Ларс Кеплер - Stalker

‘Your accomplice has starting murdering on his own.’

‘Serves you right, in that case,’ Rocky mutters, and suddenly starts to shake.

The mug falls from his hand, spilling the last of the coffee across the floor, and his chin trembles. His eyes roll backwards, his eyelids close and twitch. The epileptic attack lasts just a few seconds, then he straightens up, wipes his mouth and looks up, apparently unaware of what just happened.

‘You told me before about a preacher,’ Erik says.

‘I was alone when I murdered Rebecka Hansson,’ Rocky says in a low voice.

‘So who’s the unclean preacher?’

‘What difference does it make?’

‘Just tell me the truth.’

‘What do I get out of it?’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want pure heroin,’ Rocky says, and looks Erik in the eye.

‘You can get permission to go out if you help,’ Erik says.

‘I don’t remember, anyway, it’s all gone, this is pointless.’

Erik leans forward in the soft armchair.

‘I can help you remember,’ he says, after a pause.

‘No one can help me.’

‘Not in a neurological sense, but I can help you remember what happened.’

‘How?’ he asks.

‘I can hypnotise you.’

Rocky sits still, leaning his head back against the wall. His eyes are half-closed and his mouth slightly pursed.

‘There’s nothing to be concerned about — hypnosis is merely a way of accessing another level of consciousness by being in a deep state of relaxation.’

‘I read the journal, Cortex , and I remember a long article about neuropsychology and hypnosis,’ Rocky says, waving his hand.

They have moved to Rocky’s room, with the door closed and the lighting turned down. The weak lamplight is reflecting off a Playboy calendar. Erik has set up his tripod, attached the video camera and adjusted the angle and exposure, and has made sure the microphone is pointing in the right direction.

A small red dot indicates that the camera is recording.

Kyrklund is sitting on a chair, his broad shoulders are relaxed, rounded, like a bear’s. His head is drooping. He slid into deep relaxation very quickly, and responded well to the induction.

The difficult part isn’t the act of hypnosis, but finding the right level and placing the patient in a state where the brain is as relaxed as possible, yet still able to distinguish between real memories and dreams.

Erik is standing just behind Rocky, slowly counting backwards as he prepares Rocky to examine his memories.

‘Two hundred and twelve,’ Erik says in a monotone. ‘Two hundred and eleven... you will soon find yourself standing outside Rebecka Hansson’s house...’

When a patient is placed in deep hypnosis, the hypnotist often enters a sort of trance as well, in what is known as hypnotic resonance.

It’s vital that Erik manages to differentiate between his absolutely present self, and a clearly observing self.

The observing self, in his own personal trance, is always underwater. That’s become his internal image of hypnotic immersion.

While his patients are led through their memories, Erik sinks into a warm sea, past steep cliffs and coral.

In this way Erik can remain utterly present in the patient’s experience, yet still maintain a protective distance.

‘Eighty-eight, eighty-seven, eighty-six,’ Erik goes on in a somnolent voice. ‘The only thing that exists is my voice, and your desire to listen to it... With each number you’re sinking deeper and deeper into relaxation... eighty-five, eighty-four... there’s nothing dangerous here, nothing to be worried about...’

As Erik counts down, he sinks through strangely pink water together with Rocky Kyrklund. They’re following the chain of an anchor. The rusty links are covered in stringy algae. Above them, on the silvery surface, is the hull of a large ship with motionless propellers.

They drift lower.

Rocky’s eyes are closed and small air-bubbles are rising from his beard. He’s got his arms by his sides, but the water passing them makes his clothes sway.

‘Fifty-one, fifty, forty-nine...’

Out of the violet darkness sticks the top of a vast underwater mountain, grey-black, like a heap of ash.

Rocky raises his face and tries to look, but only the whites of his eyes are visible. His mouth opens, and his eyes close again. His hair is drifting above his head as bubbles emerge from his nostrils.

‘Eleven, ten, nine... You will be able to remember all your real memories of Rebecka Hansson when I say so...’

As Erik sinks through the water, simultaneously he observes Rocky on the chair in his room. A string of saliva is hanging from his mouth, and the seams of his white vest are coming loose under his arms.

‘Three, two, one... Now you open your eyes and can see Rebecka Hansson the way she was when you last saw her...’

Rocky is standing in front of him on top of the underwater mountain, his clothes moving in the gentle current, his hair floating like slow flames above his head. He opens his mouth and large bubbles stream out and float up in front of his face.

‘Tell me what you can see,’ Erik says calmly.

‘I see her... I’m standing in the garden at the back of the house... Through the terrace door I see her sitting on the sofa watching television. Her knitting needles are moving and a ball of blue wool is slowly unravelling beside her hip... She’s said she doesn’t want to see me, but I think she’ll open her legs anyway...’

‘What’s happening?’

‘I knock on the glass door, she takes her glasses off and lets me in... she says she has to go to bed because she’s working in the morning... but that I can stay the night if I like...’

Erik doesn’t interrupt, just waits for the next segment of memories, waits for the images to join up.

‘I sit down on the sofa and touch her necklace... There’s an old knitting pattern in a women’s magazine on the floor... Rebecka puts her knitting down on the table and I slip a hand between her thighs... she pulls away, says she doesn’t want to... but I pull her nightdress up again...’

Rocky is breathing heavily.

‘She resists, but I know she’s changed her mind, I can see it in her eyes, she wants this now... I kiss her, and put my hand between her legs.’

He’s smiling to himself on the chair, then turns serious.

‘She says we should go to her bedroom, and I put a finger in her mouth and she sucks it, and... Outside.’

Rocky stops himself and just stares, his eyes wide open.

‘There’s someone outside! I can see a face. There’s someone at the window.’

‘Outside the house?’ Erik asks.

‘It was a face, I go over to the glass door but I can’t see anything... just darkness, and the room reflected in the glass... and then I see someone standing behind me... I spin round, ready to lash out, but it’s only Rebecka... she gets scared and tells me to leave... she means it, so I go into the hall and take all the money she’s got in her bag, and...’

He falls silent, breathing more heavily, and the energy in the room changes, slowly becomes more dangerous.

‘Rocky, I want you to stay with Rebecka,’ Erik says. ‘It’s the same evening, you’re at home with her, and—’

‘I’ve gone to the Zone,’ Rocky interrupts in a slurred voice.

‘Later that evening, you mean?’

‘I ignore the strippers on the main stage,’ he whispers. ‘I ignore the dealers, because what I’m looking for...’

‘Do you go back to Rebecka’s?’

‘No, we sit in the disabled toilet so we can be alone.’

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘My girlfriend... the woman I love. Tina, who... She gives me a blow job without a condom, she doesn’t care, she’s in a hurry now, she’s sweating all over.’