The Sanatorium(68)

Elin takes a breath, about to speak, but no words come out. She can’t say why she hasn’t told them. It’s too complex to tease apart, even in her own head.

A tangle of reasons. A reflex, a refusal to admit, even to herself, that she’s no longer a detective, might never be one again, and, most embarrassingly of all: pride. Wanting to still be seen as someone important.

Isaac looks at her, something triumphant in his gaze. “It doesn’t mean you’ve done something bad.”

Bracing her hands against the table, Elin feels it snap: an invisible thread that’s been pulled taut inside her for so long. “Fine. I’ll tell them. Is that what you want? For me to spill every detail?”

“No.” Isaac’s voice is hard. “Not if you don’t want to. All I want is for you to understand that nobody’s perfect. Everyone’s got flaws. Even you. Laure, she’s probably screwed up, done some stupid bloody things, but it doesn’t mean she’s involved in killing someone.”

“I know that, but—”

“But what?” Isaac stands up, scraping back his chair. His cheeks are blotchy. “Have you heard yourself, Elin? You’re like Mum, blinders on. You think that the world’s black and white, that there’s this bloody perfect answer for everything. Just because Laure’s done one thing, it doesn’t automatically lead to another. Things are messy, there aren’t always explanations.”

“I’ve never said that.” Her voice sounds thick, muffled. She’s aware that she’s sweating, the skin under her arms prickling with heat.

“I know you haven’t said it, but we’ve all felt it.” He turns to Will. “Don’t tell me you haven’t? Haven’t felt her disapproval.”

She blinks, taken aback by the vitriol in his words.

“Someone’s got to say it, Elin. Why do you think I haven’t been in touch? It’s because it’s exhausting being around you. You want everything done exactly right, all the ducks in a row. It makes me sad. That’s one of the reasons why I left, why I left Mum too.”

“Isaac, please—”

“No, it’s true. This is meant to be about finding Laure, but it’s become something else entirely.” His eyes flash. “I knew from the minute you came out here that this wasn’t just going to be some fun trip. You had some point to prove.”

She bristles. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve always been like this. Always on this . . . mission.”

“Mission?”

“Yes. To save people. Be the hero. Over and over again. This, your job, it’s the same pattern. Every time.”

Will stands, puts a hand on Isaac’s arm, his jaw tensed. “Look, mate, don’t you think you should stop? Everyone’s tired . . .”

Isaac jerks his hand away. “No. She needs to know.”

Elin’s neck starts to burn, hot coils of anger pulling up inside her.

What’s wrong with him? Can’t he see?

The only reason she’s like this is because of what happened to Sam.

Because of what he did.

“Isaac,” she starts, her voice tremulous, “no matter what you say, answers . . . they are important. The truth matters. How can you move on without it? Look at what happened to Sam. My mind is on loop because of it. Going over that day again and again, and that’s because we don’t have the answers. We don’t know what happened.”

Isaac freezes, a ragged trail of red creeping up his cheeks. Swallowing hard, he opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again.

A weighty silence stretches out between them, telling her everything that she needs to know.

Elin can feel her hand jiggling in her lap. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

He studies the floor, refusing to meet her gaze.

“Come on, Isaac. I want to know what you’ve got to say. You’ve spent years avoiding talking about it. I want answers.”

“Elin, stop.” Will reaches out, placing his hand on hers.

Isaac drags his gaze up to meet hers, his eyes clouded with emotion.

Guilt, Elin thinks, looking at him. He’s riddled with it.

Isaac turns away. “I’m going to bed. I don’t want to do this here. Not now.” He still won’t meet her gaze.

“That’s right,” she says as he walks away. “Now who’s the one doing the running?”

After watching him leave, they sit in silence. His going like that . . . it feels like a slap. Like he’s deceiving her all over again.

Will is staring at her, a strange expression on his face. “Shall we go back to the room in a minute? Get some rest? I think you’re tired.”

“Tired? I’m not—”

“Well, it seems like it to me. What you said, it was too full-on . . .” Trailing off, he shakes his head.

Elin takes in the scene around her; the small group of staff still playing cards at the next table, the snow steadily falling outside. It’s all too much, too busy. Her head feels like it’s going to explode.

“What?” she says finally. “What were you about to say?”

Will’s fingers are tapping the table. “How you started all that, how you told him, I don’t know if it was the right way—”