The Nightwalker
Page 21
Sven pointed at a framed photo in which Natalie was laughing directly into the camera. A photocopy with bleached-out edges. Like most of the portraits on the steps, it had been taken from a newspaper. Above it was the attention-grabbing headline:
Natalie Nader –
The Beautiful Victim of a Sadist
‘But that doesn’t make any sense,’ whispered Leon.
It’s utterly impossible.
They had found Natalie in the labyrinth. Without measurable vital functions. Siegfried had punctured her windpipe, torn her oesophagus. Her lungs had filled, at a torturously slow pace, with blood and secretions, every breath had brought her closer to the end. But as she was unconscious, Natalie’s breathing had slowed down considerably, and this meant she did not immediately suffocate.
‘She survived,’ said Leon, throwing his tea light at the ground in anger. The glass shattered. The flame extinguished. ‘They brought Natalie back to life!’
Once in the cellar, and once again on the way to the hospital. Even during the emergency operation, the surgeons had needed to fight time and time again against the flat line, but in the end they sent death back to the waiting room.
‘She’s alive!’ screamed Leon, kicking several candles from the first step. Glass shattered, a frame broke.
‘I was with her when she woke up!’
For several weeks Natalie had only been able to take in liquid sustenance, and her voice had changed. She didn’t talk much, particularly not about what had happened in that building, but when she did, it sounded as though she was choking on something hot. Like the scars on her soul, the ones on her vocal chords weren’t visible to the naked eye. Unlike the hollow above her larynx, which changed shape and became lighter when she swallowed.
‘What’s all this about?’ asked Leon, holding in his hand a small crucifix that he had just picked up from the steps. In a rage, he threw it at Sven’s feet. ‘I had breakfast with her just two hours ago.’
At our place. In our new home.
‘It’s just a dream,’ he heard Sven say, who was standing at the foot of the steps. ‘You’re stuck in a dream and you need help to get out of it.’
‘This is RIDICULOUS!’ roared Leon.
Sven stretched his arms out towards him. ‘Natalie is dead, you need to accept it. You’re not living with her, you’re living in a clinic. We have another fifteen minutes, then I need to take you back there.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘If I’m lying, then why are you wearing pyjamas?’
Leon looked down at himself in horror. His legs were encased in thin pyjama bottoms, his feet were bare.
No, no, no!
He began to shake his head and didn’t stop, like a child suffering from neglect.
‘This isn’t true. I’m not in the clinic any more. I live in, in . . .’
Leon looked at Sven helplessly, because he couldn’t remember the address. It was a bungalow, without a cellar, without any neighbours.
Without any tunnels.
‘Come on, you visited us last week. It’s in the centre of town, and we have separate bedrooms because we want to take things slowly!’
And at night, when the doors are closed, the windows bolted and the motion sensors activated, we take turns sleeping.
‘You’re living in a dream,’ repeated Sven. ‘And now it’s time for you to wake up.’
‘Stay away from me.’
‘I’m begging you, Leon. Don’t fight it any more.’
‘No, go away!’
‘Leon, listen to me . . .’
Sven stretched his hand back out to him again. It was a blisteringly hot day and the midday sun was burning down, but Leon could feel nothing but cold.
‘She’s alive,’ he cried, shivering and sinking down to the ground. ‘Natalie’s alive.’
Sven knelt down and grasped his friend’s hands. ‘I’m here, Leon. Look at me.’
‘No.’ Leon pulled his legs in towards himself and buried his face.
‘LOOK AT ME!’ screamed Sven, tearing Leon’s hands from his face.
Then he hit him. Leon’s cheek burned like fire. He gave Sven a tear-stained, furious look, and that was when it happened.
His friend began to dissolve in front of his eyes like wax on a warm hotplate.
His forehead stretched upwards and his chin became narrower. Cheekbones became defined where previously there had been only fat. At the same time his hair changed colour, becoming darker until it was almost the same shade of brown as his eyes.
‘Wake up,’ said Sven, who no longer looked like Sven and wasn’t stuttering any more either. Instead, he was suddenly talking as though he had choked on something hot.
‘WAKE UP!’
There was a crack. Loud and painful. Then Leon felt like he was being dragged into a suction pipe and pulled upwards.
He gave a start, flung his arms up, kicked around, then stamped the quilt to the foot of the bed and opened his eyes.
At first all he could hear was his own breath, then a soft voice whispered his name anxiously: ‘Leon?’
He blinked. Warm sunlight, falling through the blinds, caressed his face. He was sweating.
‘Can you hear me? Are you OK?’
A woman leaned over him, so closely that the subtle scent of her favourite perfume filled his nose. A mixture of fresh hay and green tea. Over her larynx shimmered a scar that became lighter when she swallowed.
She stroked his cheek, then her smile disappeared and a familiar melancholy was reflected in her eyes.
‘I heard you screaming and came across. Is everything OK?’
Leon nodded. ‘Yes, everything’s fine.’
He sat up and looked at the clock on the nightstand.
He reached up to his neck and touched his scars. Then, once he had gathered his thoughts, he spoke – still a little uncertain, like every morning – ‘Don’t worry, Natalie. I’m awake.’
THE NIGHTWALKER
Pegasus Books Ltd
148 West 37th Street, 13th Floor
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Sebastian Fitzek
First Pegasus Books hardcover edition February 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review in a newspaper, magazine, or electronic publication; nor may any part of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other, without written permission from the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1 68177-327-8
ISBN: 978-1-68177-383-4 (e-book)
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