The Sanatorium(103)

Her mind hooks onto the next conclusion: Lucas is the person Margot was working with. He’s the killer.

But if that was the case, why did he not kill her in the tunnel, when he had the chance?

Turning, she starts sprinting back through the tunnel. It’s hard work—the slight incline, the altitude. Each stride feels clumsy, useless, like she’s not making any headway. A bead of sweat trickles down her forehead. Impatiently, she wipes it away, carries on.

Her thoughts lurch to Margot: Why would Lucas kill her?

Had something gone wrong, or was this what he intended all along? Had he groomed Margot to be the perfect fall guy? Wanted it to look like revenge so he could carry out the rest of his plan unhindered?

Thoughts flash through her mind—what Cecile had told her, his relationship with Laure, his passion for the hotel. His lies.

It makes sense, doesn’t it? His motive could be one she’s considered before, perhaps the biggest motive of all: protecting the hotel. She remembers Cecile talking about his passion for the place: building a monument to himself.

Is this some deluded attempt to try to protect his legacy? It’s possible: the murders an attempt to conceal the truth about the sanatorium’s dark past.

Had the people he killed known something about it?

A logical rationale should have told him it could never work, but she knew a killer’s logic was never rational. In his mind, his course of action would make total sense: the only viable conclusion. It’s that sense of utter conviction that enabled killers to do what they did—a ruthless single-mindedness.

Whatever the answer, she knows she has to act fast.

Finally, she reaches the steps. She walks up the first few, tilts her head upward. It’s completely dark: no light from the archive room above.

Her suspicion was right: he’s closed the hatch. Clamping the flashlight between her teeth, Elin reaches up, pushes with all her strength on the handle attached to the underside, but it doesn’t budge.

She tries again; this time feeling the surface with her fingers, trying to find a weak spot, but there isn’t one.

A new tactic: moving backward to the step below, she crouches down, then springs off her feet, propelling herself upward with all of her body weight.

It doesn’t work; the wood moves only a fraction, revealing just a thin crack of light.

Stumbling slightly as she lands back on the narrow step, Elin looks all around with a sense of rising panic; there’s no other way out.

He’s locked her in.

Several minutes tick past as she tries to come up with a plan: no one but Lucas and Cecile knows she’s down here. Cecile might not come looking for her yet, and that would give Lucas enough time to execute whatever he has planned.

There’s probably no point in attempting to go back through the tunnel to find the exit, since Lucas said it was likely to be blocked.

Think, Elin, think.

A thought flashes into her mind—something basic she hasn’t even considered.

My phone.

She pivots on the step and fishes it out of her pocket. The screen comes to life but now Elin doesn’t feel so clever—there’s only one bar of signal, flickering in and out of range. She moves it slowly backward and forward. Nothing: the flickering goes, replaced by two words: No Service.

This time, she moves as high as she can go, until she’s crouched on the top step. Glancing at the screen, she sees the Swisscom name has appeared. The flickering bar becomes solid.

A faint signal: it might be enough. Sitting on the step, she taps out a message to Isaac.

Locked in the archive room. There’s an opening in the floor in the center—like someone’s etched a square in the rubber. Lift it up, and the tile beneath, and you’ll find a hatch.

An immediate reply: On my way.

Several minutes later she hears something overhead: rough thuds, scrapes.

A loud creak, and all at once there’s an influx of light.

Elin blinks, momentarily blinded. She can make out Isaac directly above her, kneeling over the opening. His face is flushed, sweaty.

Reaching out a hand, he helps her up. “Are you okay?” His voice is gruff, thick with emotion.

“I’m fine.” Straightening, she takes a deep breath. “Margot’s dead, Isaac.”

“Dead?” His voice cracks. “But you thought—”

“I know. But I found her, down in the tunnel.” She falters as an image of Margot’s broken body fills her head. Horrible, graphic images.

“So it wasn’t her?”

Elin hesitates, trying to get her thoughts straight in her head. “I’m not sure. I’m pretty sure she was involved, but I think she was working with somebody else. The person who locked me down here.”

Isaac frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Lucas,” she says bluntly. “He came down with me, to find Margot. He was with me the whole way, and then when I was examining Margot’s body, I turned around, and he’d gone.”

Isaac blows out his cheeks, letting out a slow whistle of air. “But why wouldn’t he just kill you? Get you out of the way?”

“I don’t know,” Elin replies. “I’ve been thinking about it. I was distracted by Margot. . . . Maybe he didn’t think he needed to.”

Isaac looks anxiously toward the door. “So what are you going to do now?”