The Sanatorium(92)

Dread swells in Elin’s chest: there’s no trace of the awkward, unsure person she met just a few days ago: hunched, ashamed of her body. Margot’s standing tall—her full height, over six feet. Her strength, her musculature, is clearly visible.

It’s possible, isn’t it? She could have done this. Abducted people. Killed them.

Margot reaches down, grabs the phone. She points it at Elin’s face. The light is blinding, dazzling her.

Where’s Will?

Elin blinks, tries to shake the searing bright spot away.

“Yes,” Margot finally replies. “It was me.” Her voice is cold, emotionless, all warmth stripped out of it.

“No one abducted you, did they? This was a trap, like the message from Laure. You planned the whole thing.” Elin’s mind gropes backward, spooling through the events of the past few days, trying to find connections.

Was any of what Margot told me true?

Isaac and Laure’s relationship? Laure’s altercation with Lucas? She’d been so gullible. Swallowed Margot’s anecdotes whole, without question.

Margot reads her hesitation correctly, a cold half smile playing on her lips. “Don’t worry. You made the same mistakes anyone would, human mistakes. The ego always wins. It’s a weakness in everyone, the desire to know the most, be the hero, the one to save the day. It’s why you did the job you did.”

Despite her shock, her fear, Elin feels a surge of anger.

How dare Margot judge her?

Margot takes another step toward her.

For the first time, Elin can see a knife in her hand, the blade glinting in the flashlight. She feels sweat prickling her back, a slow trickle between her shoulder blades.

Her mind races: Where’s Will? What’s he doing?

“I don’t understand,” she says, playing for time. “What’s all this about?”

“The truth.” Margot’s voice is robotic. “This place is poison. It shouldn’t have opened again.” She takes another step forward, now only inches away from Elin. “I’m sorry. You weren’t meant to be involved.”

Elin stiffens. It’s chilling how matter-of-fact Margot is, even in her heightened state. She’s cold, mechanical. Elin is an obstacle, so she needs to be removed.

“Margot, it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hurt me, or anyone else. We can end this here.”

But it’s as if Margot can’t hear her. In one smooth motion, she raises her hand, draws the knife high, her features blank, expressionless. She’s like an automaton: nothing’s going to stop her now.

Elin recoils, her breathing shallow. Her head starts to spin.

“Please, Margot, no . . .”

Margot lurches forward. The action is sharp, decisive, the blade cutting cleanly through the air.

Elin twists to the side, the knife only narrowly missing her face.

But the movement doesn’t throw Margot—she springs forward, making easy work of the space that’s opened up between them.

It’s now that Will makes his move: a blur of motion.

Leaping forward, he shoves Margot sideways. The phone ricochets from her hand, hitting the floor.

This time, they’re plunged into total darkness.

Silence, then Elin hears a sickening crack, the dull thud of something striking the floor.

There’s a struggle: movement, scuffling, grunts, the sound of fabric ripping, tearing. A low moan. Another, softer thud; something sliding across the floor.

Only a few moments later, another sound: footsteps, heavy thuds in the darkness, labored breaths.

Elin’s heart lurches, a slick, oily dread loosening her stomach.

She knows right away that the footsteps aren’t Will’s.

Will wouldn’t run away. Will wouldn’t leave me.

Whatever it is that’s been holding her together until that point fractures. She’s seized by a sudden, bottomless fear.

“Will!” Her voice is high, untethered. “Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t reply.

Elin knows instantly that it’s not because he doesn’t want to.

He can’t. He can’t answer her. That’s all she can think: He can’t reply.

Margot was right: she wanted to solve this, bolster her ego, and in doing so, she’s put Will in danger.

Elin gets down on her hands and knees, hands skimming the floor, circling for the phone. Seconds seem to stretch, elongate, become minutes.

Finally, her hand finds plastic; clamps around the phone case.

Is the flashlight still working?

She flicks up the screen, then presses down on the flashlight icon. The light comes on. Will’s immediately visible: only a yard or so ahead of her. He’s on his side, hands clamped over his stomach. There’s something dark blooming around him, a shadow.

But it’s not a shadow.

A hollow opens in her chest. It’s blood.

Scrabbling toward him, Elin stops. What if Margot’s still here, hiding in the darkness?

She swings the flashlight around in a circle, but there’s no one there.

Margot’s gone.

Limbs heavy, Elin scuffles a few feet along and comes to a stop beside him. “Will—” Her tongue is thick in her mouth. “I’m here.” She places the flashlight on the floor beside him. She can see the wound—a narrow, deep slash a few inches below his navel.