The Sandman

by Kepler, Lars

  ‘To make you less exposed,’ Pollock replies.

  ‘We imagined that Jurek Walter would get suspicious if a new patient suddenly appeared after so many years,’ Carlos explains. ‘But if a patient from the secure unit at Säter shows up first … followed a day or so later by one from Karsudden, with a bit of luck you won’t attract quite as much scrutiny.’

  ‘You’re being moved because you’re dangerous and liable to try to escape … and the other patient has himself requested a transfer,’ Pollock says.

  ‘Time to let Saga go now,’ Verner says.

  ‘Tomorrow night you’ll be sleeping in Karsudden Hospital,’ Pollock says.

  ‘You’ll have to tell your family you’re on a secret mission abroad,’ Verner begins. ‘You’ll need someone to look after bills, pets, houseplants—’

  ‘I’ll sort it out,’ she interrupts.

  Joona picks up her parka from where she dropped it on the floor and holds it up for her to put on.

  ‘Do you remember the rules?’ he asks quietly.

  ‘Say little, talk in short sentences, mean what I say and stick to the truth.’

  ‘I’ve got one more rule,’ Joona says. ‘It probably varies from person to person, but Samuel said you should avoid talking about your parents.’

  She shrugs her shoulders.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I don’t know why he thought that was so important.’

  ‘It seems wise to listen to Samuel’s advice,’ Verner agrees quietly.

  ‘Yes, I’d say so.’

  Carlos puts two sandwiches in a bag and gives them to Saga.

  ‘I ought to remind you than in there you’ll be a patient, nothing more … you won’t have access to any police information or rights,’ he says seriously.

  Saga looks him in the eye:

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It’s important that you understand that if we’re to be able to protect you afterwards,’ Verner says.

  ‘I’m going to go home and get some rest,’ Saga says quietly, and walks towards the hall.

  As she’s sitting on a stool tying her boots, Joona comes out to her. He squats down beside her.

  ‘It’ll soon be too late to change your mind,’ he whispers.

  ‘I want to do this, Joona.’ She smiles, meeting his gaze.

  ‘I know,’ Joona says. ‘It’ll be fine, as long as you don’t forget how dangerous Jurek is. He affects people, changes them, rips their souls out like—’

  ‘I’m not going to let Jurek get into my head,’ she says confidently, then stands up and begins to fasten her coat.

  ‘He’s like—’

  ‘I’m a big girl,’ she interrupts.

  ‘I know.’

  Joona holds the door open for her and goes out onto the landing with her. He hesitates and she leans against the wall.

  ‘What is it you want to say?’ she asks gently.

  A few seconds of silence follow. The lift is standing motionless on their floor. A car races past outside, sirens blaring.

  ‘Jurek will do anything he can to escape,’ Joona says in his sombre voice. ‘You mustn’t let that happen. You’re like a sister to me, Saga, but it would be better that you died than he got out.’

  68

  Anders Rönn is sitting at the big conference table, waiting. It’s already half past five. The pale, impersonal room is full of the usual members of the hospital committee, two representatives from general psychiatry, Senior Consultant Roland Brolin and head of security, Sven Hoffman.

  The hospital manager, Rikard Nagler, is still talking on the phone as he is given a glass of iced tea by his secretary.

  Snow is falling slowly from the low sky.

  All conversation in the room ceases as the hospital manager puts his empty glass down on the table, wipes his mouth and opens the meeting.

  ‘It’s good that you could all come,’ he says. ‘I had a call from the Prison Service Committee an hour ago.’

  Silence falls as people sit and wait for him to go on.

  ‘They’ve decided that the secure unit is going to have to admit two new patients at short notice,’ he continues. ‘Obviously we’ve been very spoiled, with just one patient … and an old, quiet one at that.’

  ‘Because he’s biding his time,’ Brolin says gravely.

  ‘I called this meeting to hear your opinions about what this means in terms of security and the general medical situation,’ the manager goes on without taking any notice of Brolin’s comment.

  ‘What sort of patients are they thinking of sending?’ Anders asks.

  ‘Naturally they’re both high risk,’ the manager replies. ‘One is in the secure unit at Säter, and the other is in the psychiatric unit at Karsudden after—’

  ‘It’s not going to work,’ Brolin says.

  ‘Our secure unit was actually built to house three patients,’ the hospital manager says patiently. ‘Times have changed, we can’t—’

  ‘Yes, but Jurek is …’

  Brolin falls silent.

  ‘What were you going to say?’

  ‘It’s impossible for us to handle any more patients,’ Brolin says.

  ‘Even though we have a direct obligation to accept them.’

  ‘Find some excuse.’

  The manager laughs wearily and shakes his head.

  ‘You’ve always seen him as a monster, but he—’

  ‘I’m not scared of monsters,’ Brolin interrupts. ‘But I’m smart enough to be scared of Jurek Walter.’

  The manager smiles at Brolin and then whispers something to his secretary.

  ‘I’m still fairly new here,’ Anders says. ‘But has Jurek Walter ever caused any direct problems?’

  ‘He made Susanne Hjälm disappear,’ Brolin replies.

  Silence descends on the room. One of the doctors from general psychiatry takes his glasses off, then puts them back on at once.

  ‘I was told that she was on leave of absence … for a research project, I think it was?’ Anders says slowly.

  ‘We’re calling it a leave of absence,’ Brolin says.

  ‘I’d very much like to hear what happened,’ Anders says, feeling a vague anxiety growing inside him.

  ‘Susanne smuggled out a letter from Jurek Walter, but regretted it,’ Brolin explains, with his eyes closed. ‘She called me and told me everything. She was completely, I don’t know … she was just crying and promising that she’d burned the letter … And I believe that she had, because she was frightened, and kept saying she wasn’t going to go in to see Jurek again.’

  ‘She’s taken leave of absence,’ the hospital manager says, shuffling his papers.

  A few people laugh, while others look troubled. Sven Hoffman, head of security, projects an image of the secure unit on the white screen.

  ‘In terms of security, we have no problem accepting more patients,’ he says sternly. ‘But we’ll maintain a higher level of alert to start with.’

  ‘Jurek Walter mustn’t meet other people,’ Brolin persists.

  ‘Well, he’s going to have to now … You’ll just need to ensure that security isn’t compromised,’ the manager says, looking at the others.

  ‘It won’t work … and I want it in the minutes that I’m abdicating responsibility for the secure unit. It will have to come under the umbrella of general psychiatry, or become a separate—’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re exaggerating now?’

  ‘This is exactly what Jurek Walter has been waiting all these years for,’ Brolin says, his voice breathless with agitation.

  He gets up and leaves the room without another word. Shadows of falling snowflakes drift slowly down the wall holding the whiteboard.

  ‘I’m sure I could take care of three patients, regardless of their diagnoses,’ Anders says calmly, leaning back in his chair.

  The others look at him in surprise, and the hospital manager puts his pen down and smiles amiably.

  ‘I don’t actually understand the problem,’ he continues
, glancing at the door through which Brolin disappeared.

  ‘Go on,’ the manager nods.

  ‘It’s merely a matter of medication,’ Anders says.

  ‘We can’t just keep them sedated,’ Hoffman laughs.

  ‘Of course we can, if it’s absolutely necessary,’ Anders says with a boyish smile. ‘Take St Sigfrid’s, for instance … we were so stretched that there wasn’t the capacity to deal with lots of incidents.’

  He sees the intent look on the hospital manager’s face, raises his eyebrows and throws out his hands, then says lightly:

  ‘We know that heavy medication is perhaps … uncomfortable for the patient, but if I was responsible for the secure unit, I wouldn’t want to take any risks.’

  69

  Agnes is sitting on the floor in her blue pyjamas with bees on. She’s clutching her little white hairbrush and feeling each bristle with her fingertip, one by one, as if she were counting them. Anders is sitting on the floor in front of her, holding her Barbie doll and waiting.

  ‘Brush the doll’s hair,’ he says.

  Agnes doesn’t look up at him, she just goes on picking at each individual bristle, one row after the other, slowly and intently.

  He knows she doesn’t play spontaneously like other children, but she plays in her own way. She has trouble understanding what other people see and think. She’s never given her Barbie dolls personalities, she just tests their mechanics, bending their arms and legs and twisting their heads round.

  But he has learned from courses organised by the Autism and Asperger Association that she can be trained to play if the games are divided up sequentially.

  ‘Agnes? Brush the doll’s hair,’ he repeats.

  She stops fiddling with the brush, holds it out and pulls it through the doll’s blonde hair, then repeats the movement twice more.

  ‘She looks lovely now,’ Anders says.

  Agnes starts picking at the brush again.

  ‘Have you seen how lovely she looks?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes,’ she says, without looking.

  Anders gets out a Sindy doll and before he even has time to say anything Agnes reaches forward and brushes its hair with a smile.

  When Agnes is asleep three hours later Anders settles down on the sofa in front of the television and watches Sex and the City. In front of the house heavy snowflakes are falling through the yellow glow of the outside lights. Petra’s at a staff party. Victoria picked her up at five o’clock. She said she wasn’t going to be late, but it’s almost eleven now.

  Anders drinks a sip of cold tea and sends Petra a text to tell her about Agnes brushing her dolls’ hair.

  He’s tired, but he’d like to tell her about the meeting at the hospital, and how he’s assumed responsibility for the secure unit and has a guarantee of permanent work.

  In the advert break Anders goes to turn out the light in Agnes’s room. The nightlight is shaped like a life-size hare. It gives off a lovely pink light, casting a soft glow on the sheets and Agnes’s relaxed face.

  The floor is littered with pieces of Lego, dolls, dolls’ furniture, plastic food, pens, princess’s tiaras and a whole porcelain tea set.

  Anders can’t understand how it’s got into such a mess.

  He has to shuffle forward so as not to stand on anything. The toys rattle slightly as they slide about the wooden floor. As he’s reaching for the light switch he imagines he can see a knife on the floor beside the bed.

  The big Barbie house is in the way, but he can make out the glint of steel through the little doorway.

  Anders tiptoes closer, leans over and his heart starts to beat faster when he sees that the knife looks like the one he found in the secure cell.

  He can’t understand it, he gave the knife to Brolin.

  Agnes begins to whimper anxiously and whisper in her sleep.

  Anders crawls over the floor and sticks his hand through the ground floor of the dolls’ house, opens the little door wide and reaches for the knife.

  The floor creaks and Agnes is coughing slightly as she breathes.

  Something is glinting in the darkness under the bed. It could be the shiny eyes of a teddy bear. It’s difficult to tell through the tiny leaded windows of the dolls’ house.

  ‘Ow,’ Agnes whispers in her sleep. ‘Ow, ow …’

  Anders has just managed to touch the knife with his fingertips when he sees the twinkling eyes of a wrinkled face under the bed.

  It’s Jurek Walter – and he moves fast as lightning, grabbing his hand and pulling.

  Anders wakes up as he snatches his hand back. He’s gasping as he realises he’s fallen asleep on the sofa in front of the television. He switches it off, and sits there with his heart pounding.

  Car headlights shine in through the window. A taxi turns round and disappears. Then the front door opens carefully.

  It’s Petra.

  He hears her go to the bathroom and pee, then take her make-up off. He walks slowly closer, towards the light of the bathroom spilling into the corridor.

  70

  Anders stands in the dark watching Petra in the mirror above the basin. She brushes her teeth, spits, cups her hand to lift some water to her mouth, then spits again.

  When she sees him she looks scared for a few seconds.

  ‘Are you awake?’

  ‘I was waiting for you,’ Anders said in a strange voice.

  ‘That’s sweet of you.’

  She turns the light out and he follows her into the bedroom. She sits down on the edge of the bed and rubs cream into her hands and elbows.

  ‘Did you have a good time?’

  ‘It was OK … Lena’s got a new job.’

  Anders grabs her left hand and holds her tightly by the wrist. She looks into his eyes.

  ‘You know we’ve got to be up early tomorrow.’

  ‘Shut up,’ he says.

  She tries to pull free, but he grabs her other hand and pushes her down onto the bed.

  ‘Ow—’

  ‘Just shut up!’

  He forces one knee between her thighs and she tries to twist aside, then lies there quite still and looks at him.

  ‘I mean it: red light … I have to get some sleep,’ she says gently.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

  She looks at him for a moment, then nods.

  ‘Lock the door.’

  He gets off the bed, listens out for any sounds from the corridor, but the house is quiet, so he shuts and locks the door. Petra has taken off her nightdress and is opening the box. With a smile she gets out the soft rope and the carrier bag with the whip, the vibrator and the big dildo, but he pushes her onto the bed.

  She tells him to stop, but he roughly pulls off her underwear, leaving red marks on her hips.

  ‘Anders, I—’

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ he interrupts.

  ‘Sorry …’

  She doesn’t resist as he ties her tightly, a bit too tightly. It’s possible that the drink has made her less sensitive than usual. He ties the rope round one of the bedposts, and forces her thighs apart.

  ‘Ow,’ she whimpers.

  He fetches the blindfold and she shakes her head as he pulls it down over her face. She tries to pull loose, tugging at the ropes so hard that her heavy breasts swing.

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispers.

  It’s four o’clock by the time they finish and he loosens the ropes. Petra is silent, her body trembling as she massages her sore wrists. Her hair is sweaty, her cheeks streaked with tears, and the blindfold has slipped down round her neck. He had stuffed the remnants of her underwear in her mouth when she wanted to stop, didn’t want to go on.

  71

  Saga abandons any attempt to sleep at five o’clock. Ninety minutes left. Then they’re coming to get her. Her body feels heavy as she pulls on her jogging outfit and leaves the flat.

  She jogs a couple of blocks, then speeds up down towards Söder Mälarstrand.

  There’s no traffic this
early.

  She runs along the silent streets. The fresh snow is so airy she can barely feel it under her feet.

  She knows she can still change her mind, but today’s the day she’s going to give up her freedom.

  Södermalm is asleep. The sky is black above the glow of the streetlamps.

  Saga runs quickly, thinking about the fact that she hasn’t been given an assumed identity, that she’s being admitted under her name and doesn’t have to remember anything but her medication. Intramuscular injections of Risperdal, she repeats silently to herself. Oxascand for the side effects, Stesolid and Heminevrin.

  Pollock had explained that it didn’t matter what her diagnosis was: ‘You still know exactly what medication you’re on,’ he said. ‘It’s a matter of life or death; the medication is what helps you survive.’

  An empty bus swings into the deserted, well-lit terminal for the Finland ferries.

  ‘Trilafon, eight milligrams three times a day,’ she whispers as she runs. ‘Cipramil thirty milligrams, Seroxat twenty milligrams …’

  Just before she reaches the Photography Museum, Saga changes direction and carries on up the steep steps leading away from Stadsgårdsleden. She stops at the highest point of Katarinavägen and looks out across Stockholm as she goes through Joona’s rules once more.

  I have to keep to myself, say little, and only in short sentences. I have to mean what I say and only tell the truth.

  That’s all, she thinks, and keeps on running towards Hornsgatan.

  Over the last kilometre she speeds up again and tries to sprint the last stretch along Tavastgatan to her building.

  Saga runs up the stairs, kicks her shoes off on the hall mat and goes straight into the bathroom for a shower.

  It feels strange to be able to dry herself so quickly afterwards without all that long hair. All she has to do is rub a towel over her head.

  She pulls on the most basic underwear she owns. A white sport bra and a pair of pants she only wears when she’s got her period. A pair of jeans, a black T-shirt and a washed-out tracksuit top.

  She doesn’t usually feel worried, but all of a sudden she has butterflies in her stomach.