The Asylum (39 page)

‘Push him in.’

Jan leans into the lift, struggling with the heavy body. Lifeless arms, dangling legs. It all has to go in.

He notices Carl’s belt. The clip for the tear-gas canister is empty, but next to it there are a number of white plastic loops, ready to slip over someone’s wrists.

As Jan pushes the body into the lift, he removes a couple of these from Carl’s belt and tucks them under his jumper, without
Rössel
spotting anything. He steps back, and Rössel slams the hatch shut.

‘Let’s go.’

There is nothing Jan can do. He is forced to walk ahead of Rössel, out of the laundry, through the tiled rooms. It is impossible to stop; Rössel keeps shoving him hard in the back, and he can feel the razor blade against his throat every time Rössel moves his right hand.

Jan moves through the basement like a sleepwalker. His eyes are hurting, his hands are covered in blood.

What has happened? How can this have happened?

Ivan Rössel was squeezed inside the lift along with Carl. And Carl was dead, slaughtered by Rössel.

And Rami? She was the one who was supposed to come down in the lift, but …

‘Don’t get lost,’ Rössel says as he pushes Jan through a doorway. ‘Follow the bits of paper if you don’t know the way.’

But Jan does know the way. They carry on along the corridors without meeting anyone. Then straight through the safe room, and out into the corridor leading back to the pre-school, where the lights are still on.

Jan stops by the lift. He turns his head. ‘They’re waiting for you in the visitors’ room,’ he says. ‘You do know that, don’t you? A family … They want to talk to you about their missing brother, John Daniel …’

Rössel shakes his head. ‘They don’t want to
talk
,’ he says. ‘They were going to kill me up there, that was the plan. Carl sold me down the river.’

‘No, they just want to know where—’

‘They were going to murder me, I know it.’ Another shove, and Rössel moves him away from the lift and over towards the stairs. ‘You’re the only person I trust right now, my friend. And we’re going to get out of here.’

Rössel’s voice remains quiet and clear. A teacher’s voice, accustomed to giving instructions and providing explanations.

He nudges Jan up the stairs to the door of the Dell. ‘Open it.’

Jan hesitates, but takes out the key card and opens the door.

They walk past the staff lockers, where Rami’s picture books lie hidden. And Jan’s diary. He was going to show them all to her tonight; he had been so looking forward to it.

Andreas has left a cap and a raincoat hanging on a hook; Rössel puts them on. Then he kicks open the front door and leads Jan outside. The night air is cold, colder than before, but it soothes Jan’s eyes.

He blinks away a few tears and looks around. Red and blue lights are flashing over in the hospital car park. Police cars, fire engines, ambulances. The fire drill is well under way – if it is actually a drill, of course. Rössel does smell of smoke.

Rössel doesn’t stop; he doesn’t even glance across at the vehicles. ‘Have you got a car?’ he asks.

Jan nods. It is parked within sight of the pre-school, and it isn’t locked.

Once they reach the Volvo Rössel pats down Jan’s trousers and removes his mobile phone. It disappears into the raincoat pocket.

A swift slicing movement with the razor blade, and suddenly Jan is able to move his hands.

‘Into the car, my friend.’ Rössel opens the driver’s door, bundles Jan behind the wheel and chucks the Angel on the seat next to him. He slams the door and climbs into the back seat, behind Jan.

The stench of Rössel – smoke and petrol and tear gas – is acrid within the confines of the car.

‘Drive,’ he says.

Rami?
Jan thinks, gazing at his hands on the wheel.

‘I can’t drive. I can’t see a thing.’

‘You can see the road. Drive away from the hospital. Just keep going straight ahead until I tell you otherwise.’

Jan makes one last effort to understand what has happened: ‘Where’s Rami?’

‘Forget her,’ says Rössel. ‘There is no Rami in the hospital. It was me you were talking to. All the time.’

‘But Rami must have—’

Rössel presses the razor against his windpipe. Jan can feel the blade trembling.

‘
Drive
. Otherwise you’ll end up like Carl. Ear to ear.’

Jan doesn’t say another word. He starts the car and puts his foot down.

Rössel keeps the razor just below Jan’s chin, and it is this threat that takes Jan away from St Patricia’s, away from the wall and the Dell. Away from the chance of ever seeing Alice Rami again.

Away from the lights of the town, and into the darkness.

52

JAN IS DRIVING
a murderer through the night. A murderer who is holding a razor to his throat. But a murderer who somehow cares about him, Jan realizes: Rössel reached out and turned up the heat, then asked, ‘Too hot?’

‘No.’

The gentle hum of the heater is quite soporific. Out on the streets it is bitterly cold, but inside the car it’s as warm as a summer’s day. The razor blade is still in place.

‘Turn right here,’ Rössel says.

Jan turns right. His eyes are still smarting, but his vision is gradually improving.

There are few cars out and about; the only vehicles they meet are a couple of taxis.

‘Straight on,’ Rössel instructs. Jan drives straight on.

They head away from the centre and through the middle of a deserted industrial estate. Jan doesn’t attempt to think, he just drives, and eventually they are on the motorway that leads to Gothenburg. That too is almost deserted.

‘Put your foot down.’

A lorry thunders past on its way out of town, and the lights of farmhouses are visible among the trees on both sides of the road, but these are the only signs of human life tonight. It is Friday, and people are at home. There is no police surveillance on the motorway.

‘We’re out of town now,’ Rössel says. ‘Out in the country.’

Jan doesn’t say anything. He maintains a steady speed, but after ten minutes Rössel leans forward with a new order: ‘Pull in over there.’

Jan sees the entrance to a lay-by and picnic area, illuminated by a couple of lights but with no sign of any other cars. He pulls in and brakes immediately; he wants to keep the car close to the lights, and Rössel doesn’t object.

‘Switch off the engine.’

Jan obeys, and there is silence inside the car. Total silence.

Rössel lets out a heavy sigh, then says, ‘The smell has gone now … The hospital smell.’

But Jan is still aware of the acrid stench of tear gas and lighter fluid from Rössel’s clothes, and asks quietly, ‘What happened back there?’

Rössel takes a deep breath. ‘There was a real fire,’ he says. ‘I’d managed to smuggle some thinner out of the paint shop, and a lighter. I poured the lot on the floor in the corridor and set fire to it.’

The razor moves away a fraction when Rössel is speaking, so Jan asks another question: ‘Then what?’

‘Chaos, of course. It wasn’t a drill any more. It’s always chaos when their plans don’t work. But I kept calm and went to the storeroom. It wasn’t locked, so all I had to do was walk in. But I had to change my plans at the last minute.’ He sighs again. ‘Someone tried to stop me.’

‘His name is Carl.’

‘I know that. But he doesn’t need a name now.’

Jan keeps quiet. It occurs to him that Rössel hasn’t used his name either. Not once.

Rössel shuffles in his seat. ‘There is no smell, not any more. It’s the loneliness that smells in a hospital … Long corridors of loneliness, like in a monastery.’ He leans forward. ‘And you, my friend? Are you lonely too?’

Jan looks out at the empty lay-by. He resists the impulse to move his head – the razor is too close to his throat again. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Only sometimes?’

Jan could say anything, but he tells the truth: ‘No … often.’

Rössel seems satisfied with the answer. ‘I thought so … You smell of loneliness.’

Jan turns his head slowly. No sudden movements.

‘I was waiting for someone else tonight,’ he says. ‘Her name is Rami. Alice Rami.’

‘There is no Rami in the hospital.’

‘She calls herself Blanker in there … Maria Blanker, on the fourth floor.’

Rössel sounds irritated. ‘You know nothing,’ he says. ‘Maria Blanker is
not
Rami. She’s her sister. And Blanker’s room is on the third floor.’

‘Rami’s sister?’

‘I know
everything
,’ says Rössel. He sounds very certain, sitting behind Jan. ‘I listen, I read letters, I put the pieces of the puzzle together … I know everything about everybody.’

‘I wrote letters to Maria Blanker. And she replied.’

‘Who knows where letters end up? You wrote letters, but it was me you were writing to. I gave Carl some money, he let me read the letters, and I read and read … Your letter was different, I was curious. So I wrote back and told you my room was on the fourth floor. You left that little machine in my letter box, and you called out to your squirrel. I replied with the light … Off, on, off, on. You remember?’

Jan remembers. Rössel’s words are beginning to sink in.

No Rami
. Only Rössel, all along.

What did he put in the letters? What did he tell him via the Angel?

Everything
. Jan thought he was talking to Rami, so he talked about everything. He had so much to tell her.

‘So it’s all over now,’ he says.

He is empty and exhausted. But he doesn’t move; he can still feel the razor against his skin just below his right ear.

‘It isn’t over at all,’ Rössel says. ‘It just goes on and on.’

Suddenly he lowers his arm. The razor disappears and Jan hears
Rössel
let out a long breath, then say quietly, as if he is talking to himself, ‘That feeling just now, an open road in the darkness … The feeling of freedom. I’ve had walls and fences around me for five years. And now I’ve left it all behind.’

Jan turns his head a fraction. ‘And all those people who wrote you letters … have you left them too?’

‘Of course.’

‘Including Hanna Aronsson?’

‘Ah yes, Hanna.’ Rössel sounds smug. ‘She’s not here, is she? She’s somewhere else tonight.’

Jan understands. Rössel has fooled everyone.

He’s a psychopath. He lacks the capacity to feel guilt
, Lilian had said.
The only thing he wants is attention
.

Jan tries to imagine Rössel as a teacher. With such a soft voice, he must have inspired confidence in the classroom. And not only there; many people he encountered in the street, on his camping holidays, out in the country, must have thought he was trustworthy. Totally harmless.

Hi, my name’s Ivan; I’m a teacher making the most of the summer holidays … Listen, I don’t suppose you could help me carry this table into my caravan? It’s that one just over there, on its own. Yes, a coffee table, it would be brilliant if we could get it inside … I know it’s late, my friend, but perhaps you’ve got time for a cup of coffee afterwards? Or something stronger? I’ve got beer or wine … Of course, you go in first. Careful, it’s dark in here, you can hardly see a thing. That’s it, go straight in …

Jan shivers, in spite of the heat inside the car.

He hears Rössel moving behind him, then his voice very close to Jan’s ear: ‘We’ll be on the move again soon, driving down the open road … We’re going on a trip together, you and I.’

Jan has only one thought in his mind, and in the end he has to come out with it: ‘We ought to go back to the hospital.’

‘Why?’

‘Because … because the people up there will be worried if they know you’re out.’

Rössel lets out a cough, or perhaps a chuckle. ‘They’ve got other
things
to think about right now.’ He pauses, then goes on: ‘But this is what I’m talking about, the freedom of the open road. I want to do things out here. Write books, confess my sins … You know I promised to show everyone where a missing boy is hidden? That would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Jan says. ‘That would be a good thing.’

‘Or … or we could do other things. Things nobody wants to talk about. The things you think about all the time.’

Jan’s mouth is dry; he listens to the soft voice and feels Rössel’s words crawl inside him. But he turns his head and faces the back seat. ‘You don’t know me.’

‘Yes, I do. I know you. You told me everything. And that’s good. It’s nice not to have any secrets.’

‘I haven’t—’

But Rössel interrupts him: ‘So now you have to choose.’

‘Choose what?’

‘Well, you want to do things, don’t you?’

‘What things?’

‘There are fantasies you want to be a part of,’ says Rössel, pointing to the Angel on the front seat. ‘I heard your dreams … Someone hurt you deeply when you were young, and you have dreamed of revenge ever since.’

Jan gazes at the empty road, with Rössel’s voice in his ear: ‘If you could choose between good and evil … between saving a family and taking revenge for the hurt that was inflicted on you, which would you choose?’

Jan says nothing. The car feels very cold now, and the darkness comes crowding in.

‘It is opportunity that creates an avenger,’ Rössel goes on. ‘But before the opportunity comes along, the fantasies must exist … fantasies like yours.’

‘No.’

‘Yes. You dream of locking someone up. A boy.’

Jan quickly shakes his head, but doesn’t speak.

The darkness is complete, and the road and the night are calling.

‘Not a boy,’ he says.

‘Yes,’ Rössel says. ‘The fantasy runs through your mind like a film, doesn’t it? We all have our favourite fantasies.’

Jan nods; he knows.

‘Fantasies are like a drug,’ Rössel’s soft voice continues. ‘Fantasies
are
a drug. The more we fantasize, the stronger they grow. We want to hurt someone. Carry out an evil ritual. You can never escape from those thoughts. Not until you do something about them.’ He leans forward again. ‘Which would you choose?’ he asks. ‘Would you choose to do good or evil?’

Choose?