Inside his brain, he was aware of the urge, like a persuasive whisper: I don’t want you to kill her. Just take a little more. . . As he refused, he was aware of the rage she was holding back; it was like trying to take the bottle from an alcoholic. He was also aware of a new element in his relation with this woman. In the Space Research laboratory, she had deliberately exercised all her seductiveness, alluring him with an irresistible essence of femininity. Now he was aware of the hardness and selfishness below the surface. To emphasise his refusal, he turned his back on the girl beside him. The moonlight fell on the picture of his wife and children, bringing a wave of tenderness. He felt the same protective tenderness towards Selma Bengtsson. The vampire would have liked him to kill her, draining all her life force, even down to the subliminal molecular levels, and Carlsen was aware that a weaker man would have given way. It would have made no difference to her that he would be charged with murder, or that he would be of no further use. It was not that she wanted to lose Carlsen, only that her craving for life overmastered all other considerations. Carlsen felt a surge of irritable contempt, and knew instantly that she had also felt it. Immediately she became conciliatory. Of course he was right — she was just being greedy. The disappointment burned into dull rage, then was suppressed beyond the range of his awareness. For a moment, he had a frightening glimpse of a bottomless gulf of frustration, unsatisfied craving that had dragged on for thousands of centuries. At the same time, he also understood why she had to be a vampire. The ordinary criminal can repent, and retrace his steps towards love and human sympathy. These creatures had too much to repent; it would have taken an eternity.
He was aware suddenly that Selma Bengtsson’s hand was resting against the back of his thigh, and that energy was flowing from it. The vampire was alert again, drinking it as a cat laps cream. Now, suddenly, he was aware that she was dangerous, and that if she became hostile, she could destroy him. While her attention was distracted, he closed his mind from her. He even turned back towards Selma, running his hand gently over her naked body, allowing a trickle of energy to seep through him. She stirred in her sleep and sighed; her open lips were a temptation, but he rejected it. He allowed himself to become heavy and sleepy. He reached down and carefully pulled up the bedclothes. Then he took the girl into his arms and concentrated on giving her some of his own energy. The vampire lost interest; it was incomprehensible to her that anyone should give away his life force.
With a deep, unconscious part of her mind, Selma Bengtsson understood what he was doing. She stirred, half opened her eyes, murmured something that sounded like “I love you.” He pressed her against him and felt her sink back into sleep. At the same moment, he realised that the vampire was gone, and he was alone again.
The moonlight had moved around to the dressing table. He could hear the lapping of the waves in the faint breeze. He lay there, staring at the ceiling. The girl beside him was a complication. Now he understood what had been happening, and was appalled at his own ignorance, his capacity for ignoring the messages from his subconscious. For days, the vampire had been using him, sucking energy from Jelka and the children. His unconscious resistance had made this difficult. When the three girls had placed their hands on him, earlier in the evening, the vampire had suddenly become alert, sucking up the energy as it flowed from them. Subconsciously, the girls had been puzzled; it was like pouring tea into a cup, and watching the cup remain empty. At the same time, they were powerfully attracted by Carlsen. The other two would willingly have done what Selma Bengtsson had done, even though they knew — as she did — that Carlsen was an energy vampire. He filled them with a sense of mystery, a desire for surrender. If he summoned them now, using his awakened powers, they would come to the bedroom and offer themselves. He felt a stir of desire, which he instantly repressed; the vampire responded to desire like a shark to blood.
He woke up, aware of the dawn. Selma was leaning over him, brushing his mouth with her lips. He realised with surprise that her energies had recovered. She was still low, but no longer close to the danger level. And now she wanted him to take her again. He was overcome by a sense of absurdity. She aroused in him a basic tenderness, but it was a tenderness that he usually reserved for his wife and children. It struck him suddenly that her body was Jelka’s. Both were embodiments of a female principle that lay beyond them, looking out of the body of every woman in the world as if out of so many windows.
He caressed her shoulder. “You’d better go to your own room now. It’s getting light.”
“I’d rather stay with you. Make love to me again.”
She bent down and kissed him. He shook his head. She asked: “When are you going back to London?”
“Today.”
“Then make love to me.”
“No. Lie down.”
She lay back on the pillow. He began to stroke her gently, his hand running from her shoulder, over her breast, down to her knees. He allowed his own energy to flow into her. She sighed and closed her eyes like a contented child, breathing more and more deeply. He began to kiss her at the same time. A sweetness of contentment rose in her, communicating itself to him; then he felt her drift into sleep. He lay beside her, feeling depleted but contented. He had taken nothing from her; only given back a little of the life force he had taken earlier. At least he was not yet a vampire. . .
There was a knock at the door, and the handle turned. He sat up, calling: “Vem är där?” A girl’s voice said something about coffee. “Leave it there, please.”
Selma Bengtsson said sleepily: “What time is it?”
“A quarter to eight.”
She sat up. “My God! I must go!”
When she disappeared into the bathroom, Carlson brought in the tray with the coffee and climbed back into bed. The lake was glittering in the morning sunlight. As he sipped the coffee, he closed his eyes, concentrating on his sensations. He felt tired; but it was no longer the strange lassitude he had experienced since he returned to earth.
Selma came out of the bathroom, now fully dressed; he thought she looked as beautiful and immaculate as if she had just dressed for dinner. She leaned over and kissed him. “Would you mind looking outside the door to see if anyone is there?”
He did as she asked; the corridor was empty. She pressed against him for a moment, then hurried out; he closed the door quietly behind her. There was a strange relief in being alone.
He had just finished dressing when there was a knock on the door; he called: “Stig in!” It was Fallada.
“Good morning. What time did you get to bed?”
“About half past two. You know, I was mistaken about the Count. He’s certainly no crank.”
Carlsen said: “I never thought he was.”
Fallada stood staring out of the window. He said: “We talked about you. He thinks your encounter with that woman might have affected you more than you realise.”
Carlsen started to speak, and experienced again the deep reluctance he had felt before. As Fallada stood, silent, he overruled it with an effort of will. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
The sound of the gong vibrated up the stairs. Fallada asked: “Can it wait until after breakfast?”
“I expect so. In fact, I’d like Geijerstam to be present too.”
Fallada looked at him curiously but said nothing.
The others, including Selma, were already seated. The breakfast room faced east, and the sunlight was dazzling. Geijerstam stood up. “Good morning. I hope you slept well?”
“Heavily.” Carlsen felt that satisfied the interests of both honesty and accurary.
He sat between Selma and Louise. Geijerstam said: “We are all hoping to persuade you to stay another day at least.”
Carlsen looked across at Fallada. “It’s up to Hans. I’m free, but he has work to do.”
Annaleise Freytag said: “Oh, please stay a little longer.”
Reaching out for the toast, Carlsen’s hand brushed that of the French girl. Instantly and without any doubt, he knew she knew about Selma Bengtsson. The knowledge startled him. At the same time, he found himself desiring her. It was not the usual masculine desire to undress an attractive girl. It was connected to the life and warmth that vibrated from her young body. He wanted to press his nakedness against hers and gently suck life from her. A moment later he realised he felt the same about Annaleise, and that his desire endowed him with the power of reading her mind. Both girls knew that Selma had spent the night in his room. He even knew how they knew; Selma had left her door slightly ajar, with the light still on. Louise had passed the door at seven-fifteen, looked inside, and seen that the bed was undisturbed.