The Sanatorium(23)

“Isaac, is it all right to come in?” It’s ridiculous that she needs to ask, but it’s impossible to tell if he wants her there.

“It’s fine,” he says abruptly.

Walking in, she clocks his hiking boots on the floor. They’re wet; the black laces splayed, sodden, encrusted with fragments of ice. “You’ve been outside too?”

Isaac nods, pacing past the window. “Just got back.”

Elin doesn’t reply, taken aback by how rapidly he’s speaking. He’s wired, she can tell. This frenetic movement, the flushed face.

He’s panicking.

“What were you doing?”

“Looking for her. Up toward the forest. I thought maybe she’d gone outside, fallen.” His features are tense. “I’ve tried everything else. Searched the hotel, the rest of the grounds. Called friends, family . . .”

Elin looks at him, a crushing feeling enveloping her, as if she’s being held too tight. Isaac’s movements, the pacing to and fro, suddenly seem exaggerated.

“And?”

“No luck. There’s no sign of her. No one’s heard from her either. I’ve just called the police.”

“Already?” She tries to keep her expression neutral.

He nods. “Useless. Said she hasn’t been missing long enough to warrant them investigating. They said that if there’s no sign she’s gone out hiking or skiing, and isn’t in trouble, then we should leave it for now.” He shakes his head. “I know she hasn’t been gone long, but I don’t like it. If she’s okay, why hasn’t she called by now?”

“I don’t know.” Elin walks farther into his room. “There could be . . .” She stops.

The glass.

Once again, it overwhelms her. Isaac’s room faces out toward the forest. The terrain is wild: a dense mass of snow-covered firs lifting up toward the mountains.

Her eyes dart between the trees. Even though the branches are covered in snow, the overall impression is of something dark, impenetrable.

She can feel her heart beating faster. Swallowing hard, she’s conscious of not being able to control her response.

Why is she reacting like this? This visceral response, every cell in her body repelled by what’s in front of her.

Isaac follows her gaze, face impassive. “Laure hates the forest. She always says it’s the perfect cover for someone looking in. We can’t see them, but they can see us. These windows, lights . . . they’ve got the perfect view.”

“Enough.” The more she looks, the more distorted the image becomes, like the trees are replicating in front of her.

“You okay?” Isaac’s still studying her.

“Fine.”

“You don’t still get panic—”

“No,” she says abruptly, cutting him off. “I don’t.” She overcompensates with a loud, exaggerated yawn before forcing her gaze onto the room itself.

The same layout as hers, but a larger, busier artwork hangs on the wall, the soft furnishings a milkier shade of gray. Her eyes lock on detail: laptop, TV, unopened bottles of water. Clothes and shoes are scattered across the floor. Laure’s shoes—a pair of navy New Balance trainers, scuffed hiking boots, suede slip-ons.

In fact, most of the stuff is Laure’s. The jewelry on the side, a mossy-colored scarf slung over the wardrobe door, a tub of face cream, lid off.

Elin looks at the bed. Here is Isaac’s influence—the faint imprint of his body against the sheets, duvet snarled into a loose knot. He slept like that as a child. They both had. Like the bed was unable to contain their energy. She doesn’t sleep like that anymore. That energy had left her months ago.

Her gaze moves to a lopsided stack of books on one of the bedside tables. French. One is open facedown, splayed wide, spine bent at the middle. Isaac’s right, she realizes. There’s a sense of suspended animation, like Laure’s simply gone down for breakfast. It doesn’t look like a deliberate decision to leave. “Where’s her phone?”

“Phone?” Isaac’s gaze snaps back to her.

Elin stiffens, something in his tone prickling her. “I’m just trying to help.”

He nods, forces a smile, but there it is again; a shadow of an expression, gone before she can make sense of it.

“Here.” Pulling a phone from his pocket, he taps in a code, passes it to her. “I’ve been through it. There’s nothing odd.”

Elin looks at the screen. It’s almost fully charged, connected to the same network that her phone had found when she landed in Geneva—Swisscom. She scrolls through the call log. The last call was yesterday morning. Someone called Joseph.

How was that possible? She heard Laure on the phone after dinner—surely that call should be logged here?

Isaac looks over her shoulder, his breath uncomfortably hot against her neck. “That’s her cousin.”

“And you know everyone else on here?”

“Of course. Friends, like I said. There’s nothing on her e-mail either.” Stepping back, his face colors. “I didn’t want to look, but—”

“What about her laptop?”

“Nothing.” He grabs it from the desk, passes it to her. “It’s synced to her phone. The e-mail is the same. Everything else looks like work stuff.”