probably for the best.”
She fell silent, lifted her chin, then slowly turned her head, her mouth half open like a child’s.
“I’ll stay a little while longer,” she said.
“Are you alone in there?”
She shook her head. “I can hear him,” she murmured, “but I can’t see him.” She frowned, as if she were trying to see something that was out of focus. “There’s an animal here,” she said suddenly.
“What kind of animal?” I asked. The hair rose on the back of my neck.
“Daddy has a big dog …”
“Is your daddy there?”
“Yes, he’s here, he’s standing in the corner; he’s upset, I can see his eyes. I’ve hurt Daddy, he says. Daddy is upset.”
“And the dog?”
“The dog is moving about in front of his legs, sniffing. It comes closer, moves back. Now it is standing quietly beside him, panting. Daddy says the dog is to guard me. I don’t want that, it shouldn’t be allowed to do that; it isn’t—”
Charlotte gasped for breath. A dreadful shadow passed over her face. I thought it was best to come up out of the trance, up out of the black sea. She ran the risk of wrenching herself out of the hypnosis if she moved forward too quickly. We had found the dog; she had stayed and looked at it. This was an enormous step forward. In time we would solve the riddle of who the dog actually was.
As we floated up through the water, I saw Marek part his lips and bare his teeth at Charlotte. Lydia reached out through a dark green cloud of seaweed, trying to stroke Pierre’s cheek; Sibel and Jussi closed their eyes and drifted upwards. We met Eva Blau hovering just beneath the surface.
We were almost awake. The dividing line where reality dissolves into the influence of hypnosis is always unclear, and the same is true during the reverse journey, back to the territory of consciousness.
“We’ll take a break now,” I said, and turned to Charlotte. “Good idea?”
“Thank you,” she said, lowering her eyes.
Marek got up, asked Sibel for a cigarette, and went outside with her. Pierre remained in his seat next to Jussi. Lydia stood up slowly, stretched her arms languidly above her head, and yawned. I thought I would tell Charlotte I was pleased she had chosen to stay a little while longer in her haunted house, but she had left the room.
I had picked up my pad to make a few quick notes when Lydia came over to me. Her heavy jewellery clinked softly, and I could smell her perfume as she stood next to me. “Isn’t it my turn soon?”
“Next time,” I replied, without looking up from my notepad.
“Why not today?”
I put my pen down and met her gaze. “Because I was intending to continue with Charlotte.”
“But if she doesn’t come back,” Lydia persisted.
“Lydia, I try to help all my patients.”
She tilted her head to one side. “But you’re not going to succeed, are you?”
“What makes you think that?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Statistically, one of us will commit suicide, a couple will end up in an institution, and—”
“You can’t reason like that.”
“Yes, I can,” she said, “because I want to be one of those who makes it.” She took a step closer to me and her eyes gleamed with unexpected cruelty as she lowered her voice. “I think Charlotte will be the one who takes her own life.”
Before I had time to respond, she simply sighed and said, “At least she hasn’t got any children.”
I watched Lydia go and sit down. When I glanced at the time, I realised more than fifteen minutes had passed. Pierre, Lydia, and Jussi had returned to their seats. I called Marek in; he was wandering around in the hall, talking to himself. Sibel was standing in the doorway, smoking, and giggled wearily when I asked her to come in.
Lydia’s expression was smug when I finally had to admit that Charlotte hadn’t returned.
“Right,” I said, bringing my hands together. “Let’s continue.”
I saw their faces before me. They were ready. In fact, the sessions were always better after the break; it was as if they were all longing to return to the depths, as if the lights and the currents down there were whispering to us, inviting us to join them once again.
The effect of the induction was immediate. Lydia sank into a deep hypnosis in just ten minutes.
We were falling. I could feel lukewarm water washing over my skin. The big grey rock was covered with corals. The tentacles of their polyps were waving in the water. I could see every detail, every glowing, vibrant colour.
“Lydia,” I said, “where are you?”
She licked her dry lips and tipped her head back; her eyes were just closed, but she had an irritated expression around her mouth, and her brow was furrowed. “I’m taking the knife.” Her voice was dry and rasping.
“What kind of knife is it?” I asked.
“The knife with the serrated edge, the one on the draining-board,” she said in a surprised tone, then sat in silence for a while, her mouth half open.
“A bread knife?”
“Yes.” She smiled.
“Go on.”
“I cut the pack of ice cream in half. I take one half and a spoon to the sofa in front of the TV. Oprah Winfrey. Dr Phil is sitting in the audience. She asks him a question and he holds up his index finger. There’s a piece of red thread tied around it, and he’s just about to tell us why when Kasper starts yelling. I know he doesn’t want anything, he’s just trying to spite me. He yells because he knows it will upset me. I won’t tolerate bad behaviour in my house.”
“What is he yelling?”
“He knows I want to hear what Dr Phil says. He knows I enjoy Oprah; that’s why he’s yelling.”
“And what is he yelling right now?”
“There are two closed doors between us,” she goes on. “But I can hear him yelling.”
“What is he saying?”
“Horrible words. He’s yelling cunt, cunt, cunt
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