sure where he is. So please be patient. Hopefully we’ll know more tomorrow.”

Anna dialed the second number on the card. The nameless woman was right. She got his voicemail.

Had the whole world decided to disappear? Michelle, Abel, Micha, Sören Marinke? Had they all disappeared? Would she be the only one left in the end? With the blue light and the robins in the garden?

When she woke up the next morning, the first thing she did was dial Abel’s number. She knew it by heart now. Nobody answered. She left for school without eating breakfast. Maybe he was there. Maybe he was standing by the bike rack, his hands in his pockets, Walkman plugs in his ears … but he wasn’t there. It wasn’t just that there was no one at the bike rack. It was that there seemed to be a hole in the shape of a person. Abel’s absence was almost visible.

The others were talking about history. Dates of events buzzed above their heads like strange, shapeless winter bees. Anna stood next to Gitta, and Gitta said, “Let’s talk later, little lamb. Old Gitta has to stuff her face with facts till third period today.” Anna had managed to hammer those same facts into her brain the day before—everything would be okay. She had to count on remembering everything she had learned before this week. Nothing could be less important than a history test. The silver-gray dog in the fairy tale had made a leap for the hunter’s black ship—had he leaped out of Anna’s world for good? In her head, a sentence kept coming up like an old-fashioned screen saver: What if I never see him again? What if I never see him again? What if I nev …

When the sheets of white paper, with the official school stamp—the only paper you were allowed to write on—were set in front of her at the beginning of third period, she had to pull herself together not to write this sentence into the upper-right corner instead of her name. They were taking the test in the gym, as a sort of dry run for their finals, which would take place there.

Final exams, Anna thought … and she heard Knaake’s words again: Keep an eye on him, will you? If he carries on like this, he won’t pass … and in the background, Cohen’s ancient, Old World voice … Then she heard the gym door open; somebody walked in late but just in time to take the test. She looked up. It was Abel.

Gitta looked from Anna to Abel and back again. Of course he hadn’t vanished. She’d told Anna that. Someone like Tannatek didn’t just vanish; he was gone for a while, but then he turned up again. Or was she wrong? Could someone like Tannatek vanish? One day? Forever?

She tried to catch Anna’s eye, but Anna didn’t look at her. In a strange way, Anna had vanished, too. She had drifted away from Gitta, from everybody … so far away that she might never be able to find her way back, and Gitta wouldn’t be able to reach her anymore.

She wasn’t God after all; it wasn’t her job to save Anna. She wasn’t cut out to save anyone, and you couldn’t save someone from herself anyway. Shit.

She looked over at Hennes, saw his red-gold hair glowing in a sun ray, saw him smile and wink at her before he bent over his test again. Tonight (and why wait till night fell, by the way?) she would forget about Anna. She wondered if she was the only one here who hung out in the streets enough to know the truth about Tannatek. And if he knew that she knew. She’d keep her mouth shut as she’d promised herself she would, and everything would take its course. Shit. Shit. Oh, what the hell.