“There is shampoo, Dad.”
“Same thing.”
“Fine,” she says with a smile, deciding not to tell him what the small hand towel is used for.
“I’ll make some coffee,” says Kennet, heading for the kitchen.
Simone drops the bath towel on the sideboard and goes into Benjamin’s room, where she sits at the desk and switches on the computer. She needs to clean up in here. The bedclothes on the floor and the water glass lying on its side remind her, stabbingly, of the abduction.
The welcome melody from the computer’s operating system rings out, Simone places her hand on the mouse, waits a few seconds, then clicks on the miniature picture of Benjamin’s face to log in.
The computer requests a user name and password. Simone types in BENJAMIN, takes a deep breath, and writes DUMBLEDORE.
55
sunday, december 13 (feast of st lucia): midday
Benjamin’s computer screen flickers, like an eye closing and then opening. She’s in.
A photograph of a deer in a forest glade fills the desktop screen. The greenery is bathed in a magical dewy light. The shy animal seems totally calm at this particular moment. Despite the fact that Simone knows she is intruding into Benjamin’s private space, it’s as if something of him is suddenly close to her again.
“You’re a genius,” she hears her father say behind her.
“I’m not,” she replies.
Kennet places one hand on her shoulder, and she launches the e-mail programme.
“How far back should we go?” she asks.
“We’ll go through everything.”
She scrolls through the inbox, opening message after message. A classmate has a question about a portfolio. A school group project is discussed. Someone claims Benjamin has won four million euros in a Spanish lottery.
Kennet disappears and returns with two mugs of coffee. “Best drink in the world, coffee,” he says, sitting down. “How the hell did you manage to crack the computer?”
She shrugs diffidently and takes a sip of coffee. But she can’t bring herself to tell him that Erik provided her with the password.
“I’ll have to call my computer friend and tell him we don’t need his help. He’s too slow!”
She moves through the list, opening a message from Aida, who tells him all about a bad film in an amusing way, saying that Arnold Schwarzenegger is a lobotomised Shrek.
The weekly bulletin from school. A warning from the bank about the importance of not revealing details of your account to anyone. Facebook, Facebook, Facebook, Facebook, Facebook.
Simone logs onto Benjamin’s Facebook page. There are hundreds of inquiries featuring the group hypno monkey. Every comment has to do with Erik, various sneering theories that Benjamin has been hypnotised into being a nerd, evidence that Erik has hypnotised the entire Swedish nation, one person demanding compensation because Erik has hypnotised his cock.
There is a link to a clip on YouTube. Simone follows it and finds a short film titled Asshole. The sound track features a researcher describing how serious hypnosis works, while the film shows Erik pushing past a number of people. He happens to bump into an elderly woman using a wheeled walker, and she gives him the finger behind his back.
Simone goes back to Benjamin’s e-mail inbox and finds a short note from Aida that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. There is something about these few words that make a formless fear begin to rise up in her stomach. Her palms are suddenly sweaty. She turns the screen toward Kennet.
“Read this, Dad.”
Nicky says Wailord is angry and has opened his mouth against you. I think this could be really dangerous, Benjamin.
“Nicky is Aida’s younger brother,” says Simone.
“And Wailord?” asks Kennet, taking a deep breath. “Do you know about this?”
Simone shakes her head. The fear inside her is so dark, so dense, it feels as if it’s made of marble. What does she actually know about Benjamin’s life?
“I think Wailord is the name of a Pokémon character,” she says.
Simone clicks on the SENT folder and finds Benjamin’s agitated response:
Nicky has to stay indoors. Don’t let him go down to the sea. If Wailord is really angry, one of us is in trouble. We should have gone to the police straight away. I think it’s too dangerous to do it now.
“Fuck,” says Kennet.
“I don’t know if this is genuine or if it’s part of a game.”
“It doesn’t sound like a game.”
“No.”
Kennet lets out a long breath and scratches his stomach. “Aida and Nicky,” he says slowly. “What kind of people are they, then?”
Simone looks at her father and wonders how to answer him. He would never understand a person like Aida: a girl who always dresses in black, wears lots of make-up, has piercings and tattoos, and whose home circumstances are peculiar to say the least.
“Aida is Benjamin’s girlfriend,” says Simone. “And Nicky is her younger brother. There’s a picture of her and Benjamin somewhere.”
She finds Benjamin’s wallet and digs out the picture of Aida. Benjamin has his arm round her shoulders. Aida looks slightly uncomfortable, but Benjamin is laughing into the camera, his expression relaxed.
“But what kind of people are they?” asks Kennet stubbornly, looking at Aida’s face with its harsh make-up.
“What kind of people?” she says slowly. “I don’t really know. I just know that Benjamin is extremely fond of her. And she seems to take good care of her brother. I think he’s got some kind of learning disability.”
“Aggressive?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Benjamin writes about a real threat,” Kennet says, “but Wailord doesn’t really exist.”
56
sunday, december 13 (feast of st lucia): midday
Kennet folds his arms. He leans back and looks up at the ceiling. Then he straightens up and says in a serious tone, “So Wailord is a cartoon character?”
“A Pokémon,” she replies.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“If you have children of a certain age, you know about it whether you want to or not,” she says.
Kennet is looking blankly at her.
“Pokémon,” Simone repeats. “It’s a kind of game.”
“A game?”
“It was something Benjamin loved when he was younger. He used to collect the cards and talk about the different powers, about how the characters transformed themselves.”
Kennet shakes his head.
“He must have been into it for about two years,” she says.
“But not any more?”
“He’s a bit too old now.”
“I used to see you playing with dolls when you came home from riding camp.”
“Well,