The fourth book in the Erik Winter series, 2009

Translation copyright © Ken Schubert, 2009

Originally published in Swedish as Dans med en angel by Norstedts Forlag, Stockholm.

HE WAS NO LONGER ABLE TO MOVE. HE COULDN’T REMEMBER how long it had been this way. Movement was like a shadow play now.

He knew what was happening to him. He tried to make his way toward the south wall of the room, but the gesture was mostly in his mind, and when he raised his head to see where the sound was coming from…

Once more he felt the coldness between his shoulders and down his back, followed by the heat. He slipped and struck his hip as he fell, then slid along the floor.

He heard a voice.

There’s a voice inside me, he thought, and it’s calling to me, and the voice is me. I know what’s happening to me. Now I’ll go over to the wall, and if I stay calm it’s going to be all right.

Mom! Mom!

He heard a whir like when time freezes and the world stops before your eyes. He couldn’t escape it, and he knew what it was.

Get away from me.

Go away.

I know what’s happening to me. I feel the coldness again. I’m looking down at my leg but I can’t tell which one it is. I see it in the bright light. That’s not the way it was at first. But when the coldness began, the light went on and everything turned to night outside the window.

I hear a car, but it’s going the other direction. Nothing stops out there.

Get away from me.

He could still take care of himself, and if he were just left alone, he would be able to move around the room and over to the door. The man had come in, gone back out and gotten his things, then returned, closed the door and made it night outside.