The Nightwalker Read online

  The door was concealed so well that if he hadn’t seen it in black and white on the picture from Natalie’s diary, he would never have found it in a thousand years.

  Leon groped around the wall of the apparent dead end, and didn’t find anything to grab hold of. No gap. No edge. No hinge.

  Secretly, he had suspected as much.

  After all the exertions so far, that would just have been too easy.

  He knocked against the wall looking for hollow spaces, hammered the crowbar against the sign, and even searched the surrounding walls and floor for hidden levers. But all in vain. Perhaps a blow-torch or sledgehammer would have come in useful, but against what?

  And even if he did succeed in opening this secret door, would he really find Natalie behind it? Her calls had gone silent, just like Tareski’s muffled piano playing, and by now Leon was no longer sure if he had even really heard her. He wasn’t sure of any of his senses any more.

  After the failed attempts to open the door, and feeling close to a mental breakdown, he had sunk down on to the earthy floor and buried his face in his hands.

  Here, at the very lowest point of his despair, not knowing what nightmares lay ahead, he had the alldecisive thought: Let’s suppose I have a second, nocturnally active self. And let’s assume that in my second consciousness I constructed a parallel world – then the entrance to this world can’t be that complicated. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to master it in my sleep!

  Under this premise, everything argued against the idea that the door had to be opened with brute force.

  Leon had pulled himself back to his feet and using his thumbs pressed with all his strength on the middle of the sign, as though it were the child-proof lock of a medicine container. At the same time he tried to turn the DANGER sign clockwise with his other hand, something that presumably would have been much easier if he hadn’t already bent the edges. But after the third attempt it made an audible click, then suddenly moved to the side.

  That had been half an hour ago. Leon had gazed in amazement at the safety lock exposed behind the sign, touching it with his fingers and checking to see if any of the keys on his keychain fit. The euphoria he felt when his front-door key turned in the lock disintegrated as Leon discovered that he hadn’t opened the door, just a postcard-sized cover, beneath which lay an electronic input screen. The buttons were inscribed not with numbers, but letters.

  Now what?

  He had the key but not the code.

  Leon tried the first passwords that came to mind: Natalie, Leon, their surnames and pet names, and even Morphet. All without success.

  Then his gaze fell on the inside of the lock’s protection plate. On closer inspection, he was able to make out the thin pencil lines, which formed a series of letters. He read:

  The violin is the key!

  What was that supposed to mean?

  My sleepwalking self is making mnemonics I don’t recognise in my conscious state!

  Leon had reached breaking point. Once again solving one mystery had only brought him another one, and now, standing before the ruins of his bathroom mirror, Leon became aware that he was neither physically nor psychologically able to figure this out alone.

  He didn’t want to wait any longer for Sven. No, he couldn’t wait. He needed help.

  Immediate help.

  Leon hurried out of the bathroom into the hallway, picked up the telephone from the unit and took it into the bedroom. He had left Inspector Kroeger’s card there, next to his laptop.

  What the hell?

  He stared at the keypad of his telephone.

  The buttons lit up when pressed, and he could hear an electronic crackle when he put it against his ear and listened hard. But other than that, the line was dead.

  But I thought I charged it?

  No dial tone. Not even when he tapped in the first few digits.

  This can’t be happening.

  He thought of Natalie’s mobile, but couldn’t remember where he had put it. Was it still down in the shaft? It wasn’t in his pockets, and he couldn’t see it anywhere else. So he went to the front door to go downstairs and ask Frau Helsing if he could use her landline, but then found himself confronted by the next problem. He was locked in.

  Leon stared at his front door as though entranced, fixated on the lock, which normally contained a key. Then he remembered which lock he had left it in.

  Down there. In the labyrinth. Damn it . . .

  Leon let out a sigh that became a drawn-out yawn.

  I can’t. Not again.

  But he didn’t have a choice. He was unbelievably exhausted, his eyelids heavy as though they had weights hanging on them, yet it didn’t matter. If he wanted to end all this insanity quickly, he had to go down there again.

  Into the labyrinth.

  But first he went to the bathroom to relieve himself, grateful for the destroyed mirror, which meant he could no longer see his reflection. If he looked only a fraction as bad as he felt, his appearance would scare even him.

  While Leon stood there urinating, his gaze fell on the medicine cabinet that Natalie had installed at head height over the toilet. Ever since the trip to Reunion, it had been well-stocked. Alongside aspirin, antibiotics, iodine, flu and diarrhoea remedies, pills for travel sickness, allergies and plasters, Leon also found the high-dosage caffeine tablets that she had taken in the initial phase of the gallery opening so she could work through the night. He swallowed two pills in one go and put the pack in his pocket.

  Just don’t fall asleep.

  Then he readjusted the head camera, activated the lamp and armed himself a third time for his descent into the darkness.

  29

  Hours later, when Leon opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was.

  He sat bolt upright in bed, startled awake by a sound like a squeaking tap. Seeing the make-up brushes on the bureau and the intact ceiling lamp above his head, he wondered why he felt so incredibly relieved.

  He stroked his hand across the rumpled sheets, feeling the warmth from a body that must have been lying next to him until moments ago. And then he smelled it: the perfume, that subtle summery scent he had missed so much in his nightmare.

  ‘Natalie?’ he called, his voice still thick with sleep.

  ‘Yes, darling?’ he heard her answer from the neighbouring room.

  Calm, relaxed, cheerful.

  Thank God.

  The incubus the nightmare had left behind began to lose its intensity.

  It was all just in my imagination!

  ‘You won’t believe the crazy dream I had,’ he called, starting to laugh.

  He looked at the wardrobe, which was in its familiar place. In the light of day, it looked much too heavy to be moved without help.

  There’s no door. No shaft. No transparent mirror.

  ‘I dreamed I discovered a labyrinth behind our bedroom wall while I was sleepwalking,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief at his own words. He made sure there was no USB stick in the laptop on the bureau, then jumped out of bed. He felt well rested and motivated for the first time in ages.

  ‘There were passageways down there, and mirrors through which we could spy on the Falconis. Can you imagine? It was a nightmare, and I was afraid of falling asleep.’ Leon heard the toilet being flushed in the bathroom.

  ‘And I filmed myself, like that time when I was a kid. Can you hear me, Natalie?’

  ‘Loud and clear, darling.’

  The rushing sound from a tap being turned on swallowed his wife’s words.

  ‘It was like in a computer game, completely insane. You had disappeared, and I found all these clues everywhere that led me to a different level or to a new door I needed to look behind. But do you know what the strangest thing was?’

  ‘No, what?’

  Leon wrapped his hands around his upper body, shivering. He was naked and, like always, Natalie had turned down the heating before going to bed.

  ‘I can remember all of it, every detail. Normally I
forget my dreams as soon as I wake up, but this time I can even remember what I was thinking just beforehand.’

  Leon opened the door of the wardrobe to get some clothes out.

  My last thought down there, before I fell asleep in front of the secret door with the DANGER sign, was: You have to stay awake. Get your front door key, climb back up, fetch help. But for God’s sake don’t fall asleep.

  ‘I was so scared of what I was capable of while sleepwalking that I wanted to stay awake at all costs. I even took some of your Hello Awake pills from the medicine cabinet.’

  ‘I know,’ said Natalie, with a voice that was no longer coming from the bathroom.

  Leon clapped his hand over his mouth in shock.

  ‘You just wanted to get your key from the DANGER door, but you suddenly felt so tired you fell asleep right there with the camera on your head, is that right?’

  No, please no. Don’t let it start all over again.

  His wife’s voice sounded so clear, as if she was standing right in front of him. But there was nothing there but . . .

  . . . the wardrobe!

  ‘Natalie?’

  Leon pushed the hangers to the side, as if he genuinely believed his wife could be hiding among the clothes like a child.

  ‘Darling, where are you?’

  ‘Here, I’m here.’

  ‘Where’s HERE?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s so dark. Please help me!’ said Natalie in a voice that sounded more distant now, but its source hadn’t changed. It was still coming from right behind the wardrobe.

  But that’s impossible.

  Leon tore out the whole clothing rail, hangers and clothes included. Then he kicked the rear panel until it gave way and fell to the side.

  Instead of the vault door that Leon was expecting, he found himself staring at a recently bricked-up section in the wall. The mortar between the bricks was still damp; Leon was able to leave fingerprints behind in the grey sludge.

  ‘Get me out of here,’ Natalie pleaded, close to tears now.

  Her pleading was like a downpour of icy water. Leon took a step back, stumbling over the crowbar that he had used to hit the mirror earlier.

  But EARLIER was a dream. And NOW is reality, isn’t it?

  ‘Leon. Get me out of here before it’s too late!’

  Natalie’s despair was like a baby’s crying: impossible to ignore. Guided by his primal instincts, Leon grabbed the crowbar and started raking out the mortar.

  ‘I’m coming,’ were the last words he uttered before he managed to get some purchase between the bricks. Quickly, much too quickly, the first small crumbs of brick began to come away from the wall, then shards, then finally a whole brick.

  ‘Hurry. Before you fall asleep again,’ he heard Natalie call, and then came the water.

  A dark drop bulged out, then it began to gush as though a valve had burst, and before Leon had time to press his hand against the hole in the wall, a fountain shot out. There was so much pressure that more and more bricks broke free, until eventually the entire wall collapsed over Leon.

  He tried to scream, but only breathed in cold, dirty-tasting water, which he couldn’t cough up because the pressure on his chest was growing and growing. Something pulled him down into the depths, threatening to drown him in its wet embrace.

  Leon hit out, thrashing his arms and legs, realised he was trapped by something, then pushed himself against it with all his strength and finally managed to break through a viscous upper layer with his head. He opened his eyes wide, gasped for air and coughed. And with his attempts to purge the liquid from his windpipe, the dream ended.

  30

  Leon soon wished he was still in the sleep paralysis from which he had just freed himself.

  At least then he wouldn’t be lying fully clothed in his bathtub, covered with some liquid that smelled like iron, and a with distant hum in his ear, not knowing whether the red stains came from one of his wounds or from the other, motionless creature that was in the bath with him.

  What IS that?

  He had touched it with his hand, and felt intense disgust as his fingers sank into the soft body under the water. He had gone through all the harmless explanations in his mind: a sponge, a flannel, a toy, but he couldn’t fool himself. The fur had belonged to a living thing once, as had the tubular internal organs that were floating on the surface of the water.

  Retching, Leon jumped out of the water, and in the process became entangled in the entrails, unintentionally pulling the animal over the edge of the bathtub.

  Alba?

  The dead cat thudded on to the tiles with a dull splat, its lifeless eyes fixed on Leon, the mouth open in a final hiss that seemed to have got stuck in its throat.

  Leon, too, opened his mouth, because he had become so nauseated he could no longer breathe through his nose.

  The smell of blood was just as intense as the sound of hammering on wood that had been coming from the hallway for a while now. It wasn’t the only way that someone was trying to make their presence known at the front door. The impatient visitor was also ringing the doorbell, and it was reverberating through the whole apartment.

  I thought it was broken? Leon asked himself, as close to hysteria as to a mental breakdown.

  My wife has left me because I’ve mistreated her; I can no longer tell the difference between dream and reality; I wake up in the bathtub with a dead cat – and now I’m worried about the doorbell?

  He shuffled out of the bathroom and crept along the corridor like a burglar: slowly, carefully, taking care not to make a sound. This was practically impossible, as his soaking boots squelched with every step. On top of that, he was struggling not to lose the left boot, which for some reason was missing its lace.

  There was still water in his windpipe, and Leon had to cough. But there was no danger of the person at the door hearing him, given the din they were making already.

  Who the hell is it?

  Leon looked through the peephole and closed his eyes in relief.

  ‘Thank God,’ he said, close to tears with happiness.

  The knocking and ringing died away.

  ‘Leon?’ asked Sven through the door.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What are you playing at? Open up, will you!’

  ‘Just a second.’

  Leon patted his pockets and was astonished to feel the bundle of keys that he thought he had left in the lock of the DANGER door in the labyrinth.

  How did they get back in my pocket?

  It was a struggle to get the key out of his damp pocket, before he opened the door to his friend, who pushed past him into the apartment, gesticulating wildly.

  ‘Leon, I’ve been outside your door for a quarter of an hour already, and . . . Oh God.’ Every trace of rage disappeared from Sven’s face as soon as he looked at Leon.

  ‘What in God’s name happened to you?’ he asked. At least, that’s what Leon presumed Sven wanted to ask, because his stuttering was worse than it had been in a long time.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ said Leon, turning towards the mirror. Then he understood why Sven was looking at him in such shock. He was still wearing his overalls, but now they were black from being drenched with water, or perhaps because of the blood, and that was not the worst thing about his appearance by far. His face looked as though he had made himself up like a clown and then put his head underwater: black and red make-up was daubed across his forehead and cheeks, down to his chin. Soot-like dirt made his hair stick together in thick strands, standing up erratically or clinging to his skull like algae. His red, inflamed eyes, over deep bags, completed the look of someone who was severely ill, with the worst symptoms still to come.

  ‘I need your help,’ croaked Leon, whose voice had failed at the sight of himself.

  ‘Are you having a breakdown?’ asked Sven, trying to form short sentences.

  ‘No, it’s not the work.’ Leon giggled, because the question seemed so absurd to him. ‘I haven’t done an
y work since the model disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared?’ Sven stared at him with an expression of rising disbelief.

  ‘Yes. Gone. No longer there. Like Natalie. I told you. I think our work is down there with her in the labyrinth.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the labyrinth I discovered behind my wardrobe. Come on, I’ll show you the door.’

  Leon grabbed for Sven’s hand, but he pulled away just before their fingers touched.

  ‘You have a fever!’

  ‘No. Yes, possibly. I’m not sure.’

  Leon searched in desperation for the right words to explain to Sven the insanity he was imprisoned in. When he didn’t find them, he pressed his fists against his temples in despair. ‘I don’t know what’s happening to me. Please, I’m begging you. Let me show you the door.’

  For a few moments they stood silently before one another, then Sven nodded hesitantly and sighed. ‘OK.’

  Leon was relieved. ‘Thank you. Really, thank you. Come with me.’

  He turned round after every two steps to make sure Sven was really following him. ‘Here it is,’ he said, once they had entered the bedroom.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Here . . .’

  Leon positioned himself by the side of the wardrobe and braced both hands against it, like a runner stretching his muscles before exercise.

  ‘I just need to push the thing to the side so that—’

  Leon stopped in bewilderment. Even though he was pushing with all his strength, the wardrobe refused to budge by even a millimetre.

  ‘Help me?’ he asked, but Sven just lifted his hands dismissively.

  ‘I’ve seen enough.’

  His gaze wandered over the chaos Leon had left behind in his bedroom during the last few days: clothes lay strewn wildly, the metal chair in front of the bureau was on its side, the glass shards of the ceiling lamp lay among the crowbar and other work tools from the upended toolbox.

  ‘I think you must be really burned out,’ said Sven with a stutter, eyeing the trainers with the melted soles by his feet warily. They lay next to a pair of used latex gloves.