Page 92 of The Sleepwalker
The shower is empty. It was a trap.
Groaning, he half-turns, bracing himself against the toilet as he tries to get up, but something hits him again before he has a chance.
His head snaps forward, and his mouth smashes into the plastic toilet lid.
The light is snatched away from him, and a black sail flaps across his vision.
A moment later, he regains consciousness.
The bathroom is spinning, and he struggles to make his eyes focus.
Rikard can taste blood, and his head is pounding.
With a groan, he pushes himself up and manages to get onto his feet. He turns around with his weapon raised.
This time, the metal bar hits him square in the wrist, and his gun clatters to the floor beneath the sink.
Jezebel is breathing heavily through her nose, and she lashes out at him again, following his movements with wide eyes.
She is in her fifties, with a wrinkled face and pursed lips. The muscles in her neck are taut, and the pink dress she is wearing is damp beneath both arms.
Rikard spits blood and staggers forward.
She backs up and takes another swing at him, but he uses hisforearm to deflect the blow and tries to hold her back. The scent of perfume from her warm body fills his nose as they crash into the hallway wall.
She gasps, and her metal bar thuds to the floor with a hollow clang.
Rikard can feel the blood running down the back of his head, trickling inside his collar and over his spine.
The floor seems to tilt beneath him, and he feels like his legs might buckle at any moment.
Moving as fast as he can, he staggers out into the corridor, using his right hand to support himself against the wall.
In the confusion, he finds himself thinking that he should have stayed home and eaten a romantic dinner with Kennet after all.
Right then, he hears a gunshot behind him. Jezebel has his Glock.
He tries to run, but crashes straight into the wall.
‘Die, you bastard!’ she shouts, her voice faltering.
His footsteps sound like soft thuds beneath him, and to his right, the doors race by. He passes the little pantry and slows down, gasping for air. Spitting blood, he turns around and thrusts an arm out in order to remain upright.
A framed print of a pine forest falls to the floor.
Jezebel is now nowhere to be seen.
His ears are ringing, and his headache is so bad that he feels physically sick.
As Rikard starts moving again, he catches sight of himself in the window. He hurries around the corner and walks straight into an old man in a white bathrobe and slippers.
Rikard keeps going, wiping the blood from his lips. Jezebel must have chosen a different route, he thinks. She will probably be waiting for him in the lobby, behind the pile of Christmas decorations.
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Rikard lumbers along the corridor on unsteady feet. He glances down at his bloodied hand with a strange, dreamlike feeling as he passes the cleaning cart, then pauses outside the dining room, straining to see whether he can hear anything from the lobby between ragged breaths.
The pain radiating from the back of his head is almost unbearable.
