of septic embolisms,’ she says, opening a door and ushering him through before following him into the patient’s room.
Daylight is passing through the bag on the drip-stand, making it glow. A thin, very pale man is lying on the bed with his eyes closed, muttering manically:
‘No, no, no … no, no, no, no …’
His chin is trembling and the beads of sweat on his brow merge and trickle down his face. A nurse is sitting beside him, holding his left hand and carefully removing tiny splinters of glass from a wound.
‘Has he said anything?’ Joona asks.
‘He’s been delirious, and it isn’t easy to understand what he’s saying,’ the nurse replies, taping a compress over the wound on his hand.
She leaves the room and Joona carefully approaches the patient. He looks at his emaciated features, and has no difficulty discerning the child’s face he has studied in photographs so many times. The neat mouth with the pouting top lip, the long, dark eyelashes. Joona thinks back to the most recent picture of Mikael. He was ten years old, sitting in front of a computer with his fringe over his eyes, an amused smile on his lips.
The young man in the hospital bed coughs tiredly, takes a few irregular breaths with his eyes closed, then whispers to himself:
‘No, no, no …’
There’s no doubt that the man lying in the bed in front of him is Mikael Kohler-Frost.
‘You’re safe now, Mikael,’ Joona says.
Irma Goodwin is standing silently behind him, looking at the emaciated man in the bed.
‘I don’t want to, I don’t want to.’
He shakes his head and jerks, tensing every muscle in his body. The liquid in the drip-bag turns the colour of blood. He’s trembling, and starts to whimper quietly to himself.
‘My name is Joona Linna, I’m a detective inspector, and I was one of the people who looked for you when you didn’t come home.’
Mikael opens his eyes a little, but doesn’t seem to see anything at first, then he blinks a few times and squints at Joona.
‘You think I’m alive …’
He coughs, then lies back panting and looks at Joona.
‘Where have you been, Mikael?’
‘I don’t know, I just don’t know, I don’t know anything, I don’t know where I am, I don’t know anything …’
‘You’re in Södermalm Hospital in Stockholm,’ Joona says.
‘Is the door locked? Is it?’
‘Mikael, I need to find out where you’ve been.’
‘I don’t understand what you’re saying,’ he whispers.
‘I need to find out—’
‘What the hell are you doing with me?’ he asks in a despairing voice, and starts to cry.
‘I’m going to give him a sedative,’ the doctor says, and leaves the room.
‘You’re safe now,’ Joona explains. ‘Everyone here is trying to help you, and—’
‘I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I can’t bear it …’
He shakes his head and tries to pull the drip from his arm with tired fingers.
‘Where have you been all this time, Mikael? Where have you been living? Were you hiding? Were you locked up, or—’
‘I don’t know, I don’t understand what you’re saying.’
‘You’re tired, and you’ve got a fever,’ Joona says gently. ‘But you have to try to think.’
Mikael Kohler-Frost is lying in his hospital bed, panting like a hare that’s been hit by a car. He’s talking quietly to himself, moistening his mouth and looking up at Joona with big, questioning eyes.
‘Can you be locked up in nothing?’
‘No, you can’t,’ Joona replies calmly.
‘Can’t you? I don’t get it, I don’t know, it’s so hard to think,’ the young man whispers quickly. ‘There’s nothing to remember, it’s just dark … it’s all a big nothing, and I get mixed up … I mix up what was before and how it was in the beginning, I can’t think, there’s too much sand, I don’t even know what’s dreams and …’
He coughs, leans his head back and closes his eyes.
‘You said something about how it was in the beginning,’ Joona says. ‘Can you try—’
‘Don’t touch me, I don’t want you to touch me,’ he interrupts.
‘I’m not going to.’
‘I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I can’t, I don’t want to …’
His eyes roll back and he tilts his head in an odd, crooked way, then shuts his eyes and his body trembles.
‘There’s no danger,’ Joona repeats.
After a while Mikael’s body relaxes again, and he coughs and looks up.
‘Can you tell me anything about how it was in the beginning?’ Joona repeats gently.
‘When I was little … we were huddled together on the floor,’ he says, almost soundlessly.
‘So there were several of you at the start?’ Joona asks, a shiver running up his spine and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
‘Everyone was frightened … I was calling for Mum and Dad … and there was a grown-up woman and an old man on the floor … they were sitting on the floor behind the sofa … She tried to calm me down, but … but I could hear her crying the whole time.’
‘What did she say?’ Joona asks.
‘I don’t remember, I don’t remember anything, maybe I dreamed the whole thing …’
‘You just mentioned an old man and a woman.’
‘No.’
‘Behind the sofa,’ Joona says.
‘No,’ Mikael whispers.
‘Do you remember any names?’
He coughs and shakes his head.
‘Everyone was just crying and screaming, and the woman with the eye kept asking about two boys,’ he says, his eyes focused inwardly.
‘Do you remember any names?’
‘What?’
‘Do you remember the names of—’
‘I don’t want to, I don’t want to …’
‘I’m not trying to upset you, but—’
‘They all disappeared, they just disappeared,’ Mikael says, his voice getting louder. ‘They all disappeared, they all …’
Mikael’s voice cracks, and it’s no longer possible to make out what he’s saying.
Joona repeats that everything is going to be all right. Mikael looks him in the eye, but he’s shaking so much he can’t speak.
‘You’re safe here,’ Joona says. ‘I’m a police officer, and I’ll make sure that nothing happens to you.’
Dr Irma Goodwin comes into the room with a nurse.