Page 51 of The Sleepwalker
Lars started giving Hugo a lift to and from the clinic, and eventually became good friends with his parents, coming over for dinner at their house and buying him Christmas presents.
The modern industrial building housing the most advanced sleep research facility in the country is on the other side of a high fence. Signs warning passersby about alarms, security firms and video surveillance shake in the wind.
The metal roof is currently the same shade of white as the overcast sky.
Hugo pauses in front of the gates, reports his arrival over the video intercom and waits to be buzzed in.
He makes his way into the building through the main entrance, saying hello to the woman behind reception before continuing down the hallway to Lars Grind’s office.
The pinkWILLKOMMENsign is already illuminated, but Hugo still knocks before opening the door and stepping inside.
‘Bienvenue, welcome,’ the doctor says with a smile as he looks up from his computer.
‘Thanks.’
Lars Grind is a short man with a wiry frame and a bald head. He has a thin face, with delicate features and pronounced cheekbones.
He gets up from his desk, and the skin around his eyes creases as he shakes Hugo’s hand.
‘Sit, sit,’ he says.
Lars doesn’t really seem to have aged since he first met him, Hugo thinks. His eyes might be a little wearier and the shiny patch on his shaved head a little bigger, but he still dresses thesame and still wears aftershave that smells like wet goat.
‘You might not have had a confirmation, but you’ll graduate this spring,’ Lars says with a smile.
‘That’s the plan,’ Hugo replies as he sits down.
‘Good.’
Lars knew Claire, and for a time Hugo occasionally tried to ask about her. In the end, however, he stopped because the doctor always looked so pained as he tried to think of something positive to say.
That might also be why Hugo avoids having dinner with him as much as he can without seeming rude.
‘Shouldn’t you have uncovered all the mysteries of sleep by now?’ he asks.
‘Ah, ha ha. Yes, you might think so, but we’ve probably a way to go yet,’ says Lars, holding up his thumb and index finger. ‘In all seriousness, though, we’ve just started trialling a few alternative medicines alongside melatonin and clonazepam.’
‘Like what?’
‘Microdoses of tramadol.’
‘Unexpected.’
‘Not really, but it took a little while to get it approved,’ Lars explains, fiddling with a small carved monkey wearing a Santa hat.
‘I was actually going to ask if we could just up my melatonin a bit and see how it goes at home,’ says Hugo.
Lars puts the monkey to one side.
‘I know where you’re coming from, but you’re already on a fairly high dose,’ he replies, straightening the signet ring on his little finger. ‘I’d like to do a thorough assessment of you today, including neurological status, before we start trying to get the right medications at the right level.’
‘So I’m stuck here?’ Hugo jokes, though a real sense of unease has crept up on him.
‘You’ll be home in time for Christmas,’ Lars assures him with a wry smile.
‘If only in my dreams,’ Hugo mumbles, running his fingers through his long hair.
‘No, really .?.?. You’ll be home by then, because I’m coming over for oysters on the twenty-sixth,’ Lars says, opening a document on his computer.
