LVII
May 15, 2011, Ile de Cuivre, Mediterranean Sea
Y ou betrayed her. You sold her out. They will kill her and it will be your fault.
He could not think of anything else, as they unstrapped him to get him out of the room, and the thought filled his mind with the bitter disappointment of having failed. Peter could feel that the drug that Creutzfeldt had injected into his system was quickly wearing off. He could remember every little detail of the interrogation, the terrible fatigue and the overwhelming grief he had felt whenever he told a lie, and the clarity and purity of the truth. But this did not lessen his feelings of guilt about selling Maria out. He had told them everything. Absolutely everything. It had been so easy. So terribly easy.
You should have been stronger. Stronger!
Too late. Peter was sure that Maria’s murderer was already on his way to Montpellier. Another thought washed over him, blended with the feeling of guilt like an antidote against a deadly toxin.
What if you really are crazy? What if Maria and the amulet are just figments of your paranoia? Then everything would be fine. Accept that you are crazy and everything is fine. It is very simple.
But in the end, it was not that simple. Because Peter was unwilling to believe that Maria was nothing but a hallucination. Maria was real, and his guilt was real. He had kissed her. And he had sentenced her to death.
Peter was only dimly aware that the two male nurses were not taking him back to the hospital cell on the upper floor. Instead, they were below sea level. The air smelled of salt, seaweed and sewers. This helped Peter to regain his senses and he made out a dirty stone staircase under his feet. A wooden door opened onto a lightless room. An overwhelming stench oozed out of the room like a poisonous bubble. The two men pushed him forcefully into the cell and locked the door.
Silence. All Peter could hear was his gasping breath, the pounding of his heart, and the sound of the sea above him. The stink of feces hung in the air. Peter tried to breathe shallowly so that he would not throw up. Seeing anything was impossible in the darkness. It took him quite a while before he noticed that he was not alone in the cell.
This realization brought him immediately to his senses. Peter tried to see something in the darkness. But for the moment, he could only smell the pestilential odor of sewage. Then he heard soft shuffling and gasping sounds coming from the rear corner. As his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he could make out a figure curled up in a ball, restlessly rocking back and forth.
»Hello?« Peter called into the darkness.
No answer, just the shuffling and gasping.
Peter wondered for a moment what he should do and then he began to crawl towards the figure in the corner. His hands touched something mushy, something putrid. He was overwhelmed with disgust. But he fought the urge to vomit and, cursing under his breath, he wiped his hands on the hospital gown he was wearing. Now he could clearly see the figure that was sitting in the corner, terribly afraid of Peter, trying to crawl away, mumbling.
»Hey, hello! My name is Peter Adam. Who are you?«
Why do you ask? You know the answer!
The figure crawled slowly to the side. Peter leapt at the naked man and knocked him to the ground. The man began to scream.
»Coraxo cahisa coremepe!« The man flailed around with his arms and legs.
Peter fended off the blows and tried to grab the man. Finally he managed to wrestle him down and twist one of his arms behind his back.
»Coraxo od belanusa!« The man began to whimper, as he lay prone under him, gibbering incomprehensible words. »Please not again, cahisa uirequo, beware, fair little flower! Ope copehanu. Mercy! Angel of the night, azodisa siatarisa, the black milk od salaberoxa faboanu, Amen!«
»Shut your trap, Kelly!« Peter screamed at the skinny naked man who was lying under him, and then he threw him violently onto his back so that he
May 15, 2011, Ile de Cuivre, Mediterranean Sea
Y ou betrayed her. You sold her out. They will kill her and it will be your fault.
He could not think of anything else, as they unstrapped him to get him out of the room, and the thought filled his mind with the bitter disappointment of having failed. Peter could feel that the drug that Creutzfeldt had injected into his system was quickly wearing off. He could remember every little detail of the interrogation, the terrible fatigue and the overwhelming grief he had felt whenever he told a lie, and the clarity and purity of the truth. But this did not lessen his feelings of guilt about selling Maria out. He had told them everything. Absolutely everything. It had been so easy. So terribly easy.
You should have been stronger. Stronger!
Too late. Peter was sure that Maria’s murderer was already on his way to Montpellier. Another thought washed over him, blended with the feeling of guilt like an antidote against a deadly toxin.
What if you really are crazy? What if Maria and the amulet are just figments of your paranoia? Then everything would be fine. Accept that you are crazy and everything is fine. It is very simple.
But in the end, it was not that simple. Because Peter was unwilling to believe that Maria was nothing but a hallucination. Maria was real, and his guilt was real. He had kissed her. And he had sentenced her to death.
Peter was only dimly aware that the two male nurses were not taking him back to the hospital cell on the upper floor. Instead, they were below sea level. The air smelled of salt, seaweed and sewers. This helped Peter to regain his senses and he made out a dirty stone staircase under his feet. A wooden door opened onto a lightless room. An overwhelming stench oozed out of the room like a poisonous bubble. The two men pushed him forcefully into the cell and locked the door.
Silence. All Peter could hear was his gasping breath, the pounding of his heart, and the sound of the sea above him. The stink of feces hung in the air. Peter tried to breathe shallowly so that he would not throw up. Seeing anything was impossible in the darkness. It took him quite a while before he noticed that he was not alone in the cell.
This realization brought him immediately to his senses. Peter tried to see something in the darkness. But for the moment, he could only smell the pestilential odor of sewage. Then he heard soft shuffling and gasping sounds coming from the rear corner. As his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he could make out a figure curled up in a ball, restlessly rocking back and forth.
»Hello?« Peter called into the darkness.
No answer, just the shuffling and gasping.
Peter wondered for a moment what he should do and then he began to crawl towards the figure in the corner. His hands touched something mushy, something putrid. He was overwhelmed with disgust. But he fought the urge to vomit and, cursing under his breath, he wiped his hands on the hospital gown he was wearing. Now he could clearly see the figure that was sitting in the corner, terribly afraid of Peter, trying to crawl away, mumbling.
»Hey, hello! My name is Peter Adam. Who are you?«
Why do you ask? You know the answer!
The figure crawled slowly to the side. Peter leapt at the naked man and knocked him to the ground. The man began to scream.
»Coraxo cahisa coremepe!« The man flailed around with his arms and legs.
Peter fended off the blows and tried to grab the man. Finally he managed to wrestle him down and twist one of his arms behind his back.
»Coraxo od belanusa!« The man began to whimper, as he lay prone under him, gibbering incomprehensible words. »Please not again, cahisa uirequo, beware, fair little flower! Ope copehanu. Mercy! Angel of the night, azodisa siatarisa, the black milk od salaberoxa faboanu, Amen!«
»Shut your trap, Kelly!« Peter screamed at the skinny naked man who was lying under him, and then he threw him violently onto his back so that he
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