Authors: Johan Theorin
The door opens
.
It happens so quickly that you lose your balance and fall down on to the tiles
.
The air in the shower room is ice-cold. The shock is so great that you lose consciousness again in a dark wave of nausea; there is nothing you can do about it. It lasts for only a few seconds, because when you open your eyes the man is still standing there. The man who has set you free
.
A tennis player. He has grey hair and a bushy grey moustache, and he is wearing a white tracksuit. He is holding a broom in his hand – gradually you realize that the Gang of Four must have jammed the door shut with the broom handle before they took off
.
The man is looking at you in amazement, as if you have performed some kind of trick by popping out of the sauna. ‘What were you doing in there?’ he asks
.
You cough and take great gulps of air, but you do not answer him. Your throat is too dry. You simply crawl past your saviour across the tiled floor, past his white shoes, and slowly drag yourself to your feet
.
You appear to be alive
.
You stagger over to the washbasin by the entrance and turn the cold-water tap with a shaking hand. Then you drink, and drink and drink. Five deep gulps, six, seven. In the end your stomach starts to hurt; the water is too cold
.
‘
Did someone shut you in?’ The tennis player isn’t prepared to give up. He is waiting for an answer. Explanations
.
But you shake your head and totter out of the shower room
.
At last you are free. You are so cold you are shaking now, but you have no intention of going back to stand under a hot shower. You just want to see if your clothes are still here
.
They are. Your jeans, T-shirt, jumper and jacket are still there in one of the lockers – the gang didn’t take them. You pull on the thin cotton T-shirt first, then the woolly jumper
.
Then you pick up your jeans. You will put them on in a minute and head out into the winter, but you want to find your watch first
.
The tennis player has followed you into the changing room. ‘What’s your name?
’
You don’t answer that question either, but you look at him and ask in a hoarse voice, ‘What day is it today?
’
‘
Sunday,’ he says. ‘We’ve got a match shortly
.’
You take out the watch. It is one thirty-five
.
One thirty-five on Sunday afternoon
.
Close your eyes and work it out. You have been locked in the sauna for almost two days – forty-six hours
.
Lynx
Was it a happy ending for all concerned? Jan assumed so. William Halevi had been found, and his parents could relax after two days of torture.
The staff at the nursery were also feeling better. Everyone except Sigrid, who was still signed off sick a week after William’s disappearance. Jan heard that she was having some kind of counselling for post-traumatic stress.
And he was interviewed again by the police.
They didn’t actually come out with it in so many words, but they suspected something. The day after William had been found, two plain-clothes officers came to Jan’s apartment and looked around; he let them carry on. There was nothing to see. He had been back in the forest the previous evening, cleaned out the bunker, and thrown away or burned everything that had been inside it.
Two days later he was asked to go down to the police station. The interview was conducted by the inspector who had spoken to him earlier. She was no more cheerful on this occasion.
‘You were the last person to see the boy in the forest, Jan. And you were the one who found him.’
‘That’s not true,’ Jan said patiently. ‘That pensioner found him … I can’t remember his name now.’
‘Sven Axel Olsson,’ said the inspector.
‘That’s it … anyway, he was the one who was looking after William. And I just happened to see them.’
‘And before that?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Where do you think William had been before you and herr Olsson found him?’
‘I don’t know … I haven’t really thought about it. I suppose he was wandering around in the forest.’
The inspector looked at him. ‘William says he was locked up.’
‘Oh? In what kind of room?’
‘I didn’t say it was a room.’
‘No, but I assume …’
‘Have you any idea who could have locked him up?’
Jan shook his head. ‘Do you believe him?’
The police officer didn’t reply.
There was an unbearable silence in the interview room. Jan had to make a real effort not to break it and start babbling and speculating about various theories, which would be interpreted as some kind of confession.
But his mind was wandering and he had to say something, so he asked, ‘How’s Torgny doing now?’
‘Who?’ said the inspector. ‘Who’s Torgny?’
Jan stared at her. He had said the wrong name. ‘William, I mean William. How’s he doing? Is he back with his parents?’
The inspector nodded. ‘He’s fine. All things considered.’
In the end he was allowed to leave, but the inspector didn’t apologize. The only thing Jan got was one last long stare from her.
He didn’t care. William was back with his parents, safe and sound, and he himself was free. He could leave the police station and go wherever he wanted, but he walked out into the fresh air with a feeling of disappointment.
It had all gone so quickly. He had intended it to last longer – for forty-six hours.
44
LEGÉN IS DRINKING
yellowish wine out of a cracked coffee mug. He pours a generous mug for Jan too; they are sitting among the mess at Legén’s kitchen table. ‘There you go.’
‘Thanks.’
Jan is thirsty, but not for lukewarm yellow wine. He takes the mug containing the liquid and wonders how he is going to empty it without his neighbour noticing.
Legén’s apartment is filthy and chaotic, but Jan actually enjoys these quiet sessions. He rang his neighbour’s doorbell after work because he wanted someone to talk to. But to what extent does he trust Legén? How much is he actually prepared to tell him?
‘I think there’s snow on the way,’ he says.
‘Yes,’ says Legén. ‘This is the time for chopping wood. We used to have a shed when I was little, but we kept all kinds of stuff in it, so there wasn’t any room for the wood. But you could sit inside the shed and have a bit of peace and quiet …’
The wine is making his neighbour quite talkative.
But eventually he runs out of steam, and Jan ventures, ‘I went down to the hospital cellar and had a look around on Sunday … I saw some of the patients.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ says Legén. ‘There’s always been a fair amount of activity down there.’ He takes a deep swig of his wine. ‘But I was never worried. We just got on with things in the laundry, for almost thirty years. The dirty laundry came down and we sent it
back
up … We found all kinds of things. Wallets, bottles of pills, all sorts.’
‘There’s a chapel in the basement,’ Jan says. ‘Did you know that?’
‘Yes, but we never went in there,’ Legén replies. ‘They kind of please themselves when the bosses have gone home.’
When Jan gets back to his apartment he tries to do some drawing; he wants to finish
The Princess with a Hundred Hands
. It is the last book without proper pictures, Rami’s fourth book.
He completes four drawings and colours three of them in, then he gives up. Instead he takes out his old diary.
He leafs through it slowly, reading his teenage thoughts and almost remembering how things used to be in those days – and when he reaches the middle of the book he finds an old item that he cut out of a local newspaper.
He remembers the cutting too. He came across it six years after the events at Lynx. It is a picture from the sports pages; there had been a junior football tournament, and the winning team was photographed after the final. A dozen boys are assembled for the camera, and in the middle stands the goalkeeper with the ball under his arm, smiling at Jan beneath his fringe.
William Halevi. His name is mentioned in the caption, but Jan recognized his face even before he read it.
He gazes at the picture for a long time. William looks happy, relaxed and unmarked by any bad memories from his time in the forest. He was eleven years old when the picture was taken, he played football, he seemed to have plenty of friends. His life would turn out well.
Jan can’t know that, but he hopes it’s true.
He gets up. The Angel is sitting on the shelf in the hallway. One of the Angels – the transmitter. He left the receiver inside St Psycho’s. The standby button glows brightly; he has put new batteries in. He has thought about switching it on from time to time, but he knows that the distance from the receiver is too great. He would need to get much closer.
Jan stares at the Angel and thinks things over for another minute
or
two. Then he fetches his rucksack and his outdoor clothes. Dark outdoor clothes.
He doesn’t cycle tonight, nor does he catch the bus. He goes on foot. He chooses the same route as he took last Sunday: a long detour through the forest and across the stream that flows past the hospital complex, then round to the slope at the back, a couple of metres from the fence.
Clouds are scudding by above the hospital grounds.
Jan is close. It is dark now, the darkness of November, and there is no need to hide among the fir trees. He can go right up to the top of the slope, above the stream. Slinking along like a lynx.
The fence around St Patricia’s is lit up like a stage by the floodlights, but deeper in the grounds he can see broad patches of shadow. Pale lights are showing in some of the narrow windows, but most have the blinds drawn. The patients are hiding themselves.
Jan feels as if he is being watched – but not by eyes. By the hospital itself.
St Psycho’s immutable stone façade is staring coldly at him, and he shudders. He would like to retreat back into the forest, but continues along the edge of the slope to a large rock left behind by glaciation. There is a well-trodden path here, which means that people have been walking past the hospital for many years, perhaps stopping to wonder what kind of monsters are locked up in there.
‘
Haven’t you brought any bananas for the monkeys?
’
Jan remembers Rami shouting at a group of middle-aged men in suits who had come to the Unit one evening on some kind of study visit. Perhaps they were politicians. Every single one had looked at her with fear in their eyes, and scuttled off down the corridor.
The Angel’s range is three hundred metres. Jan is less than three hundred metres from the hospital now, he hopes, but he is safe from the floodlights. The pre-school is to the left behind the hospital complex, but it is hidden by the fence and the conifers. Jan looks at his watch: quarter past nine. Time to get started. He puts down his rucksack and unzips it. He takes out the Angel and switches it from standby to transmit.
He leans against the rock and thinks. He doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t know if Rami is listening over there. And he can’t say her name, in case the Angel has ended up in the wrong hands.
But at last he raises the microphone to his lips. ‘Hello?’ he says quietly. ‘Hello, squirrel?’
No one replies. Nothing happens.
He looks over at the hospital, silently counting the windows. Fourth floor, seventh from the right. It is one of the windows with a light on, if he has counted correctly. A pale ceiling light. A bulb protected by some kind of mesh, so that no one can smash it?
He takes a deep breath and tries again: ‘If you can hear me, give me some kind of sign.’
He looks at the window, expecting to see a figure step into the light behind the bars. That doesn’t happen, but something else does – the light suddenly goes out. The window is in darkness for a few seconds, then the light comes on again.
Jan feels an icy chill run down his spine.
‘Did you do that, squirrel?’
The light goes out again, this time just for a couple of seconds, then it comes back on.
‘Good,’ Jan says into the Angel. ‘Turn the light out once for yes, twice for no.’
The light goes out again. He has made contact.
‘Do you know who I am?’
The light goes off immediately.
‘Jan Hauger … I’m the one who’s been sending you letters. And I was in the room next door to you years ago. In the Unit.’
The light doesn’t go off this time, but of course he hasn’t asked a question.
‘And your name is Maria Blanker?’
Yes
.
‘But you used to have a different name?’
Yes
.
‘Alice Rami? Was that your name?’
Yes
.
At last. Jan lowers the Angel. He is speaking to Rami at long last.
What can he say now? He has so many questions, but none that can be answered with a yes or no.
The seconds tick by, the drums reverberate inside his head. Jan feels stressed by his own indecisiveness, and blurts out one more question: ‘Rami, can we meet up again? Just you and me?’
Standing in front of a six-metre-high fence, it is a ridiculous question. But the light goes off for a few seconds, then flashes on again.
‘Good … I’ll be in touch soon. Thanks.’
What is he thanking Rami for? He looks over at the hospital, at all those glowing windows, and he feels chilled to the bone, but most of all he feels shut out. Right now he would like to be sitting in there too, together with Rami.
He sets off back through the forest. Back home, where he will try to finish the picture book so that he can show all four of them to her. When they meet.
Who is Rami now? She is the Animal Lady. She has created Jan so that he will find his way over the fence and help her to get away from the house of stone. Away from the Animal Lady’s desert island, away from the forest where the poorly witch lies dying.
The Unit
Jan sat close to Rami and she held on tightly to his arm, just above the bandages around his wrist. They were holding on to each other. He had finished telling her about the days in the sauna, and about jumping into the pond. He didn’t feel much better, but at least he had done it.
And Rami had listened, as if his story meant something. Then she had asked quietly, ‘Have you told anyone else about this?’
He shook his head. ‘But I’m sure
they
think I have,’ he said. ‘One of them … Torgny, he rang me three days ago. He was scared, I could hear it in his voice. They probably think I’ve told on them already, but I haven’t.’ Jan looked down at the floor and went on: ‘I know they’ll be waiting for me at school when I go back … They’re just going to start on me all over again.’
He fell silent. He was sitting here feeling terrified at the mere thought of the Gang of Four. He was cowering behind the fence in the Unit, knowing that the gang were out and about on the streets, happy and free. They had each other, they had loads of friends. He had only Rami.
‘And it would be OK,’ he said. ‘I sometimes think it would be nice if there was a button you could press so that everything just ended. I didn’t really struggle much when they threw me in the sauna … I thought I deserved it, I suppose.’
‘No,’ said Rami.
‘Yes,’ said Jan.
The room was utterly silent for a moment, then Rami suddenly said, ‘I’ll take care of them.’
‘But how?’
‘I don’t know yet … When I get out of here.’
‘When will that be?’
‘Soon.’
Jan looked at her. Rami was unlikely to be talking about being let out of the Unit – she was talking about running away.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I know people.’
She got up and walked over to one of the black curtains. ‘I found this in the storeroom,’ she said.
She lifted the curtain, and Jan saw an old black telephone on the floor.
‘Does it work?’
She nodded. ‘Is there anyone you want to ring?’
Jan shook his head. He had no one to ring.
‘I usually speak to my sister in Stockholm,’ Rami went on. ‘I can ring anyone I like.’
She sounded so certain, and it was catching.
‘I’ve got the school yearbook,’ he said. ‘There are pictures of them, with names and addresses.’
‘OK.’
Jan looked at her, wanting to say something honest and profound, but Rami went on: ‘There’s something
you
can do for me too.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll show you … Come with me.’
She led him out into the corridor, looked around and headed towards the staffroom. It was six thirty; the day staff had gone home and the door was closed. Next to the door a series of colour photographs and names were pinned up, under the heading DEPARTMENT 16 – THE TEAM.
Rami pointed to a picture of a smiling woman with a fringe swept to one side, and big glasses. ‘That’s her.’
Jan recognized her; she was the woman Rami had called the
Psychobabbler,
the one she had fought with in the TV room. Underneath the picture was her name and job title:
Emma Halevi, Psychologist
.
‘She interrupted our gig,’ said Jan. ‘And she locked you in the Black Hole.’
‘Yes,’ said Rami. ‘And then she took my diary.’
Jan nodded; he remembered.
‘She
read
it,’ Rami said. ‘I had a book like the one I gave you … I’d filled fifty pages, but she took it.’
Jan looked at the picture. He could hear Rami’s quiet voice in his ear: ‘I’m going to run away tomorrow. When I’m gone, I want you to do something to the Psychobabbler … creep in and piss on her desk, scribble graffiti all over her door, or something. Make her feel scared.’
‘OK,’ Jan said.
‘You’ll do it?’
He nodded slowly, as if he were agreeing to undertake a secret mission. He would make the Psychobabbler feel really, really scared, for Rami’s sake.