The Break-Up Retreat(60)

My mouth fills with saliva. I feel as though I’m about to throw up.

I turn to the side, and spit.

“What the fuck?” Clara exclaims with disgust.

“Tell me you weren’t just out there.” My voice is shaking. “Tell me you didn’t chase me in there.”

“Why would I have chased you in there?” Clara eyes me with suspicion. “Seriously, are you crazy? Or is it drugs? Did you go into the woods and take something?”

“No.” I shake my head, lowering my hand. The rock suddenly feels like it weighs hundreds of pounds. My shoulder aches; I must have torn something when I threw myself off the ground.

“There is something seriously wrong with you,” Clara says, voice full of disgust. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

“Wait,” I say.

“No.” Clara holds her hands up. “Whatever you’re doing, I don’t want any part in it. You look super fucked up. This is so not my vibe.”

“No,” I say, sharper, now, raising my voice, and she stops.

“What are you doing out here, then?” I ask her. “If you weren’t in the woods, why aren’t you in your cabin?”

Clara is standing very still.

“And why are you sweating? It’s cold outside. There is a storm coming.”

As if to remind us why, there is a groaning rustle from the trees on our right, straining against the wind.

Clara whips the hair out of her face.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” She is trying for cold and haughty, and falling short.

I take a step toward her.

“Clara,” I urge her, “I’m not kidding around. This is serious. Why were you out here? Just tell me.”

Clara shakes her head, hair falling in front of her face. She makes an odd little sound, like a snort, or a hiccup.

When she looks up at me again, she’s smiling. But it’s a different kind of smile.

“Listen, Isobel.” She closes the distance between us. “I haven’t said anything about your little journalistic mission yet, because I didn’t think it mattered.”

The rock clatters to the ground.

My mouth falls open.

“What . . .”

“Yeah, I heard you the other night.” Clara’s nostrils flare. “Should have thought about the neighbors. Sneaking in a phone? That was really cute.”

When she smiles, I see the crusted blood in the corner of her mouth breaking up and flaking, her teeth colored a ghoulish pink, turned near gray in the faint light.

“But I’m over it now.” Clara crosses her arms and stretches to her full height. “So how about you stay out of my business, and I’ll stay out of yours. All right? Otherwise I might as well go directly to Doctor Martina and tell her how cozy you and the new physical therapist looked.”

“Clara,” I stammer. “What are you—”

“No,” Clara spits at me. “Go wash your fucking face, Isobel.”

She turns and walks away.

I’m left standing for a few seconds, mouth dry and heart still pounding.

But when I look over to the trees, I’m reminded that I’m still not alone.

For a second, I consider going to one of the other cabins. Knocking on the door. Asking if I can sleep in there, just to have someone there. Just to be able to tell someone.

But I can’t know if one of them might have been the one who was out there with me.

So instead, I half run, half walk back to my own cabin instead.

When I open the door, it all looks like it did when I left. Clothes bundled on the floor, blanket bunched up at the end of the bed.

I close the door behind me, walk over to the desk, and pull it with a loud screeching across the floor until it’s firmly planted against the door. I don’t know if it will hold, but it’s heavy enough to at least give me a warning.

Then I pull the curtains in front of the window and walk into the bathroom.

The light in there is a harsh and unforgiving white. The cut across my cheek has stopped bleeding; it’s long and thin, crusted over with blood and dirt.

I reach down over the sink and wash the cut until all the dirt is gone, until it has opened up and started bleeding again. Then I grab one of the pristine, white hand towels and push it against my cheek, grasping on to the stinging feeling as an anchor as the blood soaks through the white cotton.

It’s only when I look back in the mirror that I see my necklace is gone. That impossibly heavy little pendant that’s been haunting me for nearly twenty years, torn off somewhere in the woods.

A throaty laugh tears its way out of my mouth, and as I watch the woman in the mirror laughing, she looks like someone else.

Well, I think. I guess I’m on my own now, Dad.

Memorandum re: patient safety and well-being

09/02–23

Doctor Nina Sundin

Doctor Hastings,

I would like to report some concerns regarding the methodology currently being employed in treating certain patients admitted to the Himlafall Clinic.

Having worked at the Himlafall Clinic for four months now (starting date 04/24–23), I have made some concerning observations regarding a subset of the patients. This memorandum should not be considered a criticism of the philosophy of the clinic as a whole but rather a reflection of the limitations of that methodology and how it is being applied.