Lars Kepler - The Hypnotist

She nods, rests her head on his shoulder, and asks, “Have you heard anything about Sim?”

He strokes her cheek and wonders whether he should tell her the truth or not. The doctor has brusquely explained that Shulman was in a coma; he’d lost a lot of blood and it was unlikely he’d pull through.

“They don’t really know yet,” he says cautiously. “But- ” He sighs. “It doesn’t look good, darling.”

She sobs. “I can’t cope, I can’t cope.”

“There, there… I’ve called Erik. He’s on his way.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

He pats her again.

“I really can’t cope any more,” Simone whispers.

“Don’t cry, little one.”

She cries even harder. At that moment the door opens and Erik switches on the light. He walks straight over, sits down on the other side of Simone, and says, “Thank God you’re safe.”

She presses her face into his chest. “Erik,” she says, half smothered in his overcoat.

He strokes her head. He looks very tired, but his eyes are clear and sharp. She thinks he smells of home; he smells of family.

“Erik,” Kennet says. “I have to tell you something very important. You too, Simone. I spoke to Aida not long ago.”

“Did she tell you anything?” asks Simone.

“I wanted to let them know we’d caught Wailord and the others,” says Kennet. “I didn’t want them to be afraid any longer.”

Erik looks at him with curiosity.

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it when we have time, but- ” Kennet takes a deep breath and says in a tired, harsh voice, “Someone contacted Benjamin a few days before he disappeared. Said she was his real mother, his biological mother.”

Simone pulls away from Erik and stares at Kennet. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand and asks, in a voice that is high and broken from weeping, “His real mother?”

Kennet nods. “Aida said this woman gave Benjamin money and helped him with his homework.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” whispers Simone.

“She even gave him a different name.”

Erik looks at Simone, then at Kennet, and asks him to continue.

“According to Aida, this woman claimed that his real name was Kasper.”

Simone sees Erik’s face stiffen, and the sudden rush of fear makes her feel wide awake. “What is it, Erik?”

“Kasper?” Erik asks. “She called him Kasper?”

“Yes,” Kennet confirms. “Aida didn’t want to say anything at first. She’d promised Benjamin that- ”

He stops dead. Erik’s face has lost all its colour. He stands up, takes a couple of steps backwards, bumps into an armchair, and rushes from the room.

Erik runs downstairs to the hospital lobby, pushes through a group of teenagers bearing flowers and Mylar balloons, dashes across the dirty floor past an old man in a wheelchair, and out through the main exit. Dodging traffic, he runs across the street and vaults the low shrubbery planted along the perimeter of the visitors’ car park. The keys are already in his hand as he races along the line of grubby vehicles toward s his car. He starts the engine and reverses out so violently that the side of his car scrapes the bumper of the car next to him.

His breathing is still uneven as he turns west. He drives as fast as he can, but as he approaches Edsberg School, a line of children appears, crossing the street. While he waits he takes out his mobile and calls Joona.

“It’s Lydia Everson,” he almost screams.

“Who?”

“Lydia has taken Benjamin!” he continues. “I told you about her. She’s the one who made the complaint against me.”

“We’ll check her out,” says Joona.

“I’m on my way.”

“Give me an address.”

“It’s a house on Tennisvägen in Rotebro. I can’t remember the number, but it’s a red house, quite big.”

“Wait for me somewhere in- ”

“I’m going straight there.”

“Don’t rush in.”

“Benjamin will die if he doesn’t get his medication.”

“Wait for me.”

Erik ends the call, speeding up as he follows the railway line beside the long narrow lake. Recklessly, he overtakes another car by the yeast factory, passing on the right with inches to spare. As he turns off by the Co-op Forum supermarket, he feels his pulse pounding in his temples.

Not much has changed here. The pizzeria has been replaced by a sushi bar, and all the back gardens sport trampolines (they’re all the rage). He parks next to the same fir hedge as ten years ago, when he and the social worker were about to visit Lydia.

As he looks at the house from inside the car, he can almost feel his presence there ten years earlier. He remembers there were no signs of a child, no toys in the garden, nothing to indicate that Lydia was a mother. On the other hand, they hadn’t really looked around the house. They had only gone down the steps to the cellar and back up again, and then Lydia had rushed after him with the knife in her hand. He remembers how she looked when she drew the blade across her throat without taking her eyes off him.

Leaving the key in the ignition, he abandons the car without even closing the door behind him and rushes up the slope. He opens the gate and goes into the garden. Patches of damp snow lie amid the tall yellow grass. Icicles sparkle beneath the broken guttering. The same hanging baskets full of dead plants swing by the door.

He tries the door, but it is locked. He looks under the doormat; a few wood-lice scuttle away from the wet rectangle on the concrete steps. No key. He gropes under the wooden hand-rail: no key there, either. He walks around to the back of the house, picks up an edging stone from the flower bed, and hurls it at the patio door. The outer pane shatters, and the stone thuds back onto the grass. He picks it up and throws it again, harder this time, knocking out the entire window. He unlocks the door and walks into a bedroom where the walls are covered with pictures of angels and the Indian guru Sai Baba.

“Benjamin,” he yells. “Benjamin!”

Erik calls to his son in spite of the fact that he can see the place is deserted; everything is dark and still in the house, with a closed-in smell of dust and old fabric. He moves quickly into the hall, opens the door leading down to the cellar, and is met by a powerful stench, a heavy smell of ash, charred wood, and burnt rubber. He races down the steps, trips, bangs into the wall with his shoulder, and regains his balance. The lights are not working, but enough sunlight comes from a high window to see that there’s been a fire down here. Cinders crunch beneath his feet. Much of the room is black with soot, but some items of furniture appear to be intact. The table with its tiled surface is just slightly sooty, while the scented candles on the tray have melted, blending into a multicoloured pool of solid wax. Erik finds his way to the door leading into the other room. It hangs loosely from its hinges, and the inside of the door is completely blackened.

“Benjamin,” he says, his voice full of fear.

Ash whirls up in his face and he blinks, his eyes smarting. In the middle of the floor are the remains of what looks like a cage, big enough to hold a person.

“Erik,” a voice calls from upstairs.

He stops and listens. The walls creak. Burnt fragments of ceiling tiles drop to the floor. He moves slowly toward the stairs. In the distance he can hear a dog barking.

“Erik!”

It’s Joona’s voice. He’s inside the house. Erik goes up the stairs. Joona looks at him, his expression anxious.

“What happened?”