Jon was caught off guard by the change of scene, but he quickly recovered. The darkness limited the possibilities for manipulating the surroundings and gave him a chance to relax. He tried to gather his forces, though he knew it wouldn't be long before the scene changed again.
'Are you okay?' asked a voice outside the car door.
The main character could do nothing but scream.
Then other sounds. The sound of metal against metal, faces that bent close and then vanished, the chassis of the car creaking and groaning. Petrol fumes filled his lungs and made him cough again. He felt someone grab hold of him. The pain was unbearable. He screamed. Someone was yanking violently at his body. Suddenly he felt water on his face. Rain. He saw the outline of the car as he was dragged away. He saw the crushed roof and the crumpled bonnet. He saw a blue spark issue from the rear of the car.
Then he felt the heat washing over him.
Mehmet and Katherina came out into the corridor, beyond the crowd's field of vision, and hugged each other.
'What happened to the two of you?' Katherina asked.
'It wasn't all that easy to get in,' replied Mehmet. 'And we also had to convince a couple of guards to loan us their togas, if you know what I mean.'
'Where's Henning?'
'He's there,' said Mehmet, nodding towards the stairs. 'He started reading from another book we found.'
They hurried up the stairs to the next level. Here the tables and chairs had not been removed. They stood in long, even rows – a sharp contrast to the chaos below. Henning was sitting with a book in his hands in the middle of the floor, a couple of metres from the edge of the terrace. As they approached, they could hear him reading in a clear voice.
'Watch out,' said Katherina, holding Mehmet back. A spark raced across the pages of the book Henning was reading. 'He's been reactivated.'
'Is that good?' asked Mehmet.
'I have no idea,' replied Katherina and sighed. She stepped closer to Henning and studied his face. His eyes were staring down at the book but they seemed to be seeing more than just letters and words. A few drops of sweat glistened on his brow and his cheeks were flushed.
'He's completely out of it,' declared Mehmet.
'Leave him be.' Katherina moved over to the railing. They were standing right above the podium with a full view of the floor below. Jon was still standing there, reading, paying no attention to the fact that scattered all around him were bodies lying on the floor along with a jumble of candles and books. Discharges from the electrical fixtures sent constant showers of sparks out into the room, and bolts of lightning leaped between Jon and the eight other Lectors standing around the podium who had been reactivated. It was as if they were feeding each other with energy, sometimes in random bursts, at other times passing the charge from one person to another like a relay baton.
'Shit,' said Mehmet next to her. 'What the hell is going on?'
Before Katherina could reply, they heard a clattering sound behind them. Henning's body had straightened up and was arched like a bow over the chair he had been sitting on. Foam was seeping from the corners of his mouth and a horrible hissing sound had replaced his reading voice. Katherina ran over to him but didn't dare touch his body, which began to shake violently. His eyes were no longer staring at the book but were looking up at the ceiling with an empty, frozen expression. A drop of blood ran from his nose to his lips.
'Henning!' she yelled. 'Can you hear me?' There was no reaction on his face.
Katherina didn't know what to do. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight, but didn't dare. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She took a step back, never taking her eyes off Henning's face.
Suddenly his body stopped shaking and his features once again looked human. Then he closed his eyes and collapsed back onto the chair.
Mehmet took a hesitant step towards the Lector and studied his face closely before he pressed two fingers to Henning's throat. After a couple of seconds he removed his hand and sighed.
'He's dead,' he said.
It was raining in the cemetery. After the darkness of the flashback scene, the rain was a much-needed breath of fresh air. The stench of petrol had been replaced by the smell of wet grass and flowers.
'Wow,' exclaimed Remer. 'Nice little intermezzo.'
Another grey cloud appeared and began taking shape.
Remer smiled. 'Give it up, Campelli. It's now eight against one.' Then his smile froze and he frowned.
The new arrival was Henning, who looked around in astonishment.
'Henning!' shouted Jon in relief.
Henning took a moment to get his bearings and then caught sight of Jon.
'Jon!' he cried. 'Is that you?'
Remer uttered an angry shout and held his hands out towards the spot where Henning was standing. A strong wind began blowing around them.
'Ignore it, Henning!' yelled Jon. 'It's not real. Focus.'
Henning stared in bewilderment at his feet. The wind picked up. A whirlwind rose up around him until he was surrounded. It had torn up earth and leaves as it emerged, encircled him at an ever-increasing tempo.
'Katherina,' Henning shouted. 'She's…' The wind stole his words. 'Lightning… have to go back… out…' A panicked expression spread across his face.
Jon tried to neutralize the tornado, but Remer's supporters made sure that it got even stronger, rotating faster and faster. Jon tried to change its path but it refused to budge. Henning's figure grew weaker. His shouts could no longer be distinguished from the roaring of the wind and his body grew fainter with every second. Finally his figure was no longer visible in the centre of the storm.
Suddenly the whirlwind vanished, and all the stones, leaves and earth it had contained came raining down. Henning was gone.
Remer seemed to be examining the pile of dirt that remained on the spot where Henning had stood. 'I think you're right, Campelli,' he said. 'It's a matter of faith.' He smiled. 'And I don't think we've seen the best yet.'
Around them the scene changed again. Lightning sliced across the sky and rain began to fall, at first in big, heavy drops, then in columns of water. The grass grew higher as Jon stood there looking at it, and the walls of the cemetery seemed to move further away to make room for new rows of headstones, white crosses beneath grey clouds.
Remer laughed. A maniacal tone had crept into his voice. 'Nothing can stop us now!'
The wealth of details seemed to explode. Jon could see the very structure of the bark on the trees, microscopic fungi on the surfaces of the gravestones, vermin underground, moisture that had collected in the carved surfaces of the headstones. It was almost too much for him to take in; so many impressions forced themselves on him, filling his head until he thought he would faint.
One of Remer's comrades in arms sank to his knees, holding his head. He started screaming, and the outline of his body slowly blurred. The sound of his shouts grew fainter as the Lector's molecules separated from one another, cloaking him in a cloud of particles that vanished in the wind.
'Remer,' said Poul Holt, sounding strained. 'You need to hold back a little.' His face was contorted with pain.
'Hold back?' Remer shouted. 'We haven't come this far to hold back.'
'He's right,' said Jon. 'You've gone too far.'
Angry, Remer turned to face him. 'Too far?' He smiled.
Jon sensed the wind growing stronger around him. Dirt and raindrops whirled past. He was bombarded by impressions of the shape, speed and path of every single drop, but he had no control over them. Remer was steering and shaping them, down to the individual molecules.