‘Old wiring,’ he says. ‘This place used to be a hospital for deranged children. And then a home for problematic juveniles. Don’t talk, just listen.’

We creep along the corridor and he occasionally puts his ear to a locked room.

‘Shhh,’ he says.

We head through a door.

‘Lights don’t work through here,’ he says, switching on his torch. ‘You can hold my hand if you’re scared.’

I’ll hold your goddam neck if you try anything.

Emil unlocks a storage unit.

‘Random check, we’re coming in,’ he says, knocking on the door. ‘All in the terms and conditions.’

He shines his light into the small, windowless room. Cardboard boxes with black writing scrawled on the sides. I can see ‘Ceramics’ and ‘VHS’ and ‘Mum’s documents’. Makes me think of a similar storage unit I pay 300 kronor per month for in Karlstad. Mum’s belongings in taped-up boxes. Photos of my grandparents. All of her old clothes folded into plastic containers. Her shoes. Her favourite woolly hat. Her books. Dad’s brown boots. The dress she wore on their wedding day.

Emil locks up the unit.

We head upstairs.

‘I need to get going soon,’ I say.

‘Got to finish my rounds,’ he says, the torchlight bouncing off the white walls and illuminating his undersize teeth. ‘It’s my responsibility.’

We check one more, larger unit, full of paintings. Some of them framed, most just rolled canvasses.

Emil opens the last door on the corridor.

He shines his torch inside.

A dozen eyes shine back.

31

Emil slams the door shut.

‘What was that?’

‘Nobody in there. Nothing. Let’s go.’

‘Emil, there is something in there.’

He jangles the candy bracelets on his wrists, stretching the elastic before biting off one of the sweets.

‘My job is to check to make sure nobody’s had a fall or a heart attack. That’s all. I can’t snoop around if nobody needs my help.’

‘Open the door again,’ I say.

He frowns at me. ‘I said no.’

‘Open the door, I think I saw a body on the floor.’

He looks confused. ‘There was no body.’

‘Just open the damn door.’

He cracks the hard candy between his teeth.

‘Why should I?’

‘You want my number?’

He blushes and I point at the lock. He takes his master key and unlocks the door and pushes it open. He reaches too close to me looking for the switch.

The lights flicker on.

Heads.

Arranged.