Page 20 of The Sleepwalker (Joona Linna #10)

Three hours later, Hugo has given all the required samples, undergone the usual examinations and eaten dinner in the dining hall.

He is messing about on his phone in the dayroom when Lars Grind comes in and asks him to follow him.

‘I thought we’d put you in the suite,’ Lars says as they walk down the corridor. ‘You’ve stayed there before, haven’t you?’

‘Yeah, once. Who am I shar—’

‘No, no, it’s all yours this time.’

‘Phew, thanks.’ Hugo smiles.

‘But I do need to ask you one small favour. Don’t go into the other bedroom, please. It’s important. Don’t even open the door. It’s to do with an independent research project.’

‘OK.’

The doctor pauses once they reach the suite. ‘I’m heading home now, but if you need anything you can always call me.’

‘Night,’ says Hugo.

He opens the door and steps into the dark hallway, accidentally knocking the lock button on the wall before managing to find the light switch.

There is a click as the door locks. Hugo heads straight through to the bedroom, dumps his rucksack on the bed and then pops his head into the lounge area.

The pale-grey curtains are drawn, and there is a burgundy blanket folded neatly on the sofa.

On the low coffee table, the staff have left a bowl of red apples.

A TV has been mounted on one wall, and there is also a bookshelf with soft lighting and glass doors.

A dull anxiety stirs in the pit of Hugo’s stomach. He really doesn’t want to be here. Sleepwalking has already taken up far too much of his life. He wants to move in with Olga, travel to Canada with her and reconnect with his mother.

He knows that if he opens the curtains in his suite, all he will see is a photograph of the Swedish countryside. The artificial light behind it is on a timer, programmed to change in line with the real shifts of night and day.

Hugo goes through to the kitchenette, where there is a small drop-leaf table and two chairs, a toaster and a set of blunt knives.

When he was younger, Hugo found Lars Grind’s interest in him flattering – funny, even – but since the doctor moved to Uppsala, he feels more like an eager relative who is much too keen to stay in touch.

Hugo continues down the hallway, past the bathroom, and stops in front of the closed door to the second bedroom.

He isn’t sure what he is doing.

Lars asked him not to open the door, but he feels like he needs to see what is on the other side.

Someone has carved a downward arrow into the varnished wood.

Hugo reaches out and turns the handle. It isn’t locked.

He opens the door and peers into the darkness on the other side.

Cool air floods towards him, carrying the scent of fabric and dust.

He blinks and waits for his eyes to adjust, and little by little the room starts to emerge.

It looks exactly how he remembers it: identical to his.

Around three metres beyond the threshold, however, there is something on the floor. It looks like a long line of pebbles.

Steadying himself against the doorframe, Hugo leans forward and realises that they are pistachio shells.

Someone has laid out perhaps two hundred pistachio shells in a straight line between the wardrobe and the wall.

Hugo takes a step back and shudders. Maybe he should call Lars, he thinks. Admit to accidentally opening the door.

He glances over to the wardrobe, convinced that he has just seen a movement inside the slatted door, when he hears a loud knock behind him.

Hugo’s hand is shaking as he carefully closes the door.

Whoever is outside knocks again.

He hurries back into the hallway, presses the lock button, opens the door and feels a rush of warmth and relief when he sees Rakia standing outside. The Tunisian research nurse is in her fifties, with tinted glasses, shoulder-length hair, heavy eyeliner and red lipstick.

‘Rakia,’ he says with a smile. ‘Come in, come in.’

‘I need to hook you up to some sensors,’ she says neutrally, pushing a trolley of wireless polysomnography equipment into the room.

‘I was starting to wonder when you’d drop by to say hi.’

She doesn’t reply, just follows him through to the bedroom, parks the trolley beside the bed and stamps on the wheel lock.

‘I’ve checked your stats, and everything looks normal,’ she says without meeting his eyes.

‘OK, great.’ Hugo takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

‘Your P-ASAT level is a bit high, which we’ll look into, but it shouldn’t affect anything else.’

‘How’re things?’

‘Fine .?.?. thanks for asking.’

Rakia works quickly to attach a number of sensors: ten to measure brain activity and six his heart rate, two to track his eye movements and four to detect any muscle tension or leg twitches.

Once she has gone, and the electric lock has clicked behind her, Hugo gets out of bed. The sensor pads tug at his skin with every movement.

He doesn’t feel particularly tired, but he grabs his toiletry bag and goes through to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.

He then fills a glass with water in the kitchen and returns to the bedroom.

After putting the glass down on the nightstand, he gets into bed and writes a text message in the warm glow of the reading lamp.

Maybe I could sleepwalk all the way to Canada, save having to pay for my plane ticket.

Olga replies immediately, with a ‘haha’. Hugo sees that his father has sent several messages, but he doesn’t have time to reply before Olga calls.

‘I’ll help you if you can’t save enough,’ she says.

‘If my grades are OK this term then I’m going to get a weekend job at Starbucks .?.?. earn me some dough, yo.’

Olga laughs. ‘Really, Hugo? Dough ?’

‘What?’

‘You’re just so Swedish,’ she says cheerfully. ‘You’re rich, live in a great house, go to a good school.’

‘Busted.’

‘Yup.’

‘Guess I might as well admit that I’m thinking of swallowing my pride and asking Dad—’

‘You’re breaking up a little.’

‘He has some money saved in case I ever want to study abroad. No idea how much,’ Hugo continues.

‘The man’s clueless when it comes to that sort of stuff.

Sometimes he buys shares, sometimes he opens investment accounts .

.?. He’s got gold in his office, dollars and euros.

Just last week, he was talking about buying a bit of forest outside of G?vle. ’

‘Are you planning to tell him .?.?. th y ar goi .?.?. try to find your mum?’

‘Might as well tell him the truth, yeah.’

‘What?’

The line crackles.

‘How lon .?.?. yo goi .?.?. to be there? I miss you already,’ she says.

‘Lars wants me to stay for a week, but I’m going to try to get out sooner.’

‘I .?.?. I thi .?.?.’

The call drops.

Hugo notices the low hum of the ventilation system, followed by what sounds like a dog barking through the walls.

Olga rings him back after a few minutes.

‘The line’s really bad,’ he says.

‘Can you hear me now?’

‘Yeah. I’ve been thinking about what you said about Canada. That .?.?. that even if we don’t find Mum, at least I tried .?.?. I really believe that. I can’t just sit around, waiting forever.’

‘I got a bonus, so I paid it into the account.’

‘You shouldn’t do that until I’ve caught up,’ he says.

‘Stop, it doesn’t matter. Let me do it my way. You’ve got your dad, but I have to work.’

The line crackles, and when Olga next speaks her voice sounds much closer.

‘Are you allowed visitors there?’ she asks in a flirty tone.

‘All these electrodes are pretty sexy.’

‘I’m .?.?. s .?.?. re the .?.?. are,’ she stutters before the call drops again.

A few seconds later, a text message arrives. Night night, I love you, dream about me , followed by three red hearts.

Hugo puts his phone down beside the water glass and realises that his eyelids are heavy. Maybe he is tired after all, he thinks, reaching up to turn out the lamp.

The soft glow from the amber nightlights emerges in the darkness, accompanied by the small LEDs on the cameras.

The first couple of nights at the lab always feel a bit strange, trying to sleep while covered in sensors, knowing that he is constantly being monitored.

Hugo closes his eyes and thinks about the fact that he hasn’t seen any of the other patients yet. He did hear a soft, monotone voice in the corridor while he was eating dinner, and guesses it must have been the boy Bo mentioned.

His thoughts turn to Rakia’s chilly, almost hostile attitude earlier, and he wonders whether he just imagined the special bond they had when he was younger, desperate for a mother figure.

He lies still, listening to the quiet clicking sounds.

He knows they are coming from the cameras and motion sensors, but in his mind’s eye he sees someone dropping pistachio shells in a neat line on the floor.

Hugo is just about to drift off to sleep when something jolts him wide awake.

At first, he isn’t sure what it was. His heart is beating so hard that he can hear his blood pounding.

It was a scream.

A terrible howl from a woman cut through the walls, almost as though she were standing by the foot of his bed in the darkness.