The Hypnotist

It is difficult to recall the feeling of being deceived. For a long time everything was just a sense of sorrow, a strange, empty craving in her stomach, a desire to avoid painful thoughts. And yet she remembers that the first thing she felt was surprise, a gaping, stupid surprise at being so comprehensively taken in by someone she had trusted completely. And then came the embarrassment, followed by a despairing sense of inadequacy, burning rage, and loneliness.

Simone lies in bed as these thoughts go round and round in her head, spinning off in various painful directions. She remembers the way Erik looked into her eyes and promised he hadn’t had an affair with Maja—that he didn’t even know anyone named Maja. She had asked him three times, and each time he had sworn he didn’t know a Maja. Then she had pulled out the photos and thrown them at him, one by one.

Slowly the sky grows light above the city. She falls asleep a few minutes before Erik returns. He tries to be quiet, but when he sits on the bed she wakes up. Erik says he’s going for a shower. Looking up at him, she can tell he’s taken a lot of pills again. Heart pounding, she asks him the name of the policeman who called during the night. When he doesn’t answer, she realises that he’s passed out in the middle of the conversation. Simone tells him she called the number, and did a policeman answer? No, it was some giggling woman called Daniella. But Erik just can’t keep awake; it’s infuriating. Then she yells at him, demands to know, accuses him of having destroyed everything, just when she had begun to trust him again.

She’s sitting up in bed now, staring at him. He doesn’t seem to understand her agitation. She says the words that, no matter how many times she has thought them, seem no less painful, sad, or distant from her hopes.

“It might be best if we separate.”

That seems to get his attention momentarily. But Simone is already gathering her pillow and the duvet. Entering the guest room, she lies on the sofa and cries for a long time, then blows her nose. Now it’s really morning. She hasn’t the strength to deal with her family right now. She goes to the bathroom, washes, then creeps back to the bedroom. Erik is out like a light, so she collects an outfit and dresses in the guest room. She hastily puts on her makeup and leaves the apartment to have breakfast somewhere before she goes to the gallery.

She reads in a café in Kungsträdgården for a long time before she can manage to get down the sandwich she ordered with her coffee. She puts her newspaper down for a moment and looks through the café’s big window, which overlooks a large stage. A dozen or so men are preparing for some kind of event. Pink tents have been erected. A barrier is placed around a small ramp. Suddenly something happens. The men stumble backwards, yelling at one another. There is a crackling noise and a rocket shoots up into the air. Simone leans forward to follow its flight. It rises into the bright morning sky, then bursts in a transparent blue glow, and the explosion reverberates between the buildings.

19

tuesday, december 8: morning

Simone sits in the office of the gallery, taking in the large self-portrait of the artist Sim Shulman posing in a black ninja costume, a sword raised high above his head, when the phone in her bag begins to buzz.

“Simone Bark,” she answers, forcing the sadness out of her voice.

“Hello, it’s Siv Sturesson from Edsberg School,” says an older woman.

“Oh,” says Simone hesitantly. “Yes?”

“I’m just calling to see how Benjamin is.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“He’s not in school today,” says the woman, “and he hasn’t called in sick. We always get in touch with the parents in cases like this.”

“Right,” says Simone. “I’ll call home and check. Both Benjamin and his father were still there this morning when I left. I’ll get back to you.”

She rings off and immediately calls the apartment. It isn’t like Benjamin to oversleep or flout the rules.

Nobody picks up at home. Erik is supposed to have the morning off. A fresh fear sinks its claws into her, before it occurs to her that Erik is probably lying there snoring with his mouth open, knocked out by his beloved pills, while Benjamin is listening to loud music. She tries Benjamin’s phone; no reply. She leaves a short message, then tries Erik’s mobile, but of course it’s switched off.

She calls out to her assistant at the art gallery. “Yiva, I have to go home. I’ll be back soon.”

Her assistant peers out of the office, a thick file in her hand, and calls out, with a smile, “Kiss-kiss!”

But Simone is too stressed to return their running joke. Throwing her coat around her shoulders, she picks up her bag and almost runs to the underground station.

There is a particular silence outside the door of an empty house. As soon as Simone puts her key in the lock, she knows no one is in.

The skates lie forgotten on the floor, but Benjamin’s backpack, shoes, and jacket are gone, as are Erik’s overcoat and scarf. The Puma bag containing Benjamin’s medication is in his room. She hopes this means Erik has given Benjamin his injection.

Simone glances around the room, thinking it is a bit sad that he has taken down his Harry Potter poster and put almost all his toys in a box in the cupboard. He was suddenly in a hurry to grow up when he met Aida.

It occurs to Simone that perhaps Benjamin is with her now.

Benjamin is only fourteen, Aida is seventeen; he claims they’re just friends, but it’s obvious that she’s his girlfriend. Has he even told her he has a blood disorder? Does she know that the slightest blow could cost him his life if he hasn’t taken his medication properly?

She sits down and buries her face in her hands, trying to stop all the terrifying thoughts. Simone can’t help worrying about her son. In her mind’s eye she has always seen Benjamin being hit in the face by a basketball during break time or imagined a spontaneous bleed suddenly starting inside his head: a dark bead expanding like a star, trickling along all the convolutions of his brain.

She is overcome by an almost unbearable feeling of shame when she remembers the way she lost patience with Benjamin because he wouldn’t walk. He was two years old and still crawling everywhere. She would scold him and then tease him when he cried. Said he looked like a baby. Benjamin would try to walk, take a few steps, but then the terrible pain would force him to lie down again.

They didn’t know then that he had a blood disorder, that the blood vessels in his joints burst when he stood up.

Once Benjamin had been diagnosed with von Willebrand’s disease, it was Erik who took over the care the condition demanded, not Simone. It was Erik who gently moved Benjamin’s joints back and forth after the night’s immobility, in order to reduce the risk of internal bleeding; Erik who carried out the complex injections, where the needle absolutely must not penetrate the muscle but must be emptied carefully and slowly beneath the skin. The technique was far more painful than a normal injection. For the first few years, Benjamin would sit with his face pressed against his father’s stomach, weeping silently as the needle went in. These days he went on eating his breakfast without looking, just offering his arm to Erik, who swabbed it, administered the injection, and put on a dressing.

The factor preparation that helped Benjamin’s blood to coagulate was called Haemate. Simone thought it sounded like a Greek goddess of revenge. It was a horrible and unsatisfactory drug that was delivered in the form of a yellow, freeze-dried, granular powder, which had to be measured, dissolved, mixed, and warmed into the correct dosage before it could be administered. Haemate greatly increased the risk of blood clots, and they lived in constant hope that something better would come along. But with the Haemate, a high dose of desmopressin, and Cyklo-kapron in a nasal spray to prevent bleeds in the mucous membrane, Benjamin was relatively safe.

She could still remember when they had received his laminated alert card from the Emergency Blood Service, adorned with Benjamin’s birthday photo: his laughing four-year-old face beneath the message:

I have von Willebrand’s disease. If anything happens to me, please call the Emergency Blood Service immediately: 040-33-10-10.

Since meeting Aida, Benjamin always wears his mobile phone hanging around his neck from a black strap with skulls on it. They text each other far into the night, and Benjamin still has the phone around his neck when Erik or Simone wakes him up in the morning.

Simone searches carefully among all the papers and magazines on Benjamin’s desk. Then she opens a drawer and moves aside a book about World War II, unearthing a scrap of paper with the imprint of a pair of lips pressed upon it in black lipstick and a telephone number below. She hurries into the kitchen and punches in the number, waits while the line rings, and is throwing a stinking sponge into the waste bin when someone finally picks up.

A faint, croaking voice, breathing heavily.

“Hello,” says Simone. “I’m sorry to disturb you. My name is Simone Bark. I’m Benjamin’s mother. I was wondering if—”

The voice, which seems to belong to a woman, hisses that she doesn’t know any Benjamin and this must be a wrong number.

“Wait, please,” says Simone, trying to sound calm. “Aida and my son usually hang out together. I was hoping you might know where they could be. I really need to get hold of Benjamin.”

“Ten … ten—”

“I’m sorry, I can’t make out what you’re saying.”

“Ten … sta.”

“Tensta? Aida’s in Tensta?”

“Yes. That bloody … tattoo.”

Simone thinks she can hear an oxygen machine working slowly, a rhythmic hissing noise in the background.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Tattoo?” she pleads.

The woman snaps something and ends the call. Simone sits there staring at the telephone, decides to ring the woman back, then suddenly understands what she meant. She quickly calls information and gets the address of a tattoo parlour in the shopping centre in Tensta. Simone’s entire body shudders as she pictures Benjamin at this very moment succumbing to temptation, allowing his skin to be pierced for a tattoo; the blood begins to flow and cannot coagulate.

20

tuesday, december 8: lunchtime

Simone stares out the window of the underground train. She is still sweating after leaving the empty flat and running to the station.

She ought to have taken a cab, but she tells herself that nothing has happened; she always worries unnecessarily.

A man opposite her fusses with a newspaper. From the reflection in the window she can see that he glances at her from time to time.

“Hey,” says the man. His voice is irritatingly insistent.

She ignores him, looking out the window.

“Hello-o?” says the man.

She realises he has no intention of giving up until he has her attention.

“Hey, don’t you hear me? I’m talking to you!” the man persists.

Simone turns to him. “I can hear you perfectly well,” she says calmly.

“Why don’t you answer me, then?” he asks.

“I’m answering you now.”

He blinks a couple of times, and here it comes. “You’re a woman, aren’t you?”

“Is that all you want to know?” she asks, turning back to the window.

He moves across to sit beside her. “Wait, listen to this. I had a woman, and my woman, my woman—”

Simone feels a few drops of spittle spatter her cheek.

“She was like Elizabeth Taylor,” he goes on. “You know who she was?” He lays two fingers on her arm, confidentially. “Do you know who Elizabeth Taylor was?”

“Yes,” says Simone impatiently. “Of course I do.”

He leans back, satisfied with her answer. “She was always finding some new man,” he whines. “Wanting better and better all the time, diamond rings and presents and necklaces.”

The train slows down and Simone sees that they’ve arrived in Tensta.

“This is my stop. I need to get off,” she says. She stands up.

“I bet you do,” the man says, placing himself in her way. “Come on, give me a little hug. I just want a little hug.”

Stiffly, through clenched teeth, she excuses herself and moves his arm away. She feels his hand on her butt, but at the same moment the train stops and the man loses his balance and falls back against the seat.

“Whore,” he says calmly, as she moves away.

She steps off the train, runs out of the station, over a Plexiglas-covered bridge, and down the steps. In the middle of the square, inside the shopping centre, there’s a huge board, a directory, and a floor plan that lists all the different shops. Breathing heavily, Simone goes through it until she finds Tensta Tattoos. It’s at the far end of the mall. Simone heads in the direction of the escalator.

In her mind’s eye, she imagines a circle of kids surrounding a boy lying on the ground. She pushes her way through the crowd and realises that it’s Benjamin, bleeding endlessly from some tacky unfinished tattoo.

She takes the escalator two steps at a time, reaching the top quickly. Stepping off, she catches sight of an odd movement at the other end of the centre, in a deserted area where the shops are all vacant. It looks as if someone is hanging over the barrier.

She sets off in that direction, and as she gets closer she can see clearly what is happening: two boys are holding another child, a little girl, over the second-floor barrier. It’s a fall to the lower level of at least thirty feet. A tall figure is walking nearby, flapping his arms as if he were warming himself at a grill.

The girl is clearly terrified, but the other children appear calm as they dangle her over the edge.

“What are you doing?” Simone yells as she walks towards them. She wants to break into a run, but she’s afraid if she startles them they will lose their grip.

The boys have spotted Simone and pretend to let the girl go. Both the girl and Simone scream, but the boys hold on and pull her up slowly. One of them gives Simone a strange smile before they run away. Only the taller boy remains behind. The girl curls up into a ball next to the barrier, sobbing. Simone stops, her heart racing, and crouches beside her.

“Are you all right?”

The girl just shakes her head.

“We need to go and find a security guard,” Simone says.

The girl shakes her head again. Her whole body is trembling. The tall, plump boy is just standing there watching them. He is dressed in a dark padded jacket and black sunglasses.

“Who are you?” Simone asks him.

Instead of replying, he takes a pack of cards out of his pocket and begins to flick through them, cutting and shuffling.

“Who are you?” Simone repeats, more loudly this time. “Are those boys your friends?”

His expression doesn’t change.

“Why didn’t you do something? They could have killed her.”

Simone can feel the adrenaline still surging through her system, the rapid pulse at her temples, the pounding in her chest. “I asked you a question. Why didn’t you do something?” She stares hard at him.

He still doesn’t reply.

“Idiot!” she screams.

The boy begins to move away slowly, but when she takes a step towards him as if to prevent his escape he stumbles, dropping his cards on the floor. He mutters something to himself and slinks toward the escalator.

Simone turns to take care of the little girl, but she has disappeared. Simone runs back along the upper walkway, past the dark and empty shops, but she doesn’t spot the girl or either of the boys. Suddenly she realises she’s come to a stop outside the tattoo shop; the windows are covered in an opaque laminated film, with a picture of Fenrir the wolf, applied so sloppily it is creased and buckled.

She pushes open the door and enters, but the place seems to be empty. The walls are covered with pictures of tattoos. She looks around and is just about to leave when she hears a high, anxious voice. “Nicky? Where are you? Say something.”

A black curtain opens and a girl comes out with a cell phone pressed to her ear. Her upper body is naked. A few small drops of blood are trickling down her throat. Her expression is concentrated, worried.

“Nicky,” the girl says into the phone. “What’s happened?”

Her breasts are covered in goose bumps, but she doesn’t seem aware that she’s half naked.

“Can I ask you something?” Simone says.

The girl leaves the shop and starts to run. Simone is following her towards the door when she hears a familiar voice come from behind.

“Aida?”

She turns to see that it’s Benjamin.

“Mum, what are you doing here? Where’s Nicky?” he asks.

“Who?”

“Aida’s little brother. He’s retarded. Did you see him out there?”

“No, I—”

“He’s big, and he’s wearing black sunglasses.”

Simone walks slowly back inside the tattoo shop and sits down.

Aida comes back with the boy Simone chased. They stop outside the door, and Simone can see him nodding at everything Aida says, then wiping his nose. The girl comes in, shielding her breasts with one hand, walks past Simone and Benjamin without looking at them, and disappears behind the curtain. Simone just manages to see that her neck is red because she has had a dark red rose tattooed next to a small Star of David.

“What’s going on?” asks Benjamin.

“I was looking for you. Then I saw some boys—they must have been sick; they were holding a little girl over the barrier. Aida’s brother was just standing there and—”

“Did you say anything to them?”

“They stopped when I got to them, but they seemed to find the whole thing funny.”

Benjamin looks very upset; his cheeks flush red, and his eyes dart all over the place, searching, as if he wants to run away.

“I don’t like you hanging around here,” says Simone.

“I can do what I want,” he replies.

“You’re too young to—”

“Just leave it,” he says, his voice low.

“Why? Were you thinking of getting a tattoo as well?”

“No.”

“They’re horrible, these tattoos on necks and faces—”

“Mum.”

“They’re ugly.”

“Aida can hear what you’re saying.”

“I don’t care what—”

“Would you go outside, please?” Benjamin says sharply.

She looks at him. The tone doesn’t sound right coming from him, but she knows that she and Erik sound exactly like that more and more these days.

“You’re coming home with me,” she says calmly.

“I’ll come if you go outside first,” he says.

Simone leaves the shop and sees Nicky standing by the dark window, his arms folded over his chest. She goes over to him, tries to look pleasant, and points to his Pokémon cards.

“Everybody likes Pikachu best,” she says.

He nods to himself.

“Although I prefer Mew,” she goes on.

“Mew learns things,” he says carefully.

“Sorry I yelled at you.”

“They can’t do anything about Wailord, nobody can deal with him, he’s the biggest,” he goes on.

“Is he the biggest of all?”

“Yes,” the boy says seriously.

She picks up a card he’s dropped. “Who’s this?”

Benjamin comes out, his eyes shining.

“Arceus,” replies Nicky, placing the card on top of the pack.

“He looks nice,” says Simone.

Nicky beams at her.

“Let’s go,” Benjamin says, his voice muted.

“’Bye then,” says Simone, with a smile.

“Byebyetakecare,” Nicky replies mechanically.

Benjamin walks alongside his mother in silence.

“We’ll take a taxi,” she announces as they approach the underground station. “I’m sick of the underground.”

“Okay,” says Benjamin, turning away.

“Hang on,” she says.

She’s spotted one of the boys who threatened the girl. He’s standing by the barrier in the station, and he seems to be waiting for something. She can feel Benjamin trying to pull her away.

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

“Come on, let’s go, you said we were going to take a taxi.”

“I just need to have a word with him.”

“Mum, just leave it,” begs Benjamin.

His face is pale and anxious and he remains where he is as she resolutely goes over to the boy.

She sticks her hand out and turns the boy to face her. He is only about thirteen years old, but instead of being afraid or surprised, he smiles scornfully at her, as if she’s just fallen into his trap.

“You’re coming with me to the security guard,” she says firmly.

“What did you say, you old cow?”

“I saw you—”

“Shut it!” the boy hisses. “Unless you shut your mouth, we’ll fuck you as a punishment.”

Simone is so stunned she doesn’t know what to say. The boy spits on the ground in front of her, jumps over the barrier, and disappears down the passageway.

Simone is shaken; she goes back outside to Benjamin.

“What did he say?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she says.

They walk to the taxi stand and settle down in the back seat of a cab. As they pull away from the shopping centre, Simone tells him about the call from his school.

“Aida wanted me to be with her when she got her tattoo altered,” says Benjamin quietly.

“That was kind of you.”

They travel in silence.

“Did you call Nicky an idiot?” asks Benjamin.

“I said the wrong thing. I’m the one who’s an idiot.”

“But how could you?”

“I do the wrong thing sometimes, Benjamin,” she says, subdued.

From the Tranberg bridge, Simone looks down at Stora Essingen. The ice has not formed, but the water looks slow and pale.

“It looks as if Dad and I are going to separate,” she says.

“What? But why?”

“It’s not because of you.”

“I asked you why.”

“There’s no real answer,” she begins. “Your dad … it’s hard to explain. Even when you really love someone—and I really love your father—it can all just come to an end.” Her voice falters. “You don’t think that when you first meet, when you have a child … But after a while, if the lies pile up … I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“I don’t want to get involved.”

“Sorry I—”

“Just leave it!” he snaps.

21

tuesday, december 8: afternoon

Although he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep in the car, Erik has made an attempt. But he remains wide awake as they drive toward the cottage where they hope to find Evelyn Ek, despite the fact that Detective Joona Linna has driven very smoothly toward Värmdö.

Now, though, off the main road, loose gravel begins to rattle against the bottom of the chassis as they pass an old sawmill.

Erik peers out the windscreen, waiting while Joona speaks quietly over the police radio with his colleagues, who are also on their way to Värmdö.

“I was thinking,” says Erik, after Joona has replaced the transmitter.

“Yes?”

“I said Josef Ek couldn’t run away from the hospital, but if he could inflict all those knife wounds on himself, maybe we can’t be too sure.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Joona replies, “so I’ve got somebody outside the room.”

“It’s probably completely unnecessary,” says Erik.

“Yes.”

They pull to the side of the road where three cars have stopped next to a telephone pole, one behind the other. Joona momentarily joins four police officers who stand talking in the white light, putting on their bullet-proof vests and pointing at a map. The sunlight flashes on the glass of an old greenhouse nearby.

Joona gets back in the car, carrying the cold air on his clothes. He drums the fingers of one hand pensively on the steering wheel as he waits for the others to return to their cars.