Lars Kepler 2-book Bundle (37 page)

“If psychotherapy is a soft science, Maja, hypnosis is even softer. By its very nature, even the most exhaustive research in the field leads to relatively inconclusive results,” I said.

“But if they read all your reports, the most amazing patterns are emerging. Even if it is too early to publish anything.”

“You’ve read all my reports?” I asked sceptically.

“There are certainly plenty of them,” she replied dryly.

We stopped at the lift.

“What do you think about my ideas relating to engrams?” I said, to test her.

“You’re thinking about the patient with the injured skull?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to hide my surprise.

“Interesting,” she said. “The fact that you’re going against conventional wisdom on the way memory is dispersed throughout the brain.”

“Any thoughts of your own on the subject?”

“I think you should intensify your research into the synapses and concentrate on the amygdala.”

“I’m impressed,” I said, pressing the button for the lift.

“You have to get the funding.”

“I know.”

“What happens if they say no?”

“If I’m lucky, I’ll be given enough time to wind down the therapy and help my patients into other forms of treatment.”

“And your research?”

I shrugged. “I could apply to other universities, see if anyone would take me.”

“Do you have enemies on the board?” she asked.

“I don’t think so.”

She placed her hand gently on my arm and smiled apologetically. Her cheeks flushed even more. “I know I’m speaking out of turn. But you will get the money, because your work is ground-breaking.” She looked hard at me. “And if they can’t see that, I’ll talk to them. All of them.”

Suddenly I wondered if she was flirting with me. There was something about her obsequiousness, that soft, husky voice. I glanced quickly at her badge to be sure of her name:
maja swartling, intern.

“Maja—”

“I’m not easily put off, you know,” she said playfully. “Erik Maria Bark.”

“We’ll discuss this another time,” I said, as the lift doors slid open.

Maja Swartling smiled, revealing dimples; she brought her hands together beneath her chin, bowed deeply and mischievously, and said softly, “
Sawadee
.”

I realised I was smiling at the Thai greeting as I took the lift up to the director’s office.

Despite the fact that the door was open, I knocked before entering the conference room. Annika Lorentzon was there already, gazing out the picture window at the fantastic view, far out across Northern Cemetery and Haga Park.

“Just gorgeous,” I said.

Annika Lorentzo smiled calmly at me. She was tanned and slim. Once, her beauty had made her runner-up in the Miss Sweden contest, but now a fine network of lines had formed beneath her eyes and on her forehead. She didn’t smell of perfume but rather of cleanliness; a faint hint of exclusive soap surrounded her.

“Mineral water?” she asked, waving in the direction of several bottles.

I shook my head and noticed for the first time that we were alone in the conference room. The others ought to have gathered by now, I thought; my watch showed that the meeting should have begun five minutes earlier.

Annika stood up and explained, as if she’d read my mind, “They’ll be here, Erik. They’ve all gone for a sauna.” She gave a wry smile. “It’s one way of having a meeting without me. Clever, eh?”

At that moment the door opened and five men with bright red faces came in. The collars of their suits were damp from wet hair and wet necks, and they were exuding steamy heat and aftershave.

“Although of course my research is going to be expensive,” I heard Ronny Johansson say.

“Obviously,” Svein Holstein replied, sounding worried.

“It’s just that Bjarne was rambling on about how they were going to start cutting. The finance boys want to slash the research budget right across the board.”

The conversation died away as they came into the room.

Svein Holstein gave me a firm handshake.

Ronny Johansson, the pharmaceutical representative on the board, just waved half-heartedly at me as he took his seat, while at the same time the local government politician, Peter Mälarstedt, took my hand. He smiled at me, puffing and panting, and I noticed he was still perspiring.

Frank Paulsson barely met my eye; he simply gave me the briefest of nods and then stayed on the far side of the room. Everyone chatted for a while, pouring out glasses of mineral water and admiring the view. For one crystal moment I observed them: these people who held the fate of my research in their hands. They were as sleek, well-groomed, and savvy as my patients were awkward, shabby, and inarticulate. Yet my patients were contained in this moment. Their memories, experiences, and all they had suppressed lay like curls of smoke trapped motionless inside this glass bubble.

Annika softly clapped her hands and invited everyone to take their seats around the conference table. The members of the board settled down, whispered, and fidgeted. Someone jingled coins in his pocket. Another flipped through his calendar. Annika smiled gently and said, “Over to you, Erik.”

“My method,” I began, “involves treating psychological trauma through group hypnosis therapy.”

“So we’ve gathered,” said Ronny Johansson.

I tried to provide an overview of what I’d done thus far. I could hear feet shuffling, chair legs scraping against the floor.

“Unfortunately, I have another commitment,” Rainer Milch said after a while. He got to his feet, shook hands with the men next to him, and left the room. My audience listened without really paying attention.

“I know this material can seem dense, but I did provide a summary in advance. It’s fairly comprehensive, I know, but it’s necessary; I couldn’t make it any shorter.”

“Why not?” asked Peter Mälarstedt.

“Because it’s a little too early to draw any conclusions,” I said.

“But if we move forward two years?” he asked.

“Hard to say, but I am seeing patterns emerge,” I said, despite the fact that I knew I shouldn’t go down that path.

“Patterns? What kind of patterns?”

“Can you tell us what you’re hoping to find?” asked Annika Lorentzon, with an encouraging smile.

I took a deep breath. “I’m hoping to map the mental barriers that remain during hypnosis—how the brain, in a state of deep relaxation, comes up with new ways of protecting the individual from the memory of trauma or fear. What I mean—and this is really exciting—is that when a patient is getting closer to a trauma, the core, the thing that’s really dangerous, when the suppressed memory finally begins to float towards the surface during hypnosis, the mind begins to rummage around in a final attempt to protect the secret. What I have begun to realise and document is that the subject incorporates dream material into his or her memories, simply in order to avoid seeing.”

“To avoid seeing the situation itself?” asked Ronny Johansson, with a sudden burst of curiosity.

“In a way. It’s the perpetrator they don’t want to see,” I replied. “They replace the perpetrator with something else, often an animal.”

There was silence around the table. I could see Annika, who had so far looked mainly embarrassed on my behalf, smiling to herself.

“Can this be true?” said Ronny Johansson, almost in a whisper.

“How clear is this pattern?” asked Mälarstedt.

“Clear, but not fully established,” I replied.

“Is there any similar research going on elsewhere in the world?” Mälarstedt wondered.

“No,” Ronny Johansson replied abruptly.

“But does it stop there?” said Holstein. “Or will the patient always find some new way of protecting himself under hypnosis, in your opinion?”

“Yes, is it possible to move beyond this protective mechanism?” asked Mälarstedt.

I could feel my cheeks beginning to burn; I cleared my throat. “I think it’s possible to move beyond the mechanism, to find what lies beneath these images through deeper hypnosis.”

“And what about the patients?”

“I was thinking about them, too,” Mälarstedt said to Annika Lorentzon.

“This is all very tempting, of course,” said Holstein. “But I want guarantees. No psychoses, no suicides.”

“Yes, but—”

“Can you promise me that?”

Frank Paulsson was just sitting there, scraping at the label on his bottle of mineral water. Holstein looked tired and glanced openly at his watch.

“My priority is to help my patients,” I said.

“And your research?”

“It’s—” I cleared my throat again—“it’s a by-product, when it comes down to it,” I said quietly. “That’s how I have to regard it. I would never develop an experimental technique if there was any indication that it was detrimental to a patient’s condition.”

Some of the men around the table exchanged glances.

“Good answer,” said Frank Paulsson, all of a sudden. “I am giving Erik Maria Bark my full support.”

“I still have some concerns about the patients,” said Holstein.

“Everything is in here,” Paulsson said, pointing to the folder of notes I had provided in advance. “He’s written about the development of the patients; it looks more than promising, I’d say.”

“It’s just that it’s very unusual therapy. It’s so bold we have to be certain we can defend it if something goes wrong.”

“Nothing can really go wrong,” I said, feeling shivers down my spine.

“Erik, it’s Friday and everybody wants to go home,” said Annika Lorentzon. “I think you can assume that your funding will be renewed.”

The others nodded in agreement, and Ronny Johansson leaned back and began to applaud.

Simone was standing in our spacious kitchen when I got home. She’d covered the table with groceries: bundles of asparagus, fresh marjoram, a chicken, a lemon, jasmine rice. When she caught sight of me she laughed.

“What?” I asked.

She shook her head and said with a broad grin, “You should see your face.”

“What do you mean?”

“You look like a little kid on Christmas Eve.”

“Is it so obvious?”

“Benjamin!” she shouted.

Benjamin came into the kitchen with Pokémon cards in his hand. Simone hid her merriment and pointed at me. “How does Daddy look, Benjamin?”

He studied me for a moment and began to smile. “You look happy, Daddy.”

“I am happy, little man. I am happy.”

“Have they found the medicine?” he asked.

“What medicine?”

“To make me better, so I won’t need injections,” he said.

I picked him up, hugged him, and explained that they hadn’t found the medicine yet but I hoped they soon would, more than anything.

“All right,” he said.

I put him down and saw Simone’s pensive expression.

Benjamin tugged at my trouser leg. “So what was it, Daddy?”

I didn’t understand.

“Why were you so happy, Daddy?”

“It was just money,” I replied, subdued. “I’ve got some money for my research.”

“David says you do magic.”

“I don’t do magic. I try to help people who are frightened and unhappy.”

Simone let Benjamin run his fingers through the marjoram leaves and inhale their scent. “Tomorrow I sign the lease for the space on Arsenalsgatan.”

“But why didn’t you say anything? Congratulations, Sixan!”

She laughed. “I know exactly what my opening exhibition is going to be,” she said. “There’s a girl who’s just finished at the art college in Bergen. She’s absolutely fantastic; she does these huge—”

Simone broke off as the doorbell rang. She tried to see who it was through the kitchen window, before she went and opened the front door. I followed her and saw her walk through the dark hall and towards the doorway, which was filled with light. When I got there, she was standing looking out.

“Who was it?” I asked.

“Nobody. There was nobody here.”

I looked out over the shrubbery towards the street.

“What’s that?” she asked suddenly.

On the step in front of the door lay a rod with a handle at one end and a small round plate of wood at the other.

“Strange,” I said, picking up the old tool and turning it over in my hands.

“What is it?”

“A ferrule, I think. It was used to punish children in the old days.”