Ларс Кеплер - Stalker

‘I’m riddled with b-bullets,’ he says in a loud voice, and puts his hand on top of the bandage covering the wound in his chest.

‘It was a terrible accident,’ Nelly says.

‘God wants to k-kill me,’ he says, pulling the oxygen tube from his nose.

‘Why do you think that?’

‘I can’t bear it,’ he whimpers.

‘You know... the Jews say that a righteous man can fall seven times and get up again, but the ungodly stumble when calamity strikes... and you’re going to get up.’

‘Am I r-righteous?’

‘How should I know?’ she smiles.

‘That’s what you m-meant, isn’t it?’

Nelly can see that the oxygenation of his blood is falling, and reattaches the tube to his nose.

‘Erik saved me and I just wanted to save him,’ he whispers.

‘Yesterday, you mean?’ she asks tentatively.

‘He c-came to me and I gave him food and l-lodging,’ he says, and coughs lightly. ‘They p-promised not to hurt him.’

‘How did he look when he came to you?’

‘He had an ugly c-cap on, and his hand was bleeding. He was d-dirty and unshaven, and had scratches on his face.’

‘And you just wanted to help him,’ Nelly says.

‘Yes,’ he nods.

Margot is standing by the window eating her sandwich, but can still hear Nestor’s careful answers. His description of Erik fits someone who ran off through a forest and has been sleeping rough.

‘Do you know where Erik is now?’ she asks slowly, turning round.

‘No.’

Margot meets Nelly’s gaze, then leaves the room to set a large-scale police operation in motion.

‘I’m starting to get t-tired,’ he says.

‘It’s a bit early for the medicine to take effect.’

‘Are you Erik’s g-girlfriend?’ Nestor asks, looking at her.

‘What did Erik say before he left?’ Nelly asks, but can’t help smiling. ‘Do you think he’s planning to give himself up?’

‘You m-mustn’t be angry with Erik.’

‘I’m not.’

‘My mother says he’s b-bad, but... she c-can just shut up, I think...’

‘Get some rest, now.’

‘He’s the nicest m-man you could get,’ Nestor goes on.

‘I think so too,’ she smiles, and pats his hand.

‘We meet sometimes... but you c-can’t see me,’ Nestor says. ‘You can’t hear me, and you c-can’t smell me. I was b-born before you and I’ll be waiting for you when you die. I can embrace you, b-but you can’t hold on to me...’

‘Darkness,’ she replies.

‘Good,’ Nestor nods. ‘If a man carried my b-burden, he... he would...’

Nestor closes his eyes and gasps for breath.

‘I’m going to go home now,’ Nelly says quietly, and carefully gets up from the edge of the bed.

When she leaves the post-operative care unit she notices that the police officers are no longer guarding the door.

The bell in St Mark’s Church is ringing under an open sky. The wheel turns, pulling the great bell with it. The heavy clapper hits the metal and the peal reaches across the wall of the churchyard, in amongst the trees, all the way to the buried animals.

The dirty single pane of glass in the window of the shed where Erik is hiding rattles. The red shack in the pet cemetery consists of thin timber walls and a stained chipboard floor. Presumably there would once have been a plastic mat on the floor. The shed may have been used by local cemetery workers before everything was streamlined. In recent years only Nestor has been here, as the solitary but conscientious guardian of the animals’ last resting place.

On one wall there is a cold-water tap above a large zinc trough.

Erik has moved five sacks of compost and lined them up on the floor to form a bed.

He’s lying on his side listening to the church bell. The smell of earth around him is pervasive, as if he was already lying in his grave.

Who can understand their own fate? he thinks, watching the morning light shine in through the grey curtain and wander slowly across the sacks of grass seed and grit, spades and shovels, then down across the floor to an axe with a rusty blade.

His gaze lingers on the axe, staring at the blunt edge with its deep indentations, and thinks that Nestor must use it to chop off roots when he’s digging graves.

He turns on his bed, trying to get more comfortable. He spent the first few hours curled up in the corner behind the sacks, he’d cut his thigh on a sharp branch, had a ringing sound in his ears, felt nauseous and was shaking all over.

The ambulance siren died away, the helicopter disappeared, and silence enveloped the little shed.

After a few hours he began to feel a bit safer, dared to stand up, and went over to the tap, where he drank some cold water and washed his face. The water splashed up on to a plastic sleeve that had been pinned to the wall. The drips ran down a price list from the Association of Stockholm Pet Cemeteries, on to the discoloured chipboard.

He called Joona and told him what had happened, aware of how incoherent and repetitive he sounded, and realised that he was in shock. He lay back down on the sacks, but couldn’t sleep, his heart was beating far too fast.

His ear has stopped bleeding now, but is still humming, as though he were hearing everything through a piece of thin fabric. Gradually the jagged, dazzling halo of light fades and he closes his eyes.

He thinks about Jackie and Madeleine and hears children’s voices in the distance. He creeps over to the window. They’re probably playing in the woods behind the school.

Erik has no idea what he’d do if they come over here. His face could be on the front pages of all the papers today. A wave of anxiety washes through him, leaving him feeling utterly chilled.

Spiders’ webs rustle when he slides the curtain aside a few more centimetres.

The pet cemetery is a beautiful place, lots of grass and deciduous trees. A small path leads away from the church and over a wooden bridge, lined by tall stinging nettles.

On one grave a number of round stones form a cross, and a child has made a lantern out of a jam-jar, with red hearts painted round the outside. The candle is just visible beneath the rainwater and fallen seeds.

Erik thinks about his conversation with Joona again. He knows he can find his way into Rocky’s memories if he gets the chance. He’s already hypnotised him, but he wasn’t looking for the preacher then.

But how long can he stay here? He’s hungry, and sooner or later someone is going to find him. He’s far too close to the school, the church, and Nestor’s flat.

He swallows hard, gently touches the wound on his leg, and tries again to work out how his fingerprints could have ended up in Susanna Kern’s home. There has to be a simple explanation, but Joona seems to think that they’re dealing with an attempt to make him look guilty of the murders.

The thought is so ridiculous that he can’t take it seriously.

There has to be a rational explanation.

I’m not afraid of a trial, Erik thinks. The truth will come out, if I can just have a chance to defend myself.

He has to hand himself in.

Erik thinks he could seek refuge in the church, he could ask the priest for communion, for God’s forgiveness, anything at all, as long as he gets shelter.

The police can’t shoot me in a church, he thinks.

He’s so tired that tears come to his eyes at the thought of giving himself up and putting his fate in someone else’s hands.

He decides to creep out and see if the church is open, but then he hears someone crossing the little wooden bridge that leads to the pet cemetery.

Erik ducks down quickly and goes and sits in the corner where he hid to start with. Someone is walking along the path, groaning oddly to himself. There’s a tinkling sound, as though whoever it is had kicked over the homemade lantern on the grave.