Therapy
Authors: Sebastian Fitzek
Sebastian Fitzek has worked as a journalist and author for radio and TV stations all around Europe, and is now head of programming at RTL, Berlin's leading radio station. His first and subsequent novels have become huge bestsellers in Germany, and he is currently working on his fifth.
Also by Sebastian Fitzek
SPLINTER
THE EYE COLLECTOR
First published in the English language in 2008 by Pan Books.
This paperback edition published in Great Britain in 2014 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.
Originally published in Germany as
Die Therapie
in 2006
by Knaur Taschenbuch.
The book has been negotiated through AVA international
GmbH, Germany (
www.ava-international.de
).
Copyright © Droemersche Verlagsanstalt Th. Knaur Nachf. GmbH & Co. KG, Munich, Germany, 2006
The moral right of Sebastian Fitzek to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Paperback ISBN: 978 0 85789 707 7
E-book ISBN: 978 1 78239 209 5
Printed in Great Britain.
Corvus
An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd
Ormond House
26–27 Boswell Street
London
WC1N 3JZ
For Tanja Howarth
Contents
Prologue
As the thirtieth minute ticked by, he knew he would never see his daughter again. Josephine had opened the door, glanced round briefly and slipped inside the old man's office. At twelve years old, his baby girl was gone forever. He knew it with dreadful certainty. There would be no more smiles as he scooped her up and carried her to bed; no more waiting for her to fall asleep so he could switch off her bedside lamp; no more waking in the night, shaken from his dreams by her agonized screams.
The realization was devastating and sudden, hitting him with the force of a speeding truck.
Viktor Larenz stood up clumsily, but his legs seemed to cling to the seat, warning him not to rely on their support. He imagined himself toppling to the scuffed wooden floor and lying prone in the waiting room, slotted between the plump housewife with psoriasis and the coffee table piled high with ancient magazines. He felt like fainting, but even that small mercy was denied him. His mind was still alert.
Patients will be seen according to the SERIOUSNESS of their condition, NOT in order of arrival
.
He stared at the padded leather door, the lettering on the sign swimming before his eyes.
Dr Grohlke, an allergy specialist, was a family friend and the twenty-second doctor on Viktor's list. So far, twenty-one doctors had drawn a blank with Josy. The cause of her illness had baffled them all.
The first, an emergency physician, had been called out on Boxing Day, exactly eleven months previously, to the family home in Schwanenwerder. Josephine had vomited in the night and was suffering from diarrhoea. Initially they assumed it was an upset stomach brought on by the three-cheese Christmas fondue, but eventually Isabell called their private health-care line while Viktor carried their daughter in her light cambric nightdress to the lounge. He could remember how frail her arms had seemed, one hooked around his neck, hugging him for support, the other clutching her favourite toy, a fluffy blue cat called Nepomuk. Under the rigorous gaze of the assembled relatives, the doctor listened to her bony chest, administered an electrolyte infusion and prescribed a homoeopathic drug.
‘Gastro-enteritis. It's doing the rounds, I'm afraid. It'll sort itself out in no time. She'll be back on her feet by the end of the week.’ With that, the doctor took his leave.
It'll sort itself out
. They should never have believed him.
Viktor came to a halt outside Dr Grohlke's door. The metal handle was stiff, refusing to yield to the pressure he applied. Had the strain of the past few hours reduced
him to this? He wondered at his own feebleness, then realized that the door was locked.
Locked from the inside
.
Why would anyone lock the door?
He spun around, seeing the room in a series of frozen images that presented themselves to his consciousness like the pages of a flip book, jerky and delayed: framed photos of Ireland on the walls, a rubber tree languishing in a dusty corner by the window, the psoriasis patient, still waiting to be seen. He gave the handle a final furious shake and stumbled out of the waiting room into the corridor and towards the impossibly crowded foyer. Anyone would think Grohlke was the only doctor in Berlin.
Viktor advanced towards the desk. First in line was a spotty-faced teenager, presumably waiting for a prescription, but Viktor swept past him. He knew the receptionist from previous visits and was relieved to see her at the desk. Half an hour earlier, when he and Josy had arrived at the surgery, a stranger had been standing in for her, but now Maria was back at the helm. She was in her early twenties and as solid as a goalkeeper, but she had a daughter of her own. He could count on her support.
‘I need you to unlock the office,’ he demanded in a voice more strident than he had intended.
‘Good morning, Dr Larenz. Nice to see you again.’ Maria was quick to recognize the psychiatrist. He hadn't been to the clinic in a while, but she was accustomed to seeing his face in magazines and on TV. Good looks,
combined with a knack for explaining psychological problems in a straightforward way, made him a popular guest on chat shows. On this occasion, the famously eloquent Dr Larenz was failing to make much sense.
‘I demand to see my daughter!’
The adolescent stared at the man who had elbowed his way to the front of the queue and, sensing a problem, took a step back. Maria seemed flustered but strove to maintain her receptionist's smile.
‘I'm afraid I don't follow, Dr Larenz,’ she said, tugging on her left eyebrow where her piercing would normally be. She always fiddled with the silver barbell when nervous, but at Dr Grohlke's request, she removed it for work. He took an old-fashioned pride in appearances.
‘Does Josephine have an appointment?’
Viktor opened his mouth, ready to unleash a furious tirade, then thought better of it and kept quiet. Of course they had an appointment. Isabell had rung the practice, and he had chauffeured Josy to the clinic; the usual routine.
‘Dad, what's an allergist?’ Josy had asked him in the car. ‘Is it something to do with the weather?’
‘No, honey, you're thinking of meteorologists.’ He watched her in the rear-view mirror and wished he could stroke her blonde hair. She seemed incredibly fragile, like an angel sketched on Japanese silk.
‘Allergists look after people who get sick when they come into contact with certain substances.’
‘Is that what's wrong with me?’
‘Maybe.’
Let's hope so
, he added to himself. Any diagnosis would be a start. Josephine's illness and her mysterious symptoms had taken control of their lives. Six months had elapsed since she last attended school: her spasms were too distressing and sudden for her to sit in a classroom with her peers. For Isabell, it meant working part-time in order to oversee Josy's home-schooling. Viktor, in the meantime, had shut down his Friedrichstrasse practice and was caring for his daughter or, more accurately, his daughter's doctors. The last few weeks had disappeared in an endless round of appointments and consultations, for which they had nothing to show. No one could make sense of Josy's seizures, her susceptibility to infection or her night-time nosebleeds. Every now and then the symptoms abated or vanished for a while, long enough for the family to gather hope, but then the sickness would return – in most cases, more vigorously than before. So far the physicians, haematologists and neurologists had succeeded only in ruling out cancer, Aids, hepatitis and a host of diseases. One doctor had even run tests for malaria. The results came back clear.
‘Dr Larenz?’
Maria's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the clinic. He realized he had been staring at her open-mouthed.
‘What have you done with her?’ His voice returned to him suddenly, each word sounding louder than the last.
‘I'm sorry, Dr Larenz, but I don't quite . . .’
‘What have you done with
Josy
?’
The chattering patients fell silent as Viktor's question echoed through the room. It was obvious from Maria's expression that she was wondering what to do. Erratic behaviour was only to be expected at the clinic: Grohlke's doors were open to anyone who cared to make an appointment, and the practice was situated only a stone's throw from the prostitutes and junkies in Lietzenburger Street. On occasions, it seemed as if the red-light district had relocated to the lobby, and Maria would find herself dealing with undernourished rent boys who didn't give two hoots about eczema but needed a fix.