Page 235 of The Sleepwalker
A tangle of quivering images dart by, racing around a corner and getting lost in the darkness.
Hugo’s fingertips are tingling.
He notices his glass on the floor, droplets of wine flecking the pale boards, and he mumbles a quick apology, bends down to pick it up and mops up the wine with his sock.
‘You fell off the roof,’ says Bernard. ‘Is that OK?’
‘It wasn’t her fault,’ Hugo replies.
‘Maybe not.’
‘I need to use the toilet,’ Agneta whispers, getting up on unsteady legs.
‘Sit down,’ Bernard tells her.
‘But I really need—’
‘Not now,’ he snaps, gripping her wrist again.
‘Dad, cut it out.’
‘I was away, and Claire was meant to be looking after you. We’d had motion detectors fitted, but you still managed to fall off the roof,’ he replies, letting go of Agneta. ‘The next time I was supposed to go away, I decided to stay behind instead .?.?. In the basement.’
‘What have you done?’ Hugo whispers.
Bernard gets up, grabs the axe from the wood basket and follows Agneta out into the hallway. The bathroom door closes, and the lock clicks.
Hugo forces himself to stand up and slowly turns around. Hegoes out into the hall and sees his father lurking in the darkness by the bathroom.
Outside, the storm is still raging.
Hugo tiptoes across the worn parquet floor, over the brass edging strip, and gazes towards the door in the hallway behind his father.
He takes in the reflection of his father’s back, the axe hidden behind him, and his own silhouette in the bright bedroom doorway.
‘What did you do to Mum?’ Hugo asks, anxiety writhing in his chest.
‘Nothing,’ Bernard replies without looking at him. ‘I just got the truth out of her.’
‘She never went to Canada, did she?’ Hugo whispers, overcome by a dizzying sense of surreality.
‘Of course she did. You know that.’
‘I was sleepwalking, Dad, but I saw everything.’
‘You were dreaming. It was just a dream,’ Bernard says, turning to look at him.
A sudden jolt, dark as death, drags Hugo back to that moment behind the door as a child. He glances into the bedroom and sees his father’s face flecked with red spots, as though he has chickenpox. He sees blood running down the skulls and bones on the shower curtain, dripping from the axe in his father’s hand, a severed foot on the floor in front of him.
‘I saw you kill a man, right here in the bedroom,’ says Hugo, licking his lips.
‘You really think I would—’
‘What did you do to Mum?’
‘This isn’t how I wanted it to be.’
‘What have you done?’
