The Break-Up Retreat(67)

“Please, just get back to the group, Isobel.” Anna smiles, but there is tension in her lips, in the line of her jaw.

I notice, now, what I didn’t see in the dining hall; there are circles under her eyes, a little bright-red stress pimple on her chin.

Keep away from Anna.

Why did they want me to be kept away from her?

Maybe it’s not that she knows anything about the secrets of Himlafall. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s not as dedicated to Martina as the rest.

Maybe she would help me, if I asked.

I decide to chance it.

“Anna, why don’t you want me walking around? It can’t just be the weather.”

She shakes her head empathetically.

“Of course not,” she says, but her smile is sliding, becoming lopsided.

My eyes are drawn, as though without my consent, to the woods. The branches hang heavy with moisture, the trees groaning in the wind.

“Did they tell you to keep an eye on me?” I turn back to her. I want to whisper, but the wind demands I almost scream to be heard.

“Did they tell you not to let me leave?”

She seems to falter, on the verge of speaking.

“You can tell me,” I say. “Am I in danger?”

Wrong word. Wrong choice. Wrong something.

“No, no, of course not,” she says, snapping to attention, polite mask sliding back into place. “You’re perfectly safe. Everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine.”

For a long, quivering moment, we just stand there, looking at each other, the space between us taut as a piano wire, ready to snap with tension.

“Let me go to my cabin.” I’m not asking. “I will go to therapy after that. I promise.”

She’s wavering.

“Where else would I go?” Hysterical laughter threatens to tear from my throat, and I bite down on my tongue to keep it from slipping out.

“Fine,” Anna finally says. “But don’t go anywhere else. And don’t go in the staff quarters, Isobel. It’s for your own good. Please. Just listen to me. Promise me.”

Her eyes look suspiciously shiny, like she’s about to cry, something like fear making her lips and cheeks grow pale, the shadows under her eyes deeper.

I don’t object, don’t pretend not to know what she is talking about. Somehow, it feels like we’re past that.

“Okay. Straight to the cabin.”

Anna appears to hesitate, but then she surprises me by pulling me in for a desperate, sudden hug.

She smells like rainwater and organic shampoo, and I feel her body shaking under the pink rain jacket.

To my own surprise, I hug her back.

Then, just as suddenly, she lets go of me, turns around, and walks up to the staff quarters, disappearing through the door.

I’m left there, alone and shivering in the rain, the sinking feeling in my stomach ever stronger.

Maybe I’m not the only one stuck in this trap.

The difference is that I think there is still time to get out.

Anna seems to have accepted whatever fate may be waiting for us.

I can only hope that she is wrong. Even though my instincts tell me otherwise.





Chapter 37


Back in my cabin, I hurry to collect the things I need. I can’t carry my suitcase with me to therapy without giving away the game. These aren’t normal circumstances; I can live with leaving behind my clothes, my books, my things.

What I really need is my proof. And decent enough clothes and shoes to get out. If worst comes to worst, if I can’t get to Sandra in time and have to make a run for it, I can jump the fence and try to hike to the nearest town. There was a gas station about twenty-five minutes from here; I might be able to flag down a car, too, if I can make it to the highway.

I layer on several sweaters, pull my jeans off to get thermal leggings on under them. Two pairs of socks will have to do, or I won’t be able to fit my boots over them.

Once I’m done, I’m overheated, sweaty, and nearly ready.

I hope it won’t come to hiking. Sandra was right; I’ve never been one for the outdoors. The idea of walking along that road, the rain thundering down from above, the wind threatening to throw me down to the ground, all in the hopes that I won’t get too cold or too tired, praying they won’t come after me, makes my heart sink.

But it might be my only option. And if it is, I’ll take it.

I look around the cabin. I’ve once again made a mess of it. I consider cleaning up but decide against it. If it looks like I left all my stuff, they may assume I haven’t left. It’ll buy me some time.

Now all I need is my recorder.

I get down on my knees by the bag, reach into it for the recorder. The black rectangle with its silly little screen has become the closest thing to comfort I’ve got.

It gives me something the necklace never could. Certainty.

I try to turn it on but find that it’s out of battery, and I frown. I charged it just last night, while I was waiting for Sandra; it shouldn’t have run out already.

Quickly, I tug out the cord to the lamp on the bedside table and plug in the charger instead. The recorder beeps to life after only a couple of seconds, and it only takes me a moment to see why it’s run out.

I forgot to turn it off last night. After leaving my “last message.”