Stalker

112

Rocky has entered such a deep trance that his heart rate is lower than during deep sleep, his breathing is like that of a hibernating animal, but at the same time parts of the brain can be activated to a state of extreme focus.

It’s very nearly time to make him turn his attention to the preacher, and try to explain what he’s seen, try to dig out the crystal-clear memories that are lying preserved, right next to dreams and deliriums.

Rocky’s head is lolling forward and his dirty hair is scattered with pine needles after the hike through the forest.

‘Four, three, two, one, and now you open your eyes and remember exactly where you first met the unclean preacher…’

Through the streaming brown water Erik sees Rocky shake his head, but in reality he is sitting on the chair with his eyes open and trying to moisten his lips with his tongue.

His stomach is moving in time with his slow breathing, his chin lifts and his eyes stare straight through time and matter.

Erik thinks that he needs to repeat his words and include a subtle command to get him to start talking.

‘As soon as you feel ready, you can… tell me what you see.’

Rocky licks his cracked lips.

‘The grass is white… crunching underfoot,’ he says slowly. ‘A black veil flutters from the top of the staff… and small snowflakes are drifting to the ground…’

He starts muttering something Erik can’t make out.

‘Listen to my voice and tell me what you remember,’ he reminds him.

Rocky’s forehead is wet with sweat, he stretches out one leg and the chair creaks under his weight.

‘The light is the colour of chalk,’ he says quietly. ‘Falling through the windows in the deep alcoves… Against a gold-leaf ceiling hangs the defeated saviour… together with the other criminals.’

‘You’re inside a church now?’

Deep down in the fast-flowing, dirty water, Rocky nods in response. His eyes are open wide and his hair is floating to the right of his head.

‘Which church is it?’ Erik asks.

He can hear his own voice tremble, and tries to force himself to be calm, to find a tranquillity within the hypnotic resonance.

‘The preacher’s church.’

‘What’s it called?’ Erik asks, feeling his heart start to beat faster.

Rocky’s mouth moves slightly, but the only sound that comes out is a few clicks from his lips. Erik leans forward over his shoulder and hears the slow exhalation, the voice coming from deep in his throat.

‘Sköld-inge,’ he says groggily.

‘Sköldinge Church,’ Erik repeats.

Rocky nods, leans his head back and forms a soundless word with his lips. Erik exchanges a quick glance with Joona. They’ve got what they need. He ought to bring Rocky out of his deep trance now, but can’t help asking another question.

‘Is the unclean preacher there?’

Rocky smiles sleepily and raises a weary hand as if to point at the tools on the wall of the little shed.

‘Can you see him?’ Erik persists.

‘In the church,’ Rocky whispers as his head lolls forward again.

Over by the streaked window Joona is starting to look stressed. Perhaps some visitors have arrived in the pet cemetery.

‘Tell me what you can see,’ Erik says.

Rocky trembles, and a drop of sweat falls from the tip of his nose.

‘I see the old priest… With rouge over the stubble on his drooping cheeks… the lipstick, and his stupid expression, morose and silent…’

‘Go on.’

‘Ossa… ipsius in pace…’

Rocky whispers to himself, his face twitches and he shifts uneasily on the creaking folding chair. Flakes of green paint fall on to the chipboard floor. Joona moves backwards and silently draws his pistol.

‘Do you know what his name is?’ Erik asks. ‘Say what his name is, loud enough for me to hear.’

‘The ugly old priest… with his scrawny arms, covered in tracks from all the fucking junk he’s injected over the years,’ Rocky says, and his head jerks to one side. ‘Cloudy from bleeding under the skin and wrecked veins, but now he’s wearing his snow-white surplice, no one’s seen anything, no one knows what’s going on… his sister and daughter by his side, his closest colleagues…’

‘Are there other priests in the church?’

‘The pews are full of priests, row after row after row…’

Even though Joona is very quietly telling him to bring the hypnosis to an end, Erik urges Rocky to go deeper.

‘Down to a place where there are only real memories… I’m going to count down from ten… and when I get to zero, you’ll be in Sköldinge Church, and…’

Rocky stands up, his head jerks, his eyes roll backwards and he collapses over the chair. He hits the floor, his head striking the bags of compost, and his feet twitch spasmodically. His body arches, as if he’s trying to do the crab. His top slides up and he’s gurgling gutturally with pain as his mouth gradually stretches open and his neck pulls back. His spine creaks. Erik hurries over and moves tools and equipment out of his reach.

The floor thuds as Rocky rolls on to his side, and a moment later his epileptic attack switches to chronic cramps. Erik kneels down and holds both hands under Rocky’s big head to stop him hurting himself.

His legs are kicking and jerking hard, crashing his heels down on the floor. Joona is holding his gun close to his body and looking at Erik with icy grey eyes.

‘You need to find a new hiding place,’ he says. ‘I saw police officers in the woods by the school, they’ve probably had another tip-off, otherwise they wouldn’t be here again. They’ll be bringing in dogs if they haven’t already done so, and searching with helicopters.’

Rocky’s attack is fading, but he’s still breathing fast and one of his legs jerks a few more times.

Erik rolls him gently on to his side. Rocky blinks. He’s soaked with sweat as he lets out a tired cough.

‘You had an epileptic fit while you were hypnotised,’ Erik explains.

‘God,’ he sighs.

‘Erik, you have to go, get as far away as you can, and hide,’ Joona says again.