The Sanatorium(91)

Elin scrabbles for the door, the switch beside it. Pressing hard, she feels it give beneath her fingers, but nothing happens: the light doesn’t come on.

A horrible, gnawing sense of dread comes over her.

She turns, disoriented, an alarm in her head beginning to sound.

“Your phone,” Will urges. “Use the flashlight.”

Elin fumbles in her pocket, pulls it out. She flicks the screen with an upward motion to find the flashlight function.

It comes on, but the light is pitiful: hardly enough to illuminate her hand.

Will pulls her back. “Elin, we can’t do this. We can’t see a thing.” His voice is strained. “Someone’s done this deliberately. I don’t like it.”

Elin moves the flashlight to his face. The narrow pocket of light picks up the shadows under his eyes, the slick sheen of sweat on his forehead.

I shouldn’t have brought him. He’s panicking.

“You go back. I’m going to keep searching.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “If someone has done this on purpose, it means we’re close.”

The muscles in his neck visibly tighten. “Not without you.”

They inch forward, stepping lightly, carefully, following the line of the wall, but the huge bulk of the machinery makes it hard to navigate. They have to keep alert, constantly adjusting their path.

Each machine seems to make a different noise: some churning, whirring, others like an insect flying, the humming of frantic wings.

A few steps on and the space widens, but not by much. Elin can make out several narrow corridors weaving between the machinery.

Elin raises her arm, moves the phone around in a circle. The light illuminates the metal boxing around the machinery.

There’s nothing here.

She’s about to start moving again when, somewhere in front of her, there’s a noise. The sound startles her, sends her phone crashing to the floor.

Bending down, she fumbles, picks it up. It’s intact; the light is still glowing.

She pivots, about to speak to Will when she hears another sound: a soft scrape.

Elin turns the phone so the beam is positioned in front of her. In the weak, dull glow of the light, she can make out a shape on the floor—a figure.

Steadying the beam, she sucks in her breath.

Margot.

She’s lying on the floor, huddled in a semifetal position, legs curled up beneath her. Her head is tipped away from Elin so she can’t make out her face.

There are no other sounds, no movement, but even so, she keeps moving the flashlight in a circle, walking a few yards past Margot to see if anyone’s there, in the shadows beyond.

No one.

Elin exhales slowly, heavily, relieved.

It’s possible this is simply a holding place. If so, there might be a chance to get Margot away before the killer returns.

Crossing the space between them: one, two yards, she keeps the light focused on Margot. This close, she can see her wrists and ankles are bound. A rough piece of fabric is pulled taut between her lips.

Will stays back, in the shadows, looking around.

Elin sets the phone down on the floor with the light facing up and crouches down beside Margot so she can see her face. “Margot, it’s Elin.”

Margot looks up at her, her eyes empty, vacant. Her face is smeared with dirt—patchy black streaks on her forehead and cheeks.

“Margot, you’re okay now. We’re going to get you out.”

But she makes no response. There’s no sign Margot’s heard her. She just continues to stare, with those vacant eyes.

She’s in shock. Either that, or she’s still sedated.

Elin picks up the phone, directs it at Margot’s feet, glancing at the knots around her ankles. “I’m going to untie these, and we’ll get you back upstairs.”

But all at once, there’s movement: a movement that’s impossible with how she’s bound.

Margot strikes out, kicking at Elin’s knees.

Elin’s legs collapse beneath her.

Unable to right herself, she hits the floor hard, a shock wave traveling through her thighs, buttocks, vertebrae. Her phone crashes to the ground, a splintering of plastic, but it stays on, the illumination enough to dimly light the space between them.

Elin cries out, tries to look up, but the sharp jags of pain moving through her lower half are making her dizzy, her vision blurry.

When her gaze steadies, she finds Margot standing over her, her body tensed, poised. The ties are hanging loose around her wrists, ankles.

For a moment, Elin can’t work out what’s going on.

Has Margot mistaken me for someone else? Her attacker?

Then it hits her with sickening clarity.





74





Elin scrambles to her feet. Panicked, she rears up, takes several steps back.

I’ve got this wrong, again. All my theories, ideas, about Lucas, Isaac, they’re wrong.

Her eyes shift toward the ties hanging limp around Margot’s wrists and ankles. She wasn’t properly tied: the knots were loose enough for her to simply pull them free.

This whole thing . . . it was a setup.

“You. You did this.” Elin can hardly get the words out. Her head feels leaden, unbalanced.

Margot doesn’t reply. She simply looks at Elin, her eyes empty, unreadable.