Therapy (21 page)

He turned to the laptop. It was the same make and model as his. The screensaver vanished as soon as he touched the trackpad. He wanted, no,
needed
, to see what Anna had been working on.

He clicked on a Word document. The file belonged to him. It contained the questions from
Bunte
; in fact, it was the very same email attachment that he had been sent.

His gaze came to rest on the manuscript. Theoretically, Anna could have stolen one of his files in Berlin and swiped the data from his laptop, but his computer hadn't been tampered with until yesterday evening, and Anna had been in a terrible state. How had she managed to copy the interview so quickly and with such a steady hand?

It doesn't seem possible
.

He remembered their first encounter. Anna had come in from the beach without a trace of sand or dirt on her elegant shoes. And it had been pouring with rain.

The time factor bothered him. Was it humanly possible to fill so many pages in such a short space of time? The manuscript looked much longer than his original file.

He slid the final couple of pages from the bottom of the pile and gasped. No wonder. It wasn't his work. Anna
was seriously deranged: not content with copying his answers, she had drafted her own.

He started reading:

I feel guilty about my daughter's death. And I feel guilty about the break-up with my wife. There are plenty of things I'd do differently if I could have my time again. I shouldn't have done what I did to my wife.

He stared incredulously at the passage. Anna was obviously taking Isabell's side. Was this proof of a conspiracy? But why? What could they possibly stand to gain? Viktor had been hoping for an end to the darkness, a calming of the storm, but the manuscript was making things worse.

He was too busy reading the next passage to hear the footsteps behind him.

I should have listened to my wife. She always knew best. Why did I accuse her of turning against me when I was the one who pushed her away? I see now that I was wrong to blame her for what happened to Josy. If only I had trusted her, Josy would be safe.

Viktor read the last sentence again and again. He couldn't make head or tail of it. Defeated, he wondered whether he should take the manuscript and leave.

But his time was up already.

49

‘Surely you must have worked it out by now?’

Viktor recognized the voice immediately and let go of the manuscript. Panic gripped his throat like a boa constrictor. His pistol was somewhere on Halberstaedt's desk, buried under the mound of paper. He turned round and threw himself on Anna's mercy, only to discover that she was armed. She was gripping the lethal-looking carving knife so tightly that her knuckles were white. There was no doubt that she meant to hurt him, but she looked beautiful all the same. In fact, she looked as fresh and attractive as when they first met. Not a hair was out of place, her black suit, now carefully pressed, showed off her shapely figure, and her patent-leather shoes were practically sparkling in the light. She was obviously feeling much better.

Don't try looking for me. I'LL GET TO YOU!

Viktor decided to take the initiative and pretend not to notice her threatening stance. ‘Hello there, Anna. I can help you, you know.’

She says she's schizophrenic, but she's not
.

‘Ha! You can't even help yourself! Look what you did to your own life – your daughter, your wife, your career!’

‘What would you know about my wife?’

‘We moved in together. She's my best friend.’

Viktor searched her face for signs of madness, but there were none. She looked prettier than ever, which added to the horror of her words.

‘Would you like to tell me your real name?’ he suggested, hoping to prompt a reaction.

‘You know my name,’ she said, still perfectly composed. ‘I'm Anna. Anna Glass.’

‘Fine, I'll call you Anna if you want me to, but I know the truth. The Park Clinic told me what happened.’

She smiled at him cynically. ‘You checked with the clinic? I didn't realize you cared.’

‘Anna Glass wasn't a patient. She was an intern – and she's dead.’

‘How ghastly. How did she die?’

She turned the carving knife in her hand. The blade glinted in the light of the desk lamp, dazzling Viktor. He blinked.

‘They wouldn't tell me,’ he said, deciding it was safer to lie. ‘Please don't do anything rash.’

His mind was racing. Years ago he had been threatened by a patient, after which a panic button had been installed beneath his desk. But the situation with Anna was far more dangerous and he had no means of calling for help.
I should have stuck to my policy of never seeing patients at home
. He decided to try a different tack.

‘Didn't you say that your fictional characters tend to come alive?’

‘Full marks, Dr Larenz.’

I need to keep her talking until Halberstaedt gets home. Or until something happens – it doesn't matter what
.

It seemed expedient to play along with her so-called schizophrenia. ‘When you called me earlier, you said that “she” was back. You meant one of your characters, didn't you?’

She inclined her head briefly, a gesture which Viktor interpreted as a nod.

‘There's a perfectly natural explanation. You only
thought
your characters were coming to life because you transcribed my interview.’

‘No,’ she said firmly, shaking her head.

‘You copied what I'd written, and you thought you'd made it up, but the fact is, I'm real. My daughter and I exist in real life.’

‘You don't understand.’

‘Anna, please! It's all quite straightforward. I'm not a figment of your imagination; I'm a normal human being. You didn't create me. The book you were working on was
my
story. I wrote it first.’

‘You don't know what you're talking about!’ retorted Anna, suddenly angry. She slashed the air with the carving knife. Viktor took a few steps backwards and came up against the desk.

There was an angry glint in her eyes. ‘Don't you see what's happening? Surely you can't have missed the signs!’

‘What signs?’

‘You think you're so clever, don't you, Mr
Psychiatrist! You think I broke into your house, you think I stole your files, you think I'm in league with your wife! You even think I abducted your daughter! You don't get it, do you? You really don't get it.’

No sooner had she finished speaking than she was back to her former self – a pretty young woman dressed in quaintly conservative clothes. The cruelty and fury were gone from her face, and she smiled at him calmly. ‘Never mind,’ she continued, ‘we're not finished yet. I'll have to take this further.’

Further? How far is she prepared to go?

‘What do you want from me?’ he asked, feeling his throat constrict with fear. He could scarcely breathe.

‘Come here,’ she said, jabbing the knife towards the front of the house where the windows overlooked the sea. ‘I want you to take a look outside.’

Viktor followed her instructions.

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘There's a car in the drive. A Volvo.’ He spoke slowly, hesitantly, distrusting what he saw. Private vehicles were banned on Parkum and the car looked remarkably like the Volvo that was waiting for him on Sylt.

‘Aren't you coming?’ said Anna, who was already at the door.

‘Where to?’

‘I'm taking you on a little drive. We should hurry; the engine's running.’

Viktor put his face to the window and saw that someone was sitting at the wheel.

‘What if I refuse to go?’ he asked, looking her straight in the eye.

Without a word, Anna reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the pistol that he had been looking for on Halberstaedt's desk.

Viktor gave in to the inevitable and walked slowly to the door.

50

The interior of the Volvo smelt of beeswax and freshly polished leather. It was so like his own car that for a moment he was more bewildered than afraid. Three weeks ago he had left a vehicle of the same make and model in a car park on Sylt. Everything about the car was uncannily familiar, right down to the trimmings. He toyed with the idea that someone had flown his Volvo over from Sylt, but it simply wasn't possible, especially in weather like this.

‘Where are you taking me?’ he demanded. The question was addressed as much to the anonymous driver, who was sitting directly in front of him and looking straight ahead, as to Anna, who had taken a seat in the back.

‘For a drive,’ she said tersely. She clapped her hands and the driver accelerated smoothly away.

We can't be going far
, thought Viktor. Parkum had only two roads. In six minutes they would reach the lighthouse and have to turn back.

‘Where to?’ he asked again.

‘You know where we're going, Viktor. Work it out for yourself.’

The car picked up speed. In spite of the driving rain, the driver seemed disinclined to use his wipers.

‘Read this,’ said Anna, handing Viktor three closely written sheets of A4. Viktor recognized the blue biro and deduced that Anna was the author. He took the script with trepidation.

‘What's this?’

‘The final chapter of Charlotte's story. The conclusion. I thought you'd want to know.’

He noticed that the sheets were charred at the edges. It was almost as if Anna had turned back time and rescued the burning manuscript from the hearth.

‘Read it!’ ordered Anna, jabbing the pistol at the paper. He started to read.

ON THE RUN

‘Wouldn't it be easier for you to tell me what—’

‘Keep reading!’ she silenced him. Nervously, he read the first few lines:

The night at the Hyatt was awful. Charlotte's nose poured with blood and I had to call room service for new sheets and towels. I'd run out of tablets, but I couldn't go to the after-hours pharmacy because Charlotte was scared of being alone. After a while she dozed off. I thought about asking the porter to fetch us some penicillin and a packet of paracetamol, but it wasn't worth the risk. Charlotte was guaranteed to wake up as soon as anyone knocked on the door.

The car sped over a pothole, water spraying in all directions, and Viktor glanced up. So far the manuscript
hadn't helped to explain why he was trapped in a car with a mad woman who was forcing him at gunpoint to read a handwritten account of her delusions.

She likes to say she's schizophrenic, but she's not
.

As if the situation weren't bad enough already, the storm was still raging, visibility was down to four metres, and the driver, who was apparently deaf or dumb or both, seemed intent on clocking up a new world record. They were travelling so fast that the view through the rain-streaked windows was a blur. Viktor had no idea where he was.

‘Keep reading!’ said Anna as soon as he looked up. She released the safety catch to show that she meant business.

‘Calm down, Anna. I'm reading, honestly I am.’

Once again, Viktor gave in to the inevitable. And once again, it was worse than he imagined.

51

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, we left the hotel and drove to the station. We boarded a train and got off in Westerland where we waited for about an hour. Eventually we persuaded a weather-beaten fisherman to ferry us over to Parkum. Charlotte wouldn't tell me where we were going, but it seemed to me that she wanted to get things over with. Maybe Parkum, because of its isolation, was where it was supposed to end.

On reaching dry land, Charlotte underwent a miraculous transformation. She looked positively blooming, as if the North Sea air had done her good. As if to underscore the change, she made a point of changing her name. ‘Don't call me Charlotte,’ she told me. ‘I use another name on my little island.’

‘Josy?’ said Viktor, looking up.

Anna smiled at him. ‘Of course. Don't tell me you didn't know already.’

‘But it makes no sense. People would have noticed if you and Josy had visited Parkum. Someone would have said.’

‘Of course they would,’ said Anna, looking at him as if he were a feeble-minded patient who needed constant assistance. ‘Keep reading.’

Viktor read on.

52

We followed a track to a cottage on the beach. It was a ten-minute walk from the village and the marina. Josy told me that the cottage belonged to her parents: at weekends they went to Sacrow, but in the summer and during longer breaks they holidayed on Parkum.

I was anxious to light the fire and make some tea, but Josy had other ideas.

‘Come on, Anna,’ she said, tugging my hand and pulling me towards the front window which afforded a spectacular view of the sea. ‘It's time for the final clue.’ She pointed outside. ‘Look, do you see it? It was following us all the time. From Sacrow to Berlin, Berlin to Hamburg, Hamburg to Sylt – and now here. It's on the island.’

It took me a while to realize what she meant, but then I spotted a tiny figure five hundred metres from the house.

I desperately wanted to be proven wrong, but as the figure drew closer, I couldn't ignore the evidence before my eyes. Josy had been telling the truth: the evil had lived with her in Schwanenwerder, and it had followed us to the cottage.

I grabbed her hand and rushed to the door. I didn't know where to take her, but I knew we had to hide. A few metres from the porch was a garden shed where the generator was housed. We darted inside.

The cold, stale air clung to us like the smell of old tobacco in a telephone box, but anything was preferable to waiting in the open. I slammed the door – just in time.

By now only a hundred metres separated us from the woman on the beach.

Isabell was heading straight for the porch.

Viktor couldn't bring himself to look Anna in the eye. ‘You were hiding from my wife?’

‘Yes.’

‘What had she done to Josy?’

‘You'll find out if you keep reading.’

The roar of the Volvo's engine almost drowned out the deafening pulsing of blood in Viktor's ears. He could feel the adrenalin pumping through his body, brought on by the cocked pistol or by the speed with which they were racing down the unsealed road – or perhaps by both. He was surprised that he could think, let alone read, when his life was in the balance.
Thank God I don't get carsick
, he thought, only to chastise himself a moment later for wasting time on such trivial concerns.