The Break-Up Retreat(42)

“But she doesn’t work here anymore?” I try to clarify.

Sandra shakes her head.

“No. She left about eight months ago.”

I can feel my heart give a near-painful thump .

“So around the time Susannah Wallin disappeared.” My mouth suddenly feels very dry.

Sandra nods.

“Exactly.”

“Do you think it might be connected?” I ask.

“Maybe. I asked around a bit. Apparently, Doctors Nina and Martina got in some huge fight about one of the patients Doctor Nina had treated in Martina’s absence. I don’t know what the fight was about, but I do know Martina fired her on the spot. Didn’t even have a replacement lined up. She still hasn’t found anyone.” Sandra looks out the window again, seemingly reflexively.

Making sure we’re not seen.

“You think that patient might have been Susannah?” I ask her.

Sandra sighs.

“I don’t know, Isobel. I honestly don’t know. I looked at those pictures you sent me again, tried to see if I could recognize them. But I can’t remember. There are so many people passing through here, and half of them look like those photos. Smiling blond women somewhere between twenty-five and forty-five.”

“I mentioned Susannah’s name to Ellen,” I say. “It seemed like she recognized it.”

“Ellen did?” Sandra raises her eyebrows. “Maybe. Yeah. She’s been here almost as long as I have. I mean, I can’t even be sure I was here the week Susannah Wallin was a patient.”

“Can you ask her?” I ask. “Can you trust her?”

“I don’t know.” Sandra’s shoulders slump. “I don’t know if there is anyone who can be trusted in this place.”

For a moment, she looks frightened. Defeated. And it scares me.

I’ve never seen Sandra look terrified before.

“What happened with Doctor Nina, Sandra?” I ask her, quietly.

Sandra sighs.

“Once I managed to get a hold of her, she told me . . . she told me she couldn’t talk about Himlafall. She seemed scared. She kept hanging up on me. Finally, she texted me. Told me she’s been getting threats. Bad ones. Ever since she left.”

A frisson runs up my spine. Like someone tracing it lightly with a cold, sharp fingernail. A soft tickle of a warning.

“What kind of threats?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. She seemed to imply it was notes, or letters. But whatever was in them must have been bad, because she’s in the process of going underground. That’s why I’ve had such a hard time finding her. She’s taken her website down, changed her phone number. She said she’s about to move and told me not to contact her again. It’s got to be . . .” Sandra goes silent.

“And you think it’s . . . ?”

I don’t want to say Martina’s name. It feels like we are suspended in a little bubble, here in the car. Like saying her name will call her here, break the spell, let her hear the whispered secrets we are trading.

“I don’t know what I think,” Sandra says. “But I wouldn’t put it past her.”

She turns in her seat, so that she’s facing me.

“You’ve seen it, right?” she asks. “Now that you’ve met her. She likes toying with people. Like a cat with a mouse. She’s fine as long as you play along with her rules, but if you piss her off, or get on her bad side . . .” She stops, and then says:

“The hold she has on people, it’s fucking scary, Isobel. It’s like she hypnotizes them.”

“Yeah,” I agree, mouth dry. “I’ve seen it.”

I’ve felt it.

“You know, when you first brought up that patient, Susannah, I thought there might not have been much to it,” Sandra admits, haltingly. “I wanted you to write an exposé on this place, tell the world what a fucked-up circus it is, but I thought that this Susannah might just have been someone who needed more care than she could get, here. Someone with greater needs than the clowns at this so-called clinic could meet. But now, knowing what Doctor Nina has been through . . . I don’t know.”

Sandra’s hands are balled up in her lap.

“I can’t help but wonder,” she adds, like an afterthought.

“Wonder what?” I ask her.

Sandra looks out the windshield.

“Lot of woods, out here,” she says. “Miles and miles of them. Plenty of room for someone to disappear.”

I give a shaky laugh. Then I stop, just as abruptly.

I say the only thing I can.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Sandra mutters. “You can say that again.”

“Do you think it’s. . . . I mean, do you think she is capable of something like this? Martina?”

“I don’t know.” Sandra doesn’t look me in the eyes. “I can’t say yes. But I can’t say no, either. And I’ve got to be honest, that freaks me out.”

She sighs, and then turns to me, eyes steely, mouth set in a grim line.

“Have you gotten anything yet? Anything concrete?”

“I’ve been recording the therapy sessions,” I say. “I haven’t had time to go over them yet, but it’s at least proof that they are using some potentially harmful techniques. Nothing overtly illegal yet, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.”