Joona Linna Crime Series Books 1-3: The Hypnotist, The Nightmare, The Fire Witness

Eva doesn’t reply but sits back down, crossing her arms tightly.

Getting no response, Erik turns to Pierre to see if he would like to carry on with his association, but Pierre shakes his head and forms a cross with his index fingers, pointing them at Eva. “They shot Dennis Hopper because he was a hippie,” he murmurs.

A young, stocky woman—Sibel, her name was Sibel—giggles and glances sideways at Erik. A patient named Jussi clears his throat and raises his hand in Eva’s direction. “In the haunted house you won’t have to listen to our childish non … sense,” he says, in his slow and heavy Norrland dialect.

Everyone falls silent. Eva whips around to face Jussi, but whatever she means to say, something makes her change her mind. Perhaps it’s the seriousness in his voice, maybe the cool expression in his eyes.

68

monday, december 14: night

The haunted house. The words reverberate in Erik’s head as he stares at the old video frames. He hears himself explain to Eva the principles behind the process of hypnosis, how they always begin with group relaxation exercises before he moves on to hypnotise one or two individuals.

He watches himself pull up a chair and sit down in front of the semicircle, getting them to close their eyes and lean back. While their eyes are closed, he stands up, talking to them about relaxation; he moves behind them, observing the degree of relaxation in each of them individually. Their faces become softer, looser, less and less aware, more and more incapable of lies, secrets, defences. Erik stops behind Eva Blau and places a hand on her shoulder.

As he watches himself begin to hypnotise her, Erik’s stomach tingles. The younger Erik gently slips into a steep induction with hidden commands; he is so totally assured of his own skill, so pleasurably aware of his ability.

“You are ten years old, Eva,” he says. “You are ten years old. This is a good day. You are happy. Why are you happy?”

“Because the man is dancing and splashing in the puddles,” she says, her face moving almost imperceptibly.

“Who’s dancing?”

“Who?” she repeats. “Gene Kelly, Mummy says.”

“Oh, so you’re watching Singin’ in the Rain?”

She nods slowly.

“What happens?”

Eva closes her mouth and lowers her head. “My tummy is big,” she says almost inaudibly.

“Your tummy?”

“It’s huge,” she says, and the tears begin to flow.

“The haunted house,” whispers Jussi. “The haunted house.”

“Eva, listen to me,” Erik goes on. “You can hear everyone else in this room, but you must listen only to my voice. Pay no attention to what the others say, pay attention only to my voice.”

“All right.”

“Do you know why your tummy is big?” Erik asks.

“I want to go into the haunted house,” she whispers.

In his hospital office, Erik gets up off his chair, massages his neck, and rubs his eyes, aware that he is moving closer to his own inner rooms, closer to what has been packed away.

Looking at the flickering screen, he mutters, “Open the door.”

He hears himself counting down, immersing Eva more deeply in the hypnotic state. He explains that she will soon do as he says, without thinking, she will simply accept that his voice is leading her in the right direction. She shakes her head slightly and he continues counting backwards, letting the numbers fall.

The picture quality suddenly deteriorates; Eva looks up with cloudy eyes, moistens her lips, and whispers, “I can see them taking someone. They just come up and take someone.”

“Who’s taking someone?” Erik asks.

Her breathing becomes irregular. “A man with a ponytail.” She whimpers. “He’s hanging the little—”

The tape crackles and the picture disappears.

Erik fast-forwards to the end of the tape, but the picture does not return: half the tape is ruined, erased. He sits in front of the blank screen. He can see himself looking back out of the deep, dark reflection. He can see the face of the man he was then, together with his face as it is now, ten years older. He looks at the video, tape 14, and he looks at the rubber band and the piece of paper with the words ‘the haunted house’.

69

tuesday, december 15: morning

Erik jabs repeatedly at the button until the doors of the lift close. He knows it won’t speed things up, but he can’t help himself. Benjamin’s words from the darkness of the car are mixed with the strange fragments of memory stirred up by the videotape. Once again he hears Eva Blau’s faint voice saying that a man with a ponytail has taken someone. But there was something insincere about her mouth as she said it, something almost like a smile.

There is a roaring sound high up in the shaft as the lift moves downwards with a whine.

“The haunted house,” he repeats to himself, hoping it’s just a coincidence and Benjamin’s disappearance has nothing to do with his past.

The lift stops and the doors open at the underground car park. He walks quickly through it and into a narrow stairwell. Two floors down, he unlocks a steel door, continues along a white tunnel to a secure door, and leans on the buzzer, eventually receiving a response from within. He explains his errand into the microphone.

The storage facility contains all archived patient notes, all research and experiments, records of tests, and questionable investigations. On the shelves are thousands of files, including the results of secret tests on suspected HIV cases in the eighties, compulsory sterilisations, arguments concerning thalidomide, and dental experiments on those with mental health issues from the time when Swedish dental health reform was due to be sanctioned and children from orphanages, the mentally ill, and the elderly were forced to sit with sugar paste in their mouths until their teeth were eaten away by decay—all meticulously archived and preserved here.

The door buzzes and Erik steps into an unexpectedly warm brightness. There is something about the lighting that makes the storeroom feel pleasant, far from the windowless cavern deep underground that it actually is.

The sound of opera is coming from the security guard’s office: a rippling coloratura from a mezzo-soprano. Erik pulls himself together, tries to assume a calm expression, and searches within himself for a smile as he walks over to the sound.

A short, stocky man wearing a straw hat is standing with his back to the door, watering some plants.

“Hi, Kurt.”

“Erik Maria Bark, it’s been a long time. How are things?”

Erik doesn’t really know what to say. “I’ve got a few family problems to deal with at the moment.”

“Right.”

“Lovely flowers,” says Erik, to avoid further questions.

“Pansies. I love them. Conny kept saying nothing could flower down here. What do you mean, nothing can flower down here? I said. Look at me!”

“Exactly,” Erik replies.

“I installed ultraviolet lamps all over the place. It’s like a solarium down here.” Kurt holds out a tube of sunscreen.