Eye Collector, The (38 page)

Hohlfort got one thing right: I’m a tester, not a collector. I test the love of fathers for their children. I do it again and again, in the hope of an outcome that
differs from the one I experienced myself.

Luck or fate?

That question, which has always intrigued me, will never let me rest after the latest developments.

Was it luck or fate that made Alina bump into me at police headquarters, where she’d gone to make a statement about the Eye Collector only hours after I’d enlisted
her professional services as a physiotherapist, having pulled a muscle when dragging the Traunstein woman out into the garden?

What could a blind woman know about the Eye Collector, a man no sighted witness had ever seen?

I had to find that out before she spoke to a detective, so I led her into an empty interview room, where I disguised my voice and pretended to take down her statement. People
put their heads round the door from time to time, but to an outsider my ‘interrogation’ must have looked like an entirely normal proceeding.

After that I sent her to Zorbach, my intention being to put him to the test again. His mother’s diary had told me where he went to earth when he wanted to be alone and
needed a place to think, and I realized he would go there as soon as I panicked him with the news that the police were looking for him. He could have sent Alina packing and remained in his lonely
hideaway. Better still, he could have gone to see Julian and helped to celebrate his eleventh birthday.

For all that, I have to confess that I can sympathize with Zorbach’s bewilderment when Alina disclosed my bizarre ultimatum.

The more I think about it, the surer I am that there must be a logical explanation for all that happened. How about this?

I was tired that day in Alina’s physiotherapy practice. While I was waiting for her to massage me, my eyelids drooped. Perhaps I dozed off, lulled by the gentle strains
of her chill-out music. Did I talk in my sleep? Murmur a number?

Forty-five hours seven minutes...

Alina may possibly have read or heard something about the Eye Collector shortly before, and was thinking of it when she stubbed her toe on the urn. The pain overlaid every
other sensation and made her forget what her subconscious had picked up.

Forty-five hours seven minutes...

The bizarre ultimatum.

But how could she be so sure that I was the beast everyone was hunting?

Luck or fate?

I’ll admit it. I don’t know. I’m not even sure I’m still in command of my own actions. Did Alina foresee the predestined course of events, or did she
only put the idea into my head?

What is certain is that I originally had quite a different plan in mind for Julian. Then along came this blind girl, who kept talking about a game of hide-and-seek during
which the child would disappear. To me, this story had a touch of genius. What an analogy! What symbolism! I would kidnap a child during a game of hide-and-seek and continue the game on a new, more
existential plane! It would be a game within a game!

I naturally had qualms about selecting Julian as my next victim, right to the very end, but I construed it as an omen when Zorbach rejected his son for the last time and
deputised me, of all people, to take him the watch. Julian came running out to meet me when I parked in front of Nicci’s house. He knew me – Zorbach had taken me there for a meal on one
occasion – so I certainly wouldn’t have found it hard to get him to talk his mother into a playing a game of hide-and-seek. But I didn’t have to, because – this struck me as
rather uncanny, I admit – they were already in the middle of one! Although I suggested he hide in the tool shed where I later anaesthetized him, I can’t rid myself of the idea that he
would have chosen that hiding place without my intervention. Or that Nicci would, of her own accord, have uttered precisely the words Alina had attributed to her hours earlier:

“Sorry to call you, but I’m rather worried. I was playing hide-and-seek with our son, and the crazy thing is, I can’t find him
anywhere.’

Was this really all
predestined,
just as Alina envisioned it?

Or was it
chance,
for what else would a mother have said in such circumstances?

I don’t know what to think, because each alternative seems even more unlikely than the other. The only certainty is that Alina’s last ‘vision’ has
given me a good idea. I can’t use the good old lift again, alas, so I was initially at a loss to know where to take Julian. My identity must be public knowledge by now, so a mobile hiding
place would seem considerably more logical this time. A ship, but one that will not be found so soon.

I know what you’re thinking, but remember the sticker on the dashboard of my granny’s car:
It’s easy to foretell the future when you shape it
yourself.

Alina never could see into the past and I doubt if she can genuinely see into the future. But, one way or another, she has helped to create the template for my future
activities, and I confess it gives me great pleasure to stick to it for the most part.

Luck or fate?

I don’t know, but isn’t that one of my reasons for playing the game? To discover whether the fathers will manage to alter what I myself have
predetermined?

Will Zorbach succeed again? Will he manage to rescue his son now that my future course of action is known to him? Will I manage to diverge from Alina’s predictions and
influence my own destiny?

I’m not sure, but I’ll find out.

Time goes by.

The game continues.

Have fun.

Frank Lahmann

ALEXANDER ZORBACH

Didn’t I warn you? Didn’t I warn you against stories which, like rusty fish hooks, embed themselves ever deeper in the minds of those compelled to listen to
them?

Perpetuum morbile...
A story that has never begun and will never end, because it tells of death everlasting.

I strongly advised you not to read on.

These pages – God knows how you gained access to them – were not intended for you. Nor for anyone. Nor even for your worst enemy.

I told you I speak from experience.

Well, now you know it: the story of the man whose tears oozed down his cheeks like drops of blood, the man who embraced a contorted lump of human flesh that had breathed and lived and loved only
minutes earlier – the story you have just read is not fiction.

It is my destiny.

My life.

There is a man in this tale who was forced to realize, just when the agony within his mind reached its peak, that the process of dying had only just begun. And that man is me.

(45 HOURS 7 MINUTES TO THE DEADLINE)

The search has begun...

I normally begin my acknowledgements by performing a virtual bow to the people who matter most to any author: you, my readers. On this occasion I’d like to mention some
of you by name, because I’ve never received so much help from so many of my readers as I did when writing
The Eye Collector.

As soon as I tweeted, early in 2009, that a prominent role in my next novel would be played by a blind physiotherapist, I received some responses from blind persons familiar with audiobooks of
my work. They offered me help with my research – coupled, in most cases, with the following warning: ‘Books and films purvey so much nonsense about us, please don’t make the same
mistakes.’

This warning, which I took very seriously, prompted me to remain in regular contact with blind and partially-sighted persons from the start.

I began my research by compiling an interview questionnaire designed to help me conduct a preliminary exploration of their world which was so unfamiliar to me. What are the most common,
erroneous clichés about the blind? How do they dream? How do they cope with everyday life at the computer, on the phone, doing their laundry, etc.? You can find a selection of their original
replies on
www.sebastianfitzek.de
.

In order to avoid any glaring errors, I based my Alina Gregoriev character on a real, live person: Mike May, who was also blinded by an accident at the age of three. Should this book whet your
interest in his fascinating life, I recommend you to read his biography by Robert Kurson,
Crashing Through: A True Story of Risk, Adventure, and The Man Who Dared to See
(Random House). May
cycled for miles unaided as child, acted as a school ‘lollipop man’, and skied downhill at 105 kph – a world record for the blind! His achievements are so remarkable, I had to
tone them down a little in Alina’s case, or no one would have believed in her.

I gave the relevant chapters of this book to a group of blind and partially-sighted people to read prior to publication. Special thanks are due to Uwe Röder, who organized several group
telephone chats, and to Jenni Grulke, who volunteered to read the chapters aloud to all concerned. The group’s feedback enabled me to steer clear of some obvious mistakes. For instance, a
guide dog in unfamiliar surroundings would never have snoozed as peacefully as I described in my first draft. I discovered that some blind people use make-up and sport tattoos. I also learned a
great deal about their fears, their concerns and the incomprehensibly thoughtless and hurtful treatment to which they’re sometimes subjected by sighted persons.

For these and countless other valuable insights I should like to thank, in addition to those already mentioned: Feeodora Ziemann, Andrea Czech, Petra Klewes, Günther Sollfrank, Christine
Klocke, Sahre Wippig, Roswitha Wagerer, Niels Luithardt, Helge Jörres, Anke Mädler, Nuray Gürler, Andreas Heister, Brigitte Rieger, Fanny Holz, Karina Scheulen, Johanna Sopart, and
Victoria Amwenyo.

I’ve been quite overwhelmed by the helpfulness and candour of all the people listed here. I’ve learned so many interesting things in the last few months, I couldn’t possibly
incorporate them all in a single book. That’s one of the reasons why I’m toying with the idea of featuring Alina and Zorbach in another thriller.

However, I must also admit that it’s frankly impossible for a sighted person like me to enter fully into the world of the blind. In spite of the most intensive research, hours-long
interviews and conversations, and personal experiments in dark restaurants, and even though my blind consultants read the draft in advance, I probably haven’t succeeded in eliminating every
error from my story (for which I, of course, bear sole responsibility).

This is because
The Eye Collector
is purely a work of fiction, not a textbook, and because Alina Gregoriev’s ‘gift’ naturally makes her an extraordinary case.
Nevertheless, I hope it is clear from my book how much I admire and respect those who run their own lives without the benefit of eyesight. My respect for them grew with every word I wrote.

In particular, I should like to make a point of mentioning Lisa Manthey. A young lady of sixteen, she answered all the questions I asked her about a blind teenager’s school routine.

Well, now it’s time to introduce the rest of the gang. I don’t know how it is with you, but to me most acknowledgements resemble the final credits of a feature
film. We don’t watch them because we don’t, in any case, know the names that go scrolling past so swiftly.

To avoid this, I always say a few words about the people I’m indebted to. (A mention in a book comes cheaper than an invitation to a meal. Besides, some of the screwballs from whom I
derive my inspiration aren’t exactly the kind you want to be seen with in public – right, Fruti?) Let’s start with my publishers. I must once again make special mention of
Hans-Peter Übleis and Beate Kuckertz. They have an unerring feel for a good story and – something that never fails to give me special pleasure – wonderful signatures. That of Herr
Übleis always looks particularly handsome on my contracts.

Two more names deserve to be printed in extra bold type: those of Carolin Graehl and Regine Weisbrod, my editorial dream team. You appended precisely 252 comments to my first draft (I counted),
though six of them, at least, were favourable. I must have a masochistic streak, because I still love you. A thousand thanks for once more making the best of my book.

The production department, too, excelled itself again. Many thanks, Sibylle Dietzel...

Over 100,000 new books are dumped on the market each year. If mine tend to land nearer the top of the pile, I owe it to two world champions in the art of book-lobbing (aka marketing): Kerstin
Reitze de la Maza and Christian Tesch.

I’ve a terrible memory for names, so please take my thanks to the following as a thank you to the entire Droemer team: Susanne Klein, Monika Neudeck, Iris Haas, Andrea Bauer, Konstanze
Treber, Noomi Rohrbach, Georg Regis, Andreas Thiele, Katrin Engelberger, and Heide Bogner.

Not to be forgotten under any circumstances, yet again, are my discoverer, Frau Dr Andrea Müller (who has rejoined the Droemer fold), and Klaus Kluge (who is still playing the
‘renegade’ ;-)).

My list of unofficial helpers continues:

Roman Hocke – you’re the man who found me a publisher when so many others had rejected me. My thanks go also to the rest of your crew at AVA: Christine Ziehl, Uwe Neumahr, Claudia
Bachmann, and Claudia von Hornstein.

I’m surprised that my list of good friends doesn’t get shorter from book to book, given that writing leaves me less and less time to cultivate a social life. Despite this, Zsolt
Bács, Oliver Kalkofe, Thomas Koschwitz, Peter Prange, Dirk Stiller, Andreas Frutiger, Arno Müller, Jochen Trus and Ivo Beck regularly get in touch, if only because I’ve failed to
return their DVDs or skipped a root canal appointment on some flimsy pretext – right Uli? (Ulrike Heintzenberg, the world’s finest dentist!) My thanks to Simon Jäger for his
wonderful voice, which enhances my audiobooks, and to Michael Treutler for his fantastic efforts at Audible.de.