“What?”
“What?” she repeats crossly. “Who’s Daniella?”
“Daniella?”
“You promised. You made a promise, Erik,” she says. “I trusted you, I was actually stupid enough to trust—”
“What are you talking about? Daniella Richards is a colleague at Karolinska. What’s she got to do with anything?”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“This is actually getting ridiculous,” he says, and despite her clear anger he feels a smile spreading involuntarily across his face. He is so tired.
“Do you think this is funny?” she asks. “I’ve sometimes thought … I even believed I could forget what happened.”
Erik nods off for a few seconds, but he can still hear what she’s saying.
“It might be best if we separate,” whispers Simone.
He snaps awake at this. “Nothing has happened between me and Daniella.”
“That doesn’t really matter,” she says wearily.
“Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it matter? You want to separate because of something I did ten years ago?”
“Something?”
“I was drunk, Simone. Drunk, and—”
“I don’t want to listen. I know all about it. I … Fuck it! I don’t want to do this, I’m not a jealous person, but I am loyal and I expect loyalty in return.”
“I’ve never let you down since, and I’ll never—”
“Prove it to me. I need proof.”
“You just have to trust me,” he says.
“Yes,” she says with a sigh, and collecting a pillow and duvet she shuffles out of the bedroom and down the hallway.
He is breathing heavily. He ought to follow her, not just give up; he ought to try to calm her down and persuade her to come back to bed, but right now sleep exerts the stronger influence. He can no longer resist it. He sinks down into the bed; feels the dopamine flood his system, the tension flow out of his body as relaxation spreads pleasurably across his face, his neck and shoulders, down into his toes and the tips of his fingers. A heavy, chemical sleep enfolds his consciousness like a floury cloud.
12
tuesday, december 8: morning
Erik slowly opens his eyes to the pale light pressing against the curtains. He rolls over with a grunt and glances at the alarm clock; two hours have passed. Immediately, his mind begins to replay the images from the night before: Simone’s angry face as she made her accusations, the boy lying there with hundreds of black knife wounds covering his glowing body.
Erik thinks of the detective, who seemed convinced that the perpetrator had wanted to murder an entire family: first the father, then the mother, the son, and the daughter.
An older daughter is out there somewhere, in extreme danger, if Joona Linna is right.
The telephone on the bedside table begins to ring.
Erik gets up, but instead of answering he opens the curtains and peers across at the façade of the building opposite, trying to gather his thoughts. The dust glazing the windowpanes is clearly visible in the morning sunshine.
Simone has already left for the gallery. He doesn’t understand her outburst, why she was talking about Daniella. He wonders if it’s about something else altogether: the drugs, maybe. He knows he’s very close to a serious dependency on them, but he has to sleep. All the night shifts at the hospital have ruined his ability to sleep naturally. Without pills he would go under, he thinks. He reaches for the alarm clock but manages to knock it on the floor instead.
The telephone stops, but is silent for only a little while before it starts ringing again.
He considers going into Benjamin’s room and lying down beside his son, waking him gently, asking if he’s been dreaming about anything. He picks up the telephone and answers.
“Hi, it’s Daniella Richards.”
“Are you still at the hospital? It’s quarter past eight.”
“I know. I’m exhausted.”
“Go home.”
“No chance,” says Daniella calmly. “You have to come back. That detective is on his way. He seems even more convinced that the perpetrator is after the older sister. He says he has to talk to the boy.”
Erik feels a sudden dark weight behind his eyes. “That’s a bad idea, given his condition.”
“I know. But what about the sister?” she interrupts him. “I’m considering giving the detective the go-ahead to question Josef.”
“It’s your patient. If you think he can cope with it,” says Erik.
“Cope? Of course he can’t cope with it. His condition is critical. His family has been murdered, and he’ll find out about it under questioning from a policeman. But I can’t just sit and wait. I don’t want to let the police at him, but there’s no doubt that his sister is in danger.”
“It’s your call,” Erik says again.
“A murderer is looking for his older sister!” Daniella breaks in, raising her voice.
“Presumably.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m in such a state about this,” she says. “Maybe because it isn’t too late. Something could actually be done. I mean, it isn’t often the case, but this time we could save a girl before she—”
“What do you want from me?” asks Erik.
“You have to come in and do what you’re good at.”
Erik pauses, then answers carefully. “I can talk to the boy about what’s happened when he’s feeling a little better.”
“That’s not what I mean. I want you to hypnotise him,” she says seriously.
“No.”
“It’s the only way.”
“I can’t. I won’t.”
“But there’s nobody as good as you.”
“I don’t even have permission to practise hypnosis at Karolinska.”
“I can arrange that.”
“Daniella,” Erik says, “I’ve promised never to hypnotise anyone again.”
“Can’t you just come in?”
There is silence for a little while; then Erik asks, “Is he conscious?”
“He soon will be.”
He can hear the rushing sound of his own breathing through the telephone.
“If you won’t hypnotise the boy, I’m going to let the police see him.” She ends the call.
Erik stands there holding the receiver in his trembling hand. The weight behind his eyes is rolling in towards his brain. He opens the drawer of the bedside table. The wooden box with the parrot and the native on it isn’t there. He must have left it in the car.
The apartment is flooded with sunlight as he walks through to wake Benjamin.
The boy is sleeping with his mouth open. His face is pale and he looks exhausted, despite a full night’s sleep.
“Benni?”
Benjamin opens his sleep-drenched eyes and looks