Lars Kepler 2-book Bundle

by Lars Kepler

  “Maybe it was some teenagers who wanted a place to screw around,” said Simone.

  “No, I don’t think so. They would have left more of a mess if that were the case.”

  “But don’t you think it’s a bit strange that the neighbours didn’t notice anything?” asked Simone. “I mean, Adolfsson doesn’t usually miss much.”

  “Maybe he was the one who did it,” I suggested.

  “Screwed around in our bed?”

  I laughed and pulled her close. How good she smelled! She was wearing my favourite scent, Aromatics Elixir, heavy, but not cloying or sweet. She pressed herself to me, and I felt her slim, boyish body against mine. I slipped my hands inside her loose shirt, running them over her silky skin. Her breasts were warm, her nipples hard. She groaned when I kissed her throat; a blast of hot breath shot into my ear.

  We undressed by the glow of the television, helping each other with rapid, seeking hands, fumbling, laughing, and kissing again. She drew me to the bedroom and pushed me down onto the bed with playful severity.

  “Time for the ferrule,” she said.

  I nodded, transfixed, and watched as she moved closer to me, bowing her head to allow her hair to trail over my legs; she smiled as she moved steadily upward. Her curls cascaded over her slender, freckled shoulders. Her arm muscles tensed as she straddled my hips. Her cheeks flushed deep red as I pushed inside her.

  For a few seconds the memory of some photographs flickered through my mind. I had taken the pictures on an isolated beach in the Greek archipelago, two years before Benjamin was born. We’d taken a bus along the coast and got off at what we thought was the prettiest spot. When we realised the beach was completely deserted, we decided not to bother with swimsuits. We ate warm watermelon in the sunshine and then lay naked in clear, shallow water, kissing and caressing each other. We made love perhaps four times that day on the beach, growing ever warmer and more indolent. I recalled Simone’s skin, sticky with salt water, her heavy, sun-drenched gaze, her introverted smile. Her small, taut breasts, her freckles, her pale pink nipples. Her flat stomach, her navel, her reddish-brown pubic hair.

  Now Simone leaned forward, chasing her orgasm. She thrust backwards, kissed my chest, my throat. She was breathing faster, her eyes closed; she gripped my shoulders and whispered. “Don’t stop, Erik, please don’t stop.”

  She was moving faster, heavier, her back slippery with sweat. She groaned loudly, still thrusting backwards, over and over again, stopping with quivering thighs before starting again; she stopped, whimpering, gasped for air, moistened her lips, and supported herself on my chest with her hands.

  I parked my bike outside the neurological unit and stood for a little while, listening to the birds rustling in the trees; I could see their bright spring colours among the dense leaves. I thought about waking up next to Simone this morning and looking into her green eyes.

  My office looked just as I had left it; the chair on which Maja Swartling had sat while she interviewed me was still pulled out, and my desk lamp was on. I switched it off. It was only half past eight, and I had plenty of time to go through my notes from yesterday’s abortive hypnosis session with Charlotte. It was easy to understand why it had turned out as it had: I had forced the pace of events, striving only to reach the goal. I should have known better. I was far too experienced to make that kind of mistake. It’s impossible to force a patient to see something she absolutely does not want to see. Charlotte had gone into her room but had not wanted to look up. That should have been enough for one session, it was courageous enough.

  I changed into my white coat, disinfected my hands, and thought about the group. I wasn’t completely happy with the role Pierre had assumed; it was a little unclear. He often hung around Sibel or Lydia and was talkative and mischievous, but he remained extremely passive during hypnosis. He was a hairdresser, openly homosexual, who wanted to be an actor. On the surface he lived a perfectly functioning life—except for one recurring detail. Every Easter he went on a charter holiday with his mother. They locked themselves in their hotel room, got drunk, and had sex. What his mother did not know was that Pierre sank into a deep depression after every trip and frequently tried to commit suicide.

  I didn’t want to force my patients. I wanted it to be their own choice to talk about issues.

  There was a knock at the door. Before I had time to answer, it opened and Eva Blau walked in. She had shaved off all her hair and made up only her eyes. She made a strange face, as if she were trying to smile without using her facial muscles.

  “No, thank you,” she said suddenly. “There’s no need to invite me to supper, I’ve already eaten. Charlotte is a wonderful person. She cooks for me, meals for the whole week; I put them in the freezer.”

  “That’s kind of her,” I said.

  “She’s buying my silence,” Eva explained cryptically, moving to stand behind the chair where Maja had sat the previous day.

  “Eva, would you like to tell me why you’ve come here?”

  “Not to suck your cock—just so you know.”

  “You don’t have to continue with the hypnosis group,” I said calmly.

  She looked down. “I knew you hated me,” she mumbled.

  “No, Eva, I’m just saying you don’t have to be part of the group. Some people don’t want to be hypnotised, some aren’t receptive even though they really do want to try, and some—”

  “You hate me.”

  I took a moment. “Eva, I don’t hate you. I’m just saying that your participation in the group isn’t meaningful or helpful to you, if you’re unwilling to be hypnotised.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “But you’re not to stick your cock in my mouth.”

  “Stop it,” I said.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, and took something out of her bag. “Look, this is for you.”

  I took the object from her. It was a photograph. The picture showed Benjamin’s christening. I recognised it immediately.

  “Sweet, isn’t he?” she said proudly.

  I could feel my heart beginning to pound. “Where did you get this?” I asked her.

  “That’s my little secret. I look out for myself, you know. It’s the only way to be in this life.”

  She sat down on the sofa, calmly unbuttoned her blouse, and exposed her breasts to me. “Stick your cock in then, if it makes you happy.”

  “You’ve been to my house,” I said.

  “You’ve been to my house,” she answered defiantly.

  “Eva, you told me about your home. Breaking in is another matter altogether.

  “I didn’t break in,” she retorted quickly.

  “You broke a window.”

  “The stone broke the window.”

  I felt suddenly exhausted; I was losing control and was about to turn my fury on a sick, confused woman.

  “Why did you take this picture from me?”

  “You’re the one who takes! You take and take! What the fuck would you say if I took things from you? How do you think that would feel?”

  She hid her face in her hands and said she hated me; she repeated it over and over again, perhaps a hundred times, before she calmed down.

  Then she said steadily, “You have to understand that you make me angry when you claim that I take things. I gave you something, a lovely picture.”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled broadly and licked her lips. “Now I want you to give me something.”

  “What do you want?” I asked calmly.

  “I want you to hypnotise me,” she replied.

  “Why did you leave a ferrule outside my door?” I asked.

  She stared blankly at me. “What’s a ferrule?”

  “It’s a flat stick that was once used to punish children,” I said.

  “I didn’t leave anything outside your door.”

  “That isn’t true. You left an old—”

  “Don’t lie!” she screamed.

  “Eva, I will call the police if you don’
t know where the boundaries are, if you can’t understand that you have to leave me and my family alone.”

  “What about my family?” she said.

  “Just listen to me.”

  “Fascist pig!” she yelled. She leaped to her feet and left the room.

  My patients sat before me in the semicircle. It had been easy to hypnotise them this time, and we had drifted softly down together through lapping water. I was working with Charlotte again. Her face was relaxed yet sorrowful, with deep, dark circles under her eyes; the point of her chin was slightly crumpled.

  I waited. It was clear that Charlotte was under deep hypnosis. She was breathing heavily but silently.

  “You know you’re safe with us, Charlotte,” I said. “Nothing can harm you. You feel good. You are pleasantly relaxed.”

  She nodded sadly and I knew she could hear me; she was following my words and was no longer able to distinguish between actual reality and the reality of hypnosis. It was as if she were watching a film in which she herself took part. She was both audience and actor, united as one.

  “Don’t be cross,” she whispered. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I will console you, I promise, I will console you.”

  We were in the haunted house. I knew we had reached Charlotte’s dangerous rooms and I wanted her to stop; I wanted her to have the strength to look up from the floor and see something, to catch a glimpse of the thing she was so afraid of. I could hear the group breathing around me. I wanted to help her, but I had no intention of forcing the pace this time; I was not about to repeat last week’s mistake.

  “It’s cold in Grandfather’s gym,” Charlotte said suddenly.

  “Can you see anything?”

  “Long floorboards, a bucket, a cable,” she said, almost inaudibly.

  I could see her eyelids quivering. Fresh tears seeped through her eyelashes. Her open hands were nested in her lap, palms up, like an old woman.

  “You know you can leave the room whenever you want to.”

  “Can I?”

  “Whenever you want.”

  “That’s probably for the best.”

  She fell silent, lifted her chin, then slowly turned her head, her mouth half open like a child’s.

  “I’ll stay a little while longer,” she said.

  “Are you alone in there?”

  She shook her head. “I can hear him,” she murmured, “but I can’t see him.” She frowned, as if she were trying to see something that was out of focus. “There’s an animal here,” she said suddenly.

  “What kind of animal?” I asked. The hair rose on the back of my neck.

  “Daddy has a big dog …”

  “Is your daddy there?”

  “Yes, he’s here, he’s standing in the corner; he’s upset, I can see his eyes. I’ve hurt Daddy, he says. Daddy is upset.”

  “And the dog?”

  “The dog is moving about in front of his legs, sniffing. It comes closer, moves back. Now it is standing quietly beside him, panting. Daddy says the dog is to guard me. I don’t want that, it shouldn’t be allowed to do that; it isn’t—”

  Charlotte gasped for breath. A dreadful shadow passed over her face. I thought it was best to come up out of the trance, up out of the black sea. She ran the risk of wrenching herself out of the hypnosis if she moved forward too quickly. We had found the dog; she had stayed and looked at it. This was an enormous step forward. In time we would solve the riddle of who the dog actually was.

  As we floated up through the water, I saw Marek part his lips and bare his teeth at Charlotte. Lydia reached out through a dark green cloud of seaweed, trying to stroke Pierre’s cheek; Sibel and Jussi closed their eyes and drifted upwards. We met Eva Blau hovering just beneath the surface.

  We were almost awake. The dividing line where reality dissolves into the influence of hypnosis is always unclear, and the same is true during the reverse journey, back to the territory of consciousness.

  “We’ll take a break now,” I said, and turned to Charlotte. “Good idea?”

  “Thank you,” she said, lowering her eyes.

  Marek got up, asked Sibel for a cigarette, and went outside with her. Pierre remained in his seat next to Jussi. Lydia stood up slowly, stretched her arms languidly above her head, and yawned. I thought I would tell Charlotte I was pleased she had chosen to stay a little while longer in her haunted house, but she had left the room.

  I had picked up my pad to make a few quick notes when Lydia came over to me. Her heavy jewellery clinked softly, and I could smell her perfume as she stood next to me. “Isn’t it my turn soon?”

  “Next time,” I replied, without looking up from my notepad.

  “Why not today?”

  I put my pen down and met her gaze. “Because I was intending to continue with Charlotte.”

  “But if she doesn’t come back,” Lydia persisted.

  “Lydia, I try to help all my patients.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “But you’re not going to succeed, are you?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Statistically, one of us will commit suicide, a couple will end up in an institution, and—”

  “You can’t reason like that.”

  “Yes, I can,” she said, “because I want to be one of those who makes it.” She took a step closer to me and her eyes gleamed with unexpected cruelty as she lowered her voice. “I think Charlotte will be the one who takes her own life.”

  Before I had time to respond, she simply sighed and said, “At least she hasn’t got any children.”

  I watched Lydia go and sit down. When I glanced at the time, I realised more than fifteen minutes had passed. Pierre, Lydia, and Jussi had returned to their seats. I called Marek in; he was wandering around in the hall, talking to himself. Sibel was standing in the doorway, smoking, and giggled wearily when I asked her to come in.

  Lydia’s expression was smug when I finally had to admit that Charlotte hadn’t returned.

  “Right,” I said, bringing my hands together. “Let’s continue.”

  I saw their faces before me. They were ready. In fact, the sessions were always better after the break; it was as if they were all longing to return to the depths, as if the lights and the currents down there were whispering to us, inviting us to join them once again.

  The effect of the induction was immediate. Lydia sank into a deep hypnosis in just ten minutes.

  We were falling. I could feel lukewarm water washing over my skin. The big grey rock was covered with corals. The tentacles of their polyps were waving in the water. I could see every detail, every glowing, vibrant colour.

  “Lydia,” I said, “where are you?”

  She licked her dry lips and tipped her head back; her eyes were just closed, but she had an irritated expression around her mouth, and her brow was furrowed. “I’m taking the knife.” Her voice was dry and rasping.

  “What kind of knife is it?” I asked.

  “The knife with the serrated edge, the one on the draining-board,” she said in a surprised tone, then sat in silence for a while, her mouth half open.

  “A bread knife?”

  “Yes.” She smiled.

  “Go on.”

  “I cut the pack of ice cream in half. I take one half and a spoon to the sofa in front of the TV. Oprah Winfrey. Dr Phil is sitting in the audience. She asks him a question and he holds up his index finger. There’s a piece of red thread tied around it, and he’s just about to tell us why when Kasper starts yelling. I know he doesn’t want anything, he’s just trying to spite me. He yells because he knows it will upset me. I won’t tolerate bad behaviour in my house.”

  “What is he yelling?”

  “He knows I want to hear what Dr Phil says. He knows I enjoy Oprah; that’s why he’s yelling.”

  “And what is he yelling right now?”

  “There are two closed doors between us,” she goes on. “But I can hear him yelling.”

  “What is he sayin
g?”

  “Horrible words. He’s yelling cunt, cunt, cunt.” Lydia’s cheeks were red, and her forehead was beaded with sweat.

  “What do you do?” I asked.

  She licked her lips again, her breathing heavy. “I turn up the TV,” she said, her voice subdued. “It thunders out, the applause makes the set rattle, but it feels wrong, it’s no good any more. I’m not enjoying it. He’s ruined it. That’s how it is, but I ought to explain it to him.”

  She smiled faintly with her lips pressed together; her face had now lost all its colour. The water shimmered in metallic rolls over her forehead.

  “Is that what you do?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “What do you do, Lydia?”

  “I … I go past the pantry and down into the rec room in the basement. I can hear whistling and strange buzzing noises from Kasper’s room … I don’t know what he’s up to. I just want to go back upstairs and watch TV, but I keep going to Kasper’s room. I open the door and go in.” She fell silent. The water was forced out through her half-closed lips.

  “You go in,” I repeated. “What do you walk in on, Lydia?”

  Her lips were moving slightly. The air bubbles sparkled and disappeared upwards.

  “What do you see?” I asked cautiously.

  “He’s pretending to be asleep when I walk in,” she said slowly. “He’s ripped up the photo of Grandmother! He promised to be careful if I let him borrow the picture, and now he’s destroyed it! It’s the only one I’ve got. And he’s just lying there, pretending to be asleep. I need to have a serious talk with Kasper on Sunday; that’s when we go through how we have behaved towards each other during the past week. I wonder what advice Dr Phil would give me. I look down and see that I still have the spoon in my hand, but when I look at it I see a teddy bear reflected in the metal. It must be hanging from the ceiling …”

  Lydia suddenly grimaced, as if she were in pain. She tried to laugh, but only strange noises came out. She tried again, but it still didn’t sound like laughter.

  “What do you do?” I asked.

  “I look,” she said, turning her face upwards.