Joona Linna Crime Series Books 1-3: The Hypnotist, The Nightmare, The Fire Witness. Lars Kepler
looks over toward the office, and Yiva clears her throat. “I’m going out to get a sandwich for lunch.”
“What, at this hour?”
“I just thought,” says Yiva, her eyes downcast.
“Go on then.”
Simone knocks on the office door and goes in. Shulman is sitting behind the desk sucking a pencil.
“How are you?” he asks, beginning to rise.
“Not so good.”
“That’s what I thought.”
There is silence between them, and he moves closer. She lowers her head. A feeling of exposure, of having been worn down to the most fragile part of herself fills her. Her voice trembles as she blurts out:
“Benjamin is alive. We don’t know where he is or who’s taken him, but he’s alive.”
“That’s good news,” Shulman says quietly.
“Fuck,” she whispers, turning away and wiping the tears from her face with a trembling hand.
Shulman gently touches her hair. She moves away without knowing why. She really doesn’t want him to stop. His hand drops. They look at each other. He’s wearing his soft black suit, with a hood sticking up above the collar of his jacket.
“You’re wearing the ninja suit,” she says, smiling in spite of herself.
“Shinobi, the correct word for ninja, has two meanings,” he says. “It means ‘a hidden person,’ but it also means ‘one who endures.’”
“Endures?”
“Perhaps the most difficult art of all.”
“It’s impossible alone, at least it is for me.”
“No one is alone.”
“I can’t cope with this,” Simone whispers. “I’m falling apart. I have to stop thinking about it all the time. I have nowhere to go. I walk around thinking I just want something to happen. I could hit myself over the head or jump into bed with you just to stop this panic inside me—” She stops abruptly. “What I just said. It sounded completely … I’m really sorry, Sim.”
“So which would you choose, in that case?” he asks with a smile. “Would you jump into bed with me or hit yourself over the head?”
“Neither,” she answers quickly. Then she realises that doesn’t sound right and tries to smooth things over again. “I don’t mean … I’d really like—” She stops again, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.
“What would you like to do?” he asks.
She meets his gaze. “I’m not myself. That’s why I’m behaving like this,” she says simply. “I feel incredibly stupid.” She lowers her eyes; her cheeks are burning, and she clears her throat.
They gaze at each other, no longer focusing on the conversation.
“Simone,” he says; he leans forward and kisses her on the mouth, just briefly.
Her legs feel weak, her knees are trembling. His silky voice, the warmth of his body. The smell from his soft jacket, a mixture of sleep and fine herbs. As his hand moves gently over her cheek and around to the back of her neck, it feels as if she has forgotten the wonderful silkiness of a caress; as his grip tightens slightly to draw her face nearer to his, she realises how long it has been since she has felt truly desired. Shulman gazes at her intently. She is no longer thinking about running away from the gallery. Maybe this is just a way of escaping for a little while from the terror thudding in her chest, but that’s all right. Let me escape, she thinks. Let me forget all the terrible things.
This time she responds to his kiss. She is breathing rapidly, feeling his hands on her back, at the base of her spine, on her hips. Her emotions overwhelm her; she feels a burning sensation, a sudden blind urge to have him inside her. The force of her desire startles her; she pulls away, hoping he can’t see how excited she is. She wipes her mouth and clears her throat again as she turns away, hastily trying to adjust her clothing.
“Somebody … someone … might …”
“What should we do?” Shulman asks, and she can hear the tremor in his voice.
62
monday, december 14: morning
Without replying, Simone takes a step toward Shulman and kisses him again. She no longer has any thoughts. She fumbles for his skin beneath his clothes and feels his warm hands on her body. His hands search inside her clothes, and when he makes it down to her panties and feels how wet she is, he groans. She wants them to fuck right here, up against the wall, on the desk, on the floor, as if nothing else matters, just as long as she can divert the panic for a few minutes. Her heart is beating fast, her legs are shaking. She pulls him towards the wall, and as he moves her legs to thrust inside her, she whispers to him, telling him to do it, to hurry up but do it. At that moment they hear the cool tone signalling that someone has entered the gallery. The parquet floor creaks, and they let go of each other.
“We’ll go to my place,” he whispers.
She nods, aware that her cheeks are flushed. He wipes his mouth and leaves the office. She stays behind, waits for a while, leaning on the desk for support, her whole body trembling. She tidies herself up, and when she walks out into the gallery Shulman is already standing by the door.
“Have a nice lunch,” says Yiva.
In the taxi on the way to Sim’s apartment, Simone changes her mind. I’ll call Dad, she thinks; then I’ll explain to Sim that I have to go. The very thought of what she is about to do makes her feel sick with guilt, panic, and agitation.
They walk up the narrow staircase to the fifth floor, and as he is unlocking the door she begins to rummage in her bag for her phone. “I just need to call my father,” she says evasively.
He doesn’t reply, simply walks ahead of her into the terracotta hall and disappears down the passageway.
She stands there with her coat on, looking around. Photographs cover the walls, and a recess containing stuffed birds runs along just below the ceiling. Shulman returns before she has time to dial Kennet’s number.
“Simone,” he whispers. “Don’t you want to come in?”
She shakes her head.
“Just for a little while?”
“OK.” She keeps her coat on as she follows him into the living room.
“We’re adults,” he announces. “We can do what we like.” He pours two glasses of cognac, and they toast each other and drink.
“That was good,” she says quietly.
One wall is made entirely of glass. She moves across and looks out over the copper roofs of Södermalm and the dark reverse side of a neon advertising sign depicting a tube of toothpaste.
Shulman comes over, stands behind her, and puts his arms around her.
“Do you realise I’m crazy about you?” he whispers. “I have been right from the start.”
“Sim, I just don’t know … I don’t know what I’m doing,” Simone says.
“Do you always have to know what you’re doing?” asks Shulman, drawing her towards the bedroom.
She goes with him as if she has known all along that this would happen. She has wanted this to happen, and the only thing that held her back was the fact that she didn’t want to be like her mother. No, like Erik: a liar furtively dealing with phone calls and text messages. She has always thought of herself as having a natural barrier against infidelity. But now she has no sense of betrayal whatsoever. Shulman’s bedroom is dark.