Read Therapy for Free Online Page B

specific. People had been offering Viktor their condolences for four years.
    ‘I thought we might help you,’ said the mayor.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘As soon as you got off the ferry, I said to myself that a change of scene would do you good. I thought you were going to put the past behind you and get some colour in your cheeks. The trouble is . . .’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You look paler than ever. Is something the matter?’
    I'm trapped in a nightmare , thought Viktor, the nightmare of my life. And you're not making it any easier . He kept his thoughts to himself, shook his head firmly and almost lost his balance. He was feeling dizzy again.
    Halberstaedt closed the gate behind him and looked at him sternly. ‘Suit yourself. Maybe it's nothing, maybe it's not. Either way, remember what I said about that woman.’
    Viktor merely nodded.
    ‘Look after yourself, Doctor. Keep an eye out over the next few days. I've got a bad feeling about this.’
    ‘I'll be careful. Thanks for the concern.’
    Viktor locked the front door and peered after Halberstaedt through the spyhole. The perspective was rather limited, and within seconds the mayor was out of sight.
    What was all that about? he wondered.
    Eventually he would discover the truth – but by then it would be too late.

7
    Four days before the truth, Parkum
    Bunte: Do you still live in hope?
    The second question was the worst. After a bad night's sleep and an uninspired breakfast, it was ten o'clock by the time that Viktor started work. Thirty minutes later, he was still staring at a blank screen. At least there was a reason for his sluggishness. He was almost certainly developing the flu. Yesterday's dizziness seemed to have cured itself, but he had a sore throat and a runny nose. All the same, he wanted to make some headway with the interview.
    Hope .
    It was tempting to answer with a question of his own:
    Hope for what? That Josy is still alive or that someone will find her corpse?
    A strong gust shook the lattice window. Viktor vaguely recollected hearing a weather warning on the news. Since yesterday, the island had been bracing itselffor the arrival of Hurricane Anton, the tail end of which was set to hit Parkum that afternoon. A grey bank of rain was stacking up over the sea and the first showers, pushed landwards by the ferocious wind, had started to lash the coast. The temperature had fallen sharply overnight and, thanks to the feeble output of the diesel generator, it was chilly enough for the fire to be useful as well as pretty. In fact, it was so dismal outside that even the fishing boats and ferries were heeding the coastguard's advice. From his desk by the window, Viktor was unable to make out a single vessel on the angry-looking sea. He shifted his gaze to the screen.
    Hope .
    Viktor clenched his fists and spread his fingers over the keyboard without touching the keys. On first reading, the question had blasted through his brain, breaking down an invisible dam and flushing out his mind. After the initial emptiness, a single thought took shape, a memory of his father's last days. At seventy-four years of age, Gustav Larenz had been diagnosed with a lymphoma. The cancer caused him constant and excruciating pain, for which he was given a steady stream of morphine, but in the final stages of his illness, no drug in the world was strong enough to take away his suffering. He was tortured by pounding migraines whose potency was reduced to a tolerable level every couple of hours by a fresh dose of pills. Viktor remembered how he had described it: ‘It's like living under a bell jar, surrounded by fog.’
    Now, years later, he understood. His hope was hidden under a bell jar. He wondered whether the father's symptoms had been visited on the son, passed from one generation to the next like a hereditary disease. Only the cancer isn't attacking my lymph glands; it's invading my mind, eroding my spirit .
    Viktor took a deep breath and began to type.
    Yes, he lived in