Stalker. Ларс Кеплер

when you got home,’ Margot replies.

      ‘What for?’ he whispers.

      ‘Because I want to know what happened, and what you saw,’ she says curtly.

      ‘What do you mean? I just got home, isn’t that allowed?’

      He puts his hands over his ears and stands there panting. Erik notes that the knuckles of both his hands are bleeding.

      ‘What did you see?’ Margot asks wearily.

      ‘Why are you asking me that? I don’t know why you’re asking me. Fucking hell …’

      Björn shakes his head and rubs his mouth and eyes hard.

      ‘I want you to feel safe here, in this room,’ Erik says. ‘You don’t think you’re allowed to relax, you might not think it’s possible, but it is.’

      The man picks at the edge of a piece of wallpaper with his fingernails, then tears off a little strip.

      ‘This is what I’m thinking,’ he says, without looking at them. ‘I’m thinking I’ve got to do it all again, but do it right this time … I’ve got to go home and go in through the door, and then it will be right.’

      ‘How do you mean, right?’ Erik asks, managing to catch his eye.

      ‘I know how it sounds, but what if it’s true, you can’t know,’ he says, making a despairing gesture to keep them quiet. ‘I can go in, through the door, and call Sanna’s name … She knows I’ve got something for her, I always have, something from duty-free … and I take my shoes off and go inside …’

      He looks utterly distraught.

      ‘There’s soil on the floor,’ he whispers.

      ‘Was there soil on the floor?’ Margot asks.

      ‘Shut up!’ Björn yells, his voice cracking.

      He walks over the soil-strewn floor, picks up the other pot-plant and throws it at the wall. The plastic pot shatters and soil rains down behind the sofa.

      ‘Fucking HELL!’ he gasps.

      He leans both hands against the wall, his head hanging, and a string of saliva drops to the floor.

      ‘Björn?’

      ‘Fuck it, this is hopeless,’ he says, with a sob in his voice.

      ‘Björn,’ Erik says slowly. ‘Margot is here to find out more about what happened. That’s her job. My job is to help you. I’m here for your sake … I’m used to seeing people who are having trouble, people who have suffered a terrible loss, who’ve experienced terrible things … things no one should have to go through, but which unfortunately are part of life for some of us.’

      The man doesn’t respond. He just sobs quietly. His eyes are dark, bloodshot and glassy.

      ‘Do you want to stand over there?’ Erik asks gently. ‘You wouldn’t rather sit in the armchair?’

      ‘I don’t care.’

      ‘Nor do I …’

      ‘Good,’ Björn whispers, turning towards him.

      ‘I’ve already mentioned it, and I know what you said, but it’s my job to offer you all the help that’s available … I can give you a sedative. It won’t get rid of the terrible thing that’s happened, but it will help to calm the panic you’re feeling inside.’

      ‘Can you help me?’ the man whispers after a pause.

      ‘I can help you take the first steps towards … towards getting through the worst of it,’ Erik explains quietly.

      ‘I start to shake when I think about the front door at home … because I must have gone through a different door, the wrong door.’

      ‘I can understand why you’d feel that.’

      Björn moves his lips cautiously, as though they were hurting him.

      ‘Do you want me to sit down?’ he asks, glancing cautiously at Erik.

      ‘If it would make you feel more comfortable,’ Erik replies.

      Björn sits down for the first time, and Erik notices Margot looking at him, but doesn’t return the look.

      ‘What happens when you walk through the wrong door?’

      ‘I don’t want to think about it,’ he replies.

      ‘But you do remember?’

      ‘Can you … can you get rid of the panic?’ the man whispers to Erik.

      ‘That’s your decision,’ Erik says. ‘But I’m happy to sit here and talk to you with Margot … or you and I could talk on our own … and we could also try hypnosis – that might help you through the worst of it.’

      ‘Hypnosis?’

      ‘Some people find it works well,’ Erik replies simply.

      ‘No.’ Björn smiles.

      ‘Hypnosis is just a combination of relaxation and concentration.’

      Björn laughs silently with his hand over his mouth, then stands up and walks along the wall again until he reaches the corner and turns to look at Erik.

      ‘I think maybe the drugs you mentioned might be a good idea …’

      ‘OK.’ Erik nods. ‘I can give you Stesolid – have you heard of that before? It will make you feel warm and tired, but also a lot calmer.’

      ‘OK, good.’

      Björn slaps the wall several times with one palm, then walks over to the water dispenser.

      ‘I’ll ask a nurse to bring you the pill,’ Erik says.

      He leaves the room, confident that Björn Kern will request hypnosis fairly soon.

       9

      The building at 4 Lill-Jans plan differs from those around it, with its dark façade and Gothic design, ornamental brickwork, oriels, pilasters and arches.

      The curtains on the ground floor are closed, otherwise it would be possible to see in through the windows.

      Erik looks at the address on the piece of paper, hesitates for a moment, then goes in through the large doorway. He hasn’t told anyone about this.

      His stomach flutters as he approaches the door. He can hear gentle piano music in the stairwell. He looks at the time, sees that he’s slightly early, and returns to the front door to wait.

      Back in the spring he found a flyer advertising piano lessons in his letterbox, and rather rashly booked an intensive course for his son Benjamin, who would be turning eighteen at the start of the summer.

      It’s never too late to learn to play an instrument, he thought. He himself had always dreamed of playing the piano, sitting down alone to play a melancholic nocturne by Chopin.

      But the day before Benjamin’s birthday Nelly pointed out that you didn’t have to be a psychologist to see that he was projecting his own dream on to his son.

      Erik quickly booked a series of driving lessons instead. Benjamin was happy, and Simone thought it a very generous gift.

      He was sure he had cancelled the piano lessons. But that morning he had received an email reminding him not to miss the first lesson.

      Erik feels ridiculously embarrassed, nevertheless he’s decided to attend the first lesson himself, to give it a chance.

      The idea of walking off and sending a text to say that he had already cancelled the lessons is whirling round his head as he returns