Don't Wake Me

by Martin Krüger

  ‘And that means?’

  ‘Death! It means nothing less than death, Ms Hansen. There was a sanatorium, there were patients. Then there was the incident. That’s all.’ Larsen removed his pipe from his mouth and pointed at the window. The rain was hammering against the glass and Jasmin felt very glad to be inside, although the room was uncomfortably warm. ‘A man from the institution attacked a teenage girl, raped her and killed her. And the islanders took their revenge.’

  ‘Revenge?’ Jasmin shuddered at the word. ‘They turned vigilante and lynched the patients, you mean.’

  ‘Indeed they did. Men from the village – the victim’s father, her brother, her friends. But the interesting thing, Ms Hansen, is that they didn’t care about the consequences. All the collateral damage, all the pain. All those innocent people who had to suffer.’

  ‘What did they do?’ Jasmin asked, though she felt sure she already knew the answer.

  ‘They started a fire. They killed people. The murderer, yes, but many others too.’

  Another flash appeared before her eyes. Jasmin felt her knees grow weak; she tottered on her feet, grasping at the walls for support. A fire, she thought. A fire in an institution.

  ‘What’s the matter, Ms Hansen? Don’t you understand? They killed indiscriminately, heedless of the deaths of innocent victims, simply to have their revenge – and they all knew what they were doing! There never were any teenagers acting on a dare. The islanders set the sanatorium alight and burned it to the ground, along with everyone inside it.’

  ‘But there’s no way they could have kept an act like that secret for all these years.’ Jasmin could hear how hoarse her voice had grown. The heat in this confined room was suddenly unbearable. ‘The police—’

  ‘The police,’ Larsen repeated scornfully, shaking his head. ‘The police looked the other way, like they always did. Like they still do today. That’s why you aren’t going to find your son. Not like this.’

  ‘Excuse me? You can’t possibly mean that.’

  ‘I always mean everything I say. If I don’t mean it, I don’t say it.’ Larsen took a step towards her and for a moment, Jasmin wondered if she’d made a mistake by coming here on her own. For a moment, she was afraid he was about to grab hold of her. ‘You should take care, Ms Hansen. These people aren’t to be trifled with. They’ll do anything to keep their secrets.’

  ‘You mean there’s more?’

  Larsen laughed – a malicious, gloating laugh that bubbled up from the depths of his throat. ‘So much more, Jasmin Hansen. So much more.’

  ‘Seven, not two,’ she said. As she spoke, she took a step towards Larsen, prompting the historian to move backwards in turn. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I think you do.’ Jasmin stared at him, searching for signs that he was lying. ‘I’ve read your book, like I told you. And I know you personally delivered it to the bookshop over in Skårsteinen. I found a note inside it yesterday and I’m sure the handwriting is yours. Seven, not two. What does it mean?’

  Larsen merely laughed, blowing smoke into the air. ‘Was that all you found?’

  A triangle. A paper sculpture of a triangle. She decided to tell him. Larsen walked over to the far wall and took a folder down from an oak dresser that reached almost up to the ceiling. He blew away the dust that had gathered on it.

  ‘A sign like this one here?’ He held a photo up in front of her. ‘This was taken inside the sanatorium. Back before it burned down.’

  Jasmin stared at the picture. It showed a man in white clothing sitting at a table with his back to the photographer, and on the table in front of him lay a handful of origami sculptures that he’d made. Jasmin could scarcely believe her eyes when she saw one of them was a triangle with an opening at one corner. The man had placed it between the other figures – a deer and a swan spreading its wings.

  ‘That symbol – I need to know what it means,’ said Jasmin urgently. She felt droplets of sweat trickling between her shoulder blades. Jesus, why is it so hot in here? And why are you reacting like this? Something doesn’t add up – something about this place is so wrong, so screwed up, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. ‘What about Gabriela Yrsen? Was she there? Was she a patient at the sanatorium? Was that why she barely survived the fire? Why did she never tell anyone what really happened?’

  ‘Yrsen?’ Larsen laughed again. The smoke rising from his pipe drifted silently towards the ceiling. His tobacco smelled like dried herbs and the inside of a whiskey barrel. ‘Tell me, Ms Hansen, doesn’t all this strike you as a little too convenient? A woman with burns on her face? A dead body on the beach? Seven, not two? And you, right in the middle of it all? The old sanatorium, the fire – doesn’t it remind you of anything?’ He gestured to a shelf on the wall that held a bottle of spirits and a few glasses. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  Jasmin stared at him. ‘What – what do you mean? What’s supposed to be convenient about all this? What exactly should it remind me of?’ Once again, a bright flash appeared before her eyes, like a line of fluorescent lights mounted on a bare ceiling, racing over her head. Was this the hospital they’d taken her to after her accident? That smell hanging in the air – it reminded Jasmin of petrol and fire.

  She rubbed her fingers over her palm, and for a hideous moment, it felt as though they were sticking to her skin. She forced herself to keep breathing and brushed her hair away from her face. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she replied, once she’d composed herself slightly. ‘But I’m not going to let anyone pull the wool over my eyes. Either you tell me everything you know right now, or I’ll find it out on my own.’

  ‘Oh, you will, Ms Hansen. I truly hope you will.’ Larsen pointed to the north. ‘The victims were all buried in absolute secrecy. But the graves still exist.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I can’t really explain it to you. But I can show you.’ Larsen rummaged around on his cluttered desk in search of a map of the island and eventually produced one from underneath a pile of thick, leather-bound books. He picked up a biro and drew a circle around the spot on the map. It was in the north, not far from Yrsen’s house.

  ‘And what will I find there?’

  Wordlessly, he pressed the map into her hand – but now that he was close to her, he also leaned forward towards her ear. A shudder ran down Jasmin’s back as she smelled his breath, which stank of alcohol and tobacco.

  ‘You need to be careful,’ Larsen warned her in a barely audible whisper. ‘They’re going to test you. The whole time. This might be your last chance.’

  Jasmin recoiled. Her heart was pounding. ‘I don’t understand—’

  ‘None of this is what you think it is. But I feel confident you’ll pass the test. Oh yes, I’m sure you will.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Jasmin almost screamed. She staggered backwards, bumping into a bookshelf, and a few folders tumbled to the floor. Swastikas gleamed in the flickering light of the fireplace. ‘You’re insane. It’s true, isn’t it? You’re playing with me – you’re taking pleasure in tormenting me.’ She kicked one of the folders across the floor. ‘All this disgusting memorabilia – you make me sick. Fuck you!’

  Through the window, Jasmin saw a car pulling up in front of the house. It was Henriksen’s. What is he doing here? How did he find me?

  ‘Ms Hansen!’ Larsen called after her. ‘You have to stay on the right path, do you hear me?’

  ‘Leave me alone!’

  She ran to the door and hurled it open, nearly colliding with Henriksen. ‘Ms Hansen,’ he said in a quiet, sonorous voice. ‘I thought I might find you here.’

  ‘Oh, how nice!’ she yelled sarcastically. Pushing past him, she sprinted through the driving rain towards her car. Bonnie looked up as she got in and turned the key in the ignition. The engine screeched in protest, the starter howled, yet the car refused to start.

  ‘You fucking piece of shit!’

 
; She stared out into the torrential rain. Then she put Bonnie on the lead and got back out of the car.

  ‘You need to take me with you,’ she yelled at Henriksen. ‘Before we both get washed away!’

  Chapter 6

  ‘How did you find me?’

  Jasmin peered out into the rain as Henriksen drove. Bonnie was curled up on the back seat. If the inspector was annoyed that her dog had left wet pawprints on the upholstery, he didn’t show it.

  ‘It was easy,’ Henriksen answered. ‘I found your book. The one about the history of the island. I’d heard the author lived here on Minsøy so I assumed your next step would be to pay him a visit.’

  ‘You think too much,’ Jasmin retorted, and felt surprised at her own audacity. ‘That isn’t always a good thing. Why did you even bother looking for me?’ She glanced over her shoulder at the road behind them. Nobody was following, but she wanted to be sure. ‘You know, Larsen says the islanders burned down a sanatorium some years ago. An act of revenge. They let innocent people die and hushed everything up. Apparently there’s an old graveyard hidden in the north of the island.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’ Henriksen was concentrating fully on the road, but Jasmin knew he was listening carefully – that not a word escaped him.

  ‘He’s an old Nazi,’ she replied. ‘His house is full of medals and all kinds of German army junk, and I don’t even want to know what he’s got in his cellar.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Henriksen raised an eyebrow, which arched over his high forehead in a fine black line.

  ‘But whoever he is and whatever he’s collecting, I think he was telling the truth. Something happened here and certain people want to cover it up. We should look for the graveyard. And if you don’t want to help me – well, I’ll have to do it on my own. Just like everything else.’

  ‘You’re a strong, independent woman, there’s no doubt about it. But I’ll come with you.’

  Jasmin thought of Jørgen and the panic she’d felt when she’d had to go down into the cellar again, after all that time. How her instincts had told her to grab Paul and Bonnie and flee.

  But that’s not what you did in the end. You stayed and set about shedding light on the darkness. You’re brave enough to get through all this. She took the map out of her coat pocket and showed Henriksen the circle that the old historian had drawn on it. ‘It should be a few hundred yards down this road,’ she said. ‘Then left.’

  Henriksen muttered something she didn’t understand, but he steered the car in the direction she wanted. The noise of the tyres on the asphalt mingled with the drumming of the rain on the roof had a soothing effect on Jasmin. It had an even rhythm that made her feel drowsy. The few hours’ sleep you had on the sofa last night weren’t enough; you feel weary deep in your bones. If you really want to see this through, you need to make sure you stay fit and get enough sleep.

  ‘Did you call him?’ Henriksen asked after a while. ‘Your husband?’

  The words took a while to penetrate the fog in her brain. ‘No. I forgot.’ Jasmin fumbled through her coat pocket for her phone. There were over thirty missed calls. She felt the blood rise to her cheeks. ‘What with all the excitement . . .’

  ‘It’s perfectly understandable.’ Yet the look Henriksen gave her told a different story. It was searching, maybe even distrustful.

  Because he thinks you’re a suspect?

  Just then, her phone rang again. She answered straight away. Jørgen was beside himself with worry, and when she told him about Paul’s disappearance, he fell silent for a long while, as if his pain and fear had rendered him speechless.

  When he finally spoke, his voice sounded old and brittle. ‘Paul? You say he’s . . . ?’

  ‘He’s disappeared.’ At that moment, she despised him for his weakness. ‘You aren’t here, so don’t start making accusations. I couldn’t have done anything to stop it.’

  ‘I’m not accusing you of anything,’ Jørgen replied gently. ‘Jasmin, are you sure he isn’t—’

  ‘Hiding somewhere and treating the whole thing like one big game? Yes, I’m sure. He would never do that, and you know it.’

  Jørgen made a noise that sounded like desperation. ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘I’m going to find him. Along with the people who kidnapped him. The police are here, so I’m not on my own.’

  ‘The police?’ Jørgen’s voice had an undertone of incredulity, but Jasmin ignored it. He didn’t think you were capable of that. He thought you’d bury your face in your hands and hide.

  Like you used to.

  ‘Maybe you should ask him if he wants to join you out here,’ Henriksen interjected. ‘It might be good for your emotional stability.’

  ‘Was that one of the police officers?’

  ‘Hendrik Henriksen,’ Jasmin replied. ‘He’s leading the investigation.’

  ‘You mean . . .’ Another pause. Then: ‘Wait, the investigation? But Paul isn’t—’

  Dear God, no. And you shouldn’t even think about it either.

  ‘That’s not all that’s happened. There are strange things going on out here – mysterious things connected with Paul’s disappearance. Someone is hiding the truth.’

  ‘You mean, Paul was kidnapped because you—’

  ‘Maybe.’ Jasmin looked out into the pouring rain, the rising fog, the tall grass on the side of the road that swayed back and forth in hypnotic waves under the wind. ‘Maybe we should never have come here. But maybe it was also fate. Maybe I had to come to this place to finally put an end to it all. To finally understand—’

  A burst of static came down the line and Jørgen was gone. Jasmin was out of signal range. Henriksen shot her a sharp glance. ‘To finally understand what, Ms Hansen? Is there something you want to tell me?’

  Jasmin shook her head. Her thick, blonde plait bounced from side to side. ‘No. I was going to say that I might finally understand the meaning of that terrible night, but it’s all too crazy. None of it makes any sense.’

  ‘Perhaps you should fill me in on what happened.’ Henriksen turned the car onto the side road and followed it until the satnav told them they’d reached their destination. A birch forest. The wind rustled through the branches and leaves on the trees, making a sound like that of the waves on the shore.

  Everything here sounds like the sea, thought Jasmin. Except for the sea itself, which sounds like icy chill. Like death.

  ‘Fill you in?’ The words tasted like bitter medicine on her lips. But of course Henriksen assumed she was talking about Paul’s abduction when she spoke of ‘that terrible night’. He didn’t know anything about her past. ‘There’s nothing I haven’t told you already.’

  ‘Nothing, Ms Hansen? Are you sure?’

  She looked away as she replied. ‘Yes. I’m sure.’

  Chapter 7

  They got out of the car. Jasmin put the dog on the lead and Bonnie sniffed inquisitively at the grass and undergrowth as if nothing had happened. Henriksen opened a large umbrella that offered them some protection from the rain and the droplets rattled on the dark fabric in an even, clockwork staccato.

  A weathered wooden sign with a scarcely decipherable inscription stood forlornly on the side of the path, overgrown with dense, spiky vegetation. ‘Are we in the right place?’ Jasmin asked. Her words were drowned out by the rain and it felt like the day was growing colder with every step she took, as the water seeped through to her skin in spite of her winter coat and Henriksen’s umbrella.

  Jasmin sneezed. Bonnie looked up at her and wagged her tail before turning back to the grass, where she’d found an enticing trail that led deeper into the undergrowth. ‘This must be the place, assuming Larsen wasn’t talking rubbish,’ said Jasmin in an effort to pluck up her courage. ‘It must be here somewhere.’ She tried to keep walking but Bonnie was tugging at the lead again.

  ‘I think she’s picked up a scent,’ Jasmin explained. ‘Maybe someone else was here recently. She wouldn’t be acting like this otherwise.�
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  ‘Someone else was here? Bonnie can smell that in this weather?’

  ‘Maybe they knew I’d be coming here. Maybe they’re watching my movements. And yes, she can.’

  Henriksen glanced at her briefly and a grin played over his lips. ‘Why do you think they would be watching you so soon after the abduction? Given how recently it happened, wouldn’t it make more sense for the kidnapper to lie low and wait until it’s safe to break cover again? And then make contact with you afterwards – perhaps to demand a ransom?’

  ‘Perhaps. I don’t know what goes on inside the minds of people like that.’ Jasmin pushed aside a low-hanging branch from which raindrops hung like tiny crystals. The autumn leaves covering the ground had dissolved into a damp, slippery mass that smelled of mould and putrefaction, of tree sap and the sea. ‘The graveyard must be here. Larsen might be crazy, but he wasn’t wrong about—’

  Jasmin fell silent.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Henriksen produced a small torch and shone it into the undergrowth. He looked around helplessly, as if he regretted getting out of the car in this weather. ‘You’ve spotted something, haven’t you?’

  Jasmin scratched at the path with her shoe. Here, under their feet, the ground wasn’t a wet, muddy mixture of soil and leaves. They were standing on something firmer.

  A stone slab, which Jasmin now unearthed.

  ‘Look here. Granite. This footpath is laid out with paving stones.’ Jasmin took a step forwards and pushed more soil and foliage to one side. ‘They lead this way – there are more slabs over here.’

  ‘So there are.’

  Jasmin quickened her pace. The stones ran in a straight line, and they could still make out traces of human activity here and there where people had hacked back the trees and the vegetation in an effort to keep nature in check. That must have been many years ago now, however, as the forest had reached out to reclaim this spot once more.

  Henriksen pulled Jasmin to a halt and pointed up the path. Here, beneath the branches of the birches and pines and beech trees, the rain was lighter. Bonnie looked up at them, as if to ask why they’d stopped.