The Sanatorium(112)

It happens in slow motion—Cecile’s torso twisting as she falls toward the pool, her grasp tight enough to pull Lucas with her. He crashes on top of her, briefly submerging her, water arcing into the air.

Cecile isn’t under for long. Only seconds later, she surfaces, water streaming down her face.

Already, she’s on top of Lucas, arms flailing violently above her head before her hands clamp tight around his neck.

Reality hits Elin: Cecile’s a strong swimmer. Strong enough to take them both down. Panic flares in Lucas’s eyes. In Elin’s, too: this is the worst-case scenario.

I can’t go in the water.

Her mind is blank with terror—knife sharp. Blinding.

The familiar fear consumes her. The scene in front of her tips, veers; that tunneling of her senses. Piece by piece, everything stripped away.

The surface of the pool dances with movement: thrashing water, Lucas’s arms jerking, Cecile’s hands scrabbling wildly, pushing his head backward into the water.

But still, Elin’s body is hostile, it refuses to move. She feels snow on her face, and sweat, but she can’t move, can’t reach up, wipe it away.

Lucas finally reacts, as if the water has shocked him out of any remaining lethargy.

Rallying, he reaches up, forces Cecile backward, away. He starts to swim toward the side.

It doesn’t work: barely drawing breath, Cecile swims beside him. She strikes out with her elbow, catches him in the throat, in his windpipe.

Once, twice—sharp, swift jabs.

Lucas cries out, his eyes flashing in fear before his head slips beneath the surface of the water.

The sight rips a memory free—an echo of that summer day. Of Sam. Of the case a year ago. A memory of her own inaction. Her fear, paralysis.

I can’t let it happen again.

Elin reaches up to her neck, clasps her hands around her necklace.

Keeping her hand clamped around the hook, she yanks on it hard, feels the chain give and then break completely. One half falls, hitting the soft powder snow; the other remains in her hand.

Elin takes a deep breath, hand clenched tight around the necklace, and dives into the water. She breaks the surface cleanly, not letting herself think, forces herself up and around. She swims up behind Cecile.

Cecile doesn’t even turn. All her focus is on destroying Lucas.

Elin is now facing Cecile. Still grasping the hook in her hand, she jerks it up, between her fingers, thrusts it toward Cecile’s face.

Hand vibrating with tension, she moves it in a rapid, circular motion until she can feel resistance. Though blunted, she feels the hook gouge Cecile’s cheek, finding purchase in the soft skin.

Elin retracts her hand, jerks it sharply back.

There’s a cry of pain. It’s enough: Cecile’s grip on Lucas loosens.

The knife falls from her hand.

Elin puts her right arm around Lucas’s chest, tries to pull him away, hoping he can at least catch his breath. She notices the knife slipping below the choppy surface of the water, a fragmented glimmer of metal.

Without hesitation, she lurches forward, grabs at it with her left hand.

Cecile does the same, blood streaming from her cheek. Their fingers clash, but Elin gets there first. Tightly clasping the handle, she rotates it away from Cecile through the water.

A moment of distraction, but Cecile takes advantage of it: she goes for Lucas again. He’s resisting, pulling away from them both, trying to hold on to the edge of the pool, haul himself out, but the effort is too much. His hands are wet, slipping off the snow-covered tiles.

Cecile’s on him in seconds, pulling him from behind, wrestling him back into the water.

“Cecile. Stop. Let him go.”

“No.” Her voice is shrill. “He has to pay for his lies.”

“He will. I know what you want, what you wanted all along. You wanted your story to be heard. Justice. Recognition.” Elin takes a breath. “You’ve got that, Cecile. We now know what happened to you, to them. Those women’s stories, they’ll be told now. You’ve spoken their truth. And yours. Killing Lucas doesn’t give you anything you won’t have already.”

“He turned his back on me.” The words are shouted, but they’ve lost their strength, power. She’s sobbing, the movement pulling up through her body so hard it makes her shudder.

“I know, but, Cecile, you’ve told him how you feel. He has to live with that. Not you. Not anymore.”

Elin holds her breath, waiting. Watching.

Time seems to drag as Cecile moves backward through the water, releases her grip on Lucas.

Elin carefully wraps an arm around his chest, and pulls him toward the ladder at the side of the pool. Getting out first, she slowly helps him from the water. As the freezing air hits his skin, he immediately starts shivering with whole-body convulsions.

Elin stands up on the side, cold air biting into her flesh, and looks back at Cecile.

She’s on her back in the middle of the pool.

Arms and legs outstretched, she’s floating, her eyes tracing the snowflakes falling from the sky.





91





Five weeks later


We’re early.” Will glances down at his watch. “There’s a few minutes before the funicular goes.”

Elin nods. Already her face is burning, the thought of leaving weighing heavy. Neither she nor Isaac are good at this: good-byes.