The Sanatorium(43)

“No.”

Detecting a tightness in his tone, she doesn’t say anything else. They sit in uncomfortable silence, bubbles beating against her body.

Tension is now emanating from Will, his body rigid against hers.

She reprimands herself. She’s ruined it, hasn’t she? Again. This was meant to be fun, relaxing, and she’s already made it into something awkward. She’s always had this ability. To spoil things.

Her mother said it was a fear of letting go, losing control of emotions she wasn’t comfortable expressing. “You did it on people’s birthdays. I don’t think you ever set out to ruin them, but something always went wrong. You’d fall over or spill a drink. Once, on Isaac’s birthday, you ate too much cake. Sick all down your dress.”

After a few minutes, Will stands up, tiny bubbles stuck to his skin. “Look, you were right,” he says stiffly. “This probably wasn’t a good idea.” He doesn’t meet her eyes. “I’m going to try the other pool. Do you want me to walk you back first?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll meet you in the room.” Her voice is small. She doesn’t like this: the unusual coolness in his speech, his tone.

Will climbs out. Elin follows, heading toward the indoor pool. Within seconds, she’s shivering again, the sharp wind peeling off any residual heat from the water.

A few yards on, she hesitates. She’s come to a junction. The decking leads in two directions: straight ahead back to the spa, the way she and Will came, or left, toward a small square of water.

It’s the only section of water that isn’t steaming, Elin thinks, curious. Instead, the surface is reflecting the lights overhead—a black, frosted glimmer.

Ice.

Walking toward it, she stops, just a few steps from the edge. It’s only about a few yards wide, a narrow ladder running up the side.

A plunge pool.

She hasn’t seen one of these for years. The last time was on a weekend trip to Cornwall with Laure and her mother; a shabby seafront hotel near Newquay. That one was even smaller, like a well. They’d dared themselves, she and Laure. I’ll do it if you will.

Elin stares into the water, a knot of fear opening up inside her, the very same fear as back then: the narrow dimensions, that you’d scrape skin on the way in unless your arms were tucked in tight.

There’s one big difference, though: back then, she’d done it. Done it because Laure dared her. Because she wanted to prove to herself that she could.

But that was before Sam. Before everything changed.

She’s about to walk away, when she feels a presence behind her. Will.

“I’ve looked, but I’m wimping out. You can do it for me—”

There’s no response. No laugh. No hand on her arm. Instead, she can hear breathing, the soft thud of feet on the decking. Elin freezes.

It’s not Will, she realizes with a sickening lurch. She turns, but all at once, there’s a pressure on her back, a sudden, jutting force just above the base of her spine.

Elin’s heart stutters.

She jerks forward, toes clamping, contracting, trying to get purchase, but the decking is slippery with compacted snow and ice.

Hauling her weight backward, she tries to grab hold of something, anything, but there’s nothing there. Instead, her arms wheel uselessly in the air.

It’s over in seconds. Elin plummets forward, the thin layer of ice on the surface giving way with a crack.





33





There’s no time to scream; she’s swallowed by the freezing water, lungs balling into two tight fists. Her ears burn, mouth and eyes fill with water.

She’s sinking.

Lower, lower.

Elin forces herself to open her eyes, but the water is black, impenetrable. Her lungs are seizing, red-hot with shock.

Start moving. Do something.

She starts cycling her feet, pedaling against the water. Almost instantly, the downward movement reverses; she starts moving up.

When her head finally punctures the surface, she’s gasping for breath.

As she scrambles to the ladder, Elin clamps her hand around the freezing metal, hauling herself onto the closest rung. Her feet are numb, sliding with each step.

There’s no time to look up, see if whoever had pushed her is still there, what they might do next. Her instincts have kicked in: I have to get out.

The refrain is familiar: the words she said over and over a year ago as she fought to get out of the cave after Hayler grabbed her, hit her, as she made the decision to escape the rising tide.

I have to get out. I have to get out.

When she reaches the top, she runs, on autopilot, toward the main pool. “Will,” she shouts, stopping on the walkway beside the pool.

She can’t see a thing. The water is barely visible, hot vapor gusting across the surface in ragged clouds. “Will, are you there?”

In one gust, the wind clears the steam. A young couple is standing at the end of the pool, looking up at her, but she barely registers them.

She can see him: skirting the top of the steps leading out of the pool, striding toward her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone pushed me into the plunge pool.” Her voice sounds detached. Odd. “I thought it was you, then”—the words catch in her throat—“someone pushed me in.”