Chapter 7
When I make it back to my own cabin, I shut the door behind me and reach to lock it, only to realize there is no key to twist.
I stare at it for a few seconds, as though I’ve only just missed it, as though it’ll appear if I just look for it a little harder.
I remember Anna unlocking the door to the cabin; I just assumed it could be locked from the inside as well.
There is a cold, swirling sensation deep down in my belly. I swallow, again and again, against the rising nausea.
Sandra isn’t here. I’m all alone, out here in the woods, with a door I can’t lock.
No. I can’t let myself panic. I’ve worked too hard; there is too much on the line.
I walk over to the window and look out.
The stars are twinkling gently outside, thin clouds like gentle brushes of paint over the deep-blue sky.
The trees on the other side of the pond are completely still.
They hardly look real, the dense darkness erasing any sense of dimension, as though they were nothing but a backdrop to whatever is happening here.
The surface of the pond is still. There is no wind at all. It feels like the woods surrounding us are holding their breath, waiting to exhale.
After a few seconds, I get down on my knees on the floor, dig out the phone from my suitcase, and turn it on. I briefly glance up at the window, and then I crawl behind the chair, sitting with my back to it so that I won’t be visible from the window.
The cheap, used iPhone takes almost a minute to turn on.
I bought it a few days ago, in a transaction that made me feel very much like I was doing something illicit.
I wondered, briefly, in the store, if the cashier thought I was a drug dealer but came to the somewhat depressing conclusion that he probably thought I was too old and uncool to do anything as subversive as sell cocaine.
Once the phone has turned on, I go to the list of contacts. I’ve programmed in only two numbers—Armin’s and Sandra’s.
I press one, push the phone against my ear, and wait, teeth gnawing on the chewed-up cuticle on my left thumb. My fingers already look like they’ve been put through a meat grinder after the anxiety of the last few days.
No response.
Jesus, she probably isn’t picking up because she doesn’t recognize the number.
I pull the phone away and type:
This is Isobel. Please call me back right now.
About thirty seconds after I’ve sent the text, the phone begins to shout out a polyphonic version of “Auld Lang Syne.” I answer as quickly as possible, reminding myself to set it to silent.
“Sandra?” I answer the call.
“Hey, Isobel.” I hear Sandra’s voice from the other end of the line. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up. I thought it was a spam call.”
“It’s my … burner phone,” I say, feeling mildly silly.
“Yeah, I got that now.” She’s speaking in a hushed tone. “What’s up?”
“What’s up is that I’m at Himlafall, and you’re not here,” I hiss into the phone.
“I know,” Sandra says. “I texted you this afternoon, but I guess they had already taken your phone.”
“Yes,” I confirm. “They did.”
“Look,” Sandra says, “Andrea got sick this morning. Martin doesn’t get back into town for another two days. I know we had a plan, but she’s my kid, Isobel. I’m not going to just leave her here when she’s not feeling well.”
“I know that.” I rub my eyes with two fingers, feeling how dry and tired they are, and I nod, despite the fact that she can’t see me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like … I don’t know.”
“It’ll be fine,” Sandra assures me. “I’ll be there the day after tomorrow. Wednesday, at the latest. We’ll still have time.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Of course it will be,” I say.
A brief pause. I hear what sounds like Sandra walking in the background, and then her voice, now with an edge to it:
“So you’ve met the doctor now?”
“I have,” I say. “She’s … interesting.”
Sandra sighs, or maybe snorts; the reception, despite the signal booster, isn’t great, and it’s a harsh, crackling sound.
“Yeah. Interesting,” she echoes. “Don’t worry, Isobel. I’m with you on this. We’re going to take that place down. I’ll make sure you get the access you need.”
I swallow.
“Thanks, Sandra,” I say. “And I hope Andrea feels better soon. What kind of sick is she?”
“It’s just a stomach bug,” Sandra sighs. “She was at a sleepover yesterday. I’m sure she caught it from one of her friends. She’s miserable, of course, but it will pass quickly.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Can’t be fun. For either of you.”
“I’ve got to go,” Sandra says. “I promised I’d watch some Korean show in bed with her. But just … hang on and hang out, okay? Just act like a patient for a couple of days until I get there.”
“I will,” I say.
“And don’t drink the Kool-Aid.” I’m sure she means for it to sound like a joke, but there is a sharpness, a concern, in there as well. “Martina is charismatic. Even I fell for it—at first. But she’s a hack. She’s dangerous.”
“I won’t,” I say. “And they didn’t drink Kool-Aid at Jonestown. It was Flavor Aid. It’s a common misconception.”
“Jesus, you’re insufferable.” Sandra laughs. “Take care of yourself. Stick to your cover story. I’ll be there before you know it.”
She hangs up.
I’m left staring at the phone.
I can’t be upset with Sandra. She’s taking a risk, helping me with this, and I know that. She’s putting her own job, and potentially her own safety, on the line, and, unlike me, she’s got people to take care of.
The original plan was for this to take place in another six to eight weeks, give Sandra time to get another job lined up.
But when they offered me a spot due to a patient dropping out last minute, she didn’t argue. She didn’t try to pull out. She went along with it, because it’s the right thing to do.
Sandra has always been that way, ever since we were kids, ever since our mothers used to drink cheap red wine in the kitchen and gossip about their colleagues in academia while we watched the Disney Channel in their living room.
She’s rough around the edges but deeply kind, and with the rare kind of integrity that has managed to maintain its fervor through all the petty little irritants and trials of adulthood.
And she was the person who first confirmed my suspicions: There was something deeply wrong with the Himlafall Clinic.