The Sanatorium(69)

“The right way?” she interrupts. “There isn’t another way. He needed to know, Will, what Laure’s done.”

But as soon as she says the words, she knows he’s right. She handled that badly, didn’t she? Went in too hard. Pushed Isaac unnecessarily.

A horrible, unwelcome thought slides into her mind: Was it in some way deliberate? How I had delivered it? Was some subconscious part of her punishing him in some way because of Sam?

“Not just that,” Will adds. “Confronting him like that, now, about Sam. It was a step too far after what you’d said about Laure.” His jaw twitches. “You know, I can’t help thinking about what Isaac said.”

“Which bit?” Elin forces a laugh. “He said a lot.” She pulls the bottle of water on the table toward her, and makes a show of pouring herself a glass.

“About the obsession with getting answers. Being the hero.” He looks at her. “Do you think that’s what you’re doing now, with this case? Trying to prove something?”

“To whom?”

“Yourself.” He flushes. “You’re trying to prove something to yourself. Because you couldn’t save Sam, you’re trying to save everyone else. Exorcising ghosts.”

Elin stares at him, the blood pounding in her ears. “You think that’s all this is about? That I don’t care what’s happened to Adele, to Laure?” She takes a large gulp of water, so large she struggles to swallow it.

“All I know is that by throwing yourself into this, there doesn’t seem to be room for anyone else. Their feelings.” The flush in his face grows angrier. “What’s happening here, like I’ve said before, it doesn’t make sense for you to be so involved. You’ve got to think about other people, too—the effect your decisions have.”

Elin doesn’t reply. Not because she doesn’t want to, but because she doesn’t have the answer.

Will’s probably right, but she doesn’t know how to stop.

All she knows is that ever since Sam died, she’s felt like she’s been looking for something. Like she’s running, trying to find the finish line, but the end is always just out of reach.





54





Day Four


Elin’s woken by the shrill beep of a message notification. Squinting into the inky darkness of the room, she picks up the luminous glow coming from her phone on the bedside table.

The time, in big, bold numerals: 6:02 a.m. Reaching across for it, her hand slides past, finds nothing but air.

She tries again, her head throbbing with a roaring, staticky fizz.

The reason is obvious: lack of sleep. It was after three by the time she dropped off. She’d felt wired—her brain still churning over what she’d found out about Laure, the arguments with Isaac and Will.

Rubbing her eyes, she looks at the screen. There’s a message from an unknown number. Opening it, the full message resolves:

I want to explain. Please meet me in the penthouse. 9 a.m. There’s a separate lift so you won’t be seen. Don’t tell anyone or bring anyone. I’m sorry. Laure

Laure.

Her breath catches in her throat. This has to be her other phone, surely? Elin leans over the side of the bed and drags her bag toward her. Bringing it up onto the covers, she pulls out the mobile phone bill, checks it against the number on the message.

It is: it’s Laure’s second phone.

But it was switched off when Isaac tried it. She must have turned it on again.

Elin stares at the screen, her eyes pulling each word apart before putting them back together.

Two phrases come to the fore:

I want to explain. I’m sorry.

She works through it in her mind. Explain: that inherently implies she has something to explain. The apology, the inference—the same.

A cold bead of confirmation in her chest: Laure really is involved in this.

There’s no doubt now.

Lying back against the pillow, Elin tries to piece things together—facts, supposition—but she’s agitated, twitchy. Her brain isn’t working like it should.

She drags herself out of bed, pacing toward the window.

Her mind is churning, every twist and turn of thought coming back to the same conclusion: She has two options.

The first is that she tells Cecile and Lucas, and goes to meet Laure with backup. The other is that she goes on her own—slips out and meets Laure one-on-one.

Neither option is ideal.

With the first, she risks scaring Laure off, perhaps compelling her to do something else. If Laure is being genuine, she might see Elin bringing someone else as a betrayal, proof that Elin doesn’t trust her. If she’s in the grip of some kind of delusion, already feeling in some way wronged, then this could be dangerous.

The other option, one she’s finding hard to consider, is that this is some kind of trap. The risk is there, isn’t it? Impossible to ignore. Laure pushed her, after all. Tried to scare her.

But surely, if she’d wanted to hurt her, she’d have done it then, at the spa?

Brain flip-flopping between the different scenarios, Elin keeps pacing. Outside, the wind is tugging at the snow, teasing it this way and that. It’s now laid unevenly across the terrace in random, windblown piles.

She knows she should wake Will, get his point of view, but after their last conversation, she knows what his answer will be: