Lars Kepler - The Hypnotist

Annika leaned over the table. “Erik,” she said slowly, “she has no son. She’s never had any children.”

“She hasn’t got any children?”

“No.”

The room fell silent.

I watched the bubbles in the mineral water rising to the surface.

“I don’t understand. She still lives in her childhood home.” I attempted to explain as calmly as I could. “All the details matched. I can’t believe- ”

“You can’t believe,” Milch broke in, “but you were wrong.”

“They can’t lie like that under hypnosis.”

“Are you certain she was under hypnosis?”

“I’d stake my reputation on it.”

“In a way, you have, Erik. But it doesn’t matter now. The damage is already done.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, half to myself. “Perhaps she was talking about her own childhood; it’s nothing I’ve come across, but perhaps she was working through a memory of her own.”

“It could be exactly as you say,” Annika interjected. “It could be a number of things. But the fact remains that your patient made a suicide attempt for which she blames you. We suggest you take a leave of absence while we investigate the matter.” She smiled wanly at me. “This will all sort itself out, Erik, I’m sure of it,” she said gently. “But right now you have to step aside until we’ve looked into everything. We simply can’t afford to let the press wallow in this.”

I thought about Charlotte, Marek, Jussi, Sibel, Pierre, and Eva. We’d all worked to establish trust, a rapport. All individual progress had been the hard-won result of the specific chemistry we’d achieved as a group. My abandonment of them would leave them feeling betrayed and let down.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I said.

Annika patted my hand. “It will sort itself out. Lydia Everson is obviously unstable and confused, but the most important thing now is to do things by the book. You will request a leave of absence from your activities involving hypnosis while we conduct an internal investigation into these events. I know you’re a good doctor, Erik. I’m sure you’ll be back with your group in no more than”- she shrugged her shoulders- “six months.”

“Six months?” I leaped to my feet. “I have patients; they rely on me. I can’t just leave them,” I said furiously.

Annika’s gentle smile disappeared like a candle flame being extinguished. Her face closed down and her voice turned brittle. “Your patient has demanded that an immediate ban be placed on your activities. She has also made a complaint against you to the police. These are not trivial matters as far as we are concerned; we have invested in your work, and if it should transpire that your research has not been up to the required standard, we will have to take appropriate measures.”

I didn’t know what to say; I just wanted to laugh at the whole thing. “This is ridiculous,” was all I managed to get out. I turned to leave the room.

“Erik,” Peter Mälarstedt called after me, “consider this a good opportunity.”

I stopped. “What?”

“To- ah- reconsider the trajectory of your work.”

I wheeled to face him. “Peter, do you believe all that crap about implanting false memories?”

Annika slammed the palm of her hand down on the table. “Erik, enough. That’s not the important thing. The important thing is to follow the rules. Take a leave of absence from your work with hypnosis, try to regard it as an offer of reconciliation. You can continue with your research, you can work in peace and quiet, but you will not practise hypnosis therapy while we are conducting our investigation.”

“I can’t admit to something that isn’t true.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Well, that’s what it sounds like. If I request a leave of absence, it looks as if I’m making an admission.”

“Tell me you’ll request a leave of absence,” she insisted stiffly.

“This is fucking idiotic,” I said with a laugh, and left the room.

It was late in the afternoon. The sun was sparkling in the puddles after a brief shower, and the smell of the forest- wet earth and rotten roots- rose up from the ground as I ran along the track around the lake, pondering Lydia’s actions. I was certain she had been speaking the truth under hypnosis- but which truth had she actually told me? Presumably she was describing a real concrete memory, but she had placed the memory in the wrong time. During hypnosis it is even more obvious that the past is not past, I reminded myself.

I filled my lungs with the fresh, cold spring air and sprinted the last stretch home through the forest. When I got to our street I saw a big black car parked in front of our drive, with two men leaning against the bonnet, waiting. One of them was checking his reflection in the shiny paintwork as he smoked a cigarette. The other was taking pictures of our house. They hadn’t seen me yet. I slowed down and was just wondering whether to turn around when they spotted me. The man with the cigarette quickly stubbed it out with his foot, while the other immediately turned the camera on me. I was still out of breath as I approached them.

“Erik Maria Bark?” asked the man who had been smoking.

“What do you want?”

“We’re from the press, Expressen .”

“The press?”

“Yes. We’d like to ask you a few questions about one of your patients.” I shook my head and waved a hand. “I can’t discuss my patients.”

“Right.”

The man’s gaze slid over my flushed face, my black track-suit top, my bulky trousers, and my woolly hat. I heard the photographer behind him cough. A bird darted through the air above us, its body describing a perfect arc, reflected in the roof of the car. Above the forest, the sky was thickening and darkening. It looked like more rain.

“There’s an interview with your patient in tomorrow’s paper. She makes some pretty serious accusations against you,” said the journalist.

I met his gaze. He had a fairly sympathetic face: middle-aged, running slightly to fat.

“This is your chance to respond,” he said quietly.

The lights weren’t on in our house. No doubt Simone was still at the gallery. Benjamin was at preschool.

“Otherwise her version will be printed with no contradiction from you,” the man said frankly.

“I would never dream of discussing a patient,” I repeated slowly. I walked up the drive past the two men, unlocked the door, went inside and stood in the hall, and listened to them drive away.

The telephone rang at seven-thirty the following morning. It was Annika Lorentzon. “Erik,” she said, sounding strained. “Have you seen the paper?”

Simone sat up in bed beside me, her expression anxious; I waved dismissively and moved into the hall.

“If this is about Lydia’s accusations, I’m sure everybody realizes they’re just lies.”

“No,” she said sharply. “Everybody doesn’t realize that at all. After reading this story, many people will see her as a weak, defenceless, vulnerable person, who has been used by a particularly manipulative doctor toward his own selfish ends. The man she trusted most of all, the man in whom she confided, has betrayed and exploited her. That’s what’s in the paper.”

I could hear her breathing heavily at the other end of the line. She sounded hoarse and tired. “This compromises everything we do, as I’m sure you understand.”

“I’ll write a response,” I said curtly.

“That won’t be enough, Erik.” She paused briefly, then said tone-lessly, “She’s intending to sue.”

I snorted. “She’ll never win.”

“You still don’t understand how serious this is, do you?”

“So what is she saying?”