Rössel lets out a heavy sigh, then says, ‘The smell has gone now... The hospital smell.’
But Jan is still aware of the acrid stench of tear gas and lighter fluid from Rössel’s clothes, and asks quietly, ‘What happened back there?’
Rössel takes a deep breath. ‘There was a real fire,’ he says. ‘I’d managed to smuggle some thinner out of the paint shop, and a lighter. I poured the lot on the floor in the corridor and set fire to it.’
The razor moves away a fraction when Rössel is speaking, so Jan asks another question: ‘Then what?’
‘Chaos, of course. It wasn’t a drill any more. It’s always chaos when their plans don’t work. But I kept calm and went to the storeroom. It wasn’t locked, so all I had to do was walk in. But I had to change my plans at the last minute.’ He sighs again. ‘Someone tried to stop me.’
‘His name is Carl.’
‘I know that. But he doesn’t need a name now.’
Jan keeps quiet. It occurs to him that Rössel hasn’t used his name either. Not once.
Rössel shuffles in his seat. ‘There is no smell, not any more. It’s the loneliness that smells in a hospital... Long corridors of loneliness, like in a monastery.’ He leans forward. ‘And you, my friend? Are you lonely too?’
Jan looks out at the empty lay-by. He resists the impulse to move his head — the razor is too close to his throat again. ‘Sometimes.’
‘Only sometimes?’
Jan could say anything, but he tells the truth: ‘No... often.’
Rössel seems satisfied with the answer. ‘I thought so... You smell of loneliness.’
Jan turns his head slowly. No sudden movements.
‘I was waiting for someone else tonight,’ he says. ‘Her name is Rami. Alice Rami.’
‘There is no Rami in the hospital.’
‘She calls herself Blanker in there... Maria Blanker, on the fourth floor.’
Rössel sounds irritated. ‘You know nothing,’ he says. ‘Maria Blanker is not Rami. She’s her sister. And Blanker’s room is on the third floor.’
‘Rami’s sister?’
‘I know everything,’ says Rössel. He sounds very certain, sitting behind Jan. ‘I listen, I read letters, I put the pieces of the puzzle together... I know everything about everybody.’
‘I wrote letters to Maria Blanker. And she replied.’
‘Who knows where letters end up? You wrote letters, but it was me you were writing to. I gave Carl some money, he let me read the letters, and I read and read... Your letter was different, I was curious. So I wrote back and told you my room was on the fourth floor. You left that little machine in my letter box, and you called out to your squirrel. I replied with the light... Off, on, off, on. You remember?’
Jan remembers. Rössel’s words are beginning to sink in.
No Rami. Only Rössel, all along.
What did he put in the letters? What did he tell him via the Angel?
Everything. Jan thought he was talking to Rami, so he talked about everything. He had so much to tell her.
‘So it’s all over now,’ he says.
He is empty and exhausted. But he doesn’t move; he can still feel the razor against his skin just below his right ear.
‘It isn’t over at all,’ Rössel says. ‘It just goes on and on.’
Suddenly he lowers his arm. The razor disappears and Jan hears Rössel let out a long breath, then say quietly, as if he is talking to himself, ‘That feeling just now, an open road in the darkness... The feeling of freedom. I’ve had walls and fences around me for five years. And now I’ve left it all behind.’
Jan turns his head a fraction. ‘And all those people who wrote you letters... have you left them too?’
‘Of course.’
‘Including Hanna Aronsson?’
‘Ah yes, Hanna.’ Rössel sounds smug. ‘She’s not here, is she? She’s somewhere else tonight.’
Jan understands. Rössel has fooled everyone.
He’s a psychopath. He lacks the capacity to feel guilt, Lilian had said. The only thing he wants is attention.
Jan tries to imagine Rössel as a teacher. With such a soft voice, he must have inspired confidence in the classroom. And not only there; many people he encountered in the street, on his camping holidays, out in the country, must have thought he was trustworthy. Totally harmless.
Hi, my name’s Ivan; I’m a teacher making the most of the summer holidays... Listen, I don’t suppose you could help me carry this table into my caravan? It’s that one just over there, on its own. Yes, a coffee table, it would be brilliant if we could get it inside... I know it’s late, my friend, but perhaps you’ve got time for a cup of coffee afterwards? Or something stronger? I’ve got beer or wine... Of course, you go in first. Careful, it’s dark in here, you can hardly see a thing. That’s it, go straight in...
Jan shivers, in spite of the heat inside the car.
He hears Rössel moving behind him, then his voice very close to Jan’s ear: ‘We’ll be on the move again soon, driving down the open road... We’re going on a trip together, you and I.’
Jan has only one thought in his mind, and in the end he has to come out with it: ‘We ought to go back to the hospital.’
‘Why?’
‘Because... because the people up there will be worried if they know you’re out.’
Rössel lets out a cough, or perhaps a chuckle. ‘They’ve got other things to think about right now.’ He pauses, then goes on: ‘But this is what I’m talking about, the freedom of the open road. I want to do things out here. Write books, confess my sins... You know I promised to show everyone where a missing boy is hidden? That would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Jan says. ‘That would be a good thing.’
‘Or... or we could do other things. Things nobody wants to talk about. The things you think about all the time.’
Jan’s mouth is dry; he listens to the soft voice and feels Rössel’s words crawl inside him. But he turns his head and faces the back seat. ‘You don’t know me.’
‘Yes, I do. I know you. You told me everything. And that’s good. It’s nice not to have any secrets.’
‘I haven’t—’
But Rössel interrupts him: ‘So now you have to choose.’
‘Choose what?’
‘Well, you want to do things, don’t you?’
‘What things?’
‘There are fantasies you want to be a part of,’ says Rössel, pointing to the Angel on the front seat. ‘I heard your dreams... Someone hurt you deeply when you were young, and you have dreamed of revenge ever since.’
Jan gazes at the empty road, with Rössel’s voice in his ear: ‘If you could choose between good and evil... between saving a family and taking revenge for the hurt that was inflicted on you, which would you choose?’
Jan says nothing. The car feels very cold now, and the darkness comes crowding in.
‘It is opportunity that creates an avenger,’ Rössel goes on. ‘But before the opportunity comes along, the fantasies must exist... fantasies like yours.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. You dream of locking someone up. A boy.’
Jan quickly shakes his head, but doesn’t speak.
The darkness is complete, and the road and the night are calling.
‘Not a boy,’ he says.
‘Yes,’ Rössel says. ‘The fantasy runs through your mind like a film, doesn’t it? We all have our favourite fantasies.’
Jan nods; he knows.
‘Fantasies are like a drug,’ Rössel’s soft voice continues. ‘Fantasies are a drug. The more we fantasize, the stronger they grow. We want to hurt someone. Carry out an evil ritual. You can never escape from those thoughts. Not until you do something about them.’ He leans forward again. ‘Which would you choose?’ he asks. ‘Would you choose to do good or evil?’