Page 148 of The Sleepwalker
Hugo pictures himself descending a staircase into an enormous vestibule.
‘Keep going. Eighty-four, eighty-three .?.?. Everything but my voice should fade into the periphery,’ says Erik. ‘All you can see is the wide staircase and the soft, red carpet .?.?. You keep moving down, and you feel a sense of calm spreading through you .?.?. Eighty-two, the steps are all the same height and width .?.?. Eighty-one, eighty .?.?.’
Hugo notices the detective come into the room and sit down in the empty chair, just as Erik had said he would, and he feelsa comforting sense of order before letting go of the thought completely and continuing down the stairs.
After a while, Erik stops describing the staircase, focusing instead on Hugo’s breathing, relaxation and inner concentration.
Hugo realises that the dark wood has begun to sway beneath his feet, that it shakes softly with each step.
‘Sixty-five, sixty-four .?.?. Now there is nothing but my voice and the meaning of the words within you .?.?.’
The glossy wood has begun to pale, Hugo notices. It turns to metal, and the great staircase twists into an enormous corkscrew.
‘Forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight .?.?.’
As though in a dream, Hugo is now making his way down a steel spiral staircase in a narrow well. He grips the cold handrail and feels the whole structure shuddering and swaying with every movement.
‘Twenty-seven, twenty-six .?.?.’
Dry earth has begun to fall around the brackets, pattering softly against the metal.
The descending numbers slow, dragging his breathing with them as though he were in a deep sleep. But in his mind, he has started running.
‘Nineteen .?.?.’
His body is incredibly heavy, like he has a number of weighted blankets on top of him, like he has overdosed on promethazine.
‘Fourteen .?.?. thirteen .?.?.’
It feels as though some unconquerable force is driving him down into the earth.
‘Twelve, eleven,’ Erik says, his voice soft and monotonous. ‘You’re going to keep going, but when I .?.?. when I reach zero, you will be back at Bredäng Campsite on the twenty-sixth of November. The blonde woman is just about to go into the caravan, but before she opens the door, you will see her reflection in the glass. Snow is falling from the dark sky, settling like a delicate halo on the satellite dish.’
* * *
Joona studies the teenager’s calm face in the dim light and then turns to one of the screens tracking the gamma waves in his cerebral cortex. The pale light from the monitors flashes in Dr Grind’s wide eyes.
‘Ten, nine, eight,’ Erik says slowly. ‘You are perfectly safe here, there is no need to worry .?.?.’
Hugo’s right hand twitches, and Erik places his own on top of it. He notes the boy’s steady, even breathing and continues his countdown.
‘Seven, six, five .?.?. In a moment, you are going to tell me everything you can see at the campsite without any fear whatsoever.’
Hugo’s eyes begin moving beneath his closed lids.
‘The campsite is empty, closed for the winter,’ says Erik. ‘The sky is black .?.?. and the snow is falling more heavily now.’
Lars Grind gets up from his chair and looks as though he wants to say something.
‘Four, three, two, one, zero .?.?. You are now standing slightly back from the caravan, watching the woman walk up to the door.’
‘Mum,’ Hugo whispers.
‘I don’t think the woman you can see is your mother,’ says Erik. ‘I think that your mother is part of your dream, and—’
‘We need to hide,’ the teenager cuts him off, his voice shrill.
Erik places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
