Don't Wake Me

by Martin Krüger

  He’s here, a voice seemed to say – or to whisper. A voice that came from inside herself. He’s here. The man you’re looking for, the cause of all your suffering. He’s right here, and he has Paul with him!

  Jasmin glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the drifter emerging from the shadows in his long grey coat – and yet her encounter with him upstairs already felt unimportant, half-forgotten, like a dream. The only thing that still mattered lay in front of her, drawing nearer with every step she took over the stained concrete floor.

  The noise was coming from a cell on her left. Somebody was inside it, pounding on the door. With trembling fingers, Jasmin reached for the hatch and opened it before shining her torch inside.

  ‘Ha!’ A face pressed itself against the aperture, which was wide enough to reach through. Jasmin instinctively took a step backwards. There was a man inside, his face encrusted with blood and filth, as if he hadn’t washed in weeks. Maybe even months. He stuck out his tongue and stared at her with ice-blue eyes that reminded Jasmin of somebody. His face was like a piece of wood that had been shaped by a clumsy carver; his cheeks and lips were swollen as if he’d taken a severe beating.

  Who do those eyes remind you of? Think, for Christ’s sake!

  Then it hit her.

  No, Jasmin thought, it can’t be.

  His eyes reminded her of Sven Birkeland. Her colleague from the hospital – the specialist registrar at whose side she had saved so many lives.

  And there was another memory too. Something lurking at the edge of her consciousness that felt like a trap, ready to spring shut if she approached it carelessly. You and Sven – what have you forgotten?

  Once again, she saw flashes of light before her eyes – once again, she felt a piercing pain behind her temples, as if a drill was boring into her head. For a moment she was back there, on that terrible night, on the wet road, watching the Jeep race towards her. She swerved to one side. There was the homeless man, raising his arms – and she hit him.

  There was something about that night – something she still hadn’t fully understood.

  ‘You don’t remember,’ said the stranger in the cell. His voice was rough, and as he spoke, Jasmin could see in the torchlight that he had no teeth left; they’d been knocked out of his jaw. ‘You don’t remember anything at all.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Jasmin asked, and the man gave a start as she addressed him. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I can’t tell you, you wouldn’t believe me anyway.’ It sounded like the plaintive sing-song of a child.

  ‘This place was abandoned a long time ago,’ said Jasmin. She gathered all her courage and took a few steps forward. A sour odour emanated from the hatch. Dear God, how long had this man been locked up in there? ‘How can you still be here?’

  ‘I’m here because you are,’ he replied. ‘Don’t you get it? I’m everywhere you go.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts!’ His hand shot out and tried to grab her, but Jasmin managed to avoid him and lashed out with the handle of her torch. The man yowled in pain and pulled back his arm.

  ‘Stop it,’ she said coldly. ‘I want answers. The symbol led me here.’

  ‘Yes, it did. You’ve seen it over and over again, haven’t you? You see it everywhere, but you don’t understand what it means. Because you’re suppressing it. Oh, you’ve always been very good at that.’

  ‘Enough. Tell me what’s going on. In here, and elsewhere on the island.’

  ‘Do you really think I know? What are you expecting from me? Answers? You have all the answers already. You just need to remember.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ Jasmin yelled. She could feel herself growing more anxious with every word the man said to her. And angry – she was getting angry too. You’re losing control of the situation. ‘You need to start talking. Everything is so – so horribly confusing.’

  ‘Confusing? Oh, but it isn’t. This is a reflection of a reality, a truth you’ve been suppressing. Jasmin.’

  She froze. A smile passed over the stranger’s bloody mouth. ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘I know everything about you.’

  Jasmin’s hand clenched around her torch. ‘My son has been kidnapped. If you know so much, maybe you can tell me who did it and where they’re keeping him? I was nearly attacked by a man with a syringe earlier today. I – I don’t know what’s going on anymore. I feel like I’m living a nightmare.’

  ‘They’re worried. You’re in danger of veering off track.’

  ‘Off track? What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You say your son has been kidnapped. Are you really sure that’s what happened?’ The stranger’s eyes narrowed to slits as he gave her a thoughtful, penetrating look. ‘Are you really sure you can trust your own eyes, your own mind?’

  No, said a quiet voice in her head that sounded like Jørgen’s. You can’t. You imagined I was here with you in this old sanatorium, that I even tried to attack you, the voice said reproachfully. Would I ever do that?

  Jasmin gulped. She felt a tear well up in her eye and trickle down her cheek.

  Then again, another, more energetic voice warned her, other people have been trying to attack you too. Mattila with his syringe; the drifter at her house; the threatening letter. Henriksen was keeping secrets from her, and there was also Yrsen with her insinuations. Paul had been kidnapped; Larsen the historian had been burned to death in his own home. The scrap of cloth in her coat pocket. Was all this an attempt to frame her for something? For murder? Were they trying to take her son away from her?

  And the question behind it all . . .

  Why?

  When she looked up again, the wounds on the stranger’s face seemed to have worsened. He was bleeding from his nose and his mouth and barely seemed able to hold himself upright.

  ‘You really want to see this through to the end,’ he said in a disappointed tone. ‘That’s a pity.’

  ‘Talk!’ Jasmin hammered her torch against the steel door, producing a metallic din that echoed down the whole corridor. ‘Talk, and then I’ll let you out of here.’

  ‘No, you won’t. We both know that. You’re afraid of me. You know what I am.’

  Jasmin simply stared at him. For a moment, it seemed like the stranger had spoken with a completely different voice. Her own voice.

  ‘Paul has been kidnapped,’ said the stranger, although it sounded like it caused him great pain to speak these words, ‘and is being held in a place you know very well. Think. Who stands to gain most from all this? Who would benefit if you were certified insane and locked in an institution because you risked your son’s life, over and over again? Because you’re a murderer, Jasmin?’

  She stared at him. Her thoughts whirred in her mind like the slow, interlocking gears of a clock. ‘It would benefit . . . Dear God.’

  ‘God has nothing to do with this! Think!’

  ‘Jørgen would benefit. My husband. He would get everything.’

  ‘Well? Isn’t it likely that he wants to get everything? You’re wealthy, Jasmin, your family is wealthy, and as for him – hasn’t he always felt like a failure, like he wasn’t enough for you? Doesn’t he feel angry – frustrated – at always being the little man? And doesn’t he want to get back at you for that? Have you forgotten about her? About Hanna Jansen? What if the two of them have plotted all this behind your back? Hmm? What about that?’

  Her. Jasmin had to reach out and steady herself against the brick wall as she realised what the stranger was hinting at. ‘It’s true,’ she replied in a hoarse voice. ‘Jørgen had an affair. But that’s all over now. Water under the bridge. He would never – never do that to me. He loves me, he’s worried about me, and he hasn’t stopped calling me. He even wanted to join us out here—’

  ‘Bullshit,’ replied the stranger. ‘And you know it.’ Blood was now pouring from his ears. He was going to die, Jasmin realised, and she knew she couldn’t help him because this stranger wasn’t really here. He was a p
rojection of her subconscious, a reproachful voice, urging her to – what, exactly?

  To remember?

  And why did you think he looked like Sven Birkeland?

  ‘Jørgen planned everything with her. He’s been pulling the wool over your eyes the whole time. And you have to admit that you tend to obsess about things. When you lost your second child—’

  ‘Jørgen was always by my side.’

  ‘You started to create a fictional world, which grew out of all proportion. Don’t you understand? Jørgen hated it. He wanted you to find your way back to reality. And then the accident happened. You maintain that you killed a man, even though no one ever found any evidence for it. So he came up with a plan to get rid of you once and for all. And it had to be a good plan, as he wouldn’t get anything from you otherwise. The two of you signed a prenuptial agreement, didn’t you?’

  Jasmin felt a steady stream of tears falling down her cheeks. ‘I thought he was here just now. He tried to attack me. I thought he was the drifter in the grey coat—’

  ‘Because your subconscious has already worked out what’s really going on here. Because you’ve secretly realised Jørgen wants to hurt you.’

  ‘But he isn’t here!’ she cried in panic. ‘You must be lying!’

  ‘Of course he isn’t here, but there are people working for him to carry out his plan. And of course I’m not lying. I don’t even exist!’ The stranger reached his hand out once more, grabbed the hatch in the cell door and slammed it shut. It fell closed with a loud, metallic bang, leaving Jasmin alone in the darkened corridor.

  ‘You – you liar!’ Jasmin sobbed. She pulled the hatch open again, but when she shone her torch inside, the cell was empty. The floor was stained, the walls were covered in a chaos of scratches, but there was nobody inside, least of all a stranger with ice-blue eyes.

  You were talking to yourself, she thought. What does that say about your mental state?

  And yet her thoughts all made perfect sense. Jørgen. She had to follow this new lead. He could hardly have been acting alone. He must have helpers.

  ‘And you know exactly who’s helping him,’ said a voice. When she turned around, the stranger was back again – only this time, he was leaning against the wall, as if he’d walked through the locked cell door like it was nothing more than thin air. Jasmin realised he was wearing a long, white doctor’s coat with a name badge that said S. Birkeland. The coat was tattered and covered in blood. ‘You know Hanna Jansen is here. She’s changed. You’ve met her already.’

  ‘What’s happened to you?’

  ‘You did this to me, Jasmin. You and no one else.’

  ‘I – I don’t understand.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that you need to find Paul. You need to stop them before they can bring their plan to fruition. Before they manage to spring a trap that you’ll never be able to escape from. If Jørgen wins, you’ll lose everything, and he’ll be able to live happily ever after with his new lover. Is that what you want?’

  ‘No,’ Jasmin replied. ‘He’ll pay for this.’

  ‘And where can you start?’ Birkeland drew nearer. Jasmin realised he was limping, as if he’d broken his leg. Then she saw a piece of bare bone sticking out from below his knee. She closed her eyes. It’s just your imagination. He isn’t here.

  ‘That’s not how this works,’ Birkeland declared. ‘I’m always with you. I’m a part of you.’

  ‘Go away!’ Jasmin cried. ‘What’s happening? Am I going crazy?’

  ‘You’re showing all the signs, aren’t you?’ Birkeland folded his arms. ‘Have you really forgotten about me? About that night when we—’

  ‘Shut your mouth!’

  Birkeland smiled and shook his head. ‘As you wish. Now you need to think carefully about what you’re going to do next.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Jasmin wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘I really don’t know. There’s no trail to follow, nothing that will take me closer to Paul. The kidnapper hasn’t tried to get in touch with me.’

  ‘Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?’

  ‘You aren’t real,’ she retorted and turned away. ‘Why should I listen to you? I’m going to look for a way out of here and then I’m going to tell Henriksen everything. How I saw the body in the freezer and that it was the man from the night of the accident.’

  ‘Oh, very smart. And then they’ll accuse you of stealing the corpse. More than that, in fact. They’ll accuse you of starting the fire that killed Larsen. After all, they know how much you love fire.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Jasmin froze. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘The exit is at the end of the corridor.’ Birkeland pointed into the darkness with his bloodied arm. ‘Go, if you have to. Run to your destruction.’

  ‘What other choice do I have?’

  ‘You could look at a painting instead.’ Birkeland cocked his head and a cynical smile played over his lips. ‘You know what I’m talking about.’

  Gabriela Yrsen, Jasmin thought. The woman with the second sight; the artist who’d promised to paint her a picture that would answer her questions.

  Had she finished it already?

  ‘You could ask her what she’s hiding from you. What Henriksen doesn’t want to tell you. And you could stop to consider who this woman really is.’

  The contact list. Yrsen, Larsen – both their numbers had been saved on Henriksen’s phone. Maybe it was worth a try.

  Jasmin shone her torch down the corridor. Dirty, stained concrete. Bare masonry with bricks protruding here and there, as if subsidence over the years had caused the walls to gradually shift. A rat scuttling along the floor, away from the light. That was all she could see. She was alone and everything was silent.

  Birkeland had vanished. Jasmin followed the corridor until she encountered a second metal door that was bolted shut. The iron was rusty, but after a few tugs, she managed to pull back the bolt and cool, fresh air blew into her face. Jasmin was standing at the foot of a covered staircase that led up to the rear of the sanatorium. She was outside – she was free.

  Everything you saw in there was an illusion. She did her best to cling to the thought. Maybe it was more than that. After all, people don’t normally have conversations with figments of their imagination. Whatever it was, you could try to forget it – or you could view it as a message from your subconscious and learn from it.

  Jasmin made her way back to the car. The clouds had thinned and the sun had wandered a considerable distance along the horizon and was starting to sink beneath the treetops. You must have spent a few hours in there, though it felt shorter.

  Bonnie was lying asleep on the grass, but woke as soon as she heard Jasmin approaching and wagged her tail joyfully. Jasmin clasped her arms around her and stroked her, and they both got into the car.

  She took out her phone and looked up Jørgen on her contact list. For a long while, she sat and stared at his number, her finger hovering over the call button.

  There’s a chance he really is lying, that he never ended his affair. There’s a chance he really does want to get rid of you. But would he risk Paul’s life? No, she realised, he would never do that. So if Jørgen and Hanna Jansen really are working together, the kidnapping must have been staged. Paul is alive – Paul is OK.

  This was all about her. This was all an attempt to set her up.

  Her hand reached mechanically into her coat pocket and wrapped itself around the scrap of cloth she’d found earlier. Jasmin held it up to her nose and sniffed. There was a distinct odour of petrol.

  Petrol that had been used to set a house on fire.

  Larsen’s house.

  Her heart started to beat faster. Could it be true? Were these people really devious enough to try to frame her for murder?

  It was possible. People weren’t always what she thought they were. They weren’t always as good as she wanted them to be. ‘You’re naive,’ Jørgen had once said to her. ‘You always misjudge
everyone. Your life is far too sheltered.’

  Jasmin scrolled down her contact list until she found Birkeland’s number, followed by her mother, Marit. She called both of them, but each time all she heard at the other end was an answering machine.

  It was like she was jinxed.

  Last of all, she dialled Henriksen’s number, which she’d noted down from his business card and saved to her phone. You can tell him the truth. You can try to ask him to meet you, in private. You can try one last time to persuade him that you’re trustworthy.

  She tapped the green button and Henriksen picked up after the first ring.

  ‘We’ve been worried about you,’ he said. ‘You’ve been missing for hours. Where on earth are you?’

  ‘I was investigating something,’ Jasmin replied, her voice raw. ‘A matter I had to look into on my own.’

  ‘We’ve heard you were down on the beach. When I got back to the house, I ran into Boeckermann. He’d met a man named Veikko Mattila on the shore who told him you were trying to dispose of something in the sea.’

  Jasmin couldn’t believe her ears. ‘He says I did what?’

  ‘Papers, Ms Hansen. You were scattering burned-up papers into the wind. Documents from the historian’s house.’

  ‘That isn’t true. That’s a lie!’

  ‘So you weren’t on the beach?’ Henriksen sounded completely unmoved; she couldn’t tell if he believed her or not. She paused, and during the moment of silence, she heard a faint noise in the background from his end of the line.

  You know that sound. Dear God – you know where he is right now. Where he’s calling from.

  ‘I was on the beach,’ she replied, ‘and I met Mattila, but I definitely didn’t scatter anything into the wind.’ He tried to attack me, she almost added, but she bit her tongue. ‘Are you back at my house? Is there any new evidence?’

  ‘I’m in the village. At the police station.’ Henriksen hesitated. ‘You should come here. We need to meet up in person and talk.’

  ‘All right,’ Jasmin replied quickly. ‘Let’s do that. But I can’t right now. Let’s say tonight. Eight o’clock at my house.’

  ‘Eight o’clock?’ Henriksen said again. Jasmin had the impression he was repeating her words for the benefit of somebody standing beside him who was trying to listen in. ‘Perfect. I’ll see you then.’