Page 221 of The Sleepwalker
I wanted to apologise and say that you’re doing the right thing by reporting me to the Health and Social Care Inspectorate. There is no doubt that I’ve pushed certain ethical boundaries, largely due to a sense of urgency which – ironically enough – stems from not having had time to check my prostate.
I desperately wanted to leave a lasting legacy, something that could help the next generation of researchers find answers to the big questions.
You have been like a son to me.
My fondest regards,
Lars
Hugo tries to call the doctor, but his phone seems to be switched off. Instead, he gazes out into the blizzard with a deep knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.
After a moment, he sighs and starts reading his journal,beginning when he visited the lab for the first time at just six years old.
Behind him, the young man whispers agitatedly to himself.
The train has just passed Liljeholmen when it slows down and stops in the middle of a tunnel. Over the speaker system, the driver announces that there has been a power cut. They have switched over to battery power, and will be able to reach the next station, but no further.
The train will terminate at Aspudden, and everyone will have to leave. Information about rail replacement buses will be provided at the next station.
77
The storm is howling outside, tugging at the eaves and roaring in the chimneys. Snow swirls past in the darkness on the other side of the window.
Agneta is at the PC in Bernard’s office, typing up her notes following the latest hypnosis session.
She adds details from memory, makes tweaks to certain aspects and then starts comparing the session with the previous two, noting how, little by little, Erik Maria Bark managed to coax out Hugo’s memories.
The lamp beside her flickers, but it doesn’t go out.
Bernard put in a large order of books about serial killers, police work and profiling a few days ago, and is currently reading in the library downstairs.
They worked together to tidy up his office following the break-in, straightening the furniture, sweeping up the splintered wood and vacuuming the broken glass. The papers that had been scattered across the floor are in a moving box for the time being, until they can find a moment to sort through them properly.
Bernard carried the damaged door from his Järvsö cabinet down to the hallway, and is planning to send it off for repair.
Agneta turns the page in her notepad, skims through her notes on Joona’s description of the killer’s modus operandi – the arrows carved into the victim’s bodies and the chaoticdismemberment process – and has just started typing when the desk lamp goes out, she hears a click, and the computer screen goes black.
The fan stops whirring.
She gets up and squints out of the window.
It must be a pretty big outage, because all she can see is darkness.
There are no lights on the other side of the water.
With a sigh, she slumps down onto the chair and stares at the computer screen.
She hears footsteps on the stairs, and a flickering light appears in the doorway.
Bernard is singing an old Christmas tune as he comes into the room with a candle in a cast-iron chamberstick.
The soft, swaying glow fills the office as he sets the candle down on the desk.
‘It doesn’t matter how many weather reports or warnings you hear, it always comes as a surprise when the power goes out,’ he says with a smile.
‘I was busy writing,’ she says, trailing a finger over the keyboard.
‘Hope we haven’t lost too much material.’
