One by One(56)

“Maybe he did. Maybe he’s getting a head start on the police. We don’t know, do we?”

Danny’s remark stops me in my tracks, and I can’t honestly think what to say in reply. The truth is that I just don’t think Inigo is a killer. He seemed gentle, and desperate, and genuinely sad about Eva. But then I think of all the newspaper pieces I’ve ever read about “perfectly nice guys” who killed their kids or their partners or a complete stranger. And I am forced to remind myself of what Danny was trying to get at—these people are strangers to us. Whatever odd intimacy this situation has created, it’s illusory. We have known Inigo, like the rest of them, for less than three days.

There’s another long silence, and for a while I think maybe Danny has drifted off to sleep, but then he gives a great sigh.

“Shit, what are we going to do, Erin?”

“I don’t know.” The three words encompass all the desperation I’ve been building up since Eva’s disappearance. This is just unimaginably awful. First Eva, then Elliot, now Inigo. Our guests are disappearing one by one, like some bad horror movie. “If Inigo really has gone to get help—”

“I don’t believe it,” Danny says, with finality. “If he called the police like he claimed, then there’s no need for him to go and get them. And if he didn’t call them, why go and become the knight in shining armor all of a sudden? It doesn’t make sense. He’s not gone for the police. He’s scarpered, and this is his way of covering it up.”

His words make my stomach sink, but there’s no denying the logic of what he said. The truth is, whether Inigo has disappeared or not, it doesn’t change our predicament. We are stuck here, and we have no way of knowing whether Inigo will succeed in getting help—or even if he’ll try. All the complicated analysis in the world can’t change that. All we can do is sit and wait. Then, suddenly, an idea comes to me. “Wait, there’s one thing we could do.”

“What?”

“You could go. You could walk to Haut Montagne. Raise the alarm.”

There’s a long silence. Then Danny says flatly, “No.”

“I know it’s dangerous, but I can’t go with my ank—”

“Fuck the danger,” Danny breaks in. “I don’t care about the bloody danger. But you’re right—you can’t go, and I’m not leaving you here with a bunch of psychopaths.”

“We don’t know anyone here is a psychopath—if it’s true that Inigo—”

“I’m not leaving you,” Danny says, and something about his tone makes it very clear: that’s going to be his last word on the subject. I hear a rustle of covers as he turns sharply over in bed. “And that’s that. Now go to sleep.”

But it’s a very long time before I do.





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I climb back into bed. I am so tense that I am not sure I will get to sleep, but when at last I do drift off, it is into the deep, dreamless sleep of complete exhaustion. When I wake up it is bitterly cold, and although my clothes feel crumpled and sweaty, I am grateful that I never took them off. Getting up would have been too painful. Even with my clothes on, it is too cold to face getting out of bed, and I shut my eyes and just lie there. My phone has died completely, so I have no idea what the time is.

It is then that the scream rips through the quiet. It is a long, loud one that goes on, and on.

I sit bolt upright, my heart thumping, and then I swing my legs out of bed and stand. The movement is much too fast. I feel the blood drain away from my head, and then return with a prickling rush. My heart is still pounding with adrenaline.

Out in the corridor I can hear doors banging. Voices are calling out in panic.

“It’s coming from Tiger’s room,” I hear someone shout.

My hands are shaking as I fumble for my glasses and shove them onto my nose. It is so cold that my breath huffs white as I undo the door lock.

In the corridor Rik, Miranda, Topher, and Carl are crowded around Tiger’s door. Miranda is wearing a beanie hat and gloves.

“Open up!” Topher is shouting. “What’s the matter? Ani? Tiger? Open the door!”

The screaming has died into a low sobbing. It is impossible to tell who is making the sound.

I hear running feet, and then Danny the chef comes skidding around the corner of the corridor, wearing jogging pants and a crumpled sweatshirt.

“What the fuck’s going on? What’s all the shouting?”

“We heard screaming,” Rik says tersely. “From Tiger and Ani’s room. We can’t get them to open the door.”

“Stand aside,” Danny says, reaching into his pocket for his passkey. His hand comes out empty. “Fuck, must have left it in my other trousers. Oi!” He bangs on the door. “Open up! We can’t help you unless you open the door!”

There is a click. The door swings open.

With so many people in the way, I can’t see who it is. But then I hear Miranda’s startled voice say, “Tiger! What on earth is the matter!”

Tiger is sobbing so hard she can hardly get the words out.

“Ani, oh God, p-please help me. It’s Ani. I think she’s d-dead.”