The Hypnotist

Chapter 98

The terminal buildings at Arlanda Airport are covered with dense, heavy snow that falls ceaselessly from the dark sky. The runways are constantly being cleared. Erik stands by the huge window in the cafeteria, watching luggage swing around and around in a slow circle on the carousel.

Simone arrives with coffee and a plate of saffron Lucia buns and Christmas ginger cookies. She puts the two cups down in front of Erik, then looks out at the runways. They watch a crew of flight attendants heading across the tarmac on their way to one of the smaller jets. They are all wearing red Santa hats, the women in their heels jogging on tiptoe through the deep slush underfoot.

On the windowsill in the cafeteria, a mechanical Father Christmas is moving his hips rhythmically. His batteries seem to be running out; his movements are becoming increasingly spasmodic. Simone meets Erik’s gaze, and raises her eyebrows ironically at the sight of the thrusting Santa.

“The buns were free,” she says, staring blankly into space; then she remembers. “The fourth Sunday in Advent. It’s the fourth Sunday in Advent today.”

They look at each other, not knowing what to say. Suddenly Simone gives a start and looks upset.

“What’s the matter?” Erik asks.

“The factor concentrate,” she says, her voice choked. “We forgot… If he’s there, if he’s alive… It’s been too long. He won’t be able to stand up.”

“Simone, I’ve got it,” says Erik. “I’ve brought it with me.”

She looks at him, her eyes red-rimmed. “Really?”

“Kennet reminded me. He called from the hospital.”

Kennet. Simone thinks about how she drove her father home, watched him get out of the car- and fall head first into the slush. She thought he’d tripped, but when she ran around to help him up, he was almost unconscious. She drove him back to the hospital, where they took him in on a stretcher; his reflexes were weak and his pupils slow to react. The doctor thought it was a combination of the after-effects of the concussion and the fact that he had seriously over-exerted himself.

“How is he?” Erik asks.

“He was asleep when I was there yesterday, but the doctor doesn’t seem to think it’s too serious.”

“Good,” says Erik. He contemplates the mechanical Santa; then, without a word, he picks up his red Christmas napkin and places it over Santa’s head.

The napkin waggles rhythmically back and forth. Simone starts to laugh, spraying Erik’s jacket with biscuit crumbs.

“Sorry,” she whimpers, “it just looks so sick. A sex-crazed Santa…”

She succumbs to a fresh attack of the giggles and ends up bent double over the table. Then she begins to cry. After a while she stops, blows her nose, wipes her face, and drinks her coffee. Her mouth has just begun to twitch again when Joona Linna comes over to their table.

“The Umeå police are on their way there now,” he says, without preamble.

“Are you in radio contact with them?” Erik asks.

“I’m not, but they’re in touch with- ”

Joona stops abruptly when he catches sight of the napkin covering the thrusting Santa. A pair of brown plastic boots is protruding from beneath the paper. Simone turns her head away, her body shaking with laughter or weeping or a combination of both. It sounds as if she’s choking. Erik quickly gets up and leads her away.

“Let go of me,” she says, between convulsions.

“I just want to help you, Simone. Come outside.”

They open a door leading onto a balcony and stand in the chilly air.

“I’m all right now, thank you,” she whispers.

Erik brushes the snow off the railing and holds her naked wrist against the cold metal.

“All right now,” she repeats. “All right… now.”

She closes her eyes and wobbles. Erik catches her. He can see Joona looking at them from inside the cafeteria.

“How are you really, Simone?” Erik whispers.

She peers at him. “Nobody believes me when I tell them I’m just so tired.”

“I’m tired too; I believe you.”

“But you’ve got your pills, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he replies, without even thinking of defending himself.

Simone’s face crumples and Erik suddenly feels hot tears trickling down his cheeks. Since he’s stopped taking drugs he feels more defenceless than he has in years, totally open and without protection.

“All this time,” he goes on, his lips trembling, “I’ve only had one thought: he can’t be dead.”

They stand there motionless, their arms around each other. The snow falls on them in large, fluffy flakes. A plane takes off in the distance with a low roar. When Joona taps on the glass, they both jump. Erik opens the door and Joona comes out. He clears his throat. “I thought you should know that we have identified the body on Lydia’s property.”

“Who was it?”

“It wasn’t Lydia’s child… The boy had disappeared from his family thirteen years ago.”

Erik nods and waits. Joona sighs deeply. “Remains of excrement and urine show that…” He shakes his head. “… show that the child lived there for a fairly long time, probably three years, before he was killed.”

He waits as the information sinks in. Another plane roars in the distance, on its way up into the sky.

“In other words, Erik, you were right the whole time. Lydia did have a child in a cage, and she regarded that child as her own.”

“Yes,” Erik says.

“She killed the boy when she realized what she had said under hypnosis, what that meant and what it was going to mean.”

“I actually thought I was wrong. I accepted it,” says Erik dully, gazing out at the wintry runways.

“Was that why you stopped?” asks Joona.

“Yes.”

Simone runs a shaky hand over her forehead. “Lydia spotted you when you broke your promise. She saw Benjamin,” she says quietly.

“No, she must have been following us all the time,” Erik whispers.

“Lydia was released from Ulleråker two months ago,” Joona says. “She approached Benjamin cautiously. Perhaps your promise never to use hypnosis again was holding her back.”

Joona thinks that Lydia held Joakim Samuelsson responsible for the abortion that led to her inability to have children, so she took his son, Johan. And by the same twisted process of reasoning, Lydia held Erik responsible for her having murdered Johan, so she took Benjamin when Erik began to practise hypnosis again.

Erik’s expression is grave, his face hard and closed. He opens his mouth to explain that he actually saved Evelyn’s life by breaking his promise but is forestalled by the arrival of a police officer.

“We have to go now,” the officer says. “The plane is taking off in ten minutes.”

“Have you spoken to the police up in Dorotea?” Joona asks.

“It’s not possible to make contact with the patrol who went to the house,” the officer replies.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. They said they’ve been trying for fifty minutes.”

“What the hell. Then they need to send backup,” says Joona.

“That’s what I told them, but they said they wanted to wait and see what happened.”

As they set off to walk the short distance to the plane that is waiting to take them to Vilhelmina Airport in southern Lapland, Erik suddenly feels a brief, strange surge of relief: he was right all along.

He lifts his face to the falling snow. The flakes whirl and swirl, heavy and light at the same time. Simone turns and takes his hand.