One by One(73)

Tick. Tick. Tick. Disappearing into the darkness.

Perhaps it is the thought of the police, and everything that is going to come crashing down, but suddenly, I don’t know why, it sounds like a clock, ticking down to zero.





ERIN


Snoop ID: LITTLEMY

Listening to: Offline

Snoopers: 5

Snoopscribers: 10

My heart is hammering as I walk along the corridor to the staff section, and let myself into my bedroom. The room is totally dark, lit only by the narrow beam of the torch, but I don’t want to risk the batteries giving way so I switch it off, and in the darkness I sink down onto my bed. I need to think.

My fist is clenched around the key, hard against my palm, like a physical reminder of the craziness of this situation, and now as I sit there, trying desperately to make myself understand this conundrum, I find that I’m holding it so hard that it’s biting into my fingers, leaving dents I can still feel when I force my hand open.

What does it mean? What does it mean?

If Liz took that key… is she the killer? But how?

I cast my mind back, reliving the scrum in the corridor when Danny broke into Tiger’s room. Liz was there, I’m certain. But I remember that while everyone else surged forward into the room, she hung back. I thought at the time it was because of her natural reserve—it seemed so in character, compared to the way everyone else thrust themselves forward, pushing to see what was going on. But now I wonder. Was she hanging back so that she could pocket the key, unobserved?

But why, that’s what I can’t understand. Liz cannot have killed Eva. Motive aside, she’s one of the few people, along with Ani and Carl, who had no opportunity at all. She was stuck on the bubble lift going back down to the bottom of Blanche-Neige when Eva was seen skiing La Sorcière.

But the key. The key that is hard and jagged and incontrovertible in my hand, as if refusing to allow me to forget its evidence.

What about the key?

I rub my hand over my face, feeling the shiny scar tissue, the ever-present reminder of what I did, the price I paid for being too sure of myself, and I’m suddenly aware that I have been sitting here for—I’m not sure how long, but a long time. Too long. Suspiciously long. I have to get back downstairs, or Liz will know something is wrong.

I switch the torch back on and gather up an armful of duvets, and then, holding the torch in my teeth, balanced on top of the stack of pillows, I open the door with my free hand.

Liz is standing right outside, almost nose to nose with me, the torchlight reflecting off her glasses.

I scream, and the torch bounces off the pillows and falls to the floor with a thump, where it goes out.

My heart is hammering in my chest like a pneumatic drill.

“Jesus,” I manage, my voice shaking. “Liz, you scared me.”

I set the duvets down with trembling hands, and grope for the torch.

“Sorry,” she says. It sounds like she’s smiling, but I can’t be sure in the darkness. There is something so flat about her voice, so hard to read. “You took so long. I got worried.”

“I—” Oh fuck, what can I say? What excuse can I give? “I was just changing my top.”

What. Why on earth did I say this? She’ll be able to see I’m wearing the same clothes I was before. What a stupid lie.

I feel sick with nerves. I am a terrible liar. Even at school I could never do the two-faced “Oh, you look so lovely! I look like trash!” thing that the other girls did. The only time I can dissemble is when I’m in staff mode. Then I’m polite and cheerful to everyone, no matter how I really feel—not because I like them, but because they are guests, and I’m staff, and that’s my job.

The thought calms me.

It’s my job. I can do this. Liz is a guest, and it’s my job to be sympathetic to her. I just have to channel that thought.

I switch on the torch, and I make myself smile.

“Shall we head down? It’s really cold up here.”

And Liz nods, and turns for the stairs.





LIZ


Snoop ID: ANON101

Listening to: Offline Snoopers: 0

Snoopscribers: 1

There is something wrong with Erin. I am not sure what. She said she was worried about Danny, but if that’s the case, I don’t know why her fears came on so suddenly. She was quite cheerful until about two hours ago. Then she got nervous and edgy.

We have been lying in the darkness for perhaps an hour or more, but she is not asleep. It’s not just that she’s not snoring—out of the corner of my gaze I can see her eyes are still open, reflecting the light from the fire’s embers as she blinks. She is lying there in the darkness, silently watching me. She is thinking about something. But I do not know what.

What is she thinking?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to look as normal as possible.

A few minutes later I hear the creak of the mattress springs. Erin is cautiously swinging her legs out of bed.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

She jumps like a criminal caught in the middle of something, and puts her hand to her heart.

“God! Liz, you scared me.”

“Sorry.” I don’t say anything else. From my experience, if you keep quiet, people get nervous. They talk. They fill the silence with their own conversation. You can find out a lot that way. Sure enough, after a pause, Erin answers my question without me having to restate it.