Authors: Johan Theorin
The Asylum (21 page)
Jan had stood there gazing at his former schoolmate for a minute or so; once upon a time he had been terrified of Christer. Then he had gone on his way, feeling neither joy nor sorrow.
When he reaches the main square he goes into Fridman’s ironmongery, as he has done a couple of times in the past. Torgny Fridman, the owner’s son, has taken over, and this Saturday afternoon Torgny himself is standing behind the counter. He is a slim man of about thirty, with short, pale-red hair.
Jan goes towards the back of the shop to look at axes. He has no wood to chop, but still he picks up several different types of axe, weighing them in his hands and swinging them experimentally through the air.
At the same time he keeps glancing over at the till. Torgny Fridman has acquired a dark-red beard. He is standing behind the counter chatting to his customers, a family with children. He doesn’t look in Jan’s direction. Fifteen years have gone by, and Torgny seems to have forgotten him. Why should he remember? It is only Jan who remembers.
He picks up the biggest axe, which is almost a metre in length.
The bell on the shop door pings.
‘Daddy!’ A little boy in a white jumper and jeans which are too big comes racing in, hurtling towards the counter. Behind him is a woman, smiling broadly.
Torgny greets the boy with outstretched arms, picks him up and whirls him around. For a moment he is just a father delighted to see his son, not an ironmonger.
Jan stares at them for a few seconds. The axe is heavy, heavy and perfectly balanced.
Raise it above your head, higher, higher …
He puts it down and leaves the shop without saying hello. He and Torgny were never friends, and they never will be.
The last stop on Jan’s tour is Lynx.
The nursery where he worked as a twenty-year-old lies a couple of kilometres from the town centre. He wonders if he really wants to go there, but in the end he does.
The place is all closed up; it is Saturday, after all. He stops by the main door and looks at the wooden building; not much has changed. It is still coated with a brown oil-based paint, but it seems smaller than when he was last here. The painted lynx that used to be on the door has gone; maybe the name has been changed to something gentler now, like Wood Anemone or Mountain Hare. Or the Dell, perhaps.
So this is where he worked, all those years ago. In many ways he was still a lost child when he was at Lynx, even if he didn’t realize
it
at the time. He wonders if anyone from those days is still here. Nina, the supervisor? Sigrid Jansson definitely isn’t – she left at approximately the same time as him.
She was broken by that stage. During their last few weeks at the nursery they had avoided one another when they were out in the playground at the same time; there was a strange atmosphere every time Sigrid looked at him. Perhaps it was just a lingering sorrow over everything that had happened, but to him her silence seemed cold and dismissive, or possibly even full of mistrust.
He had often wondered if Sigrid suspected anything, if she had worked out how Jan had made his preparations on the day William disappeared.
Finally, before he goes back to his mother’s house, Jan wanders down to the Nordbro pond. It lies below his family home like an almost circular cauldron, and Jan knows the black water well. At night it looks like dark blood.
Fifteen years earlier he was on his way to the bottom of that pond, on his way down through whirling bubbles to the final great coldness – until a neighbour jumped in and pulled him out at the very last moment.
The Unit
When Jan’s parents came to visit him in the Unit, the words
attempted suicide
hovered between them like a black cloud, but they were never mentioned.
It was hardly possible to make any sort of conversation at all. Jan lay beneath the covers, staring at his parents in silence. He suddenly noticed that his brother wasn’t with them.
‘Where’s Magnus?’
‘At a friend’s,’ his mother said, adding hastily, ‘He … he doesn’t know anything.’
‘
Nobody
knows about this,’ said his father.
Jan nodded. Eventually his mother went on, keeping her voice low: ‘We’ve spoken to your doctor, Jan.’
His father scowled. ‘He wasn’t a doctor, he was a
psychologist
.’
His father didn’t like psychologists. At the dinner table the previous year he had talked about a colleague at work who was seeing a therapist, and had called it ‘tragic’.
His mother chimed in, ‘That’s right, he’s a psychologist. Anyway, he said you’d be in here for a few weeks. Maybe four, or maybe a little bit longer. Is that OK, Jan?’
‘Mm.’
The room fell silent again. Jan suddenly noticed there were tears running down his mother’s cheeks. She quickly wiped them away, just as his father asked, ‘Have they spoken to you yet, the psychologists?’
Jan shook his head.
‘You don’t have to speak to them, you know,’ said his father. ‘You don’t have to answer any questions, or tell them anything.’
‘I know.’
When had he last seen his mother cry? Probably at his grandmother’s funeral the previous year. The atmosphere in this room was very similar to the atmosphere in the chapel, when they were all sitting there staring at the coffin.
His mother blew her nose and attempted to smile. ‘Have you got to know anyone in here?’
Jan shook his head again. He didn’t want to get to know anyone, he just wanted to be left in peace.
His mother didn’t say much after that. She didn’t cry any more, but she sighed wearily a few times.
His father didn’t say another word; he just sat there in his grey suit, rocking back and forth on his chair as if he wanted to get up. From time to time he looked at his watch. Jan knew he had a lot of work, and wanted to get home. When he looked at his son, his expression was irritated and impatient.
That look made Jan nervous, it made him want to get out of bed and forget everything that had happened, just go home and be
normal
.
His mother suddenly raised her head. ‘Who’s that playing?’
Jan listened too, and heard the sound of soft guitar music coming from the room next door. He knew who was playing. ‘It’s my neighbour … Some girl.’
‘There are girls in here too?’
Jan nodded. ‘It’s mostly girls, I think.’
His father looked at his watch again and got up. ‘Shall we make a move, then?’
Jan looked at his mother. ‘You go … I’ll be fine.’
His mother stood up too. She reached out to touch his cheek, but her hand didn’t quite get there. ‘Yes, I suppose we’d better go,’ she said. ‘We haven’t got long left on our parking ticket.’
Nobody said anything else until his mother turned back in the
doorway.
‘I nearly forgot … Somebody rang you yesterday, Jan. A friend of yours.’
‘A friend?’
‘He wanted to know how you were … I gave him the number of this place.’
Jan just nodded. A friend? He couldn’t think of a single friend who might have phoned. Someone from his class? Presumably.
When his parents had left he felt as if he could breathe again. He sat up and slowly climbed out of bed. He went over to the desk and looked out of the window. There was a wide grassy area out there, wet after the winter – and beyond it a high fence with barbed wire along the top. He looked at it for a long time.
The Unit was no ordinary hospital, Jan realized.
He was a prisoner here.
30
JAN IS BACK
in Valla. He has cleaned his flat: he is expecting a visit from Hanna.
It was his idea to meet up this evening; when he went back to work at the Dell after his long weekend off, Hanna was also on duty, and when the staffroom was empty he stuck a note in her jacket pocket, with his address and a question: COFFEE AT MINE, 8 O’CLOCK? JAN H.
He didn’t get an answer from her before he left, but bought bread on the way home anyway. She has to come – they have shared interests.
Shared secrets
.
And Hanna rings his doorbell fairly punctually, at five past eight. She doesn’t say much as she walks in, but Jan is pleased. ‘I’m glad you came.’
‘Thanks.’
Jan tries to relax; he leads her into the kitchen, makes tea and offers sandwiches. Then he makes small-talk about work, but eventually they get to the subject he really wants to discuss: St Patricia’s. ‘The women up there … Are they separated from the men?’
Hanna looks at him, her expression blank as usual. The air in Jan’s kitchen suddenly feels thick and heavy, but it is still better to ask Hanna about the hospital than Lars Rettig. ‘Yes,’ she says eventually, ‘there are a couple of women’s wards … One secure and one open.’
‘Are they close together?’
‘Not exactly next door, but I think they’re on the same floor.’
‘And which floor is that?’
‘The third, I think. Or the fourth … I’ve never been in there.’
Jan tries to come up with more questions, but suddenly Hanna has something to say: ‘Tell me who it is, Jan.’
‘Who what is?’
‘The person in the hospital that you’re in love with … What’s her name?’
She is staring at him, but Jan refuses to meet her gaze.
‘It’s different,’ he says.
‘What do you mean, different?’
‘Different from you and Ivan Rössel.’
Hanna slams down her teacup. Her blue eyes are cold. ‘What do
you
know about how things are between us? You don’t know anything, you don’t know why I got in touch with him … How can you make a judgement?’
Jan looks down at the table. The atmosphere is suddenly icy. But he was right – it
is
Rössel she has met up with in the visitors’ room.
‘I’m just guessing,’ he says. ‘But you do like him, don’t you?’
Hanna is still staring at him. ‘You have to see the person beyond the crime,’ she says eventually. ‘Most people can’t do that.’
‘If you’re sneaking in to see Rössel, surely you must like him?’ Jan says. ‘Even though he’s done … bad things?’
It takes a while before she answers. ‘I don’t see him,’ she says. ‘The contact is through one of the guards. Ivan is working on a project to make the time pass more quickly in there … and I’m helping him.’
‘With what? What’s he doing?’
‘It’s a writing project. He’s working on a manuscript.’
‘A book?’
‘Kind of.’
‘What, like the memoirs of a murderer?’
Hanna’s mouth tightens. ‘He’s a suspect. He’s never confessed.’ She sighs. ‘He says his book will explain everything … People will realize that he hasn’t done anything.’
‘And he believes that?’
‘Yes, he does.’ Hanna’s voice is more animated now. ‘Ivan feels
really terrible
about how things have turned out; there’s a much greater risk that he’ll take his own life rather than anyone else’s. Right now it’s only my letters that are keeping him going …’
She stops, and Jan doesn’t know what to say. The intense look in Hanna’s eyes makes him uneasy; he doesn’t really want to talk about Rössel any more.
Neither does Hanna, apparently. ‘I have to go soon.’ She looks at her watch, then at Jan. ‘So are you going to tell me now?’
‘Tell you what?’
‘Her name … the woman you’re seeing up there?’
Jan lowers his gaze. ‘I haven’t seen her yet.’
‘So what’s her name, then?’
Jan hesitates. He has two names to choose from – Rami or Blanker – but he decides on the least well known. ‘Wait a minute,’ he says. ‘I’m just going to fetch something.’
He goes into the living room and comes back with the picture books:
The Princess with a Hundred Hands, The Animal Lady, The Witch Who Was Poorly
and
Viveca’s House of Stone
. He puts them down in front of Hanna. ‘Have you seen these before?’
Hanna shakes her head.
‘They were up at the pre-school. They’re handmade … so this is probably the only copy of each one that exists. And somebody must have put them in the book box.’
‘Marie-Louise usually puts books in there,’ says Hanna.
‘Not these … I think one of the children was given them by their parent up in the visitors’ room.’
Hanna leafs through the books, then looks up at Jan. ‘Who wrote them?’
‘She calls herself Maria Blanker,’ he says. ‘She’s Josefine’s mother … I’m almost sure of it.’
‘Blanker … So she’s the one you want to meet at the hospital?’
‘Yes … Do you know who she is?’
‘I’ve heard a few things about her,’ Hanna says quietly.
‘From Rössel?’
She shakes her head. ‘From Carl … my contact.’
Jan recognizes the name, of course. The drummer from the Bohemos.
Hanna is still looking at the books. ‘Can I borrow them?’
Jan hesitates. ‘OK,’ he says eventually. ‘Just for a few days.’
She gathers up the books and gets to her feet; it’s time to go home.
But Jan has one last question: ‘Is Maria Blanker on the secure ward or the open ward?’
‘I don’t know where she is, I’ve never been inside,’ says Hanna, before adding, ‘But I should think she ought to be on the secure ward.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Blanker is psychotic. She’s completely out of it. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.’
‘Do you know what she’s done?’
‘She’s dangerous.’
‘Is she a danger to herself?’ Jan asks. ‘Or to others?’
Hanna shakes her head. ‘I don’t know. So you’re going to have to go in and ask her.’
Jan smiles at the joke, but Hanna isn’t smiling. ‘I’m serious,’ she says. ‘There’s always a way in, if you’re willing to take it.’
‘But everything is locked at St Patricia’s.’
‘One way is open.’
‘And you know about this?’
She nods. ‘I know where it is, but it isn’t that easy to get through … Do you suffer from claustrophobia, Jan?’
Lynx
Being locked in wasn’t all that bad, surely – not if you had plenty of food and drink, and you were warm enough? And a talking robot to keep you company?
Jan convinced himself that this was true, over and over again, whenever he thought about William inside the bunker.
In fact, being locked up behind thick concrete walls could make you feel really safe and secure.
It was half past eight in the evening, and the police had called off the search for William half an hour ago. They had continued after darkness had fallen, using torches, but it had all been very badly organized, in Jan’s opinion. And they found nothing. William had vanished without a trace; he could have stepped off the edge of the world.
Or at least disappeared from solid ground. The police had spent the last hour searching the long shore of the lake, and Jan realized they were afraid that the five-year-old had fallen in the water.
Lynx had become an assembly point for the search parties. But they were all tired now, and many of those who had been out looking for the boy were on their way home. When daylight came on Thursday morning, the search would resume, with increased manpower.
Jan had walked back to Lynx with an older police officer, who had puffed and panted his way through the forest. ‘Bloody hell …
I
hate this kind of thing. Let’s hope he makes it through the night, but there’s not much chance of that.’
‘Well, it’s quite mild at the moment,’ said Jan. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.’
But the officer didn’t appear to be listening. ‘Bloody hell,’ he repeated. ‘I remember once a kid was found dead on a forest track … He’d been hit by somebody’s car, then they’d hidden him in the forest, like a sack of rubbish.’ He looked at Jan with weary eyes. ‘You never forget something like that.’
When Jan got back to the staffroom he suddenly heard a dull throbbing noise in the distance, a noise which quickly grew to a deafening racket above the nursery.
He looked over at Nina Gundotter, the nursery supervisor. She was waiting by the telephone as if she thought William might ring up sooner or later to tell them where he was.
‘Is that a helicopter?’ he asked.
Nina explained, ‘The police requested it. They couldn’t get hold of any dogs, but they’re going to fly over the forest now using thermal-imaging cameras.’
Jan nodded. He went over to the window to look at the thermometer; it was showing nine degrees. An autumn temperature – it wasn’t bitterly cold out there, but it wasn’t warm either. Unfortunately the wind had got up, but of course Jan knew that William was sheltered from the wind.
He had been standing fairly close to Nina when she had approached one of the police officers to ask about their strategy, but the response had been evasive.
‘We’ll search the lake, of course, but that won’t happen until tomorrow, when it’s light,’ the officer had said, speaking very quietly.
All but two of the staff had returned to the nursery this evening. White candles had been placed on the tables and in the windows, which gave the whole place a church-like atmosphere.
After fifteen or twenty minutes the sound of the helicopter died away. Jan turned to his boss. ‘I think I need to go home and try to
get
some sleep. I’ll come back first thing; it’s my day off, but I’ll come in anyway.’
Nina nodded. ‘I’m going shortly myself,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing more we can do tonight.’
Since arriving at the nursery Nina had not uttered one word of criticism to Jan. On the contrary, she appeared to support him completely, blaming the whole thing on Sigrid, who had a different supervisor over at Brown Bear: ‘She should have
checked
.’
Jan shook his head. The last time he’d seen Sigrid she had been lying on the sofa in the Brown Bear staffroom; she had been given some kind of sedative when they got back from the forest.
‘Neither of us was really on top of things today,’ he said, pulling on his jacket. ‘It was pretty chaotic up there … We had too many children with us.’
Nina sighed. She looked over at the dark windows, then at the telephone. ‘I think someone else has found him in the forest,’ she said. ‘Someone who has taken him home with them … I’m sure William is fast asleep in a warm bed somewhere, and the police will get a phone call first thing in the morning.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Jan, buttoning his jacket. ‘See you in the morning.’ With a final nod to Nina, he left the nursery.
It felt colder than nine degrees when he got outside, but that was probably just his imagination. It wasn’t winter yet, far from it. A warmly dressed person just
couldn’t
freeze to death, even if he was lying out in the open. Sheltered from the wind, behind a concrete wall, for example, he would be fine for several days.
Jan set off. As he passed the brightly lit windows of Brown Bear he caught a glimpse of the staff keeping vigil inside, along with William’s parents. Jan could see the mother slumped in a chair, a cup of coffee in front of her. She looked terrible.
Jan wanted to stop and stare for a while, but he kept on going.
At the edge of the forest he stood and listened; he could hear nothing but the wind soughing in the trees. The sound of the helicopter had completely disappeared by now. It might come back later with its thermal-imaging camera, but that was a risk he would have to take.
Jan looked around one last time, then stepped over the little ditch by the side of the road and headed off among the trees. He powered up the slope.
William had been alone and locked inside the bunker for over four hours now. But he had warm blankets, food and drink, and toys; he’d be fine. And soon Jan would be there with him.