Lars Kepler - The Sandman

Jurek is standing motionless, watching her. He wipes his mouth, then rubs his hand through his short, metal-grey hair.

‘We can get out of the hospital together,’ he says calmly.

‘I don’t know if I want to,’ she replies honestly.

‘Why not?’

‘I haven’t really got anything left outside.’

‘Left?’ he repeats quietly. ‘Going back is never an option... not to anything, but there are better places than this.’

‘And probably some worse.’

He looks genuinely surprised and turns away with a sigh.

‘What did you say?’ she asks.

‘I just sighed, because it occurred to me that I can actually remember a worse place,’ he says, gazing at her with a dreamy look in his eyes. ‘The air was filled with the hum from high-voltage electricity wires... the roads were wrecked by big diggers... and the tracks full of red, clayey water, up to your waist... but I could still open my mouth and breathe.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That worse places might be preferable to better ones...’

‘You’re thinking about your childhood?’

‘I suppose so,’ he whispers.

Saga stops the running machine, leans forward and hangs over the handles. Her cheeks are flushed, as if she’d run ten kilometres. She knows she ought to continue the conversation, without seeming too eager, and get him to reveal more.

‘So now... have you got a hiding place, or are you going to find a new one?’ she asks, without looking at him.

The question is far too direct, she realises that at once, and forces her face upwards, forces herself to meet his gaze.

‘I can give you an entire city if you like,’ he replies seriously.

‘Where?’

‘Take your pick.’

Saga shakes her head with a smile, but suddenly remembers a place she hasn’t thought of for many years.

‘When I think about other places... I only ever think about my grandfather’s house,’ she says. ‘I had a swing in a tree... I don’t know, but I still like swings.’

‘Can’t you go there?’

‘No,’ she replies, and gets off the running machine.

In the attic flat at Rörstrandsgatan 19, the members of Athena Promacho are listening to the conversation between Jurek Walter and Saga Bauer.

Johan Jönson is sitting at his computer in a grey tracksuit top. Corinne is at her desk, transcribing the whole conversation onto her laptop. Nathan Pollock has drawn ten flowers in the margin of his notebook, and has written down the words ‘high-voltage electricity wires, big diggers, red clay’.

Joona is merely standing by the speaker, feeling a cold shiver run up his spine as Saga talks about her grandfather. She mustn’t let Jurek inside her head, he thinks. Susanne Hjälm’s image flits through his memory. Her dirty face and the terrified look in her eyes down there in the cellar.

‘Why can’t you go there if you want to?’ he hears Jurek ask.

‘It’s my dad’s house now,’ Saga Bauer replies.

‘And you haven’t seen him for a while?’

‘I haven’t wanted to,’ she says.

‘If he’s alive, he’s waiting for you to give him another chance,’ Jurek says.

‘No,’ she replies.

‘Obviously that depends on what happened, but—’

‘I was little, I don’t remember much,’ she explains. ‘But I know I used to call him all the time, promising I’d never be a nuisance again if he’d come home... I’d sleep in my own bed and sit nicely at the table and... I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘I understand,’ Jurek says, but his words are almost drowned out by a rattling sound.

There’s a whining noise, then the rhythmic thud of the running machine.

Jurek is walking on the running machine. He looks stronger again. His strides are long and forceful, but his pale face is calm.

‘You’re disappointed in your father because he didn’t come home,’ he says.

‘I remember all those times I called him... I mean, I needed him.’

‘But your mother... where was she?’

Saga pauses, and thinks to herself that she’s saying too much now, but at the same time she has to respond to his openness. It’s an exchange, otherwise the conversation will become superficial again. It’s time for her to say something personal, but as long as she sticks to the truth, she’ll be on secure territory.

‘Mum wasn’t well when I was little... I only really remember the end,’ Saga replies.

‘She died?’

‘Cancer... she had a malignant brain tumour.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Saga remembers the tears trickling into her mouth, the smell of the phone, her hot ear, the light coming through the grimy kitchen window.

Maybe it’s because of the medication, her nerves, or just Jurek’s penetrating gaze. She hasn’t talked about this for years. She doesn’t really know why she’s doing so now.

‘It was just that Dad... he couldn’t deal with her illness. He couldn’t bear to be at home.’

‘I can understand why you’re angry.’

‘I was far too little to look after Mum... I tried to help her with her medication, I tried to comfort her... she would get headaches in the evenings, and just lie in her bedroom crying.’

Bernie crawls over and tries to sniff between Saga’s legs. She shoves him away and he rolls straight into the artificial palm.

‘I want to escape too,’ he says. ‘I’ll come with you, I can bite—’

‘Shut up,’ she interrupts.

Jurek turns round and looks at Bernie, who’s sitting there grinning and peering up at Saga.

‘Am I going to have to put you down?’ Jurek asks him.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Bernie whispers, and gets up from the floor.

Jurek starts walking on the machine again. Bernie goes and sits on the sofa and watches television.

‘I’m going to need your help,’ Jurek says.

Saga doesn’t answer, but can’t help thinking that she’d be lying if she says she wants to escape. She wants to stay here until Felicia has been found.

‘I think human beings are more tied to their families than any other creature,’ Jurek goes on. ‘We do everything we can to stave off separation.’

‘Maybe.’

‘You were only a small child, but you took care of your mother...’

‘Yes.’

‘Could she even feed herself?’

‘Most of the time... but towards the end she had no appetite,’ Saga says, truthfully.

‘Did she have an operation?’

‘I think she only had chemotherapy.’

‘In tablet form?’

‘Yes, I used to help her every day...’

Bernie is sitting on the sofa, but keeps glancing at them. Every now and then he carefully touches the bandage over his nose.

‘What did the pills look like?’ Jurek asks, and speeds up slightly.

‘Like normal pills,’ she replies quickly.

She feels suddenly uneasy. Why is he asking about the drugs? There’s no reason for it. Maybe he’s testing her? Her pulse-rate increases as she repeats to herself that it isn’t a problem, because she’s only telling the truth.

‘Can you describe them?’ he goes on calmly.

Saga opens her mouth to say that it was far too long ago, but all of a sudden she remembers the white pills among the long, brown strands of the shag-pile rug. She had knocked the jar over and was crawling around next to the bed, picking the pills up.

The memory is quite vivid.

She had gathered the pills in her cupped hand, and blew the fluff from the rug off them. In her hand she had been holding something like ten little round pills. On one side they bore the impression of two letters in a square.

‘White, round,’ she says. ‘With letters on one side... KO... I’ve no idea why I remember that.’