A throbbing pain fetched him back. He opened his eyes in darkness. Grey contours gradually emerged from the gloom. He couldn’t discern much, just the outlines of two large windows, but the night outside was almost as black as the room itself. He couldn’t see where he lay, perhaps on a bed or a sofa, at any rate he was comfortable. If, given his situation, one could speak of comfort at all.
He tried to remember. Before being plunged into darkness he had seen the face of a dead woman. Jeanette Fastré, large as life, and so vivid that, briefly, he thought she was standing in front of him. Even Kirie had been deceived and barked at the photo.
Where was the dog? He sat up with a start, worried that something could have happened to her. His head responded with acute pain. He touched it with his hand, almost surprised it was possible. He wasn’t bound. The blow had left a large bump.
Wolfgang Marquard had knocked him out, sure enough.
Marquard, the sound film hater.
Marquard, the cinema killer.
What was he up to? Where had he brought him? He couldn’t seriously believe that his problems would be solved by striking a police officer?
For the time being though, Rath was the one with the problems. His headache was abating, albeit gradually.
Suddenly, he sensed he wasn’t alone. A silhouette in front of the window moved, he heard the rustle of material and then a voice.
No, not a voice, more of a wheeze, a strange hiss, a kind of panting.
It sounded like a laugh without a voice.
‘Welcome to my prison,’ it said from the darkness.
‘Who are you?’
‘You still have your voice, that surprises me!’
‘Do you…are you an actress? Did he remove your vocal cords?’
The voiceless laugh wheezed through the darkness. ‘You wait,’ she hissed. It was meant to be loud but he had to strain to hear. ‘You’ll see.’
He heard furniture squeaking and steps in the darkness. There was a click and then the room was light. He blinked and looked around at a dark, wood-panelled room with old-fashioned furnishings, but luxurious nevertheless. A woman was standing in the door. Despite her snow-white hair, she couldn’t have been much older than fifty. She returned to her chair and gazed through the window into the night, which, thanks to the light in the room, had become no more than an impenetrable dark mass.
He sat up and his headache launched another attack.
‘I’m his mother.’
She continued to gaze through the window as she spoke. In the light, Rath could understand her whispered speech even less. Listening was a strain, and with each attempt his head grew more painful.
‘What’s wrong with your voice, Frau Marquard? Did your son…?’
‘I would like so very much to go out to the lake again. He doesn’t let me.’
‘Did he…did your son remove your vocal cords?’
‘He doesn’t let me out anymore. Sometimes I stand in the tower and gaze at the lake and dream that I’m down there in the wind.’ Her whispering grew quieter with each sentence, as if even this mode of speech would soon no longer be possible. ‘I’m condemned to wait here for death, without having sat by the lake again and felt the wind in my hair.’
Rath felt his headache getting worse. He stood up, and for a moment everything went black and he had to lean against the wall. He went to the next door and opened it.
‘You won’t get out of here, merely enter the next cell of our golden prison.’ She turned to face him, looking straight at him. She had a flawless, beautiful face and skin so fair it appeared almost transparent.
‘Why do you think you are up here with me? No one gets out if Wolfgang doesn’t want them to. You can’t even open the windows.’ She gave her panting laugh again. ‘It’s a good prison. My husband built it for Wolfgang. It was him who locked the boy up, not me, but I’m the one he takes revenge on. Strange, isn’t it?’ When she laughed she looked like the evil stepmother in Snow White, before she became the rapidly aged but still beautiful woman once more.
He had to support himself on the door frame. His hand shook for a moment, but the moment passed. There was cold sweat on his forehead.
‘You need sugar. Otherwise you’ll die.’
‘Sugar? Am I… Did he…?’
‘He gave you an injection. That’s why he brought you here.’ She shook her head as if she couldn’t understand such dim-wittedness. ‘People are only brought here to die.’
‘Then give me some sugar.’
‘I’d like to enjoy your company for a little while longer. It’s so rare that I have visitors. Just a few old ghosts.’ The old lady smiled. ‘It would be very nice if you could stay, but that’s not in my hands. Soon you’ll be gone, and I’ll be alone again.’
‘You must be able to bring me something! Don’t you have any chocolate, or take sugar in your tea?’ Rath felt his panic growing. ‘Fruit, sweets, juice, there must be something to hand, damn it!’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you. There has never been anything sweet up here, no chocolate, no fruit, no sugar, nothing. That’s the reason this prison was built in the first place.’