Page 137 of The Sleepwalker

Hugo is sprawled on his bed, sucking on a CBD vape and scrolling on his phone. The light is off, and the rice paper shade hangs above him like a pale winter moon.

He is wearing a pair of striped pyjama bottoms and a flowery T-shirt, and the dense network of tattoos on his arms make his skin look bruised.

Outside, the sky is dark.

Hugo is daydreaming about his trip to Canada, about getting to know his mother again when he takes her out to a restaurant full of colourful lights and gives her his lucky coin. His silver dinar.

He hears Agneta laugh upstairs, and he closes his eyes.

An hour ago, they ordered pizzas and ate a late dinner in the kitchen. His dad said he was happy that the family was back together again, and opened a bottle of American wine called Opus One that his editor at Knopf had given him in New York.

Hugo’s thoughts turn to the hypnotist and the fact that when Erik Maria Bark tried to get him to describe the reflection of the blonde woman’s face, he had seen the skeleton man from his nightmare, his skull and cracked eye sockets.

Could it be another case of double exposure? Maybe the woman was wearing some kind of weird makeup, or maybe she had heavy eyebrows that cast shadows onto her forehead.

Hugo puffs on his vape and decides that this is probably something he should share with his dad, that he and Agneta might be able to use in their book.

He stares up at the lampshade and tells himself to write it down before he forgets it, but changes his mind when he realises his notepad is out of reach on the armchair blocking the disused door into the living room.

Hugo lowers his phone to his chest and slumps back against the pillow.

Every time he inhales on his vape, a small light comes on at the end of the device, casting a soft glow onto the ceiling.

He closes his eyes for a moment to compose himself before he puts the vape down on the nightstand, picks up his phone and calls Olga.

‘Hi, babe.’

‘Are you alone?’ he asks.

‘Very.’

‘Who was that guy at your place?’

‘Which guy? Oh, you mean Hachim? I helped him with a job,’ she replies, sipping something.

Hugo sits up and pushes a pillow behind his back.

‘Olga, we need to talk .?.?. What was going on there? Redrum is .?.?. I mean, that’s not a normal club.’

‘Normal club? I hate normal clubs. They’re all so fucking lame and—’

‘But that place .?.?.’ he cuts her off. ‘Do you even, like, know what was going on—’

‘Enough of the fucking moralising. What the hell’s wrong with you?’ she says with a laugh.

‘I just want to know what you’re mixed up in.’

‘Relax. I know a bunch of people. What can I say? I told you not to come. Hachim likes posing, and he earns a fucking fortune. It means he can send a bunch of money home,’ she says,a new defensiveness to her voice.

‘I saw someone being raped,’ says Hugo.

‘It’s all fake, don’t you get it?’ she replies, softer this time. ‘These guys, they make so much every day. People aren’t allowed to actually hurt them. It wouldn’t work if they did.’

‘I dunno .?.?. I know what I saw.’

‘Everyone sets their own rules.’

‘OK, great .?.?. so everyone’s happy?’