Free The Man Who Watched Women by Michael Hjorth

people who don’t seem able to move on, for one reason or another. Does that sound familiar?’
    Deep down Sebastian was glad Stefan had come up with something as banal as group therapy. It moved him a few steps away from the black thoughts, and filled him with a simple, liberating irritation.
    â€˜It sounds incredibly familiar and incredibly tedious.’
    â€˜I’d like you to come.’
    â€˜No.’
    Sebastian got to his feet, making it clear that the session was over and that he had no intention of discussing the matter any further.
    â€˜I insist that you come.’
    â€˜Insist all you like, but the answer is still no.’
    Sebastian headed for the door. This feeling of irritation was terrific. It provided him with fuel. Did Stefan really think he was going to see Sebastian Bergman in some snivelling, sobbing self-help group?
    Not a chance.
    Sebastian closed the door behind him. The energy gave him a lift, cheered him up. He might get something done today after all.

    Sebastian had managed to get all the way to the university buildings at Frescati before the energising irritation dissipated. He wanted to show Stefan that he could get himself a life, but the weariness was starting to take over.
    The whole thing had started at home in his apartment on Grev Magnigatan earlier in the week, when he had found the old manuscript of a three-hour lecture entitled ‘An Introduction to Offender Profiling’. It had been at the bottom of a pile of newspapers and other documents in his study, a room he never used; in a moment of boredom he had suddenly decided to have a good clear-out. He couldn’t remember when he had written the text, but it was obvious that it was before the disaster, since it was largely free of the suffocating cynicism that now dogged his every thought. Sebastian had read it straight through twice, and was actually quite impressed with himself. He really had been able to write once upon a time.
    The lecture was sharp, well-informed and riveting.
    Sebastian had sat at the desk for a while with the document in his hand. Discovering a better version of himself had been a strange, almost surreal feeling. After a while he had looked around the room, and suddenly found signs of the better Sebastian everywhere. The diplomas on the walls, the books, the press cuttings, the notes he had once made, the words he had once written. His study was full of the flotsam and jetsam of another life. To escape the memories, he had gone over to the window, looked at the street below, but the remains of his old life were everywhere, and he remembered how he used to park his car just there, opposite the antique shop. Back when he had a car and somewhere to go.
    After the conversation with Stefan he had felt uplifted, almost inspired. He had gone straight home and into his study, where he started searching through the piles of papers, hunting for the contract, looking for a name. Someone must have ordered a three-hour lecture from him. After a while he had found two copies of a draft contract from the university’s department of criminology. Dated 7 March 2001, and relating to a total of three lectures providing an introduction to offender profiling. He tried to remember why he had never actually delivered the lecture. In 2001 he had been at the top of his game. Sabine had been born, and he was living with Lily in Cologne, so presumably he had simply thought he had better things to do. The contracts hadn’t been signed, but the other party was a university lecturer called Veronika Fors. He didn’t recognise the name. Head of Faculty. He had called the department. It was many years since she had sent the contract, but she was still there. The switchboard had put him straight through, but his courage had failed and he had hung up before she had time to answer. He had sat down again with his manuscript in his hand. At least she was still there.

    He stopped a few hundred metres from the