One by One (Ruth Ware)

PraiseforRuthWare’sinstantNewYorkTimesbestseller
THETURNOFTHEKEY
GoodreadsChoiceAwards2019Finalist|StarredreviewsinBooklist,LibraryJournal,andPublishersWeekly|NamedoneofthebestbooksoftheyearbyReader’sDigest,theNewYorkPublicLibrary,theWashingtonPost,LiteraryHub,PBS.com,PopSugar,andCrimeReads|IncludedinHuffPost’s“BestBookstoGiveasGiftsThisYear”andGoodHousekeeping’s“BestBookstoGiveasGiftsThisSeason”|OneofNewsweek’s“BookstoCurlUpWithThisFall”|OneofBuzzfeed’s“13ThrillersWeCouldn’tStopThinkingAboutin2019”|IncludedinO,TheOprahMagazine’s“23ChillingThrillerBooksThat’llKeepYouTurningthePage”|ALibraryJournal“EssentialTitle”of2019
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“Thecastofcharactersincludesanunsuspectingnanny,acreepyhousekeeper,andahunkygroundskeeperamidthemistsandheather,crumblingstonewallsandcreakyattics.Whatmorecouldyouaskfor?”
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—BookBubThankyoufordownloadingthisSimon&Schusterebook.GetaFREEebookwhenyoujoinourmailinglist.Plus,getupdatesonnewreleases,deals,recommendedreads,andmorefromSimon&Schuster.Clickbelowtosignupandseetermsandconditions.CLICKHERETOSIGNUPAlreadyasubscriber?Provideyouremailagainsowecanregisterthisebookandsendyoumoreofwhatyouliketoread.Youwillcontinuetoreceiveexclusiveoffersinyourinbox.ToAli,Jilly,andMark,whofirstshowedmetheHiddenValley.Fromthe“AboutUs”pageoftheSnoopcompanywebsite:
Hey.We’resnoop.Comemeetus,messageus,snooponus—whatever.We’reprettycool.Areyou?TopherSt.Clair-BridgesWho’sthedaddy?Well,ifanyone’sgotaclaim,it’sToph.snoopco-founder(alongwithex-girlfriend,model/artist/professionalbadass@evalution),itallstartedhere.Ifhe’snotathisdesk,he’sprobablyridingthemogulsinChamonix,losinghismindinBerlin’sBerghain,orjusthangin’.Comefindhimonsnoopat@xtopherorhithimupviahisPAInigoRyder—theonlydudewhogetstotellTopherwhattodo.Listeningto:OscarMulero/LikeaWolfEvavandenBergFromAmsterdamtoSydney,NewYorktoLondon,Eva’scareerhastakenherallovertheworld—butrightnowhomeisShoreditch,London,wheresheliveswithherhusband,financierArnaudJankovitch,andtheirdaughter,Radisson.In2015sheco-foundedsnoopwithherthenlifepartner@xtopher—theirideabornofasingledesire:tomaintaintheirconnectionacross5000kmofocean.TopherandEvahavesinceuncoupled,buttheirconnectionremains:snoop.MakeyourownconnectionwithEvaon@evalution,orviaherpersonalassistantAniCresswell.Listeningto:Nico/JanitorofLunacyRikAdeyemiheadofbeansRik’sthemoneyman,thebeancounter,thekeeperofthekeys—yougetthepicture.He’sbeenkeepin’snooprealsincetheveryfirstdays,andhe’sknownTophforevenlonger.Whatcanwesay?snoop’safamilyaffair.Rikliveswithhiswife,Veronique,inHighgate,London.Youcansnoophimat@rikshaw.Listeningto:WillieBobo/LaDescargadelBoboElliotCrosschiefnerdMusicmaybesnoop’sbeatingheart,butcodeisitsDNAandElliotisthemaestroofcode.Beforesnoopwasahotpinklogoonyourphone,itwasjustlinesofJavaonsomeone’sscreen—andthatsomeonewasElliot.BestfriendswithTophsincebeforetheycouldshave,he’scoolerthananytech-headhasarighttobe.snoophimon@ex.Listeningto:Kraftwerk/AutobahnMirandaKhanfriendsczarMirandaisintokillerheels,sharpfashion,andreallygreatcoffee.BetweensavoringGuatemalancarbonicmacerationandsurfingNet-a-Porter,she’ssnoop’ssmiletotheworld.Wannawriteusup,hitusup,haulusoverthecoals,orjustsayhi?Miranda’stheplacetostart.snoopknowsyoucanneverhaveenoughfollowers—orenoughfriends.MakeMirandaoneofyoursat@mirandelicious.Listeningto:Madonna/4MinutesTiger-BlueEspositoheadofcoolTheepitomeofchill,Tigerkeepshertrademarkzenstatewiththehelpofdailyyoga,mindfulnessand—ofcourse—asteadystreamofsnoopthroughheroversizeheadphones.Whenshe’snotpullingaBhujapidasanaorrelaxingintoanAnantasana(that’sasiderecliningleglifttotheuninitiated)she’spolishingsnoop’scogstomakesurewelookourverybest,andgettingthewordout.Chillwithheron@blueskythinking.Listeningto:Jai-Jagdeesh/AadGurayNamehCarlFosterlawmanThere’snotwowaysaboutit—Carlkeepsusonthestraightandnarrow,makingsurethatwhereverwesnoop,we’redoingitontherightsideofthelaw.AgraduateofUniversityCollege,London,CarldidhispupillageatTempleSquareChambers.Sincethenhe’sworkedinavarietyofinternationalfirms,mostlyintheentertainmentindustry.HelivesinCroydon.snoophimon@carlfoster1972.Listeningto:TheRollingStones/SympathyfortheDevilTakenfromtheBBCNewswebsite:
Thursday,16thJanuary4BRITONSDEADINSKIRESORTTRAGEDYTheexclusiveFrenchskiresortofStAntoinewasrockedbynewsofasecondtragedythisweek,onlydaysafteranavalanchekilledsixandleftmuchoftheregionwithoutpowerfordays.Now,reportsareemergingthatinoneremoteskichaletcutoffbytheavalanche,a‘houseofhorror’situationwasunfolding,leavingfourBritonsdeadandtwohospitalised.Thealarmwasonlysoundedwhensurvivorstrekkedmorethanthreemilesthroughthesnowtoradioforhelp,raisingquestionsofwhytheFrenchauthoritiesdidnotworktore-establishpowerandmobilephonecoveragemorequicklyfollowingSunday’savalanche.LocalpolicechiefEtienneDupontrefusedtocomment,excepttosaythat‘aninvestigationisinprogress’,butaspokespersonattheBritishembassyinParissaid,‘WecanconfirmthatwehavebeeninformedofthedeathsoffourBritishcitizensintheSavoiedepartmentoftheFrenchAlpsandthatthelocalpolicearetreatingtheseincidentsasalinkedmurderinquiryatthisstage.Oursympathiesarewiththefriendsandfamiliesofthevictims.’Thefamiliesofthedeceasedhavebeeninformed.Eightsurvivors,alsothoughttobeBritish,aresaidtobehelpingthepoliceinvestigation.Thisyearhasbeenmarkedbyunusuallyheavysnowfalls.Sunday’savalancheisthesixthsincethebeginningoftheskiseason,andbringsthetotaloffatalitiesintheregiontotwelve.FIVEDAYSEARLIER
LIZ
SnoopID:ANON101
Listeningto:JamesBlunt/You’reBeautiful
Snoopers:0
Snoopscribers:0
IkeepmyearbudsshovedintomyearsontheminibusfromGenevaAirport.IignoreTopher’shopefullooksandEva,glancingoverhershoulderatme.Ithelps,somehow.Ithelpstoshutoutthevoicesinmyhead,theirvoices,pullingmethiswayandthat,pummelingmewiththeirloyaltiesandtheirargumentstoandfro.
Instead,IletJamesBluntdrownthemout,tellingmeI’mbeautiful,overandoveragain.Theironyofthestatementmakesmewanttolaugh,butIdon’t.There’ssomethingcomfortinginthelie.
Itis1:52p.m.Outsidethewindowtheskyisirongray,andthesnowflakesswirlhypnoticallypast.It’sstrange.Snowissowhiteontheground,butwhenit’sfalling,itlooksgrayagainstthesky.Itmightaswellbeash.
Wearestartingtoclimbnow.Thesnowgetsthickeraswegainheight,nolongermeltingintorainwhenithitsthewindowbutsticking,slidingalongtheglass,thewindscreenwipersswooshingitasideintorivuletsofslushthatrunhorizontallyacrossthepassengerwindow.Ihopethebushassnowtires.
Thedriverchangesgear;weareapproachingyetanotherhairpinbend.Asthebusswingsaroundthenarrowcurve,thegroundfallsaway,andIhaveamomentaryfeelingthatwe’regoingtofall—alurchofvertigothatmakesmystomachheaveandmyheadspin.Ishutmyeyes,blockingthemallout,losingmyselfinthemusic.
Andthenthesongstops.
AndIamalone,withonlyonevoiceleftinmyhead,andIcan’tshutitout.It’smyown.Andit’swhisperingaquestionthatI’vebeenaskingmyselfsincetheplaneliftedofftherunwayatGatwick.
WhydidIcome?Why?
ButIknowtheanswer.
IcamebecauseIcouldn’taffordnotto.
ERIN
SnoopID:N/A
Listeningto:N/A
Snoopers:N/A
Snoopscribers:N/A
Thesnowisstillfalling—fatwhiteflakesdriftinglazilydowntoliesoftlyoverthepeaksandpistesandvalleysofStAntoine.
Threemetershavefalleninthelastcoupleofweeks,andthere’smoreforecast.Asnowpocalypse,Dannycalledit.Snowmaggedon.Liftshavebeenclosed,andthenreopened,andthenclosedagain.Currentlyalmosteveryliftintheentireresortisclosed,butthefaithfullittlefunicularthatleadsuptoourtinyhamletisstillchuggingaway.It’sglassedin,soeventheheaviestdumpdoesn’taffectit;thesnowjustlieslikeablanketoverthetunnelratherthancloggingtherails.Whichisgood—becauseontherareoccasionsitdoesshutdown,we’retotallycutoff.There’snoroaduptoSt.Antoine2000,notinwinter,anyway.Everything,fromtheguestsinthechalet,rightthroughtoeveryscrapoffoodforbreakfast,lunch,anddinner,hastocomeupinthefunicular.Unlessyou’vegotthemoneyforahelicoptertransfer(which,believeme,isnotunheardofinthisplace).Butthehelicopterswon’tflyinpoorconditions.Ifablizzardcomesin,theystaysafelydowninthevalley.
ItgivesmeastrangefeelingifIthinkaboutittoomuch—akindofclaustrophobiathat’satoddswiththewide-openvistasfromthechalet.It’snotjustthesnow;it’sahundredweightofunwelcomememoriesbearingdownonme.IfIstopformorethanaminuteortwo,theimagesstarttocomeunbidden,crowdingintomymind—numbfingersscrabblingthroughhard-packedsnow,thesheenofsunsetonblueskin,theglintoffrostedlashes.ButfortunatelyI’vegotnotimetostoptoday.It’sgoneoneo’clockandI’mstillcleaningthesecond-to-lastbedroomwhenIheartheshudderingsoundofthegongfromdownstairs.It’sDanny.HeshoutsmynameandthensomethingIcan’tmakeout.
“What?”Icalldown,andheshoutsagain,hisvoiceclearerthistime.Hemusthavecomeoutintothestairwell.
“Isaid,‘Grub’sup.’Truffledparsnipsoup.Sogetyourlazyarsedownhere.”
“Yes,chef,”Ishoutbackmockingly.Iquicklydumpthecontentsofthebathroombinintomyblacksack,changethebinliner,andthenjogdownthespiralstairstothelobby,wherethedelicioussmellofDanny’ssoupgreetsme,alongwiththesoundof“VenusinFurs”emanatingfromthekitchen.
Saturdayisboththebestdayoftheweekandtheworst.Best,becauseit’schangeoverday—therearenoguests,andDannyandIhavethechalettoourselves,freetolazeinthepool,steamintheoutdoorhottub,andplaythemusicwelikeatthevolumewewant.
Worst,becauseit’schangeoverday,whichmeansninedoublebedstochange,ninebathroomstoclean(eleven,ifyoucounttheloodownstairsandtheshowerroombythepool),eighteenskilockerstosweepandHoover,nottomentionthelivingroom,thediningroom,theden,thesnug,andtheoutdoorsmokingarea,whereIhavetopickupallthedisgustingbuttsthesmokersalwaysstrewaroundinspiteoftheprominentbinsandbuckets.AtleastDannytakescareofthekitchen,thoughhehashisownto-dolist.Saturdaynightisalwaysabigdinner.Gottoputonashowforthenewguests,don’tyouknow.
Now,wesitdowntogetheratthebigdiningroomtable,andIreadthroughtheinformationKateemailedthismorningasIspoonDanny’ssoupintomymouth.It’ssweetandearthy,andtherearetinylittlecrunchybitsscatteredoverthetop—shavedparsniproastedintruffleoil,Ithink.
“Thissoupisreallygood,”Isay.Iknowmyjobhere.DannyrollshiseyesinaWell,duhgesture.IfthereisonethingaboutDanny,he’snotmodest.Butheisagreatcook.
“Thinkthey’lllikeittonight?”He’sfishingformorecompliments,ofcourse,butIcan’tblamehim.Danny’sanunashameddivaabouthisfoodand,likeanyartiste,heenjoysappreciation.
“I’msuretheywill.It’sgorgeous,reallywarming,and…um…complex.”Iamstrivingtopindowntheparticularsavoryqualitythatmakesthesoupsogood.Dannylikescomplimentstobespecific.“Likeautumninabowl.Whatelseareyoudoing?”
“I’vegotamuse-bouches.”Dannyticksthecoursesoffonhisfingers.“Thenthetruffledsoupforstarter.Thenvenisonhaunchforthecarniesandmushroomraviolifortheveggies.Thencrèmebr?léefordessert.Andthenthecheese.”
Danny’scrèmebr?léeishisshowstopper,andit’stodiefor.I’veliterallyseenguestscometoblowsoveraspareportion.
“Soundsperfect,”Isayencouragingly.
“Aslongastherearen’tanyfuckingstealthvegansthistime,”hesaysmorosely.He’sstillreelingfromlastweek,whenoneofthegueststurnedouttobenotjustveganbutglutenintolerantaswell.Idon’tthinkhe’sforgivenKateyet.
“Katewasreallyclear,”Isay,cajoling.“Onelactoseintolerant,onegluten-free,threeveggies.Novegans.That’sit.”
“Itwon’tbe,”Dannysays,stillenjoyinghismartyrdom.“Oneofthemwillbelow-carbingorsomething.Orafruitarian.Orabreatharian.”
“Well,ifthey’reabreatharian,theywon’tbebotheringyou,willthey?”Isayreasonably.“They’vegotalltheairtheycouldwantuphere.”
Iwaveanarmatthehugewindowthatdominatesthesouthsideoftheroom.ItoverlooksthepeaksandridgesoftheAlps,apanoramasobreathtakingthateventhoughIliveherenow,Istillfindmyselfstoppingmid-strideoncertaindays,almostwindedbyitsbeauty.Todaythevisibilityispoor,thecloudsarelow,andthere’stoomuchsnowintheair.ButonagooddayyoucanseealmosttoLakeGeneva.Behindus,tothenortheastofthechalet,risestheDameBlanche,themountainthatformsthehighestpeakoftheSt.Antoinevalley,overshadowingeverything.
“Readoutthenames,”Dannysays,aroundamouthfulofsoup,onlyhesaysitmorelikereadahtthenames.HisaccentispuresarfLondon,thoughIknowinrealityhegrewupinPortsmouth.I’mneverquitesurehowmuchisallpartoftheact.Danny’saperformer,andthemoreIgettoknowhim,themoreI’mfascinatedbythecomplicatedmixofidentitiesbeneaththesurface.ThecheekyCockneygeezerheputsonfortheguestsisjustoneofthem.OnnightsoutinSt.AntoineI’veseenhimpivotfromnote-perfectGuyRitchietoagloriouslyflamingRuPaul,allinthespaceoffiveminutes.
NotthatIcantalk.I’mputtingonmyownact.Weallareonsomelevel,Isuppose.That’soneofthejoysofcominghere,toaplacelikethis,whereeveryoneispassingthrough.Yougettohaveafreshstart.
“Ineedtogetitrightthistime,”hesays,breakingintomythoughts.Heputsaminusculegrindoffreshblackpepperontohissoupandtastesit,thenlooksapproving.“Can’taffordanotherfuckingMadeleine.Kate’llhavemygutsforgarters.”
Kateisthearearepandisinchargeofcoordinatingallthebookingsandlogisticsforallsixofthecompany’schalets.Shelikesustogreettheclientsbytheirnamesrightfromdayone.It’swhatmarksusoutfromthebig-chainoperators,shesays.Thepersonaltouch.Onlyit’sharderthanitsounds,weekin,weekout.LastweekDannymadefriendswithawomancalledMadeleine,onlywhenthefeedbackformscamein,itturnedouttherewasnoonecalledMadeleineinthegroup.OranywomanwithanamebeginningwithM.He’sstillgotnoideawhohewastalkingtoallweek.
IrunmyfingerdownthelistKatesentlastnight.
“Soit’sacorporatepartythistime.TechcompanycalledSnoop.Ninepeople,allinseparaterooms.EvavandenBerg,cofounder.TopherSt.Clair-Bridges,cofounder.RikAdeyemi,headofbeans.ElliotCross,chiefnerd.”
Dannysnortsouthissoupthroughhisnose,butIcarryon.
“MirandaKhan,friendsczar.InigoRyder,Topher’s‘boss.’AniCresswell,chiefEva-tamer.Tiger-BlueEsposito,headofcool.CarlFoster,lawman.”
BythetimeI’mfinished,Dannyisactuallycryingwithlaughterandhissouphasgonedownthewrongway.
“Isthatreallywhatitsays?”hemanages,betweencoughs.“Headofbeans?Tiger—whatthefuckelse?Ididn’tthinkKatehadasenseofhumor.Where’sthereallist?”
“Thatisthereallist,”Isay,tryingnottolaughatthesightofDanny’sscrewed-upface,shiningwithtears.“Haveanapkin.”
“What?Areyoushittingme?”hegasps,andthensitsback,fanninghimself.“Actually,Itakethatback.Snoop’sthatsortofplace.”
“You’veheardofthem?”I’msurprised.Dannyisn’tnormallythesortofpersonwithhisfingeronthebuttonthatway.Wegetalltypeshere,lotsofprivateparties,theoddweddingoranniversary,butasurprisingnumberofcorporateretreatstoo—Iguessthepricetagiseasiertoswallowifyourcompanyispaying.There’salotoflawfirms,hedgefunds,andFortune500companies.ThisisthefirsttimeDanny’sheardofoneofthecompaniesandIhaven’t.“Whatdotheydo?”
“Snoop?”Nowit’sDanny’sturntolooksurprised.“Haveyoubeenlivinginafuckingcave,Erin?”
“No,I’mjust—I’veneverheardofthem.Aretheyamediacompany?”Idon’tknowwhyIchosethat.MediaseemslikethekindofindustrythatwouldhaveaTiger-BlueEsposito.
“No,they’reanapp.”Dannylooksatmesuspiciously.“Haveyoureallynotheardofthem?Youknow—Snoop—themusicapp.Itletsyou—well,snooponpeople.That’skindofit.”
“Ihaveliterallynoideawhatyou’reonabout.”
“Snoop,Erin,”Dannysays,moreacidlythistime,likeifhekeepssayingit,I’llsmackmyforeheadandgo,Ohyeah,thatSnoop!Hepullsouthisphoneandscrollsdowntheappstoonethatlooksliketwoeyesonahot-pinkbackground.Ormaybetwocogs,it’shardtoseeonthelogo.Hepressesit,andthescreengoesbrightpink,thenblack,blazonedwithsnoop.Realpeople,realtime,realloudinfuchsialetters.
Thistimethetwoo’softhenamearethewheelsofacassettetape.
“YoulikehookituptoyourSpotifyaccountorwhatever,”Dannyexplains,scrollingthroughmenusashedoes,asiflistsofrandomcelebritieswillmakeeverythingclear.“Anditmakesyourlisteningpublic.”
“Whywouldanyonewanttodothat?”Isayblankly.
“It’saquidproquo,innit?”Dannysays,soundingimpatient.“Thewholepointisnoonewantstolistentoyou,butifyoujoin,yougettolistentootherpeople.VoyeurismforyourearsiswhatSnoopcallsit.”
“So…Icanseewhat…Idon’tknow…Beyoncéislisteningto?Ifshewereonthere.”
“Yup.AndMadonna.AndJay-Z.AndJustinBieber.Andwhoeverelse.Slebsloveit—it’sthenewInstagram.It’slike,youcanconnect,yeah?Butwithoutactuallygivingawaytoomuchinformation.”
Inodslowly.Icanactuallykindofseetheattractionofthat.
“Soit’sbasicallyfamouspeople’splaylists?”
“Notplaylists,”Dannysays.“Becausethewholepointisthatit’srealtime.Yougetwhatthey’relisteningtorightnow.”
“Whatifthey’reasleep?”
“Thenyoudon’tgetanything.Theydon’tappearinthesearchbarifthey’renotonlineandlistening,andifyou’resnoopingonsomeoneandtheystoplistening,theirfeedgoesdeadandyougettheoptiontoshuntalongtosomeoneelse.”
“Soifyou’resnoopingonsomeoneandtheypauseasongtoanswerthephone—”
Dannynods.
“Yeah,itjustcutsoff.”
“That’sareallyterribleidea.”
Helaughsandshakeshishead.
“Nah,you’renotgettingit.Thewholepointis…”Hestops,tryingtoformulatesomethingunquantifiableintowords.“Thewholepointistheconnection.You’reactuallylisteningtothesamethingatthesamemomentastheyare—beatforbeat.Youknowthatwhereversheisintheworld,LadyGagaislisteningtotheexactsamethingyouare.It’slike”—inspirationstrikes,andhisfacelightsup—“it’slike,youknowwhenyou’refirstgoingoutwithsomeone,andyou’resharingasetofheadphones,oneearpieceintheirear,oneearpieceinyours?”
Inod.
“Well,it’slikethat.YouandLadyGaga,sharingherearphones.It’sreallypowerful.Whenyou’relyingthereinbed,andtheyswitchoff,andyouknowthatsomewherethey’reprobablydoingtheexactsamethingasyou,rollingover,fallingasleep…it’sprettyintimate,youknow?Butit’snotjustcelebrities.Ifyou’reinalong-distancerelationship,say,youcansnoopyourblokeandlistentothesamesongatthesametime.AssumingyouknowhisSnoopIDofcourse.Ikeepminelockeddown.”
“Okay…”Isayslowly.“So…like…yourfeedispublic,butnooneknowsit’syou?”
“Yeah,soIhaveliketwofollowers,becauseI’venotbotheredtohookupanyofmycontactlist.Mindyou,someofthemostpopularSnoopeesaretotallyincognito.There’sthisoneguyinIran,HacT,he’scalled.He’sinthetoptenSnoopeesprettymucheverymonth.Well,IsayinIran,butthere’snoactualwayofknowing.That’sjustwhatitsaysonhisSnoopbiog.HecouldbefromFlorida.”
Analertpingsonhisphone,andhebringsitup.
“Ah,yeah,see?ThisissomeoneI’msubscribedto,Msaggronistic.She’sthisFrenchCanadianchickinMontreal,shelistenstosomereallycoolpunkstuff.Thatalertwastellingmeshe’scomeonlineandshe’splaying…”Hescrollsdownthenotification.“TheSlits,apparently.Notsurethat’smycupoftea,butthat’sthething,itmightbe.Ijustdon’tknow.”
“Right.”I’mnotsureI’manythewiserreally,butit’ssortofmakingsense.
“Anyway,”Dannysays.Hegetsupandstartsclearingourplates.“That’swhatImeant,thesetechstart-ups,youcouldactuallyimaginethemcallingtheirheadoffinance‘chiefbeancounter’orwhateverthefuckhewascalled.They’dthinkitwasedgyorsomething.Coffee?”
Ilookatmywatch—2:17.
“Ican’t.I’vegotacoupleofroomsstilltodo,thenthepool.”
“I’llbringyouoneup.”
Istandandstretch,workingthekinksoutofmyneckandshoulders.It’sphysicalwork,cleaning.IneverrealizedhowmuchbeforeIstartedthisjob.HeavingHooversupanddownstairs,scrubbingtoiletsandtiles.Doingnineroomsonthetrotisaworkout.
I’mfinishingthepoolwhenDannycomesinwithacupofcoffee.He’swearinghisusualtrunks—thesmallest,tightestonesI’veeverseeninreallife.Theyarebananayellow,andwhenheturnsaroundtoputmycoffeedownonthelounger,youcanseethathehasBADBOIwrittenacrosshisbuttinscarletletters.
“Don’tmakeanysplashes,”Iwarnhim,ashestandspoisedattheedgeofthepool,hisarmsoutstretched.“I’mnotmoppingagain.”
Hesaysnothing,juststicksouthistongue,andthendoesaperfect,splash-freediveintotheshallowendofthepool.It’snotreallydeepenoughfordiving,butheskimsthebottomandcomesupsafelyatthefarend.
“Comeon,thebloodyplaceiscleanenough.Getin.”
Iwaver.Ihaven’tHooveredthediningroom,butIdon’tknowifanyonewouldbeabletotell.
Ilookatmywatch—3:15.Theguestsaresupposedtoarriveat4:00p.m.I’mcuttingitfine.
“Oh,allright,then.”
It’sourweeklyritual.Aten-minutedipafterallthechoresaredone,likeawayofreclaimingourterritory,remindingourselveswho’sactuallyinchargeinthisplace.
Mybikiniisonundermyclothes,andIpulloffmysweatyT-shirtandstainedcleaningjeans,andreadymyselftodive.I’mjustabouttopushoffwhenIfeelahandgrabmyankleandyankmeforward,andwithashriek,Ipitchintothepool.
Isurface,spluttering,rakinghairoutofmyeyes.Thereiswatereverywhere
“Youfuckingimbecile!Isaidnosplashes!”
“Chill.”Dannyislaughinguproariously,thewaterlikejewelsonhisdarkskin.“I’llmopit,Iswear.”
“I’llbloodykillyouifyoudon’t.”
“I’lldoit!Isaidso,didn’tI?I’lldoitwhileyoudryyourhair.”Hepointstohisbuzz-cutscalp,remindingmethathe’sgotaheadstartonmeinthatdepartment.
Ipunchhimontheshoulder,butIcan’tstaymadathim,andforthenextfewminutesweswimandwrestle,andfightlikepuppies,untilatlastwe’rebothdrenchedandgaspingforairandhavetostoptocatchourbreath.
Dannypullshimselfoutofthewater,grinningandpanting,andpadsofftothechangingroomtogetdressedandgreettheguests.
Ishouldfollowhim,Iknowit.Thereisplentystilllefttodo,jobstocomplete,taskstofinish.Butforamoment,justamoment,Iletmyselffloat,spread-eagledontheclearbluewater.Itouchmyfingerstothescarthatrunsacrossmycheek,tracingthedentedlinewheretheskinisthinandstilltender,andIgazeupatthegrayskythroughtheglassroofabove,watchingasthesnowflakescomespiralingdown.
TheskyistheexactcolorofWill’seyes.
Theclockistickingdowntothearrivalofourguests,andIcanhearDannybeginningtomopthechangingrooms.Ishouldgetout,butIcan’t.Ican’tlookaway.Ijustliethere,mydarkhairfanningoutaroundme,floating,gazingup.Remembering.
LIZ
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Wearequitehighinthemountainsnow.TheminibusmakesitswayupthroughlittleAlpinevillagesthatwouldlooklikepicturepostcards,excepttheskyisathreateningslatecolor,notblue.Theslushyraindowninthevalleyhasturnedintohugewhiteflakes,andthedriverhasthewindscreenwipersonfull,swishingthemasideasfastastheyfall.Beneathusthewetblacktarmachasturnedintofrozengrayridges,andthetiresaremakingastrangerattlingsoundastheypassoverthem.Eithersideoftheroad,hugemud-spattereddriftshavebeenthrownupbythesnowplow.Itfeelslikewearedrivingthroughatunnel.Itgivesmeastrangehemmed-infeeling,andIlookdownatmyphone,flickingthroughtheappstotrytodistractmyselfbeforecomingbacktoSnoop.
AfterIleftthecompany,Ideletedtheapp.IwantedeverythingaboutSnoopbehindme,andIdidn’tliketheideaofTopher,Eva,andtheotherskeepingtabsonmethroughthesoftware.Butafewweekslater,Ifoundmyselfdownloadingitagain.Thereisareasonithasjusttippedahundredmillionusers:it’saddictive.Butthistimemyprofileislockeddownastightasitwillgo,andthereisajunkemailaddressattachedtotheaccountsothatevenElliot,whohasaccesstoallthebehind-the-scenesinformation,can’tknowit’sme.It’snotthatI’mparanoid.Idon’timaginehesitstheresearchingtheuserrecordsforLizOwenseveryfewdays.I’mjustquiteaprivateperson.That’snormal,isn’tit?
Tophersayssomethingoverhisshouldertome.Ipullmyearbudsout.
“Sorry,whatdidyousay?”
“Isaid,‘Drink?’?”Heholdsoutanopenbottleofchampagne.
Ishakemyhead.
“No.Thanks.”
“Suityourself.”Hetakesaswigdirectlyfromthebottle,andItrynottoshudder.Heswallows,wipeshismouth,thensays,“Ihopetheweatherclearsup.Wewon’tgetmuchskiinginatthisrate.”
“Can’tyouskiinthesnowthen?”Iask.
Helaughs,likehethinksI’manidiot.
“Well,youcan,butit’snotmuchfun.It’slikerunningintherain.Haveyouneverbeenskiing?”
“No.”IrealizeI’mchewingthedeadskinatthesideofmynail,andImakemyselfdropmyhand.Ihaveasharpflashofmymother’sworriedvoice.Liz,pleasedon’tdothat,youknowDaddydoesn’tlikeit.Iraisemyownvoice,shuttingitout.“Imean,notreally.Ididdry-slopeskiingonceatschool,butIdon’tthinkit’sreallythesame.”
“You’llloveit,”Tophersays,withthatinfuriatingconfidence.Thetruthis,ofcourse,thathehasnowayofknowingwhetherIwillloveskiing.Butsomehowwhenhemakesthesepronouncements,youbelievehim.Whenhesays,Yourmoneywillbecompletelysafe,orIt’sanamazinginvestment,orYou’llnevergetthesetermsagain,youtrusthim.Yousignthatcheck.Youmakethatdeposit.Youputeverythingintohishands.
Itiswhyheiswhoheis,Isuppose.Thatmillion-dollarconfidence.Ugh.
Idon’tsayanythinginresponse.Buthe’snotwaitingforananswer.Hegivesmeabig,flashinggrinandtakesanothergulpofKrug,thenturnsbacktothedriver.
“Wemustbealmostthere,isthatright?”
“Comment?”thedriversaysinFrench.
Tophersmileswithexaggeratedpatienceandrepeatshimself,moreslowlythistime.
“Almost.There?”
“Presque,”thedriversaysbrusquely.
“Nearly,”Itranslateundermybreath,andthenwishIhadnot.
“Ididn’tknowyouspokeFrench,Liz,”Evasays.Sheturnsaroundtolookatme.Sheissmiling.Shesaysthewordslikesheishandingoutgoldstars.
There’salotyoudon’tknowaboutme,Eva,Ithink.
“GCSE,”Imutterinstead.“Notverygood.”
“Youaresuchadarkhorse,”Evasaysadmiringly.Iknowsheistryingtoflatterme,butherwordshaveapatronizingedgeconsideringEnglishishersecondlanguage,afterDutch,andsheisfluentinGermanandItalianaswell.
BeforeIamexpectedtoreply,theminibuscomestoahalt,thetiressqueakinginthesnow.Ilookaround.InsteadofthechaletIwasexpecting,thereisadarkopeningintothesnowyhillandasignreadingLefuniculairedeSt.Antoine.Askilift?Already?
Iamnottheonlyonewho’spuzzled.Carl,thethicksetlawyer,islookingalarmedtoo.Thedrivergetsdownfromthefrontandstartsheavingoutcases.
“Arewewalkingfromhereorwhat?”Carlsays.“Didn’tbloodypackmysnowshoes!”
“We’restayinginSt.Antoine2000,”Topher’sassistantsays.Hisname,Idiscoveredontheplane,isInigo.HeisAmerican,blond,andextremelygood-looking.HeisspeakingtoCarl,butalsototherestofus.“ThisisSt.AntoineleLac,buttherearealotoflittlehamletsscatteredaround,someofthemjustacoupleofchalets.Theonewe’restayinginisatnearlyseventhousandfeet—Imean,twothousandmeters,”hesayshurriedly,asEvaraisesaneyebrow.“It’sgotnoroadaccess,sowehavetotravelthelastpartofthejourneyinthisfunicularrailway.”Henodsatthedarkopening,andasmyeyesadjust,Icanseeaturnstileinside,andabored-lookingmaninuniformplayingwithhisphoneinalittlebooth.
“I’vegotyourtickets,”Inigoadds,holdingupasheafofpaper.
Hehandsthemoutasweclimbdownfromtheminibusontothesoftsnow,andwestand,holdingthem,lookingup.Iflexmyfingersnervouslyinsidemypockets,feeling,ratherthanhearing,thejointsclick.Itis4:07p.m.,butthecloudsaresothickwithsnowthattheentireskyisdark.Weeachtakeacase,withthedriverbringinguptherear,andthenthereisanuncomfortablewaitforthefunicular.Itisinvisible,somewherefarupthetunnel,thoughwecanhearthethrumofthehugesteelcableasitapproaches.
“Howareyoudoing,Liz?”avoicesaysbehindme,andIturntoseeRikAdeyemi,Snoop’sfinancialcontroller.Hehasanemptybottleofchampagneunderonearm.RikisoneofthefewpeopleIrecognize,apartfromEva,Topher,andElliot.Hegrins,huffingawhitecloudintothecoldair,andclapsmefirmlyononeshoulder.Ithurts.Itrynottowince.“Longtimenosee!”
“I’mallright,”Isay.Myvoicesoundsstiff,prim.Ihatemyselfforit,butIcan’thelpit.ItalwayscomesoutthatwaywhenIamnervous.AndRikhasalwaysmademenervous.Itispartlyhisheight.Idon’trelatewelltomeningeneral,particularlytallmenwholoomoverme.Butit’snotjustthat.Rikisso…polished.MuchmorethanTopher,althoughtheybothcomefromthesameworld.Literally.He,Topher,andElliotmetatboardingschool.ApparentlyElliotwasalwaysagenius,eventhen.It’salongwayfromCampsbourneSecondaryinCrawley,whereIwenttoschool.IknowIamacreaturefromanotherplanettothem.Weird.Awkward.Workingclass.
Iclenchmyfingers,makingthejointscrack,andRikwincesandthengivesanawkwardlaugh.
“GoodoldLiz,”hesays.“Stilldoingthatoldclickingthing?”
Idon’treply.Heshiftshisweightfromonefoottotheother,absentlyadjustinghissilverRolexashedoes,staringupthetrack,inthedirectionoftheinvisiblecarriagelumberingtowardsus.
“Howareyoudoing,anyway?”heasks,andIwanttorollmyeyes.
Youjustaskedthat,Ithink.ButIsaynothing.Iamlearningthatit’sokaytodothatsometimes.Infactitisquitefuntowatchpeople’sreactions.
Rik’seyesflicktome,waitingformysociallyconditioned“Fine,”andwhenitdoesn’tcome,heshoveshisfreehandinhispocket,lookingdistinctlydisconcerted.
Good.Lethimwait.
ERIN
SnoopID:LITTLEMY
Listeningto:Offline
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“Littlemy?”Dannysays,lookingovermyshoulderasItypeinmybrand-newusername.Hepronouncesitliketwowords—littlemy.“Whatthefuckdoesthatmean?”
“NotLitLemmy.LittleMy.It’sacharacterfromtheMoomins.”
“Themooyouwhat?”
“TheMoomins!It’saseriesofchildren’s—Look,nevermind,”Isay,seeinghisbaffledexpression.“What’syours?”
“I’mnottellingyou,”hesays,affronted.“Youmightsnooponme.”
“Oh,soyou’reallowedtoknowmine,butI’mnotallowedtoknowyours?”
“Toobloodyright.Whatareyougoingtolistento?”
Iclickaprofileatrandom.NeverMindTheHorlix.It’ssomeonetheappsuggestedfrommycontactlist,andalthoughIdon’tknowwhoitisforsure,IthinkitmightbeagirlIwenttoschoolwith.“ComeandGetYourLove”byRedbonefillstheroom.I’veneverheardoftheband,butIknowthesong.
“Someone’sbeenwatchingGuardiansoftheGalaxy,”Dannymutterswithatouchofderision,buthishipsaretwitchingintimetothebeatashewalksacrosstheroomtopeeroutintothesnow.He’sonlythereforasecondbeforeheswingsbackround,grabbingabottleofchampagnefromthecooleronthecoffeetableandpoppingthecorkwithasoundlikeagunshot
“They’rehere,Icanseethefunicularcomingup.”
Inodandshovemyphoneintomypocket.Notimeforchatnow.Thisisactionstations.
TenminuteslaterIamstandingintheopendoorwayofChaletPerce-Neige,trayofglassesinonehand,watchingalittlegroupstaggeringandslidingdownthepathfromthefuniculartotheporch.Noneofthemarewearingsuitableshoes,andthey’venotmasteredhowtowalkinsnow,withshortstepsandyourweightthrownforward,notback.Oneofthem,averygood-lookingblackguy,iscarryingwhatlookslike—yes,itis.It’sanemptybottleofKrug.Great.They’realreadydrunk.
Atallblondmanreachesmefirst,inhisearlythirties,handsomeinaDon’tIknowitkindofway.
“Hi.Topher,Snoopfounder,”hesays,grinninginawaythatisclearlymeanttocharmthesocksoffme.Hisbreathsmellsofalcohol,andhisvoiceiseveryboardingschoolboyI’veevermet.HelooksfaintlyfamiliaralthoughIcan’tplacetheconnection—butmaybeit’sjustthefactthatifyouwerecastingfortheCEOofahipinternetstart-up,he’sexactlywhatyou’dchoose.
“Goodtomeetyou,”Isay.“I’mErin,yourchalethostfortheweek.Champagne?”
“Well,sinceyouinsist…”Hetakesaglassofchampagneoffthetrayandknocksitbackinone.ImakeamentalnotethatnexttimeIprepourdrinksforthisparty,I’lluseprosecco.Thereisnowaythey’llbeabletotastethedifference,throwingthembacklikethat.
“Thanks.”Hereplacestheemptyglassonthetrayandstaresaroundhim.“Greatlocation,bytheway.”
“Thanks,welikeit,”Isay.Theothersarecomingupbehindhimnow.Astunninglybeautifulwomanwithcaramel-tannedskinandwhite-blondhairispickingherwaythroughthesnow.
“EvavandenBerg,”Tophersaysasshecomeslevelwithus,“mypartnerincrime.”
“Hi,Eva,”Isay.“We’redelightedtowelcomeyourgrouptoChaletPerce-Neige.Doyouwanttoleaveyourbagshereandheadinsidetowarmup?”
“Thanks,thatwouldbegreat,”Evasays.Whenshespeaksthere’satingeofsomethingnotquiteEnglishinherinflection.
Behindheroneofthemenslipsinthesnowandlaunchesintoagrumblingrantunderhisbreath,andshesays,quitecarelesslyoverhershoulder,“Doshutthefuckup,Carl.”
Iblink,butCarldoesn’tseemtonoticeanythingoutoftheordinaryandsimplyrollshiseyes,pickshimselfup,andfollowshiscolleaguesintothewarmth.
Insidethelobbyafireisroaringinthebigenameledwoodburner.Theguestsshakethesnowofftheircoatsandrubtheirhandsinfrontofthefire.Isetdownthetrayofglasseswithineasyreachandunfurlthelistofguestsandroomnumbers.Iglancearoundtheroom,mentallytryingtomatchpeopletonames.
EvaandTopherI’vegotalready.CarlFoster,theguywhoslippedinthesnow,isastockywhitemaninhisfortieswithabuzzcutandapugnaciousexpression,buthe’scheerfullydowningchampagneinawaythatsuggestshe’snotbroodingonthemomentoutsidethedoor.Judgingbyhersurname,MirandaKhanisprobablytheveryelegantAsianwomanoverbythestairs.She’swearingsix-inchheelsandshe’stalkingtotheguywiththeKrug,who’sswappedtheemptybottleforafullglassalongtheway.
“Oh,Rik,”Ihearhersay,atouchofflirtationinhervoice.“Youwouldsaythat.”
RikAdeyemi.Iputanothermentaltickonmylistofnames.Okay,sothat’sfiveofthem.Thefourremainingguestsaremoreofapuzzle.There’saslimwomaninhermidtwentieswithombrétipstohershorthair,holding,forsomereason,arolled-upyogamatunderherarm.There’saboyinhisearlytwentieswithastrongresemblancetoayoungJudeLaw.HeseemstobeAmericanfromwhatIheardofhisaccentwhenhetookaglassofchampagne.Behindhimisagirlwithfluffyyellowhairthatcannotpossiblybeherrealshade.It’sthecolorofbuttercupsandthetextureofdandelionfluff.Sheiswearinghugeroundspectaclesandlookingwonderinglyaroundthelobby,andcombinedwithherhair,theimpressionisofaparticularlyadorablebabychick.ShemustbeeitherAniorTiger.She’saboutthefurthestthingfromatigerIcouldpossiblyimagine,soIputherdownasaprobableAni.
Theninthandlastguestisatall,awkward-lookingman,staringoutthewindowwithhishandsinhispockets.Hisstandoffishnesscomparesstrangelywiththeotherguests,whoareallchattingcompanionablywiththeeasyback-and-forththatyougetonlyfrompeoplewho’veworkedorsocializedtogetherforalongtime
No,wait.Thereisoneotherguestwho’sstandingalone.Awoman,inherlatetwenties,standinghunchedinaninconspicuouscornerbythefire,asifhopingnoonewillspeaktoher.She’swearingdarkclothes,andsheblendedintotheshadowssowellthatIdidn’tnoticeheratfirst.She’salmost…thewordthatcomestomindiscowering,andalthoughitfeelstoostrong,it’stheonlyonethatreallyfits.Heruneasinessisinsharpcontrasttotherestofthegroup,whoarealreadylaughingandrefillingtheirglasses,indefianceoftheadviceaboutacclimatingtoaltitude.Butit’snotjustherbodylanguagethatsetsherapart—it’severything.She’stheonlyonewearingclothesthatlookmoreH&MthanD&G,andthoughshe’snottheonlyonewearingglasses,theotherslooklikethey’rewearingpropsprovidedbyaHollywoodstudio.HerslooklikeNationalHealthServicecastoffs.Sheremindsmeofabirdtoo,butnotafluffylittlechick.Thereisnothingcuteabouther.Thiswomanlooksmorelikeanowl—ahunted,panickedowlcaughtintheheadlightsofanoncomingcar.
I’mabouttogoovertoher,offerheraglassofchampagne,whenIrealizetherearenoneleftonthetray.DidIputoutthewrongnumber?
Ilookaroundagain,counting.Therearetenpeopleinthelobby,notnine.
“Um…excuseme,”IsayquietlytoTopher,“isoneofyourpartystayingelsewhere?”
Helooksuncomprehendinglyatme.
“I’veonlygotnineguestsonthelist,”Iexplain.“Youseemtobeten.It’snotaproblemexactly—wecansleepuptoeighteen—butthereareonlyninerooms,soI’mjustwondering…”
Itrailoff.
TopherclapsahandtohisforeheadandturnstoEva.
“Fuck,”hisvoiceisverylow,almostmouthingthewordsratherthansayingthem.“WeforgotLiz.”
“What?”shesays,ratherirritably,shakinghercurtainofsilkyhairback.She’sunwindingalonglinenscarffromroundherneck.“Ididn’tcatchwhatyousaid.”
“WeforgotLiz,”hesays,moreemphaticallythistime.Herjawdrops,andshelooksoverhershoulderatthegirlbythefireplacebeforemouthingasilentechoedfuckatherbusinesspartner.
TopherdrawsusbothintoacornerawayfromtheotherguestsandbeckonstotheyoungJudeLawlook-alike.Ashecomescloserthelikenessfades,buttheimpressionofstartlinggoodlooksonlyintensifies.Hehasoliveskin;sharp,Slaviccheekbones;andthemostextraordinarytopaz-blueeyesI’veeverseen.
“Inigo,”Topherhissesastheboyapproaches.“Inigo,weforgotLiz.”
InigolooksatTopherblanklyforamomentandthenthewordssinkin,andthecolordrainsoutofhischeeks.
“OhmyGod.”HisaccentisAmerican,Californianataguess,thoughI’mnotverygoodatplacingAmericans.Heputshishandoverhismouthinhorror.“Topher,I’m—I’msuchadick.”
“It’snotyourfault,”Evasaysacidly.“Topher’stheonewhoforgotherwhenhedrewuptheoriginallistofnames.Butofallthepeople—”
“Ifyou’resodamnefficient,”Tophergrowlsbetweengrittedteeth,“maybeyoushouldhavegotAnitodosomeofthelegworkinsteadofleavingInigotodoalltheheavylifting.”
“It’sfine—”Ibreakinhurriedly.Thisisn’tgoingthewayitwassupposedto.Thefirstdayissupposedtoberestandrelaxation—unwindinginthehottub,drinkingvinchaud,andappreciatingDanny’scooking.Mundanerealityisn’tsupposedtosurfaceuntillater,whenthePowerPointpresentationscomeout.“Honestly,wecancaterformore.Theonlyissueishowwerearrangethebedrooms.We’veonlygotnineguestrooms,whichmeanstwopeoplewillhavetoshare.”
“Letmeseethelist,”Tophersays,frowning.
“No,letmeseethelist,”Evasnaps.“You’vealreadyscrewedthisuponce,Topher.”
“Fine,”Tophersaysirritably,andEvatakesthepieceofpaper,runningherfingerdownit.Asshedoes,Inoticetherearewhatseemstobelikeburnholesinhersweater—itlookslikeshe’sbeendoingweldinginit,butsomethingtellsmeitcameoffthepeglikethis,andprobablywithaheftypricetag.
“LizcouldsharewithAni,”Inigosayshelpfully,butEvashakesherhead.
“No,absolutelynot.Lizcan’tbetheonetoshareorit’llbeobviouswhathappened.”
“WhataboutCarl?”Tophermutters.“Noonegivesafuckabouthim.Hecouldsharewithsomeone.”
“Who?”Evasays.“Rik’snevergoingtoagreetosharearoom,ishe?AndasforElliot—”Shejerksherheadattheawkward-lookingguystandingwithhisbacktotheothers.
“Yes,okay,”Tophersayshastily.“Icanseethat’snotgoingtowork.”
BoththeirgazestravelthoughtfullytoInigo,whoisstaringworriedlydownatthelist.Feelingtheireyesuponhim,helooksup.
“DidImisssomething?”
“Yes,”Evasaysbriskly.“You’resharingwithCarl.Nowrunalongandbreakthenewstohim.”
Inigo’sfacefalls.
“I’llhavetoswitchtheroomsaround,”Isay,mentallyrunningthroughthelistofwhichroomscanfitasecondbed.“LizwillhavetogointoInigo’soldroom,that’sthesmallest,isthatokay?AndthenMirandacanhaveCarl’s,andthenCarlandInigocanshareMiranda’soldroom;that’soneofthefewthatcantakeanextrabed.”
“WhereisMiranda?”Tophersays,lookingaround.Iglanceoveratthestairs.Rikisnowtalkingtothefluffychick—definitelyAni,Ihavededuced—andtall,elegantMirandahasdisappeared.Evasighs.
“Damn,she’sprobablyalreadygoneuptoherroom.Well,shewon’tbeimpressedatbeingdowngraded,butshe’llhavetoputupwithit.Let’sgoandfindherbeforesheunpacks.”
“I’llcomewithyou,”Isay.“Someonewillhavetomovethecases.”
Fromsomewhere,Ifeelaheadachebeginbehindmyeyes.Suddenly,thisfeelslikethestartofaverylongweek.
LIZ
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Somethinghappenedonarrival.Idon’tknowwhat,butIsawEva,Topher,andInigohuddledinthecornerofthelobbywiththechaletgirl.AndIheardmyname,I’mcertain.Theyweretalkingaboutme.Whisperingaboutme.
AllIcanthinkaboutiswhattheyweresaying,andwhytheywereglancingovertheirshouldersandscheming.
OhGod,Ihatethis.
No.That’snottrue.Idon’thateallofthis.Thisplace—thisincrediblechalet,withitspoolanditsviewsanditssheepskinthrowsandvelvetsofas—thisplaceisadreamcometrue.Idon’tthinkIhaveeversetfootinanywheresoluxurious,atleastnotsinceleavingSnoop.IfIwasherealone,Iwouldbeperfectlyhappy,morethanhappyinfact.Iwouldbepinchingmyself.
Ihatethem.
WhenatlastI’maloneinmyroom,Isinkontothehand-stitchedquilt,liebackonthefeather-stuffedpillows,andshutmyeyes.
Ioughttobeprowlingaroundtheroom,takinginthegloriouspanoramicviewofthemountains,testingoutthespasettingsonthebath,marvelingatmyluckinbeinghere.ButI’mnot.Instead,Iamlyingherewithmyeyesclosed,replayingthatawful,awkwardmomentdownstairsoverandoveragain.
Ishouldbeusedtoit.Usedtothemforgettingaboutme,takingmeforgranted,ignoringme.IhadawholeyearofthatatSnoop.Ayearofpeoplegoingoutfordrinksafterworkandnotinvitingme.Twelvemonthsof“Oh,Liz,wouldyoureserveatableforfouratMirabelle?”andknowingthatthatfourdidn’tincludeme.Onefullyearofinvisibility.AndIwasfinewiththat—morethanfine,actually.Iwasquitecomfortable.
Now,threeyearsafterIleft,everythinghaschanged.Iamvery,veryvisible.AndsomehowTopherandEva’sscrutinyandtheireffortstocharmmeareworsethanbeingignored.
Itis5:28p.m.,Frenchtime.Ihaveaboutninetyminutesbeforedinner.Anhourandahalftowashandchangeandtrytofindsomethinginmysuitcasethatwon’tmakemelooklikeafrumpcomparedtoEva’snewassistantandthatTigergirlfrommarketing.
Idon’tevenconsidercompetingwithEvaandtheotherwomanwiththehighheels—whatwashername?Miranda.Theyarenotjustoutofmyleague,they’reoutofmypaygrade.Evawasacatwalkmodel,andevenbeforeSnoopstartedtotakeoff,herbudgetforshoeswashigherthanmywholesalary.Ihavealwaysknownthatwewereoperatingondifferentlevels.ButitwouldbeniceifIcouldgodowntodinnerlookinglikeIbelonginthesameroomwiththeothers.
IunzipmysaggingwheeliecaseandrummagethroughthelayersofclothesIstuffedinthereearlythismorning.Atlast,halfwaydown,Ifindadressthatmightdo.IdragitovermyheadandthenIstandinfrontofthemirror,smoothingdownthematerial,staringatmyself.Thedressisblackandstretchy,andIboughtitbecauseIreadsomepieceinEllethatsaideverywomanneededalittleblackdressandthiswasthecheapestoneinthefeature.
Butsomehowitdoesn’tlooklikethedressinthatphotoshoot.Itiscrumpledfrommycase,andalthoughI’veonlywornittwoorthreetimes,thematerialhasgoneintobobblesunderthearms,givingitatired,charity-shoplook.Therearewhatlooklikecathairsallovertheback,eventhoughIdon’townacat.Maybethey’vecomeoffmyscarf.
IknowthatagirllikeTigerwouldprobablypickthisdressupinathriftshopandaccessorizeitwithsomethingridiculouslikeachain-mailvestandbikerbootsandwalkoutlookinglikeamilliondollars.
IfIworeachain-mailvest,itwouldpinchtheskinundermyarmsandclankwhenIwalked,andstrangerswouldlaughandsay,“Takingupjousting,love?”Anditwouldrustwheremysweatseepedintothelinks,andstainmyclothes,andIwouldhatemyselfevenmorethanIdoalready.
Iamstillstandingthere,gazingblanklyatmyselfinthemirror,whenthereisaknockatthedoor.
Mystomachflips.Ican’tfacethem.Ican’tfaceanyofthem.
“Who—whoisit?”Icall.Myvoicebreaksonthelastsyllable.
“It’sErin,I’myourchalethost,”Ihearfaintlythroughthewood.“Justwantedtocheckyouhaveeverythingyouneed?”
Iopenthedoor.Thegirlwhogreetedusearlierisstandingthere.Ididn’tgetachancetoreallylookatherwhenwearrived,butnowIdo.Sheisprettyandtanned,withshinychestnuthair,andsheiswearinganeatwhiteblousetuckedintodarkbluejeans.Shelooksself-possessed,assured,everythingIamnot.
Onlyonethingisoutofplace—thethin,pinktracingofalongscarthatrunsacrossherrightcheekbone,disappearingintoherhair.Itstretchesasshesmilesatme,andI’m…surprised,Isuppose.Shelookslikethekindofpersonwhowouldcoversuchathingupwithmakeup.But…shehasn’t.
Iwanttoaskherhowshegotit,butitdoesn’tfeellikethekindofquestionyoucanjustblurtout.OnceuponatimeIjustwouldhaveasked.NowIhavelearnedthehardway,thatthatkindofdirectnessmakespeoplethinkyouareweird.
“Hi,”shesays,stillsmiling.“I’mErin.Ijustwantedtocheckeverythingwasokaywithyourroomandtoletyouknowtherewillbepredinnerdrinksinthefoyerthiseveningatsixforty-five,followedbyashortpresentation.”
“Apresentation?”Itugatthehemofthedress.“Abouttheresort?”
“No,abusinesspresentation,Ithink.Wasitnotonyourschedule?”
IrummageinmycaseandpulloutthecreasedandfoldeditineraryInigoemailedafewdaysago.Ihavespentpracticallyeverysparesecondsinceporingoverit,tryingtofigureouthowthisweekisgoingtoplayout,soIknowfullwellthereisnothinglistedforthefirstnight,butIstillneedtoreassuremyselfI’mnotgoingcrazy.
“There’snothinglisted,”Isay.Ican’tpreventanoteofaccusationcreepingintomyvoice.Thegirlshrugs.
“Probablyalast-minuteaddition?Yourcolleague—Ani,isthatright?—shejustaskedmetosetuptheprojectorintheden.”
ItisonthetipofmytonguetoblurtoutthatAniisn’tmycolleague.Ihaveneverworkedwithher.InfactIbarelyknowanyofthemapartfromthefouroriginalfounders,Rik,Elliot,Eva,andTopher.
ButIamtoobusytryingtofigureoutwhatthismeans.
AniisEva’sassistant.SothispresentationmustbesomethingEvahashatchedup.AndEvaisthemoststrategicpersonIknow.Shewouldneverleaveanythingoffanagendabyaccident.Whichmeansshehasdonethisonpurpose.Sheisexecutingsomekindofplan.
Butwhat?
“Doyouknowwhatit’sabout?”Iask.“Thepresentation?”
“No,sorry.ThetimingisliterallyallIknow.Drinksatsixforty-five,presentationatseven.”
“And…whatshouldIwear?”Idon’twanttoaskher,butI’mstartingtofeeldesperate.
Thegirlsmiles,butthereispuzzlementbehindherexpression.
“Howdoyoumean?We’rereallyinformalatPerce-Neige,noonedressesfordinner.Justwearwhateveryoufeelcomfortablein.”
“Butthat’swhattheyalwayssay!”Thewordsburstfromme,inspiteofmyself.“Theysay,‘Oh,justwearwhateveryouwant,’andthenwhenyouturnupthere’ssomesecretdresscodethateveryoneseemstoknowapartfromme.Igotoosmartandthey’reallinjeansandIlooklikeI’vetriedwaytoohard,orIwearsomethingcasualandthey’reallinsuitsanddresses.It’slikeeveryoneelsehasthekeytothisandIdon’t!”
Assoonasthewordsareout,Iwanttotakethemback.Ifeelnaked,unbearablyexposed.Butitistoolate.Theycannotbeunspoken.
Shesmilesagain.Herexpressioniskind,butIseethepityinhereyes.Ifeelthebloodcreepingupintomycheeks,turningmyfacehotandred.
“It’sreallyrelaxed,”shesays.“I’msuremostpeoplewon’tevenchange.You’lllooklovelywhateveryouwear.”
“Thanks,”Isaymiserably.ButIdon’tmeanit.Sheislying,andwebothknowit.
ERIN
SnoopID:LITTLEMY
Listeningto:SnoopingXTOPHER
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Asthevariousmembersofthepartyassembleinthefoyer,thesongthatkeepsrunningthroughmyheadisnottheChileanR&BIwaslisteningtobeforetheycamein(yes,IwassnoopingonTopher),buttheBeautifulSouth’s“Rotterdam(orAnywhere).”Okay,noteveryoneisblond.Buteveryoneismostcertainlybeautiful.Almostabsurdlyso.ThereisEva’sassistant,cutelittleAniwithherheart-shapedfaceandbuttercuphair.Topher’sPA,Inigo,nowsportingabronzefive-o’clockshadowthatmakeshischeekboneslooklikehesteppedoffafilmset.EvenCarlthelawyer,whoisprobablytheleastconventionallyattractiveoftheparty,withhisbullishexpressionandstockyframe,hasadefinitemagnetism.
“Thicc,”Dannywhispersappreciativelyintomyearashepassesmewithatrayofcanapés.“Iwould,wouldn’tyou?”
“Carl?Uh,no,”Iwhisperback,andDannylaughs,adeepthroatylaugh,deliciouslyinfectious.
“Whothen?Coderdudeoverthere?”
HenodsatElliot,whoisstandinginthesamespothechoseonarrival,deliberatelynotmakingeyecontactwithanyone.Ilaughandshakemyhead,butit’snotbecauseIfindElliotunattractive.Okay,helooksratherlikeanawkwardschoolboy,buthestillmanagestobesexyinageek-chickindofway.Hehasthekindofbodythatlooksasifhisbonesaretoobigforhisskin,alljuttingwristsandangledcheekbones,andknobblyanklesprotrudingfromtoo-shorttrousers.Buthislipsaresurprisinglysensuous,andwhenoneofhiscolleaguesmaneuverspasthim,sheslipsanarmaroundhismidriffinawaythatlooks…well,itlooksintimate.AndElliotdoesn’tflinchawayasIthoughthemight.
“Comeon,”Tophercallsoverthesoundofvoices.“Let’sgetthispartystarted.Carl,Inigo,surelyoneofyoucanfigureoutthisspeakersystem?Jesus,noonewouldthinkwewereatechcompany.”
Fromnowhere,musicstartsup.DavidBowie,“GoldenYears,”filteringoutoftheBluetoothspeakers.I’mnotsurewhoputiton,butit’sanaptchoice,almosttothepointofirony.Thereisadefinitegildedqualitytothisgroup.Nothing’sgoingtotouchthem.
“Hey.”ThegirlwhopushedpastElliothaswovenherwaythroughthegrouptowhereDannyandIarestanding.Sheisswayingintimetothebeatandwearingaveryshortsweaterdressthatexposesslim,tonedlegs,mademorediminutivebyherDocMartensboots.ForaminuteIcan’tplaceher,andIhaveaflutterofpanic,butthenIclocktheombréhairandnosering.Sheisthewomanwhowasholdingtheyogamatwhenshearrived,andtherealizationenablesmetorememberhername.Yoga.Tiger.Tiger-BlueEsposito.Headofcool.
“Hi,Tiger,”Isay.IholdoutthetrayofcocktailsI’mholding.“CanIofferyouadrink?Thisisabrambleginmartini,orontheleftisamarmaladeold-fashioned.”
“ActuallyIcameovertogetsomethingtoeat.”Shegivesmeabeguilingsmile,showingverywhite,eventeethandadimpleinherpeach-softcheek.Hervoiceisthroaty—remindingmeofacat’spurr,andheroddnameseemssuddenlyratherapt.“Sorry,Iknowit’sbadmannerstohogthecanapésstraightoutofthekitchendoor,butthelasttraywastoogoodandI’mstarving.Theydidn’tserveanyfoodontheplane,soallI’vehadsincebreakfastisKrug.”Shepausesforasecondandthengivesasurprisinglyearthylaugh.“Oh,whoamIkidding.I’mjustpathologicallygreedy.”
“Don’tapologize,”Dannysays.Heholdsoutthetray,wherehiscarefullyhandmadecanapésstandinrowslikelittlebattalions.“Ilikeagirlwithagoodappetite.TheseareGouda-filledprofiteroles”—hepointstothetiny,feather-likepuffsontheleftofthetray—“andtheseontherightarequails’eggswithsmokedricotta.”
“Aretheybothveggie?”Tigerasks,andDannynods.
“Gluten-free?”
“Onlythequails’eggs.”
“Great,”Tigersays.Thedimpleflashesagain,andshepicksupaquaileggandpopsitdirectlyintohermouth,closinghereyesvoluptuouslyasshechews.“OhmyGod,”shesaysassheswallows.“Thatwasacanapé-shapedorgasm.CanIhaveanother?”
“Sure,”Dannysayswithagrin.“Butsaveroomforyourtea.”
Shetakesanother,stuffsitintohermouth,andthensaysthickly,“Okay,savemefrommyself,takethetrayawaybeforeIgofullHomerSimpsonandstartdroolingonthefloor.”
DannygivesalittlemockbowandmovesovertowardsElliot,andTigerlooksafterhimappreciatively.Ican’tblameher.Dannyiskind,agreatcook,andcuteashell.
“Tiger,”aclipped,moniedvoicesaysbehindus,andIturnmyheadtoseethePRwoman,Miranda,stalkingherwayacrosstheroom.Herblackhairisloose,adarksatincurtaindownherback,andshe’swearingastunningblacksilkjumpsuit,cinchedintoshowanenviablytinywaist,andmidnight-bluevelvetstilettos.Inoticewithawincethatthepointedheelsareleavinglittledivotsinthepolishedwoodfloor,butIcan’treallysayanything.Instead,Iholdoutthetrayofdrinks.Mirandatakesaglasswithoutlookingatmeanddumpsahalf-eatensmokedduckskewerinthespaceleft.
“Weneedtotalk,”shesaystoTiger.Hervoiceishighandsharp,heraccentcut-glass,afewvowelsawayfromfullPrincessMargaret.
“Sure,”Tigersaysgood-naturedly.Sheswallowsandwipeshermouth.“Hey,haveyoutriedthequails’eggs?They’retodiefor.”
“Nevermindthat,Tigs,listen,weneedtoputsometimeasidetodiscussthecommsstrategyonElliot’sgeosnooprelease.I’vejusthadthatpushylittleshitfromUnwiredonthephoneaskingaboutit.”
“What?”Tigerlookstakenaback.“Howdidthatgetout?It’snoteveninbetayet,isit?”
“Ihavenoidea,butIsuspectElliotblabbedaboutit.He’sneverbeenabletosticktoanembargo,andhe’sbeentellinganyonewho’lllistenhow‘cool’it’sgoingtobe.”Shemakesairquotesasshesaystheword.“IthinkI’veshutUnwireddownforthemoment,butit’sgoingtogetoutsoonerorlaterandIhavesignificantconcernsabouthowit’sgoingtogooverinthepress.Idon’tneedtotellyouthatprivacyonsocialisabigbuzzwordrightnow.I’mnotsureifanyone’sclockedthechangeinuser-endpermissionsyet,butit’sonlyamatteroftimebeforetheydo.Christ,willsomeonepleaseshutdownthatgodawfulracket?”
Shelooksroundatme,pressingherfingerstohertemple,andIrealizeshe’stalkingaboutthemusic.
“Oneoftheguestsputiton,”Isay,tryingnottosounddefensive,“butI’lladjustthevolume.”
“I’mthinkingweneedtwoapproaches,”MirandacontinuesasImoveawayinsearchoftheremotecontrolforthespeakers.“AplanA,whichassumesadeliberatetimedrelease,i.e.,marketing,PR,socialbuzz,andsoon.Basicallyallthestuffwe’dalreadysketchedout.ButthenaplanBincaseofanearlyleak,inwhichcasethequestiontheniswhetherwebringforwardaspectsofthemarketingcampaigntosupportournarrative.It’sabsolutelyessentialwecontroltheconversationonsocial.”
Theylaunchintotechnicalitiesasthediscussionfadesawayintothebackgroundbabble.Ilocatetheremoteunderneathadirtynapkin,turnthevolumedownanotch,andthenglanceattheclockonthemantelpiece.It’s6:55.Theyshouldbemovingthroughshortly,butsomeoneseemstobemissing.
“Ah,aboutfuckingtime!”aman’svoicesaysovermyshoulder,andIturntoseeTopherstandingbehindme.“Blokecoulddieofthirstwaitingforservicearoundhere.”Heshakeshisblondhairoutofhiseyes,thensweetenstherudenesswithagrinthat’sjusttherightsideofcharming.
“Sosorry!”Iholdoutthetray,maskingmyirritationwithapolitesmile.“Bramblemartini?”Tophertakesoneandknocksitbackwithalarmingspeed.Irestraintheurgetotellhimthattheyareabout50percentgin.“Carl?”Iholdoutthetraytohiscolleague,whonodsheavilyandtakesthelastold-fashioned.
“Cheers.ThoughIdon’tneedanymoreboozeifI’mbeinghonest,it’sfoodI’mafter.Anymoreofthemcheesypuffsgoingaround?I’mbloodystarving.”
“Cheesypuffs!”Topherscoffs.“That’snothowyoumaintainaski-readyphysique,Carlmydude.”
HepatsCarl’samplemidriff,strainingbeneathaplaidshirt.
“Carb-loading,mate,”Carlsays,withawinkatme.“Essentialpartofmytrainingregimen.”
“Danny’scirculatingwiththecanapés;I’msurehe’llbeoverinjustasec,”Isay,thoughIcanseeoverCarl’sshoulderthatDannyhasbeencorneredbyElliot,whoismethodicallypickingofftheGoudaprofiterolesonebyoneandputtingthemintohismouthliketheyarecrisps.Ihopetherearesomemoreinthekitchen.
Topherhasseenittoo,andnowheleanspastmetograbElliot’sshoulder.
“Elliot,myman.Stophoggingtheserver.Carliscarb-loading,”hesays,andItaketheopportunitytoslipawayandcheckontherestoftheroom.
It’s7:05accordingtotheclockabovethefire,butwhenIcountheads,onlynineguestsarepresent.Someoneislate,andI’mnottheonlyonewhohasnoticed.Evaistappingherfootandlookinganxiouslyaround.
“WherethefuckisLiz?”IhearherhissatInigo,whowhisperssomethingapologeticunderhisbreath.Thenhisfacebrightens,andhetouchesEva’sarm.
Evalooksuptowardsthegallerylanding.IfollowhergazetoseeLizthere,standingatthetopofthespiralstaircase.Shehasherarmscrossedaroundherself,andherawkwardnessmakesElliotlookalmostatease.
“Liz!”Evacalls,welcoming.“Comedown,haveadrink.”
Slowly,almostreluctantly,Lizdescendsthestairs.She’swearingthelumpish,unflatteringblackdressthatIsawwhenIencounteredherinherroomearlier,andmyheartsinksforher.It’scutallwrongforhershape,makingherlooklikeabunchofpotatoesinasock,andyoucantellfromthewayshe’sholdingherself,pluckingatherVPL,thatsheknowsit.Atthefootofthestairsshepausesandflexesherfingerjoints,likeakindofnervoustic.Itmakesacracklelikewoodpoppingonahotfire,surprisinglyunpleasant.
Iamabouttostepforwardwithadrink,buttomysurprise,Topherforestallsme.Hegrabsabramblemartinifrommytrayandrushesforward,holdingitouttowardsLizwithapuppy-dogexpressionofeagernessonhisface.
ItissooutofcharacterthatIblink.
Whoisthiswoman?Whyaretheysokeentokeepherhappy?It’salmostlike…Ifrown,wondering.It’salmostlikethey’reafraidofher.
Butthat’sabsurd.
LIZ
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Theyareallwaiting,crowdingaroundthebottomofthestairsasIreachthefoyer—Eva,Topher,Inigo,Rik.EvaiswearingalongdressofwhitewoolthatIthinkisprobablycashmereandwhichmakesmefeellikeafrump.Topheriswearingjeansandanopen-neckshirt.Heisbrandishingamartiniglassinmyface.
“Cocktail,Liz?”hesays,flashingasmile.
“No,thanks,”Isay.
“Comeon,”Tophersays.Hisvoiceishisverybestcajolingcharm.“It’saspecialoccasion—allthegangbacktogether!”
Ishouldsmile,butIdonotfeellikesmiling.Mydressistootight.IworeSpanxunderweartotrytomakeitfitbetter,butitispinching,andmystomachhurts.Andthemusicistooloud.
“Thanks,butI’vegotaheadache,”Isay.IdonotwanttotellTopherthetruth—thatIdonotdrinkalcoholanymore.Hemightwonderwhy—whathaschangedsinceIleftSnoop.
“Oh,youpoorthing,”Tophersays.“Letmegetyousomething,I’vegotsomeibuprofeninmyroom.Inigo—”
“No,thanks,”Isayagain.Myheartisbeatinginaweirdflutterywaythatismakingmefeelslightlysick.“Idon’twantanypainkillers.IthinkIneedaglassofwater.”
“It’sprobablythealtitude,”Evasayssolicitously.“Andthedryair.It’sveryeasytogetdehydrateduphere.You’resosensiblenottodrinkalcohol.”
TopherfrownsatInigoandjerkshisheadtowardsthekitchen.Inigonodsandhurriesoff.Isupposehehasgonetogetmewater.Thisfeelssowrong.ItusedtobemeTopherbarkedat.Andhonestly,Ipreferredthat.Ipreferredbeinginvisible.
WhenInigocomesback,Tophergrabstheglassoffhimandsaystotheothers,“Let’sgiveLizsomespace.”Thenheushersmeovertoasmallsofawherehegesturesformetositdown.Ican’tseeanywayout,soIdo.Tophersitsbesideme,tooclose,andtakesoneofmyhands.
Ifeelmysenseofpanicrise.
Iknowwhathe’sgoingtosay.
“Liz,Ijustwantedtotellyou,”hebegins.
Ilookaround,panicked.Myheartkeepsskippingbeats.IwonderifImighthavesomekindofheartdefect.Topheristalkingabouthowproudheisofhavinggivenmemystart,aboutthewayIstoodoutattheinterview,aboutthecontributionImadetoSnoop,aboutour“journeytogether.”
Hiswordsaredrownedoutbythejanglinglyloudbackgroundmusicandaweirdhissinginmyears.ButIdon’tneedtolistentohiswordstoknowwhatheisreallysaying.
Istoodupforyou.
Igaveyouyourchance.
Youwouldn’tbeherewithoutme.
Youoweme.
Andhe’sright.Iknowhe’sright.That’stheworstthing.BecauseI’mabouttobetrayallofthat.
He’sbeingsonicethatIwanttobesick.ButatthesametimeIcansmelltheboozeonhisbreathandfeeltheheatofhisbodyshovedupagainstmine,andallIcanthinkofismyfather,loweringoverme.
Iamabouttonervouslycrackthejointsinmyfingerswhenavoicecomesintomyheadunbidden.Ifyoumakethatdisgustingsoundonemoretime…
Iflinch,inspiteofmyself.
“Andthatmakesmesoproud,”Topherisfinishing.
Ihavenoideawhattosay.BeforeIcancomeupwithanything,thereisahighringingnoisefromthefarsideofthefoyer.ItisEva’sassistant,Ani.Sheiswearingasilkdressthatlookslikeitismadeoftwoscarvestiedtogether,andsheisstandingonhertiptoesandtappingtwochampagneflutestogether.Itmakesatingtingtingsoundthatechoesaroundthefoyer.
Everyonefallsquiet,apartfromElliot.HeisstillspeakingtoRik.Hisdeepbassmonotoneboomsaroundthesilentlobby.
“—serverproblemswiththegeosnooprollout,ifwecan’t—”
RiknudgesElliot,wholooksaround.Hebreaksoffmidsentence,hisfaceconfused.
Besideme,Topherhasgonecompletelystiff,andhisexpressionistakenaback.ThismustbeEva’spresentation.ButitlooksasifTopherknewnothingaboutit.
SuddenlyIknowwhatthisis.Iknowwhatishappening.Thisisanambush.
No.That’snottherightword.
Thisisacoup.
ERIN
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“Snoopers!”Evaissaying,inahigh-pitched,artificiallyjollyvoice.Sheisstandingonthebottomstepofthespiralstaircase,thoughshedoesn’tneedtheextraheight,andshelooksamazinginherflawlesscashmeresheath,likeatallfluteofchampagne.“Iknowthiswasn’tontheagenda,butAniandIwantedtowelcomeyouallhereandbegintheweekwithafewhighlightsfromtheSnoopjourney,justtoremindyouallhowamazingyouare,andhowfarwe’vecome,andwhatyou,allofyou,havecontributedtothephenomenonthatisSnoop.Willyoucomeintothedenforafewminutes?Youcanbringyourdrinks.”
ThereisageneralshufflingandaweirdfeelingofelectricityintheairthatIcan’tquitepindown.
Lookingaroundtheroom,Icanseefromthereactionsofeveryonehere,andtheexpressionsontheirfaces,thatthegroupdividesintothreecamps.
First,thereisEva’slittlecoterie—whichseemstocompriseRikandAni.Theyknewaboutthis,andwerewaitingforhercue.Theyweregatheringroundevenbeforeshemadetheannouncement,andnowthatshehasspokentheylooktense,asifreadyforbattle.
Thenthereisamiddlegroundofpeoplewhoaresurprised,butpleasantlyso,andlookingforwardtothediversionwithacheerfulobliviousness.ThatgroupincludesTiger,Miranda,andthelawyer,Carl.Theyarepickinguptheirdrinks,chattingaway,seeminglyquiteunawareofthetensionsflowingaroundthem.
AndfinallythereisTopher’slittlegroup,whoarealsosurprised—butnotinagoodway.Hisassistant,Inigo,lookslikeakidwhohassteppedinadogmessinnewshoesandisabouttogetshoutedatbyhisdad.TechyElliotisstandinginthecornerwithhisarmsfolded,andhelooksmulish.Heistappinghisfootandglaringthroughhisglasseslikehe’sjustbeenbluffedinapokergame.TopherhimselfhasrisenfromthecouchwherehewastalkingtoLiz,andhelookspositivelyalarmed.It’sthefirsttimeI’veseenhisboyishcharmproperlyruffled,andIrealizethatbeneaththecharismaandtheprojectedconfidence,there’ssomethingelse.I’mjustnotsurewhat.Ishissmoothsurfacehidingafrightenedlittleboyinside?Orisitsomethingverydifferent,moredangerousperhaps?ForaminuteIthinkIseeaflickerofangercrosshisface.
FinallythereisLiz.AndIamnotsurewhatcampsheisin.Shedoesn’tfitintoanyofthem—butIthinkshedoesknowwhat’sgoingon.Herfaceisblank,herglassesreflectingtheoverheadlightsothatIcan’tseeherexpression.Butshedoesn’tlookhappy.Infactshe’sgotherarmswrappedroundherselflikeshe’sfendingoffablow.
“Holdonasecond,Eva—”Tophersays,withanattemptathiscustomarytoneofcommand,butit’stoolate;Evaisusheringtheothersswiftlyintotheden,andhehasnochoicebuttofollowwithElliot,orgetleftbehind.“Eva,whatthef—”
Andthenthedoorshutsbehindthem.
LIZ
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AsAniushersusinside,Ifeelatwingeofpanic.Thedenissmallanddark.Thewindowsarecoveredwithblinds.Theonlylightiscomingfromthedoorway,andfromaprojectionoftheSnooplogobeingbeamedontoablankwall.Theimageisbrightpink,anditturnsthefacesoftheothersastrange,cookedcolor,likehotham.Isettlemyselfontoasofa,andasthedoorswingssoftlyshut,Ifeeltheatmosphereclosearoundmelikeafist.
ItisanatmosphereIhaven’tfeltfornearlythreeyears.
Money.Privilege.Ambition.
ThescentofitisasrealasTopher’sexpensivebespokecologne,thesamebrandIusedtohavetoorderinfromalittleParisperfumeryintheruedesCapucines,stammeringthroughhisorderinmybadschoolgirlFrench.Icansmellitnow,thoughheisoverontheothersideoftheroom.
Igetasuddenwaveofanxiety.
IthinkImightthrowup.
“Tiger,”Evasays,wheneveryonehasfoundaplacetosit.“Wouldyouleadusthroughashortmeditation?”
“Sure!”Tigersays.Hervoiceisslightlyhusky.Ithinkshealwayssoundslikethat,butitmakesmewanttoclearmyownthroat.Iresisttheurgetocoughasshelooksaroundthegroup.“Makeyourselvescomfortableeveryone—whateverthatmeanstoyou.Thatcouldbesitting,leaning,standing,embracing.”
Ican’tstopmyselffromshudderingatthelastword,butmyreactionisbetterthanthesnortofderisionIhearfromCarl.Evashootshimalookthatcouldkill,andhecoversitbyshiftingonhisfloorcushion.Thefillinginsidesqueaksandhissesasitresettles.
Tigercloseshereyes.
“Shutyoureyes,”shewhispers,“andtakeamoment,everyone,tocenteryourselves.”
Thereissilenceintheroomnow.Ishutmyeyes,butitdoesn’thelpthefeelingofbeingtrapped,infactifanythingitworsensit.IcanfeelthewarmthofInigo’sshouldertomyleftandRik’sthighpressingagainstminetotheright.Theycan’thelptouchingme—thesofaistoosmallforthree—butitdoesn’tmakemefeelanylesstense.Iamsweating.Mypalmsaresticky.Mywholebodyisrigidwithdiscomfort.Idonotwanttobehere.Idonotwanttobehere.
“Takeamomenttothankyourself,”Tigersays,hervoicelowandsoft.“Thankyourbodyforbringingyouhere,yourbonesforcarryingyou,yourmusclesforsupportingyou,yourmindforfreeingyou.”
Idon’twanttothankanyoneforthis.Iwanttogetout.ThereisanotherrustleasCarlshiftsuncomfortably,andsuddenlyIcan’tcopewiththeclaustrophobiaanymore.Iopenmyeyesacrack,tryingtodispelsomeofthediscomfort.IamabouttoshutthemagainwhenIseeI’mnottheonlyonepeeking.Oppositeme,Topher’seyesopenforamoment.Hescanstheroom,tryingtofigureoutwhatthehellisgoingon.Oureyesmeet.Iseeyou.Heraisesasingleeyebrow.Ishutmyeyesquickly.
“Takeamomenttothanktheuniverse,”Tiger-Bluecontinues.“Forthegiftthatisyourbeing;forthegiftthatisyourbeinghere;forthegiftthatisthisplace,themajestyofthemountainssharedwithusforjustafewdays.”
BesidemeIcanhearInigo’sbreathing.Itisfastandshallow.WhenIglanceoveritlookslikehisteetharegritted,andamuscleisjumpinginhischeek.Heishatingthisasmuchasme,andclearlyhedidnotknowthiswashappeninganymorethanTopherdid.IknowfrommyownPAdayshowTopherreactstobeingoutoftheloop.Someoneisgoingtogetbothbarrelslater.IfeelsympathyforInigo,butmymainemotionisreliefthatitisnotgoingtobeme.
“AndtakeamomenttothankSnoop,”Tigerintones.“Thatthingthatweare,andthatisbiggerthanallofus.Forallthatweare—forallthatwehave—forbringingpeopleintocontact,andmusicintoourlives.Forthesimplemiraclesitmakeshappeneveryday.”
ThankGodIdon’tworkforSnoopanymoreisallIcanthink.
Idon’tknowifsheisfinishedornot,butthereisashortsilence.Icanfeelapulsebeatinginmythroat.Justwhenithasstretchedouttosomethingalmostunbearable,Evaspeaks.
“ThankyouTiger-Blue,thatwasbeautiful.AnditbringsmetowhatIwantedtosay,whichisthankyouallforcominghere,andforallthatyou’vedoneforme,forTopher,forSnoop,andformusic.Thankyouforthemusic.”
“Hear,hear,”Tophersays.Eyessnapopenaroundtheroom,andheraiseshisglasssothatweallhavetodrink,whetherwewanttoornot.Isipmywater.
“Now,you’llforgivemeforspringingthisonyou,butIcouldn’tlettheweekbeginwithoutalittlecelebrationofourtriumphs,ofwhatyou’veachievedoverthelastfouryears,”Evasays.Shedoesnotlookatmewhenshesaysit,butitisimpossibleformenottorealizeIamtheoddoneouthere.Iamtheonlypersonnotcurrentlyemployedbythecompany.
“Ani?”Evasays.AndAninodsandpressessomethingonthelaptopbalancedonherknees.Thereisacracklefromthespeakers.Musicbeginstoblastout,uncomfortablyloud.Movingimagesbegintolightupthewallopposite.
Ishouldbewatchingthefilm—butIcan’tconcentrate.Themusicistooloud.Itismakingmyskullhurt.Theimagesaretoobright.Theyarezippingpasttooquickly.Thereisakindofdesperate,hecticintensity.Myheadache,whichhadbeenslowlyfading,isbackandpulsinginmytemples.Itfeelsasifabandistighteningaroundmyforehead.
Figuresandgraphsflickeracrossthescreen—profitandloss,users’profiles,expansionratescompetitors.Ipressmyfingerstomyeyesockets,shuttingouttheflashingimages,butIcan’tshutoutthethumpingmusicasitseguesfromonesongtoanotherinafreneticsampleofSnoop’sgreatesthits.
Evaistalkingoverthemusic.Sheisspeakingaboutsocialmediareachandkeyinfluencers.Therestofthegroupissilent.IcanfeelTopher’ssimmeringresentmentfromtheothersideoftheroom,evenwithmyeyesclosed.
Andthenthemusiccutsout.Ifeelaweightliftedoffmyshoulders,likesomeonehasstoppedscreaminginmyears.Iopenmyeyes.Thereisasinglechartontheprojector,overlayingtheSnooplogo.Itisfulloffigures.Evaistakingusthrougheachset,explainingwhattheymean.Percentages,projections,ongoingcosts—andthenIhearit.Thewordwehaveallbeendancingaroundforalmosttwelvehours.
Buyout.
Ifeelthebandaroundmyscalpsqueezeunbearablytight.Iamnotreadyforthis.
Sheistalkingabouttheoffer.Sheisexplainingwhatitcouldmeanintermsofcompanyexpansion,employeeopportunities—butsheisbarelyhalfwaydownthesecondtableoffigureswhenTopherinterrupts.
“No,no,justfuckingno,Eva.”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
Hestandsup.Hisfaceobscurespartoftheprojectionsothathisprofileisbeamedblackandsharpontothewallandthefiguresoverlayhisfacelikesomesortofgrotesquetattoo.
“Thisishalfthestory,andyouknowit.Wherewouldwebeifwe’dgivenupourIPtoSpotifyliketheywantedbackatthebeginning?Nowhere,that’swhere.We’dbesomeothertin-potlittlestreamingappnoone’sheardofand—”
“Topher,thisiscompletelydifferent.”Evaisstandingintheshadow,awayfromtheprojectorbeam.Hervoicesoundspissedoff,butalsoasifsheistryingherbesttosoundreasonable.“Youknowitis.”
“Differenthow?I’mnotgoingtoenduplikefuckingFriendster.”
“Ifwetryforanotherfundingroundwe’remorelikelytoenduplikeBoo.comatthisrate,”Evasnapsback.Thenshetakesadeepbreath.Icanseethatshe’stryingtoreininheranger.“Look,Toph,youhavesomevalidpoints,butIdon’tthinknowisthetimeorplace—”
“Notthetimeorplace?”Heiscracklingwithanger.
Ifeelsick.Ihaveaviolentflashbacktomychildhood,myfatherstandingovermymother,hisvoiceraised.Isqueezemyeyestightershut.Ifeelmyselfbegintoshake.
“Youweretheonewhodecidedtokickofftheweekwithyourlittlepropagandafilm—”
“Guys.”
There’salurchofcushionstomyright,andRikstandsup.Iopenmyeyes.Heispickinghiswaythroughthecushionsandglassestoputhimselfphysicallybetweenthem.
“IthinkEvawasjusttrying—”
“IknowexactlywhatEvawastryingtodo,”Tophershouts.Ifighttheurgetoputmyhandsovermyears.“She’stryingtogethershotinfirst.Well,fuckthat.”
“Topher.”Evasoundsclosetotears,thoughIamnotsureifsheis.It’sverydifficulttoknowwhetherherupsetisrealorastrategicdistraction.Ifsheisacting,itisveryconvincing.“Toph,please.Thiswassupposedtobeacelebration—”
“Itwassupposedtobeafuckingambush—”Tophersays.
“No,absolutelynot,never.”Herwordscarryconviction.Butshehasoverreachedherselfwiththatstatement.Everyoneintheroomknowsthatsheislying,andthereisarustleaspeopleshiftuncomfortably,refusingtomeetoneanother’seyes.
“Guys!”Riksaysdesperately.“Guys,please,thisisn’thowweshouldbestartingthisweek.Weneedtocomeoutofthiswitharesulteveryone’shappywith.”
“Happy?”Topherroundsonhim.“Happy?Atthisratewe’llbeluckytocomeoutofitwitheveryonealive.”
Andwiththatheslamsdownhisemptyglassontothecoffeetableandstormsoutoftheroom.
ERIN
SnoopID:LITTLEMY
Listeningto:LoyleCarner/Damselfly
Snoopers:2
Snoopscribers:3
IhavemyheadphonesinwhenTophercomesbarrelingoutofthedenandsnatchesabottleofwhiskeyfromthehonestybarinthelobby.I’mcaughtunawares,layingthetable,tappingmyfeettothebeat.Iwasn’texpectingthemtobreakforanothertenminutes,andasIpulltheearbudshastilyout,Icatchthetailendofhisremark.
“—canaddthistothebillofthatDutchbitch.”
Holyshit.Whathasgonedowninsidetheden?ForaminuteIstandthere,lookingafterTopher’sretreatingback,andthentherestofthegroupcomesfilingout,theirexpressionssubdued,andIhavetostartshowingthemtotheirplacesatthetable.
ThebigglassdoorinthelobbyisstillswingingtoandfrofromwhereTopherstormedoutintothesnow.Whereonearthishegoing?Hewaswearingjeansandashirt,andit’sminuselevenoutsiderightnow.Therearenorestaurantsorbarsinourlittlehamlet.St.Antoine2000isnotmuchmorethanahandfulofchalets.PeoplewhowanttoeatoutintheeveninghavetogodowntoSt.AntoineleLac,whichhasalltheshopsandrestaurantsandcafésyoucouldwishfor.It’saneasyskidown—alongbluerunrightintothecenterofthevillage.Buttheonlywaybackupatthistimeisthefunicular,andthatclosesat11:00p.m.
Someoneputsmusiconthebigmainspeakersinthediningroom,The1975,janglyandbright,perhapsinanattempttoraisethemood.ButasIbegintoserveupDanny’samuse-bouches—miniaturewildmushroomgratinsinlittlechinaspoons—Topher’sabsenceislikeatwingingnerve.Thegratinsgodownwell—asDanny’sfoodalwaysdoes—butI’mclearlynottheonlypersonstressingoverTopher,andtheatmosphereisstrained.ThereisanemptyspaceatthefootofthetablewhereTophershouldbe,flankedbyInigoandMiranda,whoexchangeworriedglanceseverytimeanothercoursecomesandgoeswithouthimreappearing.
Elliot,hisbacktothewall,eatswithhisheaddown,talkingtonoone,andspooningfoodintohismouthlikeit’sarace.“Spooning”isliteral.Thestarteristhetruffledparsnipsoup,sothespoonmakessense,butwhenItrytoclearthecutleryawayforthemaincourse,Elliotsnatchesthespoonbackandglaresatme,likehecaughtmetryingtostealhiswatch.Whenthevenisonarrivesheattacksitwiththesoupspoon,ignoringtheforkandsteakknifetoeithersideofhisplate.Inbetweencourseshesitswithhisheadbowed,staringattheknotsandwhorlsofthewoodentable,blankingTigertohisleft,whochattersawaytoMirandaasifthisisperfectlynormal,andCarltohisright,whoignoreshimback,pointedlyanglinghisbodyawayfromElliottowardsAniandEva.
Eva,attheheadofthetable,picksatherfood,lookingatherwatchandoutthewindowatthefallingsnow,herfaceshowingalltheanxietyIamtryingtoconceal.WhenCarlmakessomeinnocuousremarktoher,shesnapsbackwithaviciousnessthatmakesmewince,thoughheseemstoacceptitasparforthecourse.
Lizlookspaleandfranklymiserable,likearabbitintheheadlights,andrefusesalloffersofwine.AtonepointRiktriestotalktoher.Idon’tknowwhathesays,Idon’theartheopening,butsheshakesherheadviolently,andwhenheopenshismouthagain,sheburstsout“Excuseme,I’mgoingtotheloo,”pushingherchairbackwithaviolencethatmakesitclatteragainstthetiledfloor.
AftersheisgoneEvaglaresdownthetableatRik,mouthingsomethingthatIcan’tquitereadbutwhichIthinkmayhavebeenItoldyouso.
EvenDanny’scrèmebr?léefailstorevivetheevening,andaftersupperthegroupscatters,withpleasofheadaches,earlynights,andemailstosend.AsIpassthroughthelobbyonmywaytoreplenishthewoodburnerinthelivingroomInoticethattwomorebottlesaregonefromthehonestybar.
ThemysteryofoneatleastissolvedwhenIgothroughtothelivingroomtofindRikandMirandahuddledinthecornerofthebigsquashysofa,adepletedbottleofArmagnaconthetablebetweenthem,andsomekindofCubanjazzfilteringoutofthespeakersystem,presumablyfromeitherRik’sorMiranda’sphone.Rikseesmeclockingthebottleandflashesasmile.
“Youdon’tmind,doyou?We’lladdittothebookattheendoftheevening.”
“Notatall,”Isaytruthfully.“It’showthesystemissupposedtowork.CanIgetyouanythingelse?Cheese?Coffee?Petitsfours?Dannymakestheseincrediblymoreishchocolate-dippedprunesthatgoreallywellwithaglassofbrandy.”
RiklooksatMirandaandraisesoneeyebrow,inakindofwordlessexchangethatspeaksmoreabouttheirrelationshipthananythingphysical.Thereissomethinggoingonhere.Theyaremorethanjustcolleagues,whethertheyrealizethatthemselvesornot.
ItisRikwhoanswersforthemboth.
“No,we’refine,thanks.”
“Noproblem,”Isay.“Justletmeknowifyouchangeyourmind.”
Ibegintostacklogsintothefire,andRikleansclosertoMirandaandrecommencestheirconversationasifI’mnotthere.
“DidyouseethelookshegavemewhenIbroughtupthesharestoLiz?Ihadtocheckithadn’tburnedaholeinmyshirt.”
“Iknow.”Mirandaputsherheadinherhands.“But,Rik,honestly,whatwereyouthinking?Evamadeitcrystalclear—”
“Iknow,Iknow—”Riksays.Herubshishandoverhisshorthair,shakinghisheadinfrustration.“ButIwastickedoffbyEvaactinglikeshe’sthefuckingLizwhisperer.I’veknownLizaslongasshehas.Wegotonprettywellbeforeallthisblewup.”
“Whatdidhappen?”Mirandasays.“Itwasallbeforemytime,I’veneverunderstood.”
“You’vegottounderstand,itwasalljustrunningonashoestringinthosedays.Itwasajoke,thosefirstsixmonths.Noneofusweregettingpaid,notthatElliotgaveashit,Idon’tthinkhe’dspendanymoneyatallifTopherdidn’tmakehim.He’sbeenlikethateversinceschool.Buttherestofusdidmind.Evawasrunningthroughhermodelingsavingslikenotomorrow.Topherhadfinallypissedhisparentsoffsomuchthey’dcuthimoffwithoutapenny,andhewassofasurfingwitholdschoolfriends.IwasworkingdaysatKPMGandnightsatSnoop,andrightatthebottomofmyoverdraft.AndLizwasjustthissecretarywhoansweredanadvertonlineandwashappytoworkforashitwage.Imean,eventhen,shedressedlikesomekindofsisterwife,butshewasefficient,andshedidn’tmakeafussaboutworkingoutofacrappyrentedofficewithnoair-coninSouthNorwood.”
“Ididn’tmeanthat,Imeanthowdidsheendupbeingtheonecasting—”
“I’mcomingtothat.Wewereabouttwoweeksofflaunchingwhenwefinallyranoutofcash.Wewerejustbroke—flatbroke—notasingleavenueleft.Creditcards,overdrafts,friendsandfamily—we’dwrungthemalldry,andwewereabouttengrandshortofwhatweneededtokeepthelightson.TopherhadevensoldhisFerrari,butitjustwasn’tenough.Foraboutfourdaysitlookedlikeweweregoingtothewall—wehadbillsrollinginandcontractswe’dsigned,andweweregetting‘lettersbeforeaction’andbailiffnotificationsleft,right,andcenter.Andthenoutofnowhere,littleLizpipesupthathergrandmotherjustdiedandlefthertenthousandpounds.Andshesaysshe’llputitintothecompany.Onlyshewantssecurity.Notinterest—shewantssharesinthecompany,andnotjustanyshares—butvotingshares.Well,weleftittothelawyerstoarguethesplit,buttheendresultwasthirtypercentsharestoTopher,thirtypercenttoEva,nineteentoElliot,nineteentome,andtwopercenttoLiz.”
“Twopercent?”Mirandasays.“Ofacompanythathadn’traisedanycapitalandwasbarelysolvent?Itdoesn’tsoundlikemuchsecurityfortengrand.”
“Somepeoplemightagree,”Riksaysdryly.“Butshe’sgettingthelastlaugh.Thattengrandwillbewortharoundtwelvemillionifthebuyoutgoesahead.”
Inmyshock,Idropalog.Itclatterstotheslatehearth,knockingoveralittlepotteryjarthatholdsfirelighters.Thejarsmasheswithanoisethatsoundsalmostabsurdlyloud,andIcatchmybreath,readytoapologize,butRikandMirandadon’tseemtohaveevennoticed,andasIresumestackingthelogsmorecarefully,theyarestilltalking.
“Holyshit,”Mirandasays,andshe’slaughing,butinaslightlyshockedway,asifthisisthefirsttimeshe’sheardthenumbers.“ImeanIknewthebuyoutofferwasgoodbut…”Shelookslikeshe’sdoingsumsinherhead.“SoifLizisgettingtwelve,thenthatmakesyourshare—”
“Youcandothemaths,”Riksays,andthere’sagrinpullingatthesideofhisface.“Butthat’sthepoint.Ifthebuyoutgoesahead.Theinvestorsaregettingantsy,andIdon’tthinkthey’regoingtostandforanotherroundoffunding.IfTopherjustkeepsonlikethisandrunsusallintotheground—”
“Yup.Gotcha,”Mirandasays,alittlebitterly.“Backwherewestarted,intheinsolvencycourts.Butthen,surely,it’sano-brainerforLiz,isn’tit?Okay,ElliotwillvotewithTopher,weallknowthat.ButifLizusesherbrainandvoteswithyouandEva,thenka-ching.”Shemakesamoney-rubbinggesturewithherfingers.
“Yeah,it’sjustapityEva’ssuchafuckingbitch,”Riksays,halfunderhisbreath.“Shedoesn’tmakeiteasytodotherightthing,sometimes.”
I’mtryingnottoeavesdrop,butit’shardnottooverhearwhatthey’resaying,evenabovethemusic,andbythetimeIhavefinishedclearingupthepotteryshards,IknowmorethanIeverexpectedaboutEva’sbullyingofthejuniorstaff,Topher’sinstability,andSnoop’sprecariousfinancialposition.It’salmostareliefwhentheymoveontoothertopics—plansfortomorrow’sskiing,thecrapWi-Fi,Rik’swife,whoseemstobecausinghimsomegrief.AtsomepointoneofthemturnsupthevolumeonthemusicsothatIcannolongerheartheirwordsclearly.
ButasIstand,feelingthesmallofmybackcomplainafterthelongdayofliftingandbending,IdohearthetailendofMiranda’sreplytosomethingRiksaid.
“Well,you’reprobablyright.Butinthatcase,we’lljusthavetomakeher,won’twe?”
ThewordsstaywithmeasIclosethedoorquietlybehindmeandmoveoutintothelobby,tostareoutatthestill-fallingsnow.
We’lljusthavetomakeher.
Whoaretheytalkingabout?Liz?Eva?Orsomeoneelsecompletely,Rik’swife,maybe?
Onthefaceofit,there’snothingremarkableaboutherwords.It’saphraseyoumighthearanydayoftheweek.SowhydoesthecooldeterminationinMiranda’svoicestickinmyhead?
LIZ
SnoopID:ANON101
Listeningto:SnoopingXTOPHER
Snoopers:0
Snoopscribers:0
Itis11:02p.m.Iamupinmyroom.Iaminbed,inmydressinggown,butIamnotasleep.IamsnoopingTopher.NotbecauseIwanttolistentohismusic,whichisalwaysweirdexperimentalclubstuff,butbecauseIamtryingtoworkoutwhetherheisallright.
Thereisnocheck-infunctiononSnoop.Asfaraslocationgoes,theonlywayofknowingwherepeopleliveisiftheychoosetolisttheirlocationinthebriefparagraphofdescriptionattachedtoeachusername.Still,somepartofmehadbeenhopingthathismusicchoiceswouldgivemeaninsightintohispsyche.
Idon’tknowwhatIimagined.Sadguitarsolos.Aninfiniteloopof“AllbyMyself.”WhatheisactuallyplayingisanendlessstreamofangrySpanishpunkrock.OritcouldbePortuguese.Itsoundsannoyed,butthatisasmuchasIcantell.Ontheplussideheislisteningtosomethingandisthereforepresumablyalive.Thoughonreflection,IrealizeIcan’tevenbesureofthat.There’snothingtosayhisphoneisn’tjuststreamingtoafrozenditch.AfterafewminutesIminimizetheappwithasigh.
Thememoryofourconversationonthesofadownstairsisstillwithme,likeahangover.IknowwhatTopherwastryingtodo.Hewastryingtoguilt-tripme.TryingtoremindmeofeverythingIowehim.
Thethoughtshouldmakemefeelangry,anditdoes,inaway.Heisanarrogantpublicschoolboywhogotluckywithagreatideaand,morecrucially,amummyanddaddywhowerepreparedtobankrollhim—atleastforthefirstfewyears.HeiseverythingI’mnot.Rich.Entitled.Confident.
Butunderneathmyangertherearesomeuncomfortablefacts.Thefactthathetookachanceonagawky,awkwardtwentysomething,whonooneeverlookedattwice.ThegirlfromCrawley,smellingofcharityshopsandhand-me-downsanddesperation—helookedpastallthatandsawthepersoninside—therealme,dogged,determined,preparedtogive110percent.
Mostimportant,whenIofferedtoputmygrandmother’smoneyintoSnoop,hewastheonewhotoldmetostickoutforshares,notrepaymentinterest.Rik,Eva,theybothtriedtopersuademeagainstit.Theytalkedabouttheuncertaintyofthereturns—thepossibilitythatSnoopmightfoldwithoutevermakingaprofit.ButTophertoldmethatshareswouldbeinmyownbestinterests.Andhewasright.
TopheristhereasonI’mheretoday.IstilldonotknowwhetherIshouldbegratefultohimforthat,orblamehim.Both,maybe.
Thatgirl—Erin—toldusthatthefunicularstopsateleven.Soifhecaughtit,heshouldbeheresoon.Butthatisthequestion.Didhecatchit?
Imoverestlesslytolookoutthewindow,atthesnowflakesstillwhirlingdown.Theforecastwaspredictinglowsofminustwentytonight.Peopledieincoldlikethat.
Theknockatthedoormakesmejump.Itightenthebeltonmydressinggownandwalkover.MyheartisthumpingasIturnthelock.
ItisEva.
“Liz,”shesays.“MayIcomein?”Shehaschangedoutofthewhitewoolendresssheworeatdinner.Nowsheiswearingstretchyyogapantsthatmakeherlegslookextremelylong.Herscenttrailsafterherlikeanoilslick.Itisstrongandalittlesickly.IthinkitmightbePoison.
“Um…okay,”Isay.Ifeelalittleambushedandresentful.Idonotreallywantherinmyroom,butIamnotsurehowIcansaythatwithoutsoundingstrange
Shepushespastmeandgoesovertothewindow,whereshestandslookingoutacrossthevalleywithherbacktome.Inoticethatmyclosetdoorisajar,showingarailfullofdowdy,unironedclothesandmytwocases.Thebiggestsuitcaseisstickingoutslightly,preventingthedoorfromshutting.Inudgeitwithmyfootandclosethegap.
Evaturns,justasthedoorclicksshut.
“Areyouokay?”sheasksabruptly.
Iamtakenabackbythequestion,unsurewhattoreply.Itisprobablyjustafigureofspeech,butstill,Iamnotusedtopeople,leastofallEva,caringwhatIthink.Itmakesmefeelstrangelyexposed.Icannotthinkwhattosay,butitdoesn’tmatter,Evaisspeaking.
“Iwantedtoapologizeforspringingthatpresentationoneveryone,butIwasafraidthatifIputitontheagenda,Topherwouldfindawaytogethissideinfirst—”
Oh.Shehascometotrytopersuademeagain.
“Eva,please.”Myheadache,whichhadsubsidedafterdinner,startsupagain.Itthrobsintimewithmyheartbeat.“Please,Idon’twanttodothisnow.”
“Don’tworry.”Shetakesmyhandsinhers.Theyarecoldandstrong.“Itotallyunderstand.I’dbetorninyourshoestoo.YoufeelloyaltytoTopher,Igetthat,Ido.Wealldo.Butwebothknow…”
Shetrailsoff.Shedoesnotneedtofinish.
Andinfact,shedoesnotreallyneedtomakehercase.Thefactsmakeitforher.
TherearetwelvemillionreasonstovotewithEva.Shedoesn’tneedtomakeittwelvemillionandone.
“Iknow,”Isay.It’sawhisper.“EvaIknow,it’sjustthatTopher…”
Topher,whogavememyfirst-everchance,whotoldmetoholdoutforthesharesinthefirstplace.HowcanItellhimIambetrayinghim?Whatwillhedo?Forthefirsttime,Irealize;Iamfrightened.
“Liz,youknowwhatyouwanttodo,whatyouneedtodo…,”Evasays,andhervoiceiscajoling,likesheistalkingtoascaredchild.“Comeon,haven’tIalwayshadyourback?Haven’twealwaystakencareofeachother?”
IrememberRik’squestionatdinnertonight,thequestionthatmademepushbackmychairandleavetheroom.So,Liz,howareyougoingtospendyoursharebonus?Itwassobrash,sobold,sofullofassumptions.
Evaismoresubtle.Sheknowsthatthemoneyterrifiesmeinaway.Becauseforsomeonelikeme,whogrewuphavingtohoardeverylastpennymydaddidn’tspendontheslots,itisanunimaginablesum.Ridiculous.Transformative.Lifechanging.
Evaknowsthatthethingthatwillpersuademeisnotthemoney—butsomethingelse.Somethingmuchmorepersonal,betweenherandme;anappealtothepastweshare.Iwasherassistantoncetoo,backinthedayswhenSnoopcouldonlyaffordone.Inadifferentway,IoweasmuchtoEvaasIdotoTopher.More.
Butreally,sheknowswhatRikknows,whatCarlknows,whateveryoneapartfromTopherandElliotseemstoaccept:thatitisnotachoiceatall.
Thereisonlyonesaneanswertothequestioninfrontofme.MyloyaltytoTopherisbeingweighedagainstnotjusttwelvemillionpounds,butagainstsomethingelseentirely—theprospectofaverydifferentlifetotheoneIamusedto.Intheend,whatisatstakeismyfreedom.Freedomfromwork,fromworry,fromwatchingeverystep—freedomfromthis.
“Iknow,Eva,”Isay.Myvoiceisverylow.“Iknow.It’sjust…it’shard.”
“Iunderstand,”shesays.Shepressesmyhandagain.Herfingersarecoldagainstmine,andveryinsistentinthemessagehergripisconveying.“AndIknowit’shard.IfeelthatloyaltytoTophtoo,ofcourseIdo.ButIcancountonyou,yes?”
“Yes,”Isay.Myvoiceisalmostinaudible,eventomyself.“Yes,youcancountonme.”
“Good.”Shesmiles,herwide,beautifulsmile.ItisasmilethatoncebeamedoutfromathousandbillboardsandcatwalksallacrossEurope.ItislikeThankyou,Liz,Iknowwhatthatmeans.Andyoucancountonmetoo.We’lltakecareofeachother,won’twe?
Inod,andshegivesmeaperfunctoryhugandleavestheroom.
Whenshe’sgoneIopenthewindowtogetridofherscent.Ileanout,andIlettheanxietylockedinsidemychestexplodeintosomethinghugeandalmostoverwhelming.Iimaginethemeeting,thevote,meraisingmyhandinsupportofthebuyout,andtheexpressiononTopher’sfaceasheregistersmybetrayal…AndthenIimaginewhatwillhappenifIdon’t,andIfeelutterlysick.
BecauseEvaisright.Thereisonlyonechoice.IknowwhatIhavetodo.Ijusthavetofindthecourage.
AndonceIhavemadeupmymind,astrangekindofpeacedescendsonme.
Itwillbeokay.Itwillallbeokay.
Ishutthewindow.IclimbbackintobedandIswitchoffSnoop.ThenIlie,quitestill,listeninginsteadtothewhisperofthesnowfallingontomybalconyoutside.Obliteratingeverything.
ERIN
SnoopID:LITTLEMY
Listeningto:SnoopingITSSIOUXSIE
Snoopers:5
Snoopscribers:7
Whenmyalarmgoesoff,Istruggleupoutofadeep,disturbingdream—anightmareofdigging,digging,diggingthroughhard-packedsnow,myhandsnumbwithcold,mymusclesshaking,hotbloodrunningdownmyneck.IknowwhatI’mgoingtofind—andI’mbothyearningforitanddreadingit.ButIwakeupbeforeIreachmygoal.
It’sarelieftoopenmyeyesandfindmyselfinmyownlittleroom,myphonealarmscreechingintothesilence,untilIgropemywaytothesnoozebuttonandshutitoff.Theclockreads6:01,andIliethereforaminute,blinking,stillhalfasleep,andtryingtothrowofftheuneasyfeelingthedreamhasleft.
Justbecauseit’saweekenddoesn’tmeanit’snotanearlystart.DannyandIswap,sothatoneofusgetsupatsixtofireupthecoffeemachine,getbreakfaststarted,andclearupfromthenightbefore,whiletheotherhaswhatpassesforalie-in.Todayit’smyturnfortheearlyshift,andIcan’tstopyawningasIstumbleoutofbedandpullonmyclothes.Somepeoplefindtheygetinsomniaataltitude.Notme.Ifanythingit’sthereverse.
AsIpassTopher’sdoorIpause,tryingtohearifhe’sinside.Didhegethomeokay?Ididn’thearhimcomein,butIleftthefrontdoorunlocked,andwhenIcamedownatmidnighttocheck,therewerewetfootprintsinthefoyer.
Istandthere,holdingmybreath,whensuddenlyahugesnoreripsthroughthesilence,andIletoutashudderinglaugh.Someoneisinthereatanyrate,evenifit’snotTopher.
Downstairsisquiet,lastnight’slogfirejustglowingembersbehindthewoodburner’sglassdoor.Iopenuptheventsandstickanotherlogontopoftheashes,andthenIbeginclearingupthedebrisofthenightbefore.
Snoopisnoworsethanalotoftheothergroupsthatstayhere,butIdon’tknowwhytodayIfeelparticularlyjadedasIpourthirty-year-oldbrandydownthesinkandpickmeltedCamembertoutofthediningroomrug.Someonehasbeensmokinginsidetoo,indefianceoftherules—thereisacigarettebuttstubbedoutinadishofDanny’spainstakinglymadepetitsfours.That’swhatsetsmyteethonedge,Ithink.IrememberhimmakingthoseminiatureFlorentines;mixingthem,bakingthem,carefullydippingeachoneintopreciselytemperedchocolate,layingthemouttoset.Treatingthemlikethelittlemasterpiecestheywere.Andnowsomeonehasusedthemasamakeshiftashtray.
Ittakesmeawhiletoshakeoffthecloudofanger,butby7:00a.m.mymoodhasliftedalittle.Theroomsareclean,thefireiscrackling,theovenisonforsausages,andthebirchermuesliisstandinginabigcrystalbowlontheside,alongwithhugepitchersoffresh-squeezedjuicesandjugsofmilkandcream.Thereisstillnonoisefromabove,whichmeansIcanaffordtenminutestositdownwithacoffeeandmyphone.NormallyI’dbecheckingthesnowforecast,orscrollingthroughTwitter—buttodayIfindmyselfopeningupSnoopandidlyflippingthroughlistsofmyfavoriteartists,figuringoutwho’sonline,who’slisteningtowhat,asIsipmycoffee.Therearesomeamazingpeopleonhere,propercelebsmixedwithpeoplewhoarejustfascinatingpersonalities,andDanny’sright,there’ssomethingincrediblyaddictiveaboutpressingplayonthesongtheyareactuallylisteningtoatthisprecisemoment,knowingthatyouarebeatforbeatinsyncwitheachother.It’smidnightinNYCandlotsofthepeopleIsnooponareplayinglate-nightcome-downmusic,whichisnotwhatI’mlookingforatthistimeofday,butthenIhitacoollittleveinofBritishcelebritieswhoallseemtobeupandlistening.Whyaretheyawakesixa.m.UKtime?Couldn’ttheysleep?Maybetheyalwaysgetupatthistime.
I’mwashinguptheservingbowlsthataretoobigforthedishwasher,tappingmyfeetto“RockawayBeach”bytheRamones,whenthesoundbeginstobreakup.AsI’mdiggingmyphoneoutofmypockettochecktheheadphoneconnection,thesongdropsoutcompletely.Damn.Istareatthescreen.TheWi-Fiisstillshowingastrongsignal,butwhenIclickontheSnooptabalittlepop-upmessageappears.Wecan’tgetnosatisfaction.(Pleasecheckyourinternetconnection.)
Isigh,turnofftheapp,andbeginwashingupagain,thistimeinsilence,butbeforeIhavedonemorethanacoupleofplates,there’sataponthewindowtomyright,andIlookacrosstoseeJacquesfromthebakerydownthevalley,holdingastackofbaguettesandagiantbagofcroissants.Ipulloffmyrubberglovesandopenthedoor,breathingwhiteintothecoldmorningair.
“Salut,mabelle,”hesaysaroundhiscigaretteashehandsthebreadover,andthenhetakesalongdragofhisGitaneandblowsthesmokeoverhisshoulder.
“Hi,Jacques,”IsayinFrench.MyFrenchisn’tperfect,butIcanholdaconversation.“Thanksforthebread.Whatdoyousaytotheforecast?”
“Ah,well,itisn’tpretty,”hesays,alsoinFrench,takinganotherlong,thoughtfuldragandlookingupatthesky.Jacquesisoneoftheveryfewpeoplewhoactuallygrewuphere.Almosteveryoneelseisanincomer,eitheratouristoraseasonalworker.Jacqueshaslivedhereallhislife;hisfatherownsthebakeryinSt.AntoineleLac,andJacqueswillbetakingoverforgoodinfewyearswhenhisdadretires.
“Doyouthinktherewillbethepossibilitytoskitoday?”Iask.
Jacquesshrugs.
“Perhaps,inthemorning.Buttheafternoon…”HeholdshishandoutandmakestherockingmotiontheFrenchusetosignifythatsomethingmightgoonewayortheother.“There’sheavysnowcoming.YouseethecolorofthosecloudsoverLaDame?”
LaDamemeansLaDameBlanche—thebigpeakthatloomsoverthewholevalley,castinganearpermanentshadowoverthechalet.Now,asIlookupatthetop,Iseewhathemeans.Thecloudsthatgatherupthereareuglyanddark.
“Butit’snotjustthat,”Jacquessays.“It’sthewind.Itmakesitdifficultfortheguysintheavalanche-controlteams.Theycan’tgetouttostartthesmallfalls,youknow?”
Inod.I’veseenthemdoingitonfinedays,afterbigdumps—settingoffsmallchargestosafelyreleasethebuildupofsnowontheupperslopesbeforeitcangettocriticalmass.I’mnotsurehowtheydoitexactly—sometimestheyseemtousehelicopters,othertimesitlooksmorelikesomesortofgun.Eitherway,Icanimaginethatthewindmakesittoohazardousandunpredictable.
“Youthinkthatthereisadangeroffalls?”Iask,tryingtohidemyuneasiness.
Jacquesshrugsagain.
“Seriousones?Unlikely.Buttherewillbeslopesclosedthisafternoonforsure,andIwouldn’tplananyoff-pisteskiing.”
“Idon’tskioff-piste,”Isayshortly.Well,notanymore.
Jacquesdoesn’trespondtothat,hejustlooksthoughtfullyupattheslopesandthenblowsoutaringofsmoke.“Well,Imustbegoing.Seeyoulater,Erin.”
Andhecrunchesoffthroughthesoft-fallensnowtowardsthefunicular.IfeelmystomachshiftwiththelingeringchillfrommydreamasIwatchhimgo,andthenIturnback,intothewarmthofthekitchen.
Inside,Iamstackingthebreadonthetablewhenthesoundofacroaky,sleep-hoarsevoicecomesfrombehindmyshoulder,makingmejump.
“MonsieurBuntheboulanger’sson?”
It’sDanny,leaningagainstthecounter,squintingatthebrightmorninglights
“Jesus.”Iputahandonmychest.“Youstartledme.Yes,itwasJacques.Hesaysthere’sgoingtobemoresnow.”
“You’reshittingme.”Dannyrubsahandoverhisstubble.“There’snotgoingtobeanymoreofthestuffleftupthere.Willwegetanyskiingin?”
“Ithinkso.Thismorninghereckons.Hesaystherunswillprobablybeshutintheafternoon—avalancherisk.”
“It’salreadyonorange,”Dannysays,referringtothecoloredscalepublishedbyMétéoFrance.Orangeislevelthree—“considerablerisk”ofavalancheoccurring—andmeansoff-pisteskiingisinadvisable,andsomeofthesteeperslopesareprobablygoingtobeshut.Redislevelfourandiswhenthewholeresortstartstoclose.Blackislevelfiveandmeansrisktosettlementsandroads.Blackislike,Makesureyourlastmealisagoodone,butthecontrolteamsdon’tletitgettothatpointiftheycanhelpit.
I’mgatheringupthetrayofcoffeecupswhenDannyspeaksagain,hisvoicecasual.
“Who’sWill?”
Thequestionisashock—enoughtomakemestumble,andtwoofthecupsslideoffthetrayandshatteronthefloor.BythetimeDannyandIhavegathereduptheshards,I’mcomposedenoughtoanswer.
“Whatdoyoumean?There’snooneherecalledWill.”
“Youweredreaminglastnight,shoutingaboutsomeonecalledWill.Iheardyouthroughthewall.Itwokemeup.”
Fuck.
“Huh,weird.”Ikeepmyvoicelight,andjustalittlepuzzled.“Sorryaboutthat.NightmareIguess.”
Andthenbeforehecanpursuethequestion,Ileavetheroom.Icarrythetraythroughtothediningroomwithhandsthatareonlyslightlytremblingandbeginlayingoutthebreakfastthingsonthebigwoodentable.I’msettingoutthelastjarsofpreservewhenIheartheclickofheelsonthestairsandlookuptoseeEvacomingintothelobby.Shelookspissedoff.
“Hi,”Isay.
“Hi,what’shappenedtotheinternet?”shesayswithoutpreamble.Myheartsinks.Shit.I’dhopeditwasatemporarything.
“OhGod,I’msosorry.Isitstilldown?”
“Yes,andthemobilereceptionisterrible.”
“I’meversosorry,it’ssomethingtodowiththesnow.Ithappensoccasionally.Ithinkitmeansawire’ssnappedinthesnoworarepeater’sgonedownorsomething.It’snotuncommonafterveryheavyfalls,andwe’vecertainlyhadenoughofthatrecently.”
Iwavemyhandatthewindowwherethesnowishalfwayuptheglassinsomeparts.
“Idon’tneedthesciencebit,whatIwanttoknowiswhenwillitbebackup?”
Hertoneissharpandunapologeticallyannoyed.It’sthevoiceofsomeoneusedtosaying“Jump”andgettingtheanswer“Howhigh?”Whichdoesn’tbothermeinitself—insomewaysIpreferpeoplewhoareclearabouttheirexpectations,ratherthansmilingatyouallweekandthengivingyouashittywrite-upontheirfeedbackforms.ButinthisinstanceIcan’thelp,andsomethingtellsmeEvaisn’tgoingtolikethatfact.
“Idon’tknow,”Isay.Ifoldmyarms.“I’msorry.Theyusuallygetitupandrunninginafewdays,butIcan’tsaywithmorecertaintythanthat.”
“Fuck.”Sheisannoyedandnottryingtohideit,buttheexpressiononherfaceissomethingmorethanthat,there’salevelofstressandupsetherethat’soutofproportion.
“I’msorry,”Isayagain.“IwishIcoulddosomethingmoreconcrete.Isitaproblemwithwork?”
“Work?”Shelooksupatthat,andthenshakesherheadandgivesabitterlittlelaugh.“Godno.Allmyworkproblemscanbesummedupinoneword—Topher.No,thisishome.It’s—”Shesighs,andthenrunsherhandthroughhersilkywhite-blondcurtainofhair.“Oh,itprobablydoesn’tsoundlikeabigdeal,butIalwaysSkypemydaughter,Radisson,everymorningwhenI’maway.It’sourlittleritual,youknow?Ihavetotravelsomuch,andI’mnotalwaysabletobethereasmuchasI’dlike.ButtheonethingIalwaysdoissaygoodmorningtoheroverbreakfast,andIfeellikeacompleteshitthatIcan’tdoittoday.Imanagedtogetthroughonthephonetomypartner,butyouknow,withlittlekidstheydon’treallyunderstandphones.She’sonlyeighteenmonths.Sheneedstoseeaface.”
“Icanunderstandthat,”Isaysoftly.“Itmustbereallyhardbeingawayfromher.”
“Thanks,”Evasaysshortly.Sheblinksandthenturnsaway,underthepretenseoffillingupacupatthesteamingteaurn.Ithinksheispissedoffwithherselfforshowingthatshe’sonlyhuman,butitmakesmelikeherabitmore.Underneaththaticyfacadeisaperson,apparently.
Thenshepicksupateabag,putsitintothecupofboilingwater,andwalksawaybacktoherroomwithoutanotherword.
Topher,Rik,andCarlarethenextguestsdown,abouthalfanhourlater,andmyheartdoesalittlejumpofreliefatthesightofthethreeofthem.Well—atthesightofTopher,tobemoreaccurate.Helooksbleary-eyedandhungover,buthe’shere,whichisasfarasmyresponsibilitytothegroupgoes.
“Soyouweren’ttheonlydirtystayout,”CarlissayingtoTopherastheyentertheroom.“Inigocamecrawlingbacktoourroomatfivea.m.”
“OhChrist,”Tophersays.Herollshiseyes.“Notthatagain.Evashouldknowbetter.”
Eva?Hernamegivesmealittleprickleofreaction,thoughIcan’tsaywhy,exactly.It’snoneofmybusinessafterall.Perhapsit’scomingstraightafterherobviousdistressatnotbeingabletotalktoherfamily.IsTopherright,orjuststirringuptrouble?
“Hashtagcougar,”Carlsayswithagrin.HewalksacrosstothebreakfastbuffetIhavelaidout,picksupawarmcroissant,anddunksitstraightintotheglassmasonjarcontainingDanny’sgoldenhomemadeapricotpreserve.Thentakesahugebite,grinningthroughthecrumbs.
“Hashtag?”Riksaysdisdainfully.He’swearingablackmerinopoloneckandlookslikeapagerippedfromahigh-endmen’sknitwearcatalog.“Cougar?HaveIwokenupinafrathousein2005?”Thenheturnstomewithadeliberatelycharmingsmilethatcrinklestheskinatthecornersofhismouth.“I’dloveanespresso,please,Erin.Ifthat’sokay.”
CarlglaresathimwithaforceIcanfeelovertheothersideoftheroom.
Itshouldhavecomeacrossasadickmove—ayounger,fitter,better-lookingmantakingthepissoutofhisless-hipcolleague.ButIgettheimpressionthatRik’sissueisn’treallywithCarl’schoiceofwordsbutmorewithhischoiceofconversationtopic.It’sfunny,I’mstartingtolikeRikmoreandmore.ThereissomethingaboutthewayherelatestoEva—andMirandaactually—thatisverydifferenttoCarl’sandTopher’ssniggeringboys’clubattitude.Muchmorelikable.
“So,skiingtoday?”Thevoicecomesfromthetopofthestairwell,andIlookuptoseeMirandamakingherwaydownthespiral.Herdarkhairistiedbackinabun,andshelooksreadyforbusiness.SheclocksmedispensingRik’sespressoandsays,“Goodmorning,Erin,mine’sanalmond-milkcortado,please.What’stheforecast?”
“Moresnowintheafternoon,”Isay.“Infact,somepeoplearesayingtheyexpecttheavalancheratingtorise,whichmeansmoreclosures.Ifyouwanttoski,doitthismorningismyadvice.”
“Evawon’tbepleased,”Carlsays.“She’sgotthismorningpackedwithpresentations.”
“Evawillhavetolumpit,”Tophersayssourly.Hepopstwowhitepillsintohismouthandwashesthemdownwithagulpfromhisstainless-steelwaterbottle,thenmassagesthebridgeofhisnose.“Ididn’tcomeallthiswaytositinaboardroomallweeklisteningtoherboreonaboutinvestorexpectations.Shecanpushherlittlebitsofpaperaroundthisafternoon.”
“I’msureshewon’tmindrescheduling,”Mirandasaysmildly.“It’llbegoodforeveryonetoblowoffsomesteam.Icertainlycan’twaittogetmyskison.”
Shehasthelookofaskier.Leanbutstrong.Topherlookslikeaboarder,andI’munsurprisedwhenhesays,“What’stheoff-pistelikeroundhere,Irene?Anygoodpowder?”
Ittakesmeabeat,thenIrealizehe’sreferringtome,atthesametimeasMirandahisses,“She’scalledErin,”inTopher’sdirection.
Ismile,tryingtoconveythatIdon’tmind.Irene,Eileen,Emma—it’sallthesame.Whenyou’restaff,you’renotreallyaperson.Topherwouldprobablytreatarobotwithhigh-qualityAIwiththesamelevelofpolitedisinterest.
“Thesnowmustbeamazingrightnow,”Riksays.“Canyoushowussomegoodoff-pisteroutes,Erin?”
Ifeeltheblooddrainfrommyface,andI’mtryingtothinkwhattosaywhenI’msavedfromansweringbyDanny,whocomesoutatthatmomentcarryingahugeplatterofbaconrolls.
“Erin’stoomuchofawusstogooutofbounds,”hesayswithagrin.“ButIcanshowyousomecoollittleroutesifyouwant.Nottodaythough.”
“Whynottoday?”Tophersays,frowning.
“Theavalancheriskistoohigh,”Isay,tryingtoregainmycomposure.“Butitshouldbebetterlaterintheweekwhenthey’vehadthechancetosetoffsomecontrolledexplosions.”
IntruthIhaveabsolutelynoideawhetherit’llbebetter,butnoonelikesapessimist,andthey’vegottogetupthereandclearthebuildupsometime.
“Wellthat’saplanthen,”Tophersaysbriskly.Hepicksupabaconrollandtakesabite.
“What’saplan?”
ThevoicecomesfromthedirectionofthelivingroomandweallturntoseeEvastandingthere.She’sholdingamassivesheafoffilesandalaptopandlooksreadytogo.
“Erinsaysthattheonlyskiingtodayislikelytobeinthemorning,”Riksaysquickly,“sowethoughtwe’dgetthefinancepresentationoutofthewaynow,andthenmovetherestofthestufftotheafternoon.”Hespeaksratherfast,andIhavetheimpressionhe’sattemptingtoheadoffTopherfromsayingthesamethingbutwithlessdiplomacy.
Evapausesinthedoorway.Shelookslikeshe’stryingtodecidehowtofeelaboutthis,whethertomakeafuss.Thenshelooksatherwatch,andshrugs.
“Fine.It’snearlyeightthirty.Shallwegetgoingonthepresentation?Itshouldn’ttakemorethanhalfanhour,sowewon’tbefaroffthefirstliftifweleavestraightafterthat.”
“Soonerthebetter,asfarasI’mconcerned,”Tophersays.“Wecantakebreakfastintothedenwithus.Wherethefuckaretheothers?”
“I’mhere.”It’savoicefromthedoorway,andwelookacrosstoseeTigerenteringtheroom.“Sorry,haveIkeptyou?”Shelookspaleandrumpled,hershortombréhairstickingoutinalldirectionsasifshehasn’tbrushedityetthismorning.
“Yes,”Tophersays,atthesametimeasMirandasays,“No,you’renottheonlyonemissing.”
“Readytomilksomepow,Tiger?”Topherasks.IhearanoisefromthedirectionofthekitchenwhereDannyhasstifledaderisivesnort,andIbusymyselfovertheespressomachinetohidemyownexpression.
“Sorry?”Tigersays.Sherubshereyesasifthemorninglightishurtingher.“Ididn’tcatchthat.”
“Areyoureadytogetonyourboard?”
“Oh,yessure.”
“YoulookworsethanTopher,”Evasaysbluntly,andTigerlaughs,withanuncertainlookatTopher.
“Ididn’tsleepwell.Ihadawfulinsomniaallnight.”
“It’sthealtitude,”Evasays.“Itaffectssomepeoplethatway.Ialwaystakesleepingpillsforthefirstfewnights.”
Idon’thearTiger’sreply,becauseTopherpullsmetooneside.
“Areallthehireskishere?”
“Allwaitingforyouinthelockerroom,”Isay.Theskishopisdowninthevillage,sowepickupthegearfortheskiers.Mostpeopleherehavebroughttheirownthough.It’sonlyLiz,Ani,andCarlwhohavehiredequipment.“Beforeyougo,letmeshowyouthebestroutebacktothechalet.It’sareallygreatrun,butit’sabitcounterintuitive,lookingatthemap.Youactuallyhavetocutacrossalittlebitbetweentworuns.”
“Isthatsafe?”Carlsays,soundingalarmed.“Youjustsaiditwastoodangeroustogooutofbounds.”
“Oh,no,”Ihastentoreassurehim.“It’stotallysafe,it’saverywell-troddenpath.It’snotoff-pisteinthatsense.Butit’sjustnotshownasarouteontheliftmap,sounlessyouknowtopeeloffthroughthetrees,yougettakenrightdownBlanche-NeigeintoSt.AntoineleLacandhavetocomebackupthefunicular.”
“Isitsafeforbeginners?”Carlsays,stilllookinganxious.
“Thecut-through?Absolutely.It’stheequivalentofagreenrun.Haveyouskiedatall?”
“Yeah,butnotforyears.”Helooksoverhisshoulder.Topherandtheothershavegonethroughintothedentobeginthemeeting,andwearealone.“Strictlyentrenous,”hesays,ratherbitterly,loweringhisvoice,“I’dratherhavepokedmyfuckingeyeswithcocktailsticksthangoneonaskiingholiday.ButthisiswhatyougetforworkingforacompanylikeSnoop.Topher’sasnowboardingnut,Eva’spracticallyaproskier,andwhattheysaygoes.Therestofushavetolumpit.”
Inod,asifhe’smakingsmalltalk,butintruththisinsightintoSnoop’sinnerworkingsisweirdlyfascinating.Theremaybefiveshareholders,butinday-to-daylifeitseemsthatTopherandEvacalltheshotsprettyautocratically.
Itmakesitallthemoreinterestingthatforonce,thebalanceofpowerisoutoftheirhands.Oneofthemisnotgoingtogettheirwayoverthisbuyout.Thequestionis,whichone?
LIZ
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“Okay,”Riksays.HeclicksoffthePowerPointslideandturnsonthelights.“That’sit.Ithinkeveryonecangoandgetintotheirskigearnow.”
Irubmyeyes,feelingthesuddenbrightnesssearingthebackofmyskull.Myheadacheisbackagain.Istandup,pullingmytightsstraight.Aroundmethereistherustleofbeanbagsandthenoiseofsofaspringsaseveryoneelsegetstotheirfeet.
“Justasecond,”Topherputsin.Hisvoiceissmooth.“Cantheshareholdersstaybackforasec?”
Ifeelsomethinginmystomachdropaway.Thereisamurmurofassent.Ani,Inigo,Carl,Miranda,andTigerriseandbegintofileout.
Withinafewsecondsit’sjustTopher,Eva,Rik,Elliot…andme.
OhGod.Ifeelmybreathcomingfast.OhGod,ohGod,ohGod…they’regoingtoaskandI’mgoingtohaveto—tohaveto—
“Look,”Evaissaying,“Ithinkthecold,hardrealityofRik’sfigureswasn’tlostonanyofus.It’saprettystarkpicture.Ouroverheads—”
“Idon’twanttogooverallthatagain,”Tophersaysdismissively,asiftheprofitandlosssheetsRikjusttookusthroughweretotallyirrelevant.“Wecanallreadaspreadsheet,andRikmadehispointsveryably.Beforeweheadout,Ithinkitwouldbereallyhelpfultotakeanindicativevote,soweknowwherewestand.”
Mybreathquickens.Theheadachebehindmyeyesintensifiesuntiltheedgesofmyvisionbegintofray.
“But,Topher,”Evaissaying,“youknowperfectlywellthatwedon’thavefullinformationyet;that’sthepointofthisweek,toweighupall—”
“Andit’swhyIsaidindicative,”Topherinterrupts,atouchofaggressioncreepingintohisvoice.“Thisisnonbinding,Eva.It’sjustashowofhandstoseewhereweare.It’spossiblewe’realreadyclosetoanagreement.”
Evasaysnothing.Sheglancesatme,andIknowwhatsheisthinking,andIknowshecan’tfigureouthowtoheadTopherofffromthis.Heislikeamulewhenheputshismindtosomething.Hejustpushes,andpushes,andpushes…
Elliotalsosaysnothing,ofcourse,butweallknowwhathissilencemeans—supportforTopher.It’swhatitalwaysmeans.Elliotdoesn’tcareaboutanythingexceptforcode.Foreverythingelse,hedeferstoTopher.
“Rik?”Evasays.Hertoneisbrittle.
“Whynot?”Riksays.Hisacquiescencesurprisesme.
“So,”Tophersays,inaslightlymollifyingvoice.“Asbefore,inanonbindingshowofhands,who’sinfavorofthebuyout?”
“Me,”Riksays.
“Andme,”Evaadds.Thereisalongsilence,andIcanfeelthetensionastheywait.WhenTopherspeaksagain,thereissatisfactioninhistone,likeacatthat’sgotthecream.
“Great,andwho’sagainst?”
“Me.”Elliot’sdeepmonotonemakesthewordsoundlikeafullstop.
“Andme,obviously,”Tophersays.Thereisanotherpause,andthenhesays,asifattemptingtosoundmorecasualthanhereallyis.“And…um,what’syourvote,Liz?”
Iswallow.Thereissomethinghardstuckinmythroat,andIrealizethatIhaven’tspokensinceIgotupthismorning.Noonetalkedtomeatbreakfast.Nooneaskedmyopinionatthemeeting.Idon’tknowifIcantrustmyvoicewhenIspeak.
“Liz?”Evasays.Icantellthatsheistryingnottopressureme,butatthesametime,theedgeinhertoneshowsclear.
“I—”Thereisacrackinmyvoice,itiscroakywithdisuse.Iswallowagain,vainlyforcingdowntheobstaclethatfeelslikeitischokingme.“Idon’tknow.”
“Comeon,Liz,”Riksays,andthoughheistryingtosoundjollyandsupportive,thereisimpatienceinhistoneaswell.“Youmusthaveanideaofhowyoufeel.Doyouwanttwelvemillion,yesorno?It’snotahardquestion.”
“Or,”Tophersays,andthesharpnessmakesmeflinch,“doyouwantsharesworthpotentiallymuchmoreifweretaincontrolandgopublic.”
“Ifweretaincontrolandmanagetoremainsolvent,”Rikshootsback.
“Forfuck’ssake,Rik—”Tophersnaps,andIfeelthepanicinmychestbegintoexplodelikeaslowbutinexorablechemicalreaction.Beforeitcanescape,Evastandsup,holdingoutherhands,puttingherselfphysicallybetweenthem.
“Guys,guys,comeon.We’vegotplentyoftimetogothroughthequestionofapublicoffering,now’snotthetime.Liz,amItotakeitthatyoucan’tgiveusanindicationrightnow?”
Ican’tbringmyselftospeak,Ijustmakeaswingofmyheadthatcouldbeyes,orcouldbeno.Evasmiles,andcrossestheroomtotakemyhand.Shesqueezesitreassuringly,thescentofherperfumedruglikeandheadilyoverwhelminginthesmallroom.
“Noproblem,okay,wellinviewofthat,Isuggestweallheaduptoourroomstogetready,andwecangothroughtheissuesRikraisedinmoredetailafterlunch.Agreed?”
Therearenodsandmurmursofassent,andthenTopher,Elliot,andRikfileout.
Istandup,mylegsshaking,andI’mabouttofollowthemwhenEvastopsme.
“Liz,holdupasecond.Areyouokay?”
Ican’tspeakforaminute,andthenImanage.
“I’m—I’msorry,Eva,Iknowwetalkedaboutthislastnight,andIpromise,Iam—Iamgoingtodoit—it’sj-just—”
“Ofcourse,”Evasays,andsheputsahandonmyarm.Ithinkit’smeanttobereassuring,buttheeffectistopreventmeedgingtowardsthedoor.“Icompletelyunderstand.”
“It’sjust—”Iglanceoutthedoor,checkingTopherisn’twithinearshot.Butheisgone,thankGod.“It’sjust,it’shardtocomeoutandsayit,youknow?”
“Igetthat.There’salotofloyaltybetweenyou.AndIunderstandwhatyou’resaying;he’sgoingtoseeitasabetrayal,nomatterhowreasonableyourdecisionis.”
“I’m—”Iswallow.ThetruthisI’mfrightened,butIdon’twanttosaythattoEva.Itsoundsabsurdlydramatic.“I’mjust—”
Eva’slookingatmewithconcern,andIknowwhy.She’swonderingifIwillgothroughwithouragreement.ButIhavemadeupmymindnow.Igropeagainforthatfatalisticpeacethatdescendedonmelastnight.Itrytorememberhowitfelt—thatcertainty,thatcalmresolve.Myheartsteadiesalittle.IcanbeasdeterminedasTopher,whenImakeupmymind.
“Youdon’tneedtoworry,”Isay,andmyvoiceisstronger.“I’mnotgoingtoletyoudown.Ijust—Ineedtobitethebullet.”
Eva’sfaceclears,andshepatsmyarmsympathetically,givingitalittlesqueezetoshowthatweareinthistogether.
“Look,he’llbepissedoff,”shesays.“Ican’tpretendthat’snotthecase.AndIcan’tsayI’mrelishingthiseither.Buthe’llgetoverit.He’llunderstand.”
Thethingis,hewon’t.Aswefileoutofthelittleroomtochangeintoskiclothesandgetourstufftogether,that’swhatIrealize.Hedefinitelywon’tunderstand.ThereisnowayofseeingwhatI’mabouttodoasanythingotherthanahugebetrayal.ButIhavenochoice.That’swhatIjusthavetokeeptellingmyself.Ihavenochoice.Ihavetoseethisthrough.
ERIN
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“Right,”Icalltothelittlegroupstandinginfrontofthechalet,fiddlingwithbindings.“Letmeexplainthelayofthelandabit.Thetrackinfrontofus,leadingofftotheleft,istheoneyoutookfromthefunicularrailway.Youcanretraceyourstepsbackupthehill,whichwouldgetyoubacktothefunicularandthelongbluerundownintoSt.Antoine.”
“Blanche-Neige,right?”Topherputsin,andInod.
“That’sright.It’sareallynicerun.However,gettingbackuptherewouldrequireafairamountofsidesteppinguphill,soassumingyouwanttoskiout,theonlydownhillrouteisthispathdownthroughthewoods.”Iindicatealittlepaththatwindsalongthesideofthechaletanddisappearsthroughthepinesbehindus.“Itleadsontothebottomofthegreenrun,Atchoum,andfromtheretotheReinetelecabine.”
“Telecabine?”Inigoasks,andIremembertheAmericansusedifferentterms.
“Oh,sorry,thewhat-do-you-call-it.Thebubblelift.Arethereanycompletebeginnershere?”
“M-me!”Lizcalls,nervously.“I’veonlyskiedoncebefore.Dryslope.Iwasn’tverygood.”
“Okay,welldon’tworry,thepathisalittlebitsteepforthefirstfewmetersbutthenitlevelsoutandreallyallyou’vegottodoispointyourskisforwardandslidethewholeway.Youcansnowplowthefirstsectionifyouwant,butIwouldn’trecommendit,youwantabitofspeedfortheflat.Isuggesttheexperiencedskiersgofirst,thenthesnowboarders,you’regoingtohaveabitoftroubleontheflatsection,andthenI’llbringuptherearwithanyonewho’sslightlylessconfident.Aftertheflatpartthepathjoinsthegreenpisteandthere’saverygentledescenttothelift.”
“Giveusatow,”TophersaystoEva,withagrin,andsherollshereyesandsticksapoleoutbehindher.Ipointthemintherightdirectionandwatchastheyschussoffalongthelittlenarrowpathbetweenthetrees.Whentheygettotheflat,Evabreaksoutintoabeautifulskatingmotion,pullingTopheralongbehindher,andIwatchherasshegoes,herscarletskijacketflickeringinbetweenthetrees.WhoeveritwaswhodescribedheraspracticallyanOlympianisright;she’saverygoodskier.Betterthanme,andI’mnoslouch.Topher,fromthewayhehandledthesteeplittledescentatthebeginning,noteasyonaboard,isevidentlyinhiselement.
Rikgoesnext,he’sclearlyanexperiencedskier,evenifhelacksEva’sflair.ThenMiranda,whosnowplowsthefirststeepsectionindefianceofmyadvice,grindstoahaltontheflat,andhastostumpalonglookingembarrassed.Iwouldguessshe’scompetentratherthanexcellent,probablyknowsthebasicsbutisalittletoocautioustobereallygood.NextcomesInigoinagrass-greenjacketthatsomehowmakeshisazureeyeslookevenbluer.HeswooshesdownwithaneleganteconomyandpassesMiranda,kindlyputtingahandinthesmallofherbacktohelpherregainhermomentum.He’sobviouslybeenskiingsincechildhood,nomistakingthatrelaxedgrace.ThenTiger,whoturnsouttobeaverygoodsnowboarder.Shedoesn’thaveTopher’sadvantageofapullfromEva,butshemakesitlookeasy.
Carlshootsoffwithalookofgrimdeterminationonhischerry-pinkfacethatsays,Fuckit,mightaswellbehungforasheepasalamb.Hemanagestogetoneskistuckinasoftbankalmostatonceandfallsoverwithapainful-soundingcrunch,buthehaulshimselfupuncomplainingly,getshimselfbackinposition,andthistimemakesitwithoutincident.NextupisAni.Sheiswearingabrightbluejacketandwhitesalopettesthatlookfreshoffthepeg,andherbuttercuphairisstickingoutaroundherhood.Theeffectissomewherebetweenadorabletoddlerandchildren’sTVpresenter.Shegivesmeawrysmile.
“Imaybeshouldhaveputmyhandupasacompletebeginner,”shesaysapologetically.“I’mreallynotverygood!”
“Don’tworry,”Isayencouragingly.“There’sliterallynothingthatcangowrongonthisbit,andtheadvantageofaheavydumpofsnowisthatatleastit’ssoftwhenyoufallover.”
Shegrinsatme,shovesoffwithherpoles,givingalittlesqueakofalarmasthepathfallsaway,andshealmosttipsbackwardsinsurprise,wheelingwithherpoles.Butsheregainsherbalancesomehow,andwithalaughshe’soffthroughthetreestowheretheothersarewaitingjustoutofsight.
Finallyit’sjustmeandLiz.IncontrasttoAni’sgameenthusiasmshelookshotandstressed,andoverdressed—she’sclearlywearingfartoomanylayersforsuchanicedayandisalreadyvisiblysweating.I’mannoyedwithmyselffornotcheckingthegearoftheinexperiencedskiers,butit’sprobablybetterforhertobeoverdressedratherthanunder,andinanycase,it’stoolatetotellhertotakesomeoff.I’mjustabouttogiveherapeptalkwhensomethingstrikesme.
“Hangon,where’sElliot?”
“Oh,”Lizlooksembarrassed.“Didn’tTophertellyou?Hedoesn’treally…joinin.”
“Oh.”I’msurprisedsomehow.IkindofhadtheideathatSnoopwasoneofthosecompanieswherejoininginwasn’texactlyoptional.Carlcertainlygavethatimpression.Lizmusthavereadmyexpression.
“Iknow…He’snottheonlypersonwho’dratherbeintheirroom,butsomehowhe’stheonlyonewhogetsawaywithit.Butthat’swhatyougetforbeingTopher’sbestfriend,Iguess.”
“Havetheyknowneachotherlong?”
“Theywereatboardingschooltogether,”Lizsays.Thetalkishelping,Irealize.She’slostthelookofpinchedanticipation.“AlongwithRik.”
“Christ,talkabouttheoldboys’network,”Isay,beforeIcanhelpmyself,andthenblush.Outhere,inmysalopettes,it’shardertorememberI’mErintheskichalethost,notjustErintheskier.ButLizdoesn’tseemoffended.Sheevengivesmeaverysmallsmile.
“Iknow,right?”shesays.Thenshereddens,asifshe’sbeenunspeakablydaring.
Encouragedbyherunbendingslightly,Idecideit’stimetogo.
“Okay,well,we’dbettercatchupwiththeothers.Areyouready?I’llgoinfront,sodon’tworry,you’renevergoingtogetoutofcontrol.Ifyoudo,you’lljustslidegentlyintome.”
“Istill…”Herfacelookspinchedagain,staringatthenarrowpathwithsomethinglikedread.“Itjustlookssosteep.”
God,shereallyisn’tanaturalskier.Imakeupmymind.
“Itellyouwhat,givemeyourpoles.”
Shehandsthemover,obedientlylikeachild,andIclampthemunderonearmandstickmyownoutbehindme.
“Nowholdontothese,okay?Gotit?Oneineachhand.”
Shenods,andIpushusoff,verygently,usingmythighmusclestoslowourdescent.
WithLiz’sweightbehindme,pressingonmypoles,theeasylittleschussismuchharderworkthanusual,butwemakeittotheflat,andIfollowEva’sexample,skatingalong,pullingLizbehindme,listeningtoherpantingbreath.
Atlastwecomeoutofthetreesandglidedowntheslopetothebubblelift,wheretheothersarewaitingforus,standingjustoutsidetheturnstiles,underneathapaintedwoodensignreadingLAREINETC
“Thisliftiseasy,”IsaytoLiz,reassuringly,undermybreath.“Noskiingonorofftoworryabout,youtakeyourskisoffandwalkon.”
“Oh…phew.”Herexpressionclearsalittlebit,andthensheglancesupatthetopofthemountainwherethecloudsaregathering.“What’stherundownlike?”
“There’stwostations.Ifyougetoffatthefirststation,it’seasy.You’rehalfwayupthemountainandyoucanpickeitherthegreenrun,Atchoum,backdowntothebottomofthelift,ortheblue,whichpeelsoffdowntoSt.AntoineleLac.Ifyoustayontheliftitgoesrightuptothetopofthemountain.Thereareamazingviewswhenit’ssunnybut,well.”Iwavemyarmatthecloudsthatarealreadyclosingin.“Anyway,fromthetopstationyouhavethechoiceoftworuns,LaSorcière,whichisablackrunofftotheleftthatfollowsthepathofthelift,orthetoppartofBlanche-Neige.That’sablue,butinpoorconditionsitcanfeelabitmorelikeared.Ifyou’renotveryexperienced,thenI’drecommendstickingtothefirststation,justuntilyougetthefeelofyourskis,anyway.Youcouldalwayshaveagoatthesecondstationafterlunch.”
“Okay,”Lizsays,andshelooksupatthemountain,butIcanfeelherdoubtfromhere.“Willyoubewithusallday?”
“Justforthefirstcoupleofruns.I’llshowyouthewaybacktothechalet,andthenI’mafraidI’vegottogoandhelpDannywithlunch.”
Lizsaysnothingatthat,butfromthewaysheclutchesherskipoleslikegrimdeath,Icantellshe’snotkeenonbeingabandoned.
“It’llbefine,”Itellher,withmoreassurancethanIactuallyfeel.“You’renottheonlybeginner,Aniisn’tverygood,norisCarl.AndevenMirandadoesn’tlookveryconfident.”
Lizsaysnothing.Shejustunclipsherbindingsandpullsoffherskis.Butthelookonherfaceisanythingbuthappy.
LIZ
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Itisalmostnoon.Wehavebeenskiingallmorning.Thewindismounting.Erindisappearedbacktothechaletlongago,leavingmealonewithTopherandEvaandtheotheradrenalinejunkies.Wehavedonethegreenrun,Atchoum,backtothebottomofthebubbletwice,andalongbluedownintoSt.Antoine,thenbackupthefunicular.Mylegsfeellikejellywithbeingcontinuallyonedge.Myfaceisstingingwithcold,andmyarmpitsaredampwithsweatinsidemymanylayers.Mybreathcomesfast,mistingmyscarfwithwetness,andIamsimultaneouslyfreezingandmuchtoohot.
Wegather,pantingatthebottomoftheReinelift,andIcanhearthereliefinAni’svoicewhenshewhispers,“Yay!Lunch!”
AndthenTophersays,asIknewhewould,“Comeon,timeforonemorebeforewebreakfortheafternoon.Let’sgouptothetopofLaDame.Secondstoponthebubblelift.Whichofyoupussiesiswithme?”
Myheartbeginsthumpinginmychest.
“Wouldn’titbebettertostopbeforewe’realltootired?”Mirandasays.Icantellshedoesnotwanttodothis,butshealsodoesn’twanttobethepartypooper.“Imean,it’sthefirstday,andwe’vegotallweektogetskiingin.”
“Iagree,”Anisays.Sheliftsherskigoggles.Beneath,herfaceisredandblotchywithamixtureofcoldandexertion.Shelookstired.“Plus,Ijust,like,reallythinkit’stoobigarunforme.”
“It’safuckingblue,”Tophersaysdismissively.“Comeon!It’llbefun.There’sablackthatpeelsofffromthetop,LaSorcière,andtheblueisjustthetopsectionofthatrunwedidbefore,Blanche-Neige.Wecansplitintotwogroupsandtakewhicheveroneyoufancy.Blueforthebabies,blackforthebigboysandgirls.”
“Topher,”Evasays,waggingherfinger,butherannoyanceispretend.Shelooksinherelement,tallandslimonherimprobablylongskis.Sheiswearingabrightredskijacket—scarletsilkthatlookslikeasplashofbloodagainstthewhitesnow—andthesightgivesmeaweirdpang,becauseIrememberbuyingthatjacketforher,backwhenIwasherassistant.IgotsentouttoHarrodswithhercreditcardandinstructionstopickitup.Irememberitsoclearly,likeitwasyesterday.
Ithink,suddenly,ofthefairytaleforwhichthebluerunisnamed—BlancheNeige—SnowWhite.Skinaswhiteassnow,lipsasredasblood,hairasblackasebony.Thehairiswrong.Eva’shairisalmostaswhiteassnowtoo.Buttodayitistuckedintoablackbeanie,makingthecomparisonalmostspookilyaccurate.
“Comeon…,”Tophercajoles.“Wecan’tgetbackfromheretothechaletanyway,it’salluphill,sounlessyouwantanhourofsidestepping,wemightaswellgotothemiddlestation.Justalittlebitfartherdoesn’tmakemuchdifference…doesit?”HeliftshisgogglesandturnsthefullforceofhischarmonAni.“Ani?Givethisoldmanonelastwish?”
Anigivesalittlesigh.Thenshecaveslikewetsnow.
“Oh…okay.Isupposeyouonlyliveonce.You’llmakesureIgetdowninonepiece,won’tyou,Inigo?”
Hesmilesandnods.
“Miranda?”Tophersays,smilingatherwithallhisconsiderablepersuasiveforce.Whenheturnsiton,itisnothardtounderstandhowhegotwherehedid.There’ssomethingaboutTopherthatisvery,veryhardtosaynoto.“Miraaaanda…?”
“Fine,”Mirandasays,rathergrumpily.“Ifwe’vegottogoupanyway,Isupposeitwon’tmakemuchdifference.”
AndthenTopherturnstome.
“Liz?”
Sohereitis,then.WhydoIalwaysseemtoendupbeingthisperson—thepersoneveryoneelse’sfunhingeson,thepersonwho’srequiredtomakeadecision.Icanfeelmyselfshrinkingbeneaththeirgaze—butIhavenochoice.
“Fine,”Isay,butmyvoicesoundsstrainedandtense,eventome.
“Okay!”Evasaysbriskly.“Right,let’sregroupatthetop,andifanyonegetslost,we’llmeetattheshortcutbacktothechalet—doeseveryonerememberwherethepathsplitsoff?ThatbigpineErinshowedus,theonewiththefluorescentpadding.”
Therearenodsandmurmursofassent.
Andthenitishappening.Peopleareunclippingtheirbindingsandshufflingforwardinstiffheavyskiboots,clutchingpolesandskis,shovingthroughtheturnstilebarrier.Thereisnoqueueatall.Theweatheristoopoorforthat.AllthesensibleFrencharehuddledincaféshavingvinchaudandraclette,andwearetheonlypeopleheadingupthemountain,onthisliftatleast.IfeelmyheartdothatsickeningskippingrhythmasthebubbleloomsnearerandIshuffleahead,pushingpastAniwithanassertivenessthat’soutofcharacterforme.Icannotaffordtogetleftbehind.
Thebubbleglidesdownthelastpartofthetrack,slowingdramaticallyasitenterstheshelteroftheliftterminal,andourlittlegroupsurgesforwardandbeginstoclamberinastheplexiglassdoorsslideback.Therearefourseatsinsideeachbubble,andIwatch,countingundermybreathasTopher,Rik,andMirandaclimbin—andthenit’smychance.Theliftisalmostatthebarrierwherethedoorwillstarttoclose,butIgoforit,lumberingtowardsthedoorswithmybootsclompingontherubbertiles.Ishovemyskisroughlyinthepigeonholesoutside,theirbindingstanglingwithTopher’ssnowboard—thedoorsareclosing.
“Comeon,Liz!”Mirandashoutsencouragingly,andIscramblethroughthegap,sittingdown,pantingasthedoorsglideshutandthebubbleshootsawayupthemountain.Yes.Ihavedoneit.Iamoverthefirsthurdle.
IsqueezeinbesideMiranda,crushingmybulkyjacketintothenarrowgap,andshelaughs.
“Liz,howmanylayersareyouwearing?YoulookliketheMichelinMan.”
Tophergivesagrin.
“Don’tknockit,Miranda.Lizmighthavethelastlaughwhenwegettothetop.”
Henodsatthewindow,andIrealizeheisright.Astheliftclimbs,youcanliterallyfeeltheweathergettingcolder.Thecondensationontheinsideofthebubblebeginstobead,andthenfreeze,spreadingintobeautifulfrostflowersastheliftclimbs,andclimbs,pastthemidwaystation,wherethedoorsslideopeninvitingly,butnoonemoves
Thenoutagain,andup,pastthetreeline,andup,up,intotheclouds.Icanfeelthelittlebubblebeingbuffetedbythewind,feelitswayingonitswire,andIhaveasuddenthrilloffearatwhatisawaitingusatthetop.OhGod,amIreallygoingtodothis?CanIreallygothroughwithit?SuddenlyIamnotsureifIcan.Mystomachissickandclenchingwithnerves.IhaveneverfeltsoscaredinmylifeofwhatI’mabouttodo.ButIhavetogothroughwithit.Ihaveto.
Andthenthedoorsareslidingbackandwearestumblingoutintoacoldsoprofoundthatitstrikesrightthroughallmylayers,eveninsidetherelativeshelteroftheliftterminal.
Wecliponourskisandslideout—intoawhitewilderness.
Itissnowing—hard.Thewindisfierceandvicious,drivingthesnowintooureyesandnoses,makingeveryonefumbletopulldowntheirgogglesandpulluptheirscarves.Betweenthatandthecloudthathasdescendedtowreathethemountain,thevisibilityisnotthemilesthebrochurespromised,itismeters.
Iknowthatthereshouldbetworunscomingofffromhere.TotheleftistheblackrunTopherwantstodo,LaSorcière.Totherightisthetoppartofthebluerun,Blanche-Neige.Theymeetatthesecondstationofthebubblelift,butBlanche-Neigetakesitstime,curvingroundthemountainingentleloops.LaSorcière,ontheotherhand,followsamoredirectroute,zigzaggingdownthemountainbeneaththebubblelift.Directisanunderstatement.Wepassedovertherunintheliftafewminutesago,anditlookedlikeasheersheetofice,likethesideofahill,evenseenfromfortyfeetupintheair.
Ipushoff,wobblingasIcleartheicefrommygoggleswithmymittens.Aheadisasnow-coveredsignthatmightoncehavebeentwoarrowsbutisnownothingbutanindistinctwhitelump.Totheleftthereisakindoftennis-netthingcuttingofftheaccess.BythetimeIseethis,I’mslidingtowardsit.
“Help!”Ishout.Thereisnothinganyoftheotherscando,andIricochetintothenet,feelingitsspringinesscatchmeacrossthemiddle.Iflailforamoment,mypolespinwheeling,andthenIteeterungracefullytothegroundinaclatterofskis.
Rikcomesslidingacross,laughing,andhelpsmeup.
“Youwerelucky,”heyellsinmyearovertheshriekofthewind,pointingtothesnow-blastedpisteferméesigntackedoverthenet.“That’sLaSorcière.Youcouldhavebeenskiingyourfirstblackiftheyhadn’tclosedthepiste!Orworse.”
Heisright.Beyondthenetisasteeprun,droppingalmostverticallyaway.Itcurvesaroundthemountainandbeyondtheedgeofthecurveis…nothing.IfIhadshotofftheedgeatspeed,therewouldhavebeennothinganyonecoulddo.Icouldhavebeenplummetingtomydeathinthevalleyathousandfeetbelowbeforeanyonehadachancetostopme.ThethoughtofthatfallmakesmystomachlurchwithnervesoverwhatI’mabouttodo.
Iamtoooutofbreathtoreply,butIlethimhaulmetomyfeetandthenguidemebacktotheotherswhoarestandinginalittlehuddleatthetopofthebluepiste.
“They’veclosedLaSorcière,”RikcallsacrosstoTopher,whonodsbitterly.
“Isaw.Fuckingpussies.”
“Shouldwewait?”IhearMirandashout.Hervoiceisbarelyaudiblebeneaththehowlingofthestorm.“It’sfuckingfreezing!”
“Ithinkwehaveto,”Riksays.“Wecan’tgowithoutAniandCarl,they’renotveryexperienced.”
“They’vegottheotherstobabysitthem,”Tophergrumbles,butRikshakeshishead.
“Whatiftheycomeupseparatelyandtrytofollow?Look.”Hepointsdownthemountainwhereabubbleliftisemergingfromtheclouds,asinglefigureinside,ormaybetwosittingclosetogether.It’simpossibletomakeoutatthisdistance.Itmightnotevenbeoneofourparty.Itissofarbelowthatthefigurelooksabsurdlysmall.
Iamshaking.Myheartispounding.Ican’tgothroughwiththis.ButIhaveto.Thismightbemylastchance—Ihavetosaysomething.Now.Now
“Ican’tdothis,”Iforceout.Topherlooksacrossatme,asifsurprisedI’vespoken.
“Whatdidyousay?”
“Ican’tdothis,”Isaylouder.Iambreathingveryfast,andmyvoiceishighandsqueakywithabarelycontainedfear.Mypulseisgoingamileaminute.“Ican’t.Ijustcan’t.I’mnotgoingtoskidown.Ican’t,Topher.”
“Well,howdoyouplantogettothebottom,”Tophersayssarcastically.“Toboggan?”
“Hey,hey.”Rikhasbeentryingtoconsulthisphone,butnowhelooksup.“What’sgoingonhere?”
“Ican’tdoit,”Isaydesperately,asif,ifIjustkeeprepeatingthisonephrase,everythingwillslotintoplace.Maybeitstillwill.Maybeitwillallbeokay.“Ican’t.Ican’tskidowninthis.I’mgoingtodie,IknowIwill.Youcan’tmakemedoit.”
“Liz,it’llbefine.”Rikputsahandonmyarm.“I’lltakecareofyou,Ipromise.Look,youcansnowplowallthewaydownifyouwantto.I’llguideyou,youcanholdmysticks.”
“I.Can’t.Do.It,”Irepeatdoggedly.IfIkeeprecitingthismantra,itwillbeokay.Theycan’tmakemeskiwiththem.IknowTopher.He’snotapatientman.Verysoonhewillgetpissedoffwithtryingtopersuademeandgiveup.
“Fuck,”Tophersaysirritably.HewipesthesnowfromhisgooglesandlooksatRik.“Sowhat,then?”
“Liz—”Rikbegins,andIfeelthathardthingriseupinmythroat,chokingme,likeitdidatthemeeting.Thebubblewiththesinglefigureinitreachestheterminal.IthinkIamgoingtobesick.It’snowornever.
“Ican’tdoit!”Iscream,andsuddenly,outofnowhere,Iamcrying.Thenoiseastonishesme—greatuglysobs,rackingme.Iliftupmygogglestoscrubatmyeyeswithmyfrozengloves,andthewindissocoldIcanfeelthetearsrunningdownmynose,freezingastheyreachthetip.Iswipeawaythefrozendrops,feelingthemcrackleagainstmyskin.“Ican’tfuckingdoit!”
“Okay,okay!”Riksayshastily.“Liz,don’tpanic,it’llbefine.Look,we’llsortthisout.”
Thereisaschussingsoundbehindusandweturntoseeafigureskiingdowntheslopetowardsus.ItisInigo,hisgreenjacketunmistakableevenwithhisgogglesdownandhisscarfpulledup.Behindhim,Tigerhasshuffledoutontothebankimmediatelyoutsidethelift.Sheissittingonthesnow,fasteninghersnowboardbindings.
“I’mgoingback,”Isay,gulpingdownmysobs.Ipointdownthemountain,wheretheemptybubbleliftInigocameupinisreturningbacktothevalley.“I’mgoingtotalktotheliftattendant,makehimletmebackin.I’llexplainIcan’tdoit,thatit’sallbeenamistake.”
“Liz,thisisfuckingridiculous,”Topherexplodes.
“What’sthematter?”Inigo’svoiceismuffledfrombehindhisscarf,barelyrecognizable.
“It’sLiz,”Tophersaysangrily.“She’shavingsomekindofexistentialcrisis.”
ButI’mnot.I’mcalmnow.Thereisanotherbubbleliftcomingupthemountain,withanotherfigureinsideit.Icandothis.IknowwhatIneedtodo,andnoonecanstopme.Ibegintosidestepuptheslope.
“Liz,”Rikcalls,“areyousure?”
“Yes,”Iyellback,thoughI’mnotevencertaintheycanhearmeoverthewindnow.“I’mquitesure.I’llmeetyoubackatthechalet.”
AndasIstepinsidetheterminalbuildingandthebubbleliftdoorsopen,asenseofpeaceenfoldsme.IknowwhatIhavetodo,andit’sgoingtobeokay.Everything’sgoingtobeokay.
ERIN
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It’snearlyhalfpastone.Theysaidthey’dbebackbyoneatthelatest,andDannyisshoutingexpletivesfromthekitchenastheminutestickpastandhisrisottoclogs.
Atoneforty-fivehestickshisheadoutthedoorwithafacelikethunder,andIshakemyhead.
“There’sonlyonethingIhatemorethanfuckingstealthvegansandthat’swankers,”hegrowls,anddisappears,theswingdoorclackingbehindhim.
Andthen,suddenly,there’stheclatterofskibootsontiles,andIhurryintothelobbytohearnoisesfromtheskientrance,theunmistakablesoundsofpeopleclumpingalongahardfloor,clangingopentheheatedskilockersthatlinethecorridor.
“Eva?”someonecallsirritably.“Eva,wherethefuckareyou?”
Noanswer.
ThentheinsulateddoortothelobbyswingsopenandTophercomesinwearingskigearandthicksocks,lookingpissedoff.
“Oh,it’syou,”hesaysshortlywhenheseesme.“WherethefuckisEva?”
“Eva?”Aretortabouthisrudenesshoversonthetipofmytongue,butIswallowitback.“Sorry,Topher,Ihavenoidea.”
Hestops,halfwaytothestairs.
“Youmeanshe’snothere?”
“No,you’rethefirstback.”
Hestandsthere,quitestill,theexpressiononhisfacewaveringbetweenirritationandconcern.Thenhecallsoverhisshoulder.
“Miranda,she’snothere.”
“You’rekidding.”Mirandaisthenextoutofthedoor.Herfaceisbrightpink,withthepainfulflushthatalwaysfollowsextremecold.“Huh.Well…Iguessatleastthatmeanswedidn’tfreezeourarsesofffornoreason.Butwhatdoyouthinkcouldhavehappened?”
“Maybetheliftclosedbeforeshecouldgeton,andsheskiedbackdownintoSt.Antoinetogetthefunicular?”Tophersays,butCarlhascomeoutnowandisshakinghishead.
“Shegotonbeforeme,mate.Shewasonthatlift,I’dsweartoit.”
“AndIsawher,”Anisays.Theygatherinthelobby,sweatyandconfused,meltingsnowdrippingfromtheirjackets.“Itoldyou,CarlandIwerecomingupintheliftandIsawherskiingdown.”
“What’sthematter?”Riksays,comingthroughinhisturn,shakingthesnowoffhisblacksalopettes.Mirandaturnstohim,andnowherfaceisdefinitelyworried.
“Eva’snothere.”
“She’snothere?”Rik’sexpressionisblank.“But—butthat’snotpossible.There’snowhereelseshecouldbe.”
Theyallbegintalkingatonce,offeringupdifferenttheories,manyofthemtotallyimpossiblebasedonthegeographyoftheresort.
“Holdup,holdup,”Isay,andamazinglytheyallfallsilent.Somehow,theywantleadership,andIamtheclosestthingtoit.“Startfromthebeginning.Whenwasthelasttimeyouwerealltogetherasagroup?”
“AtthebottomoftheReineskilift,”Anisays,promptly.“Wehadadiscussionaboutwhethertobreakforlunchthere,ordoonelastrun.Tophermadethepointthatitwasuphillfromtheskilifttothechalet,sowehadtodoarun,andweagreedtogouptothetopstationanddoeitherLaSorcièreorBlanche-Neige,dependingonability.”
Ibitebackmyreplytothis.LaSorcièreisabitchofarun.I’vebeenskiingallmylife,andthere’snowayI’ddoitinthisweather.EvenBlanche-Neigewiththisvisibilityisnojokeforinexperiencedskiers.NotforthefirsttimeitstrikesmethatTopheriskindofajerk.
“ButwhenwegotupthereLizhadsomekindofbreakdown,”Tophersaysbitterly.
“Toph,”Riksayssharply,withajerkofhisheadtowardstheskidoor,andIlookoverTopher’sshouldertoseeLizploddingwearilyacrossfromthebootroom.Sheiscoveredinsnowandlooksutterlyexhausted,evenmoresothantheothers.
“Whenwegottothetoptheweatherwasprettyextreme,andLizdecidedtotaketheliftbackdown,”Mirandasayssmoothly,butlookingatTopher’smutinousfaceIcanwellimaginethediscussionthatdecisionmusthaveentailed.PartofmeisamazedatLiz’sstrengthofmind,thatshedidn’tletherselfbebulliedintotryingtherun.Butfearcanmakepeopleamazinglyresilient.
“Therestofuswaiteduptherefortheothers,”Tophersays.“ButEvanevercame.”
“Butshedid,”Aniputsin.“Wesawher,CarlandI.Didn’twe?”ShenudgesCarl,whonods.
“Yeah,nodoubtaboutit,mate.Wesawhergetonthebubbleafewliftsaheadofus.”
“Afew?”Tophersays.“How’sthat?Therewasnoqueueatall.”
Carlreddens.
“Well,look,there’snopointinbeatingaboutthebush.I—wellIfluffedgettingonthebubbleifyoumustknow.AniandIweresupposedtobegettinginafterEva,butItrippedovermybindings.Fellover,andtheliftdoorsclosed,andEvawentupwithmyskisstillstuckintherack.Ittookmeafewminutestogetmyselfsortedagain,andthenAniandIcaughtthenextliftafterthat.”
“Couldshehavegotconfusedandgotoffatthefirststation?”Mirandasayswithafrown,butAnishakesherhead.
“No,that’swhatI’mtryingtotellyou.Isawher,whenwewerecomingupinthebubble.Itgoesrightoverthatblackpiste—thereallysteeponethatTopherwantedtodo.”
“LaSorcière,”Iputin,andAninods.
“That’stheone.AndIsawaskiercomingdownit.Shestoppedforasecondontheridgeandkindofraisedherhand,wavingatme.AndIrealized,itwasEva.”
“Howcouldyoutellatthatdistance?”Riksays,sceptically.“Itcouldhavebeenanyone.”
“Irecognizedherredjacket.It’s,like,reallydistinctive.Nooneelseherehasonelikeit,andweweretheonlypeopleonthatlift.”
Ilookaroundthecircle,andshe’sright.Topherisinmustardandkhaki,RikandCarlarebothinblack.Mirandaisinakindofpurplejumpsuit.Inigohasagreenjacketandblacksalopettes.Tigeriswearingkindofshabbysurferchicthatlookslikeaneightiesdenimbomberjacketandcargopants,butthatIsuspectisactuallyprettyexpensivesnowboardgear.Liziswearingafadednavy-blueall-in-onethat’stoobigforherandlooksasthoughitwasborrowedfromafriend.AndAniherselfiswearingthebrightsea-bluejacketandwhitesalopettesthatInoticedearlier.NoneofthemcouldpossiblybemistakenforEva.
“Whenwegotoffatthetopmyskiswerewaiting,”Carlsays.“Shemusthavetakenthemofftheliftandthenskiedoff.”
“Didn’tyounoticeshewasn’tatthetop?”Iask,andRikshakeshishead,lookingrueful.
“No,thevisibilitywasreallypoorandwell…look,ifyoumustknowtherewasabitof…well,argybargyatthetop.”
Argybargy?Whatthehelldoesthatmean?I’mabouttoaskwhenMirandabuttsin.
“Youmightaswellsayitplainly,Rik.Theliftattendantcameouttotellustheavalanchewarninghadgoneuptored,andtheywereclosingthewholemountain,buthalfthepartyignoredthewarninganddeliberatelyskiedoffbeforetheycouldgetthenetsout.”
“I’msosorry.”Inigoatleasthasthegracetolookembarrassed.“Itwasatotalmisunderstanding.Ithoughthewassayingnowornever,soI,uh,pushedoff.”
“Sowait,someofyouskiedhome,”Isayslowly,“andsomeofyoutookthebubblebackdown?”
Nodsallroundthecircle.
“Naturallywestoppedforabitatthebigpinebytheshortcutbacktothechalettoseeifanyonewascatchingup,butwhenwesawpeopletravelingbackdowninthebubble,weskieddowntothebottomofthelift,”Tophersays.“Sowewaitedthereforanothertwentyminutes,onlyforthebastardsinchargeoftheresorttoclosethatlifttoo.AtthatpointweconcludedEvahadfuckedoffbacktothechalet,butsincewewerenowdownhillfromthechaletwithnofunctioninglift,wehadnochoicebuttoskidowntoSt.Antoineandgetthefunicularbackup.”
“Okay…okay…,”Isay,tryingtomakesenseofit.“Sothelasttimeanyoneisabsolutelycertaintheysawher,shewasskiingLaSorcière?”
Aninods,turningtoCarlforconfirmation,whosays,“That’sthesizeofit.”
“ButLaSorcièrewasclosed,”Topherexplodes.“Thatwasthewholefuckingproblem.”
Thewholefuckingproblemisthatyourcolleagueandcofounderismissinginextremeweatherconditions,Ithink,butIdon’tsayit.IamthinkingaboutLaSorcière,aboutitstreacherous,icyslopes,andthewaytheloosepowderbuildsuponthesheeticebeneath,makingeveryturnathrowofthedicebetweenapainfulskidandaminiavalanche.I’mthinkingofitsbrutalmoguls,hiddenbythedriftingsnowbetween,andtheimpossibilityofevenseeingtheicyhummocksbeneaththeirblanketofsnow,letalonejudgingthoseknee-judderingturnsinbadvisibility.
Mostofall,I’mthinkingofthesheerdropatthesideoftherun.Aprecipiceliesjustmetersfromthesideofthepisteinplaces;inconditionslikethis,youcouldsimplysailofftheedgeintonothingness.ThatiswhytheyshutLaSorcièrefirst,outofalltherunsintheresort.Notbecausethey’reriskaverse,orhealthandsafetynuts,ordon’ttrustexperiencedskierstonavigateit.Butbecausethetwistsandturnsareadeathtrapinlowvisibility.ButthenIremindmyselfthattheworstsectionofthedropisrightatthestartoftherun,andAnisawherskiingfartherdown.It’sasmallcomfort,butI’lltakewhatevercomfortIcangetrightnow.
“Hasanyonetriedhermobile?”Isay.Inigonods.
“Severaltimes.There’snoreception.”
Dannycomesoutofthekitchenatthatpoint,lookingroyallypissedoff.Whataboutmyfuckingrisotto?hemouthsatmeovertheheadsoftheguests,andIhurryacrosstohim.
“Eva’smissing,”Itellhiminalowvoice,andhisexpressionswitchesinstantlyfromirritationtoconcern.
“What,reallymissing?NotjustgoneAWOL?”
“Idon’tknow;it’shardtotell.They’veallactedlikecompletefuckwits.Theysplitup,noonekepttrackofwhowasinwhichparty,andEvaseemstohavegoneoffbyherselftoskiLaSorcière.”
“Alone?”Danny’sjawdrops.“But,there’saredavalanchewarning.Whythehelldidn’tthepisteursshuttherun?”
“Apparentlytheydid.Shemusthaveduckedunderthenettingorsomething,orsomehowgotlostandtraversedacrosstothewrongrun.”ThoughIcan’tthinkquitehowthatcouldhavehappened.ThereisnoobviousinterconnectionbetweenBlanche-NeigeandLaSorcière.That’spartoftheproblemwiththeblackrun.Itishemmedinbyasheercliffononeside,andasheerdropontheother.Thereisnowayoutonceyou’regoingdown,it’salltwistsandturns.“Idon’tknow.ButAniisprettyconvincedsheandCarlsawEvaskiingdownit.Imean,Iknowshe’sgood,butthat’sjustfoolhardyinweatherlikethis.”
Danny’sfaceisreallygravenow.
“Andnoone’sseenhersince?”
Ishakemyhead.
“DoyouthinkweshouldcallthePGHM?”Iask.Thisisthespecialistbranchofmountainpolicewhooperateinthehighermountainranges—acombinationofgendarmesandmountainrescue.
“Idunno,”Dannysays.Hepusheshisbandannauphisforeheadandrubsfretfullyatthefurrowbetweenhisbrows,tryingtothink.“It’snotimpossibleshe’sjustgotlostandgonedownthewrongroute.Withtheliftsshutit’dtakeherawhiletogetback.Ireckonthey’lltellustogiveitafewhoursbeforewepanic.Shouldwetrytheskipassofficefirst?Maybetheycantellusifherpasshasbeenusedonanylifts?”
Iwanttokisshim.It’snotjustagoodidea,it’sagreatone.ButwhenIgotothephoneinthelobbyanddialthenumberonthebackoftheliftpass,Igetonlytheinsistentbeep-beepsignalofabusyline.
Igobacktothelittlegrouphuddledinthelobby,whoarelookinghotintheirskigear,andincreasinglyworried.
“WethinkthebestthingistocheckinwiththeliftpassofficeandseeifEva’susedherpassanywhere.I’vetriedphoning,buttheline’sengaged,soratherthanhangingaroundhere,IthinkI’mgoingtohopdownonthefunicularandtalktotheofficeinperson.”
“I’llgo,”Tophersaysimmediately.
“DoyouspeakFrench?”
IknowtheanswerbeforeIaskthequestion,andhisfacechangestochagrinasheshakeshishead.
“Itotallygetwhyyouwanttohelp,”Isay,tryingtobegentle,“butIthinkitwouldbebetterforsomeonewhospeaksFrenchtogo.Ifshe’snotusedherpass,that’sprobablythepointwhereweneedtoreporthermissingtothepolice,andwe’lldefinitelyneedafluentspeakerforthat.Youshouldallchangeintodryclothesandgetsomefoodintoyou,andI’llbebackreallysoon.Meantime,keeptryinghernumber.”
Theyallnod,soberly.
“I’dbettertellElliot,”Tophermutters,andIrememberwithashockofsurprisethatElliotwastheonlymemberofthegroupnotskiing.Heisstillholedupinhisroom,presumablyworkingonhiscodingupdate,orwhateverhe’sdoinguptherealone.
Theyalldisperse,talkingquietlyundertheirbreathstooneanother,andIgrabmycoatfromthelockerandhurrybacktoDannytoexplaintheplan.
“Soyou’llhavetoserveupalone,isthatokay?”
Henods.
“Yeah,ofcourse.”
Hedisappearsintothekitchentobeginplatingup.
Iputonmycoatandopenthefrontdoor.
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Iamupstairsinmyroomchangingoutofmyskiingclotheswhenithappens.Atfirstitisjustanoise,andthenIfeelthegroundbegintoshake,likeanearthquake.
Iturntolookoutthewindow.Iseewhatlookslikeawallofsnowcomingdownthevalleytowardsus.Butnotawall—thatimpliessomethingsolid.Thisissomethingelse.Aboilingmassthatisairandiceandearthallrolledtogether.
Iscream.IdotheonlythingIcan,eventhoughitisstupid.Ifalltomykneeswithmyarmsovermyhead,asifthatpatheticgesturemightprotectme.
Istaythereshakingforalongtime,beforeIdaretogetup,mylegstrembling.Diditmissus?Diditstop?
FromfarawayIcanhearothervoices,shouts,screams,cries.
Somehow,Iforcemylegstowork,andIstumbleoutintothecorridor.
“JesusChrist!”Topherisshouting.Heisrunningtowardsthestairs.“Whatthehelljusthappened?”
“Erin!”Ihearfrombelow.ItisabellowoffearfromavoiceIdon’trecognize,andthenIrealize—itisthechef,Danny,callingforhisfriend.“Erin!”
Thecorridorisfullofterrifiedpeople.Thereisasmokealarmgoingoff,shoutsofpanic.
Downinthelobbythechefisstrugglingwiththefrontdoor,whichhascrackedandbowedbeneaththeweightofpackedsnowpressedupagainstit.
“Don’topenthebloodydoor!”Topheryells.“You’llletallthesnowin!”
Dannyturnsonhim.Hisfaceisfulloffury.
“Myfuckingfriendisoutthere,”hespitsoverthescreamofthealarm.“Soifyouwanttostopme,mate,comeandtry.”
Heshovesagain.Thedoorgiveswithashriekofprotest,andamassofsnowandicecomesskitteringintothelobby.Thedoorwayisstillblockedfourfeetdeep,butDannyclambersupthebankandoverthetop,sinkingintothedebris.ThelastIseeofhimishislegsashestaggersoffintothestorm.
“OhmyGod,”Mirandaissaying.SheisholdingontoRiklikesheisdrowning.“OhmyGod.OhmyGod.WhatifEva’sstilloutthere?”
Thereisnoanswer.Idon’tthinkanyonecanbringthemselvestosaywhattheyarethinking—whichisthatifEvaisstilloutthere,sheisdead.Shemustbe.
AndmaybeErintoo.
“Isthebuildingsafe?”Riksays,withsuddenpracticality.“Wedon’twanttostayhereifit’sabouttocollapse.”
“I’llgoandturnoffthatalarm,”Tigersays,andshedisappearsintothekitchen.Ihearherdraggingachairacrosstiles,andthenthealarmstops.Thereisasudden,shockingsilence.
“Okay,”Tophersays.Hisvoiceisshaking,butitissonaturalforhimtotakechargethatheslipsintotherole.“Um,weshould—weshouldcheck.Weshouldcheckthebuilding.”
“Thekitchensideisn’ttoobad,”Tigersaysasshecomesbackintothelobby.“Ilookedoutthewindow.There’sacoupleofwindowsbrokeninthedenbutthesnowisn’tparticularlyhigh.It’llbethelivingroomsidethat’ssuffered,andthepoolextension.”
“Weshouldgoupstairs,”Tophersays.“Getanoverview.”
Tigernods,andwealltroopupstairstolookoutoneoftheupperwindows.Whatweseemakesmykneesgoweak.Wehavebeenextremelylucky.
Thelongsingle-storybuildingtotherearofthechalet,whichhousedtheswimmingpool,hasbeencrushedandobliterated.Theroofhascavedinlikeanemptyeggshell.Beamsandplanksarestickingoutofthehugesnowdriftthathasengulfedtheextension.Butthechaletitselfisstillstanding.Thereisamassofsnow,sticks,andrubblepiledupagainstthenorthside,butthestructurehasheldfirm.Justafewmetersmore,andPerce-Neigewouldhavebeenmatchsticks,liketheswimmingpoolbuilding.Ican’tseeanyoftheotherchalets.Thepathtothefuniculariscoveredwithfallentreesandrumpledsnow.Thefunicularitselfisoutofsightinthegustingsnow.Erinisnowheretobeseen.
AndthenInoticeamovementaroundthesideofthebuilding.ItisErin.SheisholdingontoDannyandtheyarelimpingovertheuneven,debris-coveredsurface,stumblingonthehard-packedlumpsofsnowscatteredacrosswhatusedtobethetracktothefunicular.
Theygooutofsightbeneaththeshadowofthebuilding.FromdownstairsIhearthescreechofthebuckledfrontdoorscrapingagainstthetiles,andErin’ssobofpainasshesqueezesoverthedriftanddown,insidethehouse.
“Isitbroken?”IhearDannysaying,breathlessly.Asifinstructed,weallfiledownthespiralstairstostandinaconcernedcirclearoundErin.
“Issheokay?”Mirandaasks,frowning.
“Whatdoyouthink?”Dannysnaps.Erindoesn’tseemabletospeak,butsheholdsupherhand.I’mnotsurewhatshemeans,buthersignalclearlyconveyssomethingtoDanny,andheshakeshisheadangrilyandstampsofftothekitchen.
“I’mgonnagetyousomeice,”hecallsbackoverhisshoulder.“Seeifwecangettheswellingdown.”
“I’vegotsomearnicainmybag,”Tigercallsafterhim.IcannothearDanny’sreply.Itdoesnotsoundcomplimentary.
“Idon’tthinkarnicaisgoingtocutit,Tig,”Riksaysquietly.
Erinisslumpedonthefloorofthelobby.Herfaceisgray.Shelookslikesheisgoingintoshock.
“Whathappened?”Tigercrouchesbesideher,puttingherhandonherarm.Erinlooksupather.Sheblinksdazedly.Shelookslikesheisunsurewhysheishere.
“Erin?Areyouokay?”
“Idon’tknow,”Erinmanages.Hervoiceisshaking.“Iwaswalkingtowardsthef-funicularandIheardthisn-noiseandthenitwaslike—itwaslikethemountainjustcameandswallowedthelift.”
“Youmean—thefunicularisgone?”
ThereishorrorinTiger’svoice,buthertoneonlyechoestheshockIcanseereverberatingaroundtheroom.
“Notgone,”Dannysays,comingbackwithabagoffrozenpeas.Hescowlsaroundthegroup.“But…yeah,buried.Abigchunkofglasshasbeenstovein.Shit.Theremighthavebeenpeopleinthere.”
“Weshould,like,call999?”Anisays,andTophernodsemphatically.
“Seventeen,”Erinsaystiredly.
“What?”
“Seventeen,”Dannyechoes.“That’stheFrenchnumberforthepolice.ButIreckonyoushouldtryone-one-two.That’stheinternationalnumber,they’llhaveEnglishspeakers.”
Anitakesoutherphoneandthenfrowns.
“I’vegotnoreception.”
“Transmitter’sprobablydown,”Dannysaysshortly.HeispressingthepeasverygentlyontoErin’sankle.Herfacehasgoneastrangeyellowishwhiteandhereyesareclosed.“Trythephoneonthedesk.”
Aninodsandgoesacrosstothelandlinephoneonthedesknexttothestairs,butwhenshepicksupthereceiverherfacefalls.
“There’snodialtone.”
“Fuck.”Carlspeaksforthefirsttime.Hisbroadfaceisred.Helooksangry.“Fuckinghell,that’sallweneed.AvalanchetookthelineoutIguess.Hasanyonegotanyreception?Anythingatall?”
There’samomentaryshuffle.Everyonefeelsfortheirphones.Igetoutminetoo.Thereceptionbarsaregrayedout.
“Nothing,”Tophersays.Othersareshakingtheirheads.
“No,wait.”It’sInigo,hisvoicecrackingwithexcitement.“Ijustgotabar!I’vegotonebar!”
Hedialsandthenwaits,holdinguphishandforsilence.Weallstaytotallystill,listening.
“Hello?”hesays.Andthen“Hello?Hello?Shit,theycan’thearme!”
“Goupstairs,”Mirandasayssharply.“Youmightgetbetterreceptionwiththeextraheight.”
ObedientlyInigoclimbsthespiralstaircaseandgoestostandattheendofthecorridor,atthelongwindowthatoverlooksthevalley,asifthevisibilitymightsomehowtranslateintobetterreception.
“Hello?”wecanhearhimsaying,andthen“Yes,”and“Okay,”and“ChaletBlanche-Neige,”followedbysomeinformationaboutoursituation.Therearelongpauses,andmanytimeshesays“Canyourepeatthat?I’msorry,thereceptionisreallypoor,you’rebreakingup.Hello?Hello?”
Atlasthecomesbackdownlookinggrave.
“Ilostreceptionintheend,butIspoketothepoliceoperator,andIthinkImanagedtogivethemallthedetailsbeforeIgotcutoff.”
“DidyoutellthemaboutEva?”Tophershovesin,andInigonods.
“Yes,Itoldthemthatwelostourfriendrightbeforetheavalancheandwedon’tknowifshe’sstilloutonthemountain.”
“Issomeonecomingtorescueus?”
“Idon’tknow,”Inigosays,andhelooksforaminutelikewhatheis—aPAwhohasfailedtogettheresulthisbosswanted.“Theysaidthey’reunderenormousstrain,therearepeopletrappedonliftsandstuff.I’mnotsure—”HisvoicefaltersalittleatTopher’sexpression.“I’mnotsurethatpeoplewithfoodandshelteraretheirpriorityrightnow.They’vegotmynumber.Theysaidthey’dbeintouchassoonaspossiblewithmoreinformation.”
“Youmeanwe’refuckingstranded?”Topherexplodes.“Thefuckingfunicular’sdown,Eva’smissing,andwe’retrappedinthisgodforsakenchaletwithaninjuredwoman—”HeindicatesErin.“Weshouldbetheirtoppriority!”
Inigosaysnothing,hejustshrugshelplessly.
“Couldoneofusskidown?”Riksays,butInigoshakeshishead.
“No,theywerereallyclearaboutthat.Weshouldstaywhereweare.Therecouldbemorefalls.”
“Well,wecan’tjuststayhere,”Tophersaysangrily.
“Youwon’tbeskiingonthatpiste,mate,”Dannysays,lookingupfromwherehe’stendingErin.
“I’llhaveyouknow,”Tophersays,“I’maboarder,andadamngoodone.”
“YoucouldbeShaunWhite,mate,youstillwouldn’tbegoingdownthere.Youdidn’tseeit—itlookedlikeaboulderfield.There’snopisteleft.”
“Sowe’restuck?”Tophersays,furiousdisbeliefinhistone.“Andthey’redoingnothingatall,whileEvacouldbeoutthereunderathousandtonnesofsnow?”
Nooneanswers.Noonewantstosaythefactthatisobvioustoallofus—ifthatisthecase,there’snothingheoranyofuscando.
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I’msittinginthekitchen,shaking.Dannyhasgonetogetthefirstaidkit,andintruthI’mgratefultobealoneforafewminutes.Itgivesmetimetogetmyselfbacktogether.
Thatnoise—thathorrific,deafeninglysoftroarthathashauntedmydreamsforthreeyears—foramomentIthoughtitwassomekindofflashback,likePTSD.AndthenIglancedovermyshoulderanditwasreal.Awallofwhiteengulfingthevalley.
Andthestrangethingwas,Ifeltnothingbutpeace,asitcametowardsme.Itfeltlikejustice.Itfeltlikeretribution.Itfeltcompletelyright.
ForamomentIthoughtaboutopeningmyarmsandlettingitswallowme.Onlyitdidn’t.Itdidn’tswallowme.Itspatmebackout.Tothis.
“I’mgonnafuckingkillthemall.”Theswingdoorbangsback,andit’sDanny,stompinginwiththefirstaidboxinhishand.“Fuckingwankerseverylastoneofthem.Youcould’vebeenkilled,andhe’sbusyworryingaboutwhenhisairliftiscoming.Youknowhe’soutthererightnowtryingtogetthroughtoaprivatehelicopterfirm?”
“Theywon’tdoanything,evenifhegetsthrough,”Isay.IchangemypositiononthemakeshiftfootrestDannyhassetupinthecornerofthekitchen,tryingtoignorethepainshootingupanddownmylegasImoveit.“Theycan’t—notinthisweather.Lookatit.”
Iwaveahandatthewindow,wherethewindhaspickedupintoafull-blownblizzard.
“Getthosepeasoffyourankle,”Dannysaysbrusquely,“they’vedefrostedanyway.”
Iholdoutmylegmeeklyasheliftsoffthesoggybagofpeasandstrapsanice-packsleevearoundmythrobbingankle.Ithurts,butinaweirdkindofway,Iwelcomethepain.Itanchorsme,remindingmethatI’mhere,alive.
DannyhasfoundanoldFMradio,andwhilehecooks,Isitquietly,listeningtotheaccountsoftherescueattempts.Therealizationthatkeepsshiveringupanddownmyspineishowincrediblyluckywehavebeen—allofus.Atleasteightbuildingshavebeentotallycrushedbytheavalanche.Fourwereliftstationsthatwereconfirmedempty,sincetheliftshadbeenclosedearlierthatday.Twowerecafésthatarebelievedtohavebeenclosedatthetimetheavalanchehit.Theremainingthreewerechalets.One,muchfartherdownnearSt.AntoineleLac,hasbeenevacuated.Minorinjuries,nofatalities.Nooneknowsabouttheothertwo.Amidquestionsaboutresponsibilityandwhethertheresortauthoritiesshouldhaveactedearlier,thenewscasteremphasizesagainandagainhowfortunateitwasthatsomanypistesandliftswereshut.Eventhefunicularhadonlyfourpeopleinit,andtheyhavebeensafelyevacuateddownthesmashed,glassed-intunnel,buttheannouncerhasalreadysaid,ominously,thatitisgoingtotake“manydaystoassesstherepairs.”Notevencompletetherepairs,assessthem.
Giventhat,amangledswimmingpoolseemslikegettingoffprettylightly.Ifitwasn’tforEva,wewouldbecountingourblessings.Buttheknowledgethatshe’sstillmissingislikeadark,spreadingpoison,gnawingattheedgeofeverything.WhenIshutmyeyes,Icanseeher—buriedindarkness,growingcolderandcolderwitheverymomentthatpasses,wonderingifanyoneiscoming.Ifshe’slucky,theclose-packedsnowwillsuffocateherquickly.Ifshe’snot…
Thethoughtmakesmefeelsuddenlyweakwithfear.
“Howmuchfoodhavewegot?”IaskDanny,tryingtodistractmyselffrommythoughts,andheshakeshisheaddismissively.
“Plenty.Don’tworryaboutthat.TonyStarkdowntheremighthavetogowithoutfreshmilkforafewdays,butthestorecupboard’sgotenoughinitforasiege.”
There’salwaysthepossibilitythatEvagotboredofwaitingforeveryone,skieddownintoSt.Antoinehoursago,andisabsolutelyfine,justunabletocontactus.Butasthehourstickon,that’sstartingtolookmoreandmoreunlikely.Thelandlineandtheinternetarestillbothdown,andthemobilereceptionhasonlyworsenedsincetheavalanche.Theremainingmastspresumablybuckledbeneathahundredweightofsnow,butInigo’sphonecontinuestogetafewerraticbarseverynowandagain.He’shadatextfromhome—justone—andmanagedtoreplysayinghewasokay.Wouldn’tEvahavetextedtosayshewasallrightwhenallthiskickedoff?Wouldn’tshehavefoundaway,somehow,togetwordthrough?
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Itis3:11p.m.whentheelectricitydies.Iamsittingupinmyroom,tryingtoshutoutthenoisesfromdownstairs,whentheroomissuddenlyplungedintodarkness.Ifumbleformyphone,wonderingifabulbhasblown.ThenIhearshoutsofannoyancecomingfromupanddownthecorridor.Itisnotjustme.
“Didyourelectricityjustgooff?”
ItisTopher’svoice,rightoutsidemybedroom.ForamomentIthinkhe’stalkingtome,butthenIhearanansweringdeeprumble:Elliot.
“Fuck,”Tophersays,inresponse.“That’sallweneed.”
Iopenthedoortofindtherestofthegroupcongregatingonthelanding,discussingwhattodobythelightoftheirmobilephonetorches.Intheend,wetraipsedownstairstoconsultErinandDanny.IhangbackasTopherknocksirritablyonthekitchendoor.Heisgrumblingunderhisbreathaboutthefuckingarseendofnowhere.
“What?”Dannyanswers.Hisexpressionisbelligerent.
“Hello,”Tophersays,abruptlychanginghistone.Heisouttocharmnow.Heisnotstupid.Heknowshehasgottogetthesepeopleonhisside.Theeffectisimpressive.Itislikeaswitchbeingflipped.“Sosorrytodisturb,butourelectricity’sgoneout.”
“Youandmeboth,mate,”Dannysaysshortly.
“And,isthereanythingonecando?”Topherasks.He’sstressed,andIcantellbecausehisaccenthasbecomeindefinablymoremonied.
“Notreally.Thebackupgeneratorwasinthepoolhouse.”Dannywavesahandatthedebrisjustvisiblefromthekitchenwindow.Topherswears.Hischarmisslipping.
“Sowejustwaitandfreezetodeath?”
“Notfreeze,”Dannysays.“We’vegotplentyofwood.Youcanstartbyputtingalogonthelivingroomfire.”
Topheropenshismouthlikeheisabouttosaysomething.Thenheseemstothinkbetterofitandclosesitagain.Heturnsandwalksslowlybackthroughtothedarkenedlivingroom.Therestofusfollow.
Inthelounge,TopherflingshimselfontothesofawhileMirandalightscandles.Rikopensupthestove,stirstheembers,andputsanothertwologsontop.
“Great,”Carlsays.“Bloodygreat.Thisisallweneed.We’regonnabefuckingicecubesbythetimetheyfindus.”
“We’llbefine,”Mirandasaysshortly,hervoiceclippedandannoyed.“It’sEvaweneedtoworryabout.”
Eva.Inallthecommotion,Ihadalmostsucceededinforgettingabouther.Mystomachcruncheswithmingledguiltandanxiety.
Thereisalong,horriblepausewhilenooneasksthequestionsthatarerunningintheirheads.Whathashappenedtoher?Wasshecaughtupinthatavalanche?Isshedead?
“Wouldn’tshehave,like,phoned,ifshewereokay?”Anisaysatlast,breakingthesilence.Herusualdiffidenceisevenmorepronounced.“Iknowthere’snotmuchsignal,butjust…like…atext,even?”
“Shemightnothavebeenabletogetthrough,”Mirandasays,butIcantellsheistryingtopersuadeherself,morethanbeingconvincedbyherownargument.
Elliotisstandinginthecorneroftheroom,lookingoutatthedarkeningsnow,andthenhesayssomethingtoTopherinhisdeep,abruptvoiceandleaves.Tophergetsupfromthesofaandfollowshimwithoutaword.
Ifrown,watchingthemgo,watchingtheirshadowsleapandflickerinthelightfromthegutteringcandles.Wherearetheygoing?ThereissomethinginTopher’sexpressionIdon’tlike.Asenseofsuddenpurpose.Anditgivesmeajoltofunease.
ERIN
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“Thisisbad,Erin.”Dannyisrummagingthroughtinsatthebackofthedarkenedkitchen.AsIwatchhim,hestraightensup,runninghishandsoverhisclose-croppedhair.“Thisisvery,verybad.”
“It’llbeokay,”Isay,butthetruthis,I’mlying,andIknowit.Myanklehaspuffeduptotwiceitsusualsizeandstillwon’tbearmyweightproperly.Wehavenolighting,andtheonlyheatisfromthewoodstoves.Dannycan’tevenmicrowaveafrozencurryfordinner.AndEva—butIcan’tthinkaboutthatnow.Ipushtheimageofherwhite,coldfaceawayfromme,lockingitbehindthedoorinmymindwhereIkeepimageslikethat,frozeninice.Ihavetoholdontothepossibilitythatshe’sokay,thatshemadeitdownintothevillageandjusthasn’tbeenabletogetthroughonthephone.Godknows,thereceptionisbadenough.
“Yourfootcouldbebrokenforallweknow,”Dannysays,butIshakemyhead,withaconfidenceIdon’tfeel.
“Idon’tthinkit’sbroken.Ithinkit’sjustbadlysprained.”
“Howthefuckwouldyouknow?”Dannyasks,andthenholdsupahand.“Nevermind,Iforgotyou’reabloodydoctor.Tellmeagainwhatyou’redoingcleaningupafterposhwankersforminimumwage?”
Icouldgiveabouteightdifferentanswerstothis.IcouldremindhimthatI’mnotadoctor,I’mamedicalschooldropout.IcouldtellhimthetruthaboutwhatbroughtmetoSt.Antoine.Icouldgivehimalectureongreenstickfractures.ButIdon’tneedtosayanyofthisbecausehe’sgonebacktolookingthroughthetins.
“Icouldheatupsouporsomethingonthewoodburner,”he’ssaying,hisbrowfurrowedashetriestoreadalabelwiththeaidofhismobilephone.“Jesus,whatacarve-up.”
Theknockmakesusbothjump,andwestareateachother,andthenDannygoestothedoor.It’sTopheragain,buthe’swearingaverydifferentexpressiontotheingratiatingoneheusedtoaskustomagicallyfixthelights.Helooks…I’mnotsure.Idon’tknowhimwellenoughtotell.Hecouldbepissedoff,orgravelyworried.
“Yes?”Dannysaysabruptly,butIheavemyselftomyfeetandhobblepasthim.ThereisareasonDannydoesn’tdealmuchwithfrontofhouse.He’sgotnotactandnopatience.Butthefactisthathoweverbadthesituationis,TopherandSnooparestillourguests,andwestillneedtobehavelikewe’rerepresentingthecompany.
“Topher,”Isay,andthenIseeElliothoveringbehindhim.“Elliot,howcanIhelp?”
“Elliotthinkshe’sfoundEva,”Tophersayswithoutpreamble.
“What?”It’sthelastthingI’dexpected.Questionsjumblethroughmymind.Where?How?“Issheokay?”
“Wedon’tknow.”TopherpushespastmeandDannyandunfoldsalaptop,puttingitdownonthestainless-steelkitchenworktop.Itlightsupthecircleoffaceswithanunearthlyglowashetapsinapassword.Ascreenofgarbledcodecomesup.Itmeansnothingtome.
“Tobeprecise,”it’sElliot’sdeepmonotone,“weknowthelocationofherphone.”
“Herphone?”
“OneofthereasonsIdidn’twanttoagreetothebuyout,”Topherbegins,“isbecauseElliot’sbeenworkingonamajorupdatetohelpmonetizeSnoop.We’recallingitgeosnoopinginbeta,butthatprobablywon’tbethefinalname.Asyoumayknow,Snoopisasanonymousasyouwantittobeatthemoment—youcan’ttellwheresomeoneis,allyou’vegottogooniswhattheydeclareintheirprofile.”
“Right,”Isayslowly.
“ButElliot’sbeenworkingonanupgradethatwillallowpeopletoviewotherSnooperswithinafifty-meterradius.Youwon’tknowexactlywheretheyare,butyou’llknowthey’reclosetoyou.”
“Okay,Igetthat.”
“Ithasn’tgoneliveyet.ButaspartofthepreparationsforrollingitoutwechangedthepermissionsSnooprequirestogivetheappaccesstoyourlocation.BasicallySnoopknowsthatinformationwhetheryouchoosetodisplayitornot—it’spartofthedataprofilewesharewithstakeholderstocreateincome.”
“Right…,”Isayagain,tryingtogethimtocuttothechase.Idon’tcareabouttheinnerworkingsofSnoop,andIthinkIknowwherethisisgoing.“AreyousayingyouusedthisinformationtofindoutEva’slocation?”
“Yes.Elliot’sbeenabletohackintothebackendandgettheGPScoordinatesofEva’sphone.”
“It’shere,”Elliotsays,pullingupaGPSmap,wherearedflagshowsthelocationofthecoordinateshe’stappedintothesearchbar.
AssoonasIseethepin,myheartsinksdownintomystomach,andIfeelmyselfgoingcoldwithdread.
“Whereisitexactly?”Topherissaying,buthisvoicesoundsveryfarawaynow.Dannysuddenlyputsahandtohismouth,andIknowthathehasjustfiguredoutwhatIalreadyknew.
ThepistesaremarkedonElliot’smaps,butnottheelevations,andwithoutthesimplifiedthree-dimensionalrenderingoftheresort’sofficialpistemap,it’snotveryeasytoputtogetherthegeographyofthepeaksandvalleys.Eva’slittledotisshowingveryclosetotheLaSorcièrerun.Socloseinfactthatshecouldalmostbeontherun.
Butshe’snot.Becauseifyou’veskiedtherun,asIhave,manytimes,whatyouknowisthatthereisasheerdroptothesideofLaSorcière.Adropthatfallshundreds,maybethousandsoffeetintoadeep,inaccessiblevalley.Somehow,intheblindingsnow,EvamusthavedoneexactlywhatIfearedinthefirstplace—shehasskiedovertheedge.
“Ifwecangivethesecoordinatestosearchandrescue—”Topherissaying,withthekindofblitheconfidencethatonlytheCEOofamajorinternationalcompanycouldmuster,butIinterrupt.
“I’msorry,Topher,I’msosorry—”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“This—”Iswallow,Itrytofindawayofputtingthenewsthat’snottoobrutal.“Thisdot,it’soffthesideofthepiste.”
“Eva’sanexcellentskier,”Tophersaysconfidently.“Off-piste,eveninthisweather—”
“No,youdon’tunderstand.I’mnottalkingaboutabitofloosesnow.Imeanshe’sskiedoffthepiste.Offtheedge.LaSorcière—”Iswallow.Thereisnowayofsayingthisnicely.“ThatsectionofLaSorcièrerunsalongsideasheerdrop.Averysteepone.”
Topherlooksatmeblankly,unable,orunwilling,tounderstandwhatI’mtryingtotellhim.
“Whatdoyoumean?”hesaysatlast.
“Topher,ifEvaisreallywherethatdotisshowing,she’sdead.”
Iregretthestarknessassoonasthewordshaveleftmymouth,buttheyaresaid,andtheycan’tbeunsaid.
Topher’sfacegoeswhite.ThenheturnstoElliot.
“Howaccurateisthispositioning?”
“GPSistypicallyaccuratetoaboutfivemeters,”Elliotsays.Helooks…God,Idon’tknow.Unperturbedalmost?Canthatbepossible?Surelynot.Noonecouldbethatcallous.Eveniftheywere,wouldn’ttheyatleasttrytofeignsomekindofconcern?“Butyoucangetinterference—bouncedsignalsandsoon.I’mnottotallysurehowthemountainswouldaffectit.It’snotimpossibleit’safewmetersoff.”
“So,what,tenmeters?Shecouldbeonthepiste,”Tophersays,desperately,butwecanallsee,lookingatthemap’sscale,thatthat’snotpossible.Evenfiftymeterswouldn’tputherbackontherun.“Or—orshecouldhavedroppedherphoneskiingdown.”
“Ifshe’ddroppedit,Ithinkitwouldbeontherun,”Isayveryquietly.
“Shecouldhavethrownitofftheedge,forfuck’ssake!”Tophercries.
Noonerespondstothis.It’strue,ofcourse,buttheobviousresponseiswhy,andnoonecanbringthemselvestosayit,notevenElliot,whosimplynodsinacceptanceofthefactthatTopher’sremarkisessentiallycorrect.AllwehavefoundisEva’sphone.It’sjustveryhardtoworkouthowitcouldhavegotwhereitisnowwithoutEva.
“Fuck,”Tophersays.HegropeshiswaytothefootrestIwasusingtopropupmyinjuredfootandsits,asthoughhislegswillnolongerholdhimup.“Fuck.”
“Ifshe’sdead,”Elliotsaysflatly,“whatdoesthatmeanforSnoop?IsEva’shusbandashareholdernow?Willhegetavoteonthebuyout?”
“Fuck!”Topherlookswild-eyed,asifhecan’tbelievewhat’shappened.“Arnaud?I—Idon’tknow!Jesus,Elliot,howcanyou—”
Hebreaksoff…Icanseehisbrainticking.Evennow,belowhisgrief,heisstillSnoop’sfounderasmuch,ifnotmore,thanheisEva’sfriend.
“Isuppose—Iremembernow,whenwesetitup.Therewassomethingaboutthis.Itwassupposedtostopthecompanypassingoutofcontroloftheoriginalshareholderswithouttheiragreement.I’mprettysurethatshareholderscan’tsellorgiveawaytheirshares—theycanonlyofferthemforsaletoEvaandme.Imean—”
Hestops.Swallows.
“Tome.”
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Evaisdead.
Idon’tknowhowthewordgetsout,butoncethewhispersstarttheyarelikefrostcreepingacrossawindow.Sooneveryoneknows.InthelivingroomMirandaandTigerareexchangingurgentwhispers.
“Iknow,”IhearMirandahiss.“Butwehavetofigureoutsomekindannouncementforwhenwe’rebackonline,Tiger.There’snowaywecankeepalidonnewsthisbig,andifitleaks,it’llbeworseinthelongrun.”
“Ican’tbelieveit.”Anicomestositbesidemeonthecouch.Herfaceisswollenandblotched,eveninthedimlightfromthestoveandcandles.“Haveyouheard?”
Inod.Idon’ttrustmyvoice.Inspiteofeverything,inspiteofallthat’shappenedandalltheyearssinceIleftSnoop,myfeelingsarestilltooraw.
“Ican’tbelieveit!”Anirepeatsdesperately.“OhGod,thisisawful.Poor,poorEva.Riksaystheymaynotevenbeabletorecoverabody.OhGodpoorArnaud.Andhedoesn’tevenknow.HowwillhetellRadisson?HowdoyouexplaintoachildofthatagethatMummy’snevercominghome?”
Radisson.Thenamestabsmelikeaknife.IhadalmostforgottenthatEvahadhadachildintheyearssinceweworkedtogether.
“Idon’tknow,”Isayhoarsely.
“Fuckknowswhatthismeansforthebuyout,”Carlsaysmoroselyfromtheotherendoftheroom,andAniroundsonhim.
“Carl!Howcanyoueventhinkaboutthat?”
“Iknow.”Carlholdsuphishands.“Look,I’mnotbeingselfishhere,Iwon’tbegettinganymillion-dollarpayouts,willI.I’mnottalkingaboutthemoney,I’mtalkingaboutthesafetyofthecompany.I’mstillchieflegalofficeratSnoopandIhavetothinkaboutthisstuff.Snoopdoesn’tpoofoutofexistencebecauseEva’shadanaccident.Allouremployeesdon’tgoaway.I’vegotadutytothemandtothecompany.I’dbesayingthesameifitwasmewhoskiedoffacliff.Well,Imean,assumingIcouldstilltalk.”
“Carl’sright.”Rikcomesupbehindusunexpectedly,loomingoutoftheshadows,andputshishandonhiscolleague’sshoulder.Hisface,inthecandlelight,looksuneasy.“Howevercrasslyhe’sphrasedit.Eva’sdeathisatragedy—there’sabsolutelynodoubtaboutthat—butinthecoldestpossibleway,it’sgotverylittletodowithSnoop.Thecompanyisacompletelyseparateentitytoanyofus—evenEvaandTopher.Thebuyoutofferisstillonthetable.Theclock’sstillticking.Westillhavetocomeupwithananswer.Eva’sdeathdoesn’tchangethat.”
“Well…itdoeschangeonething,doesn’tit,mate?”Carlsays.ThereissomethinginhisvoiceIdon’tquitelike.Itisakindofgrimness.Riklookspuzzled.
“Sorry,I’mnotsurewhatyou’regettingat?Eva’ssharesyoumean?They’llgotoherhusbandIassume.”
“Excepttheywon’t,”Carlsaysflatly.
“What?Idon’tunderstandwhatyoumean.EvenifEva’sintestate,Arnaudwouldstillstandtogeteverything,andhe’llcertainlywanttoacceptthebuyoutnow,won’the?”
“Shareholdersagreement,”Carlsays.WhenRikstilllooksblank,hespellsitout.“Whenthecompanywassetuptherewasaclauseintheoriginalpaperworktosaythatnoonecouldpasstheirsharestoanoutsider.You’reashareholdermate,didn’tyouknowthis?”
“What?”Riksays,moreforcefully.“No,Ididn’tknowthis!Whythefuckwouldanyonethinkthatwasagoodidea?”
“It’squitecommon,”Carlsayswithashrug.“InfactI’dgoasfarassayingit’sgoodpractice.Stopsthecompanypassingintothehandsoftwatsandplonkers.Meanstheoriginalfounderscan’tbeforcedoutwithouttheirconsent,thatkindofthing.TopherandEvasetitupthatwaysothissortofthingcouldn’thappen—youknow,ifsomeonegetsdivorcedandhastogiveuphalftheirassets,youdon’tnecessarilywanttheirloonyextohavevotingrights.”
“Sowhatthefuckareyousaying?”Riksays.Helookshorrified.“Eva’ssharesdisappearonherdeath?”
“Nah,theystillexist.ButArnaudhastosellthemtoTopher.”
“ToTopher?Whynottotherestofus?”
“BecausethisagreementpredatesyouandElliotcomingonboard,”Carlsaysshortly.“Thisishowtheysetitupbackwhenitwasjustthetwoofthem.Itwasneverupdatedwhentheyissuedmoreshares.”
“So…TopherwillhavetobuyoutArnaud?”Mirandasays.ShecomestositbesideRik,herbrowfurrowed.“Except,well…”Shestops,significantly,andexchangesalookwithRik.
“Excepthecan’t,”Riksaysbluntly.“Hedoesn’thaveenoughliquidity.Idon’tthinkthat’sanybigsecret,isit?Sowhatdoesthatmean?”
“There’saninsurancepolicytocoverthecost.Atleastthereshouldbe,assumingtheykeptupthepayments.They’llhavetobeindependentlyvalued,andArnaud’llgetwhateverthevaluersthreshout,Iimagine.Noideahowthey’lltakethebuyoutintoconsideration.That’sfortheinsurerstodecideIsuppose.”
“Sowait,whatyou’resayingis…”Riklooksthunderstruck.“Whatyou’retellingme—”
“IsTopher’svotingsharejustgotincreasedtosixtypercent.Yup,that’saboutthesizeofit,”Carlconfirms.
Thereisdeathlysilenceintheroom.
Mirandalooksstricken.
Rikturnsandwalksoutthedoor.
ERIN
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ThenewsofEva’sdeathislikeapebblethrownintoapond.No,notapebble—arock.Firstthereisthegod-awful,bone-shakingimpact,andthentheripplesofreaction,radiatingoutfromthatoriginalcatastrophe,andthenrebounding,interacting,magnifying,andnegatingoneanother.
AsDannyandIserveoutsouptotheguestsinthesilent,candlelitdiningroom,Ican’thelpwatchingthem,thewaythey’retryingtomakesenseofEva’sdisappearanceintheirownindividualways.
Someofthemareindeepdenial.Inigo,forinstance,refusestobelievetheGPSevidence.“ShecouldstillbedowninSt.Antoine,”hekeepsrepeating.“GPSiswrongallthetimeandanyway,evenifherphoneissomewhere—whatdoesthatprove?”
Someofthemseemtohavebeenstruckdumbbythetragedy.Tigerhardlyeats.Shejustsits,headbowedoverheruntouchedsoup,lettingthenoiseofthegroupwashoverherasiftheothersaren’teventhere.
Someofthemlookstunned.Aniseemsonlyhalfawareofwhat’sgoingon;shecrumblesherbreadandmakesinaneremarkstonooneinparticular.Lizlookswhiteandshocked,andbarelyspeaks.
Butsomeofthemdon’tseemtobeaffectedatall.Elliot,forinstance,isspooninghissoupwithapokerfaceandmuchgusto,asifthetragedyhadneverhappened.Hislackofreactionisalmostdisturbing,thoughwhenAniburstsout,“Elliot,don’tyoucare?”helooksgenuinelysurprised.
“OfcourseIcare,”hesays.“Istillhavetoeatdinner.”
It’sTopherwhomygazekeepsreturningto.Topher,whohaslostapartner,andgainedacompany.
ForSnoopisnowinTopher’scompletecontrol,thatseemsprettyclear,andforallhiswild-eyedgriefinthekitchenearlier,hedoesn’tseemthatshakenbythenewsthatheisnowthemajorityshareholderinabillion-dollarcompany.Infact,heseemstohavetakenitinhisstride,feedingonitalmost,asifhispersonalityhasexpandedtofillthevacuumleftbyEva’sabsence.AsIclearthesoupbowlsandrefillthewineglasses—atleastwinedoesn’tneedcookingorrefrigeration—hepicksuphisglassanddownsit,laughingwildlyashedoes.Hehasbeendrinkingalot,throwingbackglassafterglassasheregalesthesilentTigerwithsometaleofhisandEva’sexploitswhentheyfirststartedthecompany.Andthethingis,Icanseeit—IseethereasonwhytheymadethismanCEO.Iseetheconfidencethatledhimtothinkhecouldtakeawild,improbableideainacrowdedmarket—andmakeitintoabillion-dollarproposition.SomethingIneverquiteunderstoodbefore—howsomeonewouldhavethechutzpahtodothis,andallbeforetheirthirtiethbirthday—issuddenlyplain.
Rikontheotherhandseemstohaveshrunk.Helooksbewildered,punch-drunk,likeamanwho’slosteverythingwhich,inasense,Isupposehehas.WithTopherincharge,thatbillion-dollarbuyoutismeltingaway,leavinghimwith…what?Sharesinacompanyhetriedtoselloutfromunderthefounder?Apositionunderaleaderhedoesn’ttrust?Ican’tseehimsurvivingmuchlongerinhispostwhentheygetbacktotheUK,bestfriendornobestfriend.Topherdoesn’tstrikemeasthekindofmanwhowouldforgiveorforgetthekindofcoupRikandEvawereattemptingtopull.
What’smoreimpressiveisthatCarlandMiranda,whomighteasilyhaveswitchedloyaltieswhentheysawwhichwaythewindwasblowing,haveinsteadbothralliedaroundRik.DotheyreallybelieveSnoopisdoomedwithoutEvaatthehelm?Eitherway,theyarenotsidingwithTopher,thatmuchisplain.InsteadtheysiteithersideofRik,likechesspiecesguardingtheirking.
Butitfeelslikethematchisover.Theyhavelosttheirqueen.Foroncemorethereisaspaceatthetable,anemptyplace.NotTopher’sthistime,butEva’s,heremptychairaconstantpainfulreminderofwhathashappened,notlettinganyoneforget,evenforasecond.
Thechaletisstillrelativelywarminspiteofthepowercutandthetemperaturedropoutside.Itsthermalinsulationandtripleglazingmeansthattheheatfromearlierinthedayisstillenoughtomakethebedroomsbearable,whilethetwologburnersdownstairskeepthelivingroomanddiningroomtoasty.
Nevertheless,Idistributeextrablanketsandduvetsbeforebed,limpingfromdoortodoorwithatorchclampedundermyelbow,clutchingarmfulsofthesparebeddingwekeepforemergencies,alongwiththermosflasksofhotchocolate.
I’mabouttoknockonthesecond-to-lastdoorwhenDanny,trailingbehindmewithastackofblankets,says,“Erin,mate—”withawarningnoteinhisvoice.
AndIstop.It’sEva’sdoor.
Andsomehowthatonesimplethingcatchesmelikeablowtothestomach,areminderoftherealityofwhathashappenedhere.Anavalanche.Adeath.WillPerce-Neigeeverrecoverfromthesetwindisasters?It’shardtoimaginepeoplereadingnewslikethisintheirSundaypaperandthenturningtobookaholiday,butthen,St.Antoineisn’tthefirstalpineresorttoexperiencetragedyintheformofanavalanche.Ithappensalmosteveryyear,infacttherewasanother,similarfalljustuptheroadearlierintheseason.
“Mate?”Dannysays,andIrealizeIhavestoppedstock-still,lostinthought.
“Sorry,”Isaystupidly.“I—Iwasn’tkeepingtrack—I—”
“Youallright?”Dannyasksuneasily.“Youshouldbesittingdown,I’mnothappyaboutyouwalkingonthatankle.”
“I’mfine,”Isayshortly.Thetruthisthatmyankleishurting.Alot.Danny’sprobablyright,andIshouldn’tbeputtingweightonit.ButIcan’tbeartositaloneandsilentinthedarknessofthestaffquarters,feelingitthrob,thinkingaboutwhat’shappenedandwhat’sgoingtohappen.I’mbetteroffworking;somehowtheendlesstaskskeepmythoughtsatbay.Plus,morepractically,guestinteractionisn’tDanny’sstrongsuit.They’veforgivenhimforhistactlessnessinthewakeoftheavalanche,atleastIhopetheyhave,butourrolesarefirmlybackinplacenow.We’reheretobepolite,goodhosts,eveninthesecircumstances.Perhapsespeciallyinthesecircumstances.Itfeelslikeeverythingiscrumbling—andourordainedrolesaretheonlythingwehavelefttohangonto.DannyandImustremainincharge.Ifwedon’tkeepthatauthority,ifweletTophertakeover—well,Idon’tliketothinkabouthowthesituationcouldplayout.
There’sjustonedoorleft.Topher’s.AndIhitchmyarmfulofblanketsalittlehigherbeforeIknock.
He’sdrunk,Icantellthatwhenthedooropens.He’swearingarobe,opentothewaistinspiteofthecold,andholdingabottle.Andhe’snotalone.Withtheoverheadlightout,Ican’tseewho’sinside,butI’vegotahorriblefeelingitmightbelittleAni,whodidn’topenherdoorwhenIknockedafewminutesago.IwanttotellhertheanswertoherdistressoverEvadoesn’tlieinTopher’sbed—butIcan’t.It’snoneofmybusiness.She’sthesameageasme,she’saguest,notafriend,andIhavenorighttotellherwhattodo,evenifIthinkshe’smakingafairlyhugemistake.
“Ellen,”heslurs.“Whyhello.Whatbringsyoutomyroomatthislatehour?It’sabitlatetobetuckingpeoplein.”
“Extrablankets,”Isaywithmybestcheerfulsmile.“Justincasethetemperaturedropsovernight.Can’thaveyouallfreezingtodeathonmywatch.”
“I’lltellyouasecret…”Topherleansin,confidentially,hisrobegapingtoshowasmatteringofdarkblondchesthair.“Thebestsurvivalkitisanakedwoman.”
Oh,ffs.
Icanfeelmysmilethin.
“Well,I’mafraidtheservicedoesn’textendtothat.”
“I’vealreadygotthatpartsorted,”hesays,buthereachesoutfortheblanketsI’mholding,swayingslightlyashedoes.
I’mabouttoturnandleavewhenhesays,outoftheblue,“Don’tIknowyou?”
“Idon’tthinkso,”Isayfirmly.
“No,Ido…I’veseenyousomewherebefore.DidyouwaitressinLondonbeforeyoucamehere?”
“Sadly,no.”
“Ido,”hepersists.“Iknowyou.I’vethoughtitsinceIfirstarrived.”
“Mate,shesaidshedoesn’tknowyou,andyou’repissed,”Dannybreaksin,pushingpastmyshouldertostandinfrontofme.Topherstepsforwardtoo,hisexpressionturninguglyinlesstimethanittakesformetothink,Ohshit.
Dannybuncheshisfists,thetendonsinhisneckstandingoutlikecords,andforaminutethetwomenjuststandthere,chesttochest.Ifeelmyheartthudding.DannycannothitTopher.Hewillgetfired.
ButTopherknowswhenhe’sonthinice,andit’shewhostepsback,withalaughthat’sjusttherightsideofingratiating.
“Mymistake.Mate.”
Andthenheclosesthedoor,andDannyandIareleftstanding,lookingateachother,wonderinghowmuchlongerthiscangoon,beforetheicecracks.
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WhenIwakeup,itiscold.ThatisthefirstthingInotice.Itisasharpcontrasttoyesterday,whenIwokewithadrymouthandthefeelingofhavingsleptallnightinaroomafewdegreeswarmerthanmybedroomathome.
Ireachoutandtakeasipofthewateronmybedsidetable.Itischilled,asifithasbeeninthefridge.
UndertheextraduvetsErindroppedoffIamstillrelativelycomfortable,butIamnotlookingforwardtogettingdressed.IntheendIreachoutandgrabthecomplimentarytowelingrobeofftheendofthebed,draggingitunderthecoverswithmetowarmupbeforeIputiton.IrememberdoingthesamethinginmychildhoodbedroomwhenIwasgrowingup,pullingmyschooluniformunderthecoverstogetdressed.Theroomwasinabadlyconvertedloft,andinwinteritwasalmostlikesleepingoutdoors.WhenIwokeinthemorningandbreathedout,therewouldbeacloudofwhitehangingintheair.Atnightthemoistureusedtocondenseontheslopingceilingandthenfreeze,sothatIwouldwaketolittlerunnelsoficeonthewallaboveme.Thisisnotasbadasthat.Iaminaluxuriouschalet,notaVictorianterraceinCrawley,forastart.Butasfarastemperaturegoes,itisstillpainfullychilly.
Ipickupmyphoneandpeeratthescreen.Itis7:19.Thebatteryisdownto15percentbutIbarelyhavetimetoworryaboutthatfactbecauseIamdistractedbysomething.
Ihaveanotification.
Atsomepointinthenightmyphonehasmanagedtoconnecttotheinternet.Thereceptionisgonenow,thebarsgrayedouttozero,butthatnotificationisstillthere,provingthatatleastforamoment,therewasaflickerofconnection.
ThesecondsurpriseisthatitisfromSnoop.InevergetnotificationsfromSnoop.Youonlygetanotificationifyougetanewsubscribertoyourfeed,andIneverdo.
Only…nowIhave.Atsomepointinthenight,someonesnoopedme.I’mnotevensurehow,sinceIwasn’tlisteningtoanything.Ihadnoideathatwaspossible.AlthoughmaybewhentheWi-FiconnecteditsomehowrestartedmystreamwhereIleftoff,justforaminute?
Therealizationgivesmeanoddfeeling.Thereisnowaytoknowwhoitwas—youcanonlyseewhoissnoopingyouinrealtime;oncetheylogofftheconnectionissevered,onlythenumberremains.ThenIdismisstheissuefrommymind.Inallprobabilityitwasabotoraserverglitch,orsomeonemistypingtheIDofsomeonetheyactuallywantedtofollow.
Downstairstheroomsarequietbutconsiderablywarmer,andthere’sapileofwhatIimaginemustbeyesterday’scroissantskeepingwarmbythewoodburnerinthelobby,andtwobigthermosflaskssittingonthehearth.
IpickupacroissantandgothroughtothelivingroomtowarmmyhandsatthefirewhileIeatit.IassumeIamalone.ButthensomethingcatchesmyeyeandIturntoseeElliot,seatedinanarmchair,bentoverhislaptop.Thesightsurprisesmefortworeasons—one,hislaptopisonandseemstobepluggedin.Andtwo,Elliotalmostnevercomesoutofhisroomexceptformeals.Infact,whenIwasworkingatSnoop,hedidn’tevenleavehisofficeforthose.Hegotwhoeverwasdoingworkexperiencetobringhimtakeout—thesamethingeveryday,blackcoffeeandthreePretcheese-and-baconcroissants.Itmusthavebeenveryinconvenientwhentheystoppedservingcroissantsalldayandmovedthemtothebreakfastmenu.Ifindmyselfwonderingwhathedid.Changedhislunch?SomehowIcan’timaginethat.Maybehestartedsendingtheworkexperiencepersonoutat10:00a.m.
Idon’tnormallytalktoElliot.Heisveryhardtomakeconversationwith,thoughperhapsthatisnotmyfault.Evaoncetoldmethathedivideswomenintooneshewouldliketosleepwithandoneswhoarenotofinteresttohim.Iamdefinitelyinthelattercategory.ButnowIpluckupmycourage.
“Hi,Elliot.”
“Hello,Liz.”Hesaysitflatly,butIknowhimwellenoughtoknowthat’snotameasureofhisenthusiasm.Hegreetseveryonelikethat,evenTopher,whoisprobablyhisfavoritehumanbeingoutofanyone.
“Howcomeyourlaptopisworking?”
“Ialwayscarryabatterypack.”Heholdsitup,achunkythingthesizeofabrickthatispluggedintothepowerportofhiscomputer.Ofcourse.HowlikeElliottoleavenothingtochance.
“Butyou’vegotnointernet,right?”
“No,”heagrees.“ButIdon’tneeditforcoding.”
“Whatareyouworkingon?”
“Thegeosnoopupdate.”Hisnormallypalefaceflusheswithexcitementalittlebit,andhelaunchesoffintoalongexplanationIdon’tcompletelyfollowaboutgeotracking,adpartners,informationstorage,GDPR,andthetechnicalchallengesofmakingallthoseelementsworkwiththelawandtheexistingSnoopinterface.Inodalong,feigningmoreinterestthanIreallyfeel.TheonlythingIreallycareaboutisthefactthatheusedthistechnologytofindEva.Somehowthatseemsunbearablypoignant—thatherownappmaybewhatleadssearchandrescuetoherbody.
“Isee,”Isayatlast,asElliotgrindstoahalt.“Itsoundsvery…exciting.”Itrytomakemyvoicesoundconvincing,butElliotdoesn’treallyseemtocare.It’snotlikeheevershowsmuchexpressionofhisownfeelings.
“Nowifyoudon’tmind,Ineedtowork,”hesaysabruptly,withthedirectnessthatissodisconcerting.
“Sorry,”Isay.“Ithoughtmaybeyoucamedowntochat.”
“Icamedownbecauseit’stoocoldtotypeinmyroom,”hesays,andthenheputshisheadphoneson,andhisfingersbegintoclatteracrossthekeyboardoncemore.
Ishouldbeoffended.IfeellikeIoughttobe.ButI’mnot.Hemaybedirecttothepointofrudeness,butrightnow,thereissomethingreassuringaboutthat.WithElliot,therearenosecretcodestounravel,nohiddenmeanings,noweightofexpectation.Ifhewantsyoutoknowsomething,hesaysit.Ifhewantssomethingtohappen,hetellsyou.Justatthemoment,thereissomethingcomfortingaboutit,incontrasttothesmoke-and-mirrorworldofTopherandEva,whereyouneverknowquitewhereyoustand.Sometimes,backintheearlydaysatSnoop,theywouldremindmeofmyparents—thewayitwouldallbesweetnessandlightinfrontofvisitors,andthenscreamingandthreatswhenthecompanyhadleft.AtleastwhenElliotsays,“Haveyougotaproblemwiththat?”youknowhegenuinelywantsananswer.
Whenmyfathersaidit,therewasonlyoneansweryouwereallowedtogive:No,Daddy.Andthengetoutofthewayasfastaspossible,beforetheblowlanded.
I’mnibblingontheedgeofthecroissant,staringintotheflamesofthewoodburner,whenanoisebehindmemakesmejump.Thecroissantfallstothefloorinashowerofcrumbs.Ipickitup.ThenIturntoseeRikandMirandacomingintotheroom.Riklookslikehehasn’tslept.
“Howareyou?”hesaystomeabruptly,ashesitsbesideme.I’mtakenaback,notsurewhattoanswer.It’stheperfectillustrationofthedifferencebetweenRikandElliot.IfElliotwereaskingIwouldknowwhathemeant—onlyElliotwouldlikelyneverask,becausehewouldunderstandtheimpossibilityofthequestion.ButwhenRikasks,itbecomesapuzzletodecode.Whatdoeshemean?DoeshewanttoknowhowIfeelaboutEva’sdeath?HowcanIsumthatupinasimpleanswer?Orishejustaskinginthemeaninglesswaythatpeopledo,onlywantingtheanswerfine?
“I’m…I’mokay,”Isaycautiously.“Considering.”
“Really?”Riklooksatme,surprised.“You’reabiggerpersonthanme.”HeglancesacrossatElliotandthenlowershisvoice,thoughElliotisstillwearinghisbignoise-cancelingheadphones,andIdoubthecanhearathing.“Havingthatkindofmoneydangledunderyournoseandthensnatchedaway…”
Suddenlytherealmeaningofhisquestionisclear.HewantstotalkaboutTopher.Aboutwhatthisshiftinpowermeansforthebuyout.
“I…Ihadn’treallythoughtaboutit,”Isay,andit’sthetruth…inaway.IwouldbelyingifIclaimedIhadn’twonderedwhatwouldhappennowthatTophercontrolsthecompany.Butsomehowthemoneyneverfeltthatrealtome.IneverfeltIhadearnedit.Itdoesn’tfeellikeIhadanythingtakenaway—justlikeIhadastrangedream,andthenwokeuptoreality.Only,this—theavalanche,Eva’sdeath,thisdoesn’tfeellikerealityeither.Morelikewakingfromadreamtofindyourselfinanequallysurrealnightmare.
“Buthadn’tyoumadeplans?Bankedonthemoney?”
“Notreally,”Isay,slowly.“Tobehonest,Ihadn’treallycometotermswiththeideathatitwasgoingtohappenanyway.”
“Jesus.”Riksays.Helooksannoyed.IthinkI’vesaidthewrongthing,butIdon’tknowhow.Asenseofpanicsetsin.ItisthesamesenseIalwaysgotwithmyfather.ThatIwoulddoorsaythewrongthing.Thathewouldtakeitoutonmymother.“CouldyoucuttheMotherTeresaact,Liz?We’velosteverything.Don’tyougetthat?”
“W-wehaven’tlosteverythingthough,surely?Imean,we’vestillgottheshares.”
“Theshares!”Rikgivesashort,barkinglaugh.“Liz,didyoulistentothePandLfiguresIgaveoutyesterday?We’llbeluckyifSnoopmakesittotheyear-endattherateTopher’sgoing,andwithoutEvatoreassureinvestors,that’sonlygoingtogetworse.”
“But,theupdate,”Isay,althoughIknowIamscrabblingforreassurancenow.“Elliot’sgeosnoopingthing—isn’tthewholepointofthattomakeSnoopmoreprofitable?”
“Fromarevenuepointofview,we’vealreadygotthatinformation,we’vehaditsincethepermissionschangedlastyear.HowElliotintegratesitintotheappmaymakeadifferencetotheuserexperience,butusersatisfactionhasneverbeenourproblem,theissuehasalwaysbeenmonetizingthat.Fromaninvestorperspective,rollingoutthegeosnoopupdatewon’tmakeadifference—alltheaddedvalueisalreadythere.Andanyway”—heglancesoverhisshoulderatElliot,whoisstilltypingaway—“I’vegotconcernsaboutthatupdate.Idon’tthinkpeoplerealizehowmuchinformationSnoopisgatheringonthem.Ithinkwhenthisupdatemakestheleveloftrackingvisible,wemighthaveabacklashonourhands.”
“OneofSnoop’sUSPshasalwaysbeenitslighttouch,”Mirandasays,cominginfromthelobbywithacupofcoffeeinherhand.Shetakesasipandmakesaface.Ithinkitisthetasteofthecoffeethatsheisreactingto.Thoughitcouldbetheprospectoftheupdate.“Peoplelikethefactthatyoucanbeasanonymousasyouwant,it’spartofwhatkeepscelebritiescomingback.I’mnotsurehowmanypeopleclockedthechangeinpermissionsandreallyrealizedwhatitmeant,becausenothingchangedattheuserend.Butthisupdateisgoingtomakeitveryobvious.UserswillseeexactlyhowmuchSnoopknowsabouttheirmovements.ItoldTopherandElliotatthetimethattherewasabigPRriskwithallofthis,butthey’rebothsofocusedonthecooltechysideofit—”
ShestopsandglancesagainatElliot.Heisstillheaddown,tappingawaywithhisearphoneson.
“Anyway,nevermind.Thisprobablyisn’tthetimeorplacetohavethisdiscussion.It’stoo…soon.”ShesitsbesidemeandRikandtakesanothersipofcoffee,thenputsthecupaside.“Howareyou?”shesaystome.Icanhardlypreventmyselffromrollingmyeyes.Itseemslikeeveryoneisaskingthatquestion,whenwhattheyreallywanttoknowis,Whatareyouthinking.
IamsavedfromansweringbyElliot,whostandsunexpectedly,clickinghislaptopclosed,andpullingoffhisheadphones.Helooks…tense.Whichisunusual.Hedoesn’tshowemotioneasily.
“Okay,Elliot?”Mirandasaysbrightly.IcantellsheiswonderinghowmuchElliotheardofourconversation.
“Erin’sputoutcoffeeinthelobbyifyouwantit,”sheadds,butheignorestheremark.
“DoyouknowwhereTophis?Ineedtospeaktohim.”
“He’sstillinhisroom,Ithink,”Riksays.Heisfrowning.Icanimaginehimrunningoverourconversationinhishead,tryingtoworkoutifhesaidanythingincriminatingandwhatElliotmightbeabouttopassbacktoTopher.“Butwait,”headds,asElliotheadspurposefullytowardsthestairs.“Iwouldn’tgoupthere,Ithinkhe’sgot…company—”
Butitistoolate.EitherElliotdidn’thear,orhedoesn’tcare.Hedoesn’treplytoRik’swarning.Thelastwehearofhimishisheavyfootsteps,thumpingupthespiralstaircasetowardsthebedrooms.
ERIN
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“Oh,hey,Erin.”
I’mputtingoutanotherthermosofcoffeewhenAnitrailsintothediningroom,smiling.Shelookslikeshe’snotsleptalot.Ihopeyouknowwhatyou’redoing,Iwanttotellher,butIdon’t.
“Morning,Ani.CanIgetyoucoffee?Theespressomachineisn’tworking,butDanny’smanagedtorigupakettleonthewoodburnersowe’vegothotFrenchpress.
“Ooh,yesplease,”Anisays.“CouldyoutakeacupuptoTopher?”
“Sure.”
“Oh,Imean,unless…how’syourankle?”sheadds,flusteredathavingslippedsoeasilybackintoguest-and-servermode.“Icantakeitupifyou’renot—”
Shestops.Everyonehasbeenthrownoff-kilterbythestrangenessofoursetuphere.Arewefellowsurvivors,orstillholidaymakersandstaff?Idon’tknowmyself,butIdoknowthatit’sgoingtobeeasierforeveryoneifwesticktothenormalprotocols.Someoneneedstobeincharge,andtobeperfectlyhonest,I’dpreferitifthatsomeonewereme,notTopher.
“It’sloadsbetter,thanks,”Ilie.“Icanmanagethestairs,noproblem.”
“Butyoushouldn’thaveto,”Anisays,makinguphermind.“I’lltakeitup.”
“Areyousure?”
“Yes,totally.I’lltakeoneforElliottoo.Hemustbefreezingupthere.”
Shepoursoutthreecupfulsandcarriesthemcarefullyupthespiralstaircasetothebedrooms.
By10:00a.m.everyoneisawake,andDannyandImakethedecisiontosummonalltheguestsintothelobbyforameeting.There’snorealnews,andtheweatherisstilltoounpredictableforahelicoptertolandonournarrowsliceofmountainside,butlocalradioreportshavebeensayingthatsearchandrescueforcasualtiesisongoing,andthatEDFareworkingonrestoringpowertooutlyinghamlets.Wearenottheonlypeopletrappedwithoutelectricity,bythesoundofit.Infactwe’reconsiderablybetteroffthansome.Butitfeelslikeagoodideatoreassureeveryonethatprogressisbeingmade,andtostressthatwehaveenoughfoodandwatertoseeusthroughuntiltheyeitherrestorethefunicular,orgetahelicopteruptoairliftusout.
Wealsohavetodiscusstheelephantintheroom—Eva’sdeath.AlthoughtherumorhasgonearoundthegroupandeveryoneseemstohavelearnedofElliot’sconclusions,neitherDannynorIhaveformallyacknowledgedtheissue.I’vebeenputtingitoff,unabletofacetherealityofwhathashappened,butthetimehascomethatwereallyhavetomakeanannouncement,makeitclearthatwe’retryingourbesttocontacttheauthoritiesandalertthemtowhat’shappened,butatthesametimeputtorestanyfalsehopes,dispelanyfantasiesthatshe’sgoingtocomelimpingoverthehorizonatanymoment.
Dannybeatsthegonginthelobby,sendingitsdeafeningcrescendoringingaroundtherafters,andwhenatlasteveryoneisgatheredItapaspoonagainstacoffeecupandwaitforsilence.
“Hi,um,hieveryone.Sorryfordraggingyououtofyourroomslikethis,butDannyandIjustwantedtogiveyouanupdateonoursituation.Dannyspentthemorningtrekkingouttoourtwoclosestchalets,whichunfortunately—orperhapsfortunately,fortheinhabitants—seemtobeunoccupied.Oneisverybadlydamaged,butitdoesn’tlooklikeanyonewasthereatthetimeoftheavalanche.Theotheronewasoutofthepathofthefallsoit’sfine,butagain,there’snoonehome.Wewerehopingtofindsomeonewithatwo-wayradioorasatellitephone,butit’snotlookinggoodsofar.There’sonemorechaletupatthislevel,butit’saboutthreemilesaway,soDanny’sgoingtowaituntiltheweatherclearsbeforeheheadsouttocheckonthatone.”
“Andhaveyoumanagedtomakecontactwithsearchandrescue?”Riksays.
“Yesandno,”Isay.“Asyouknow,Inigomadecontactyesterdayandtoldthemaboutoursituation,butwehaven’tbeenabletogetthroughsince,andwithoutaccesstoasatellitephone,Idon’tthinkthat’sgoingtohappenuntilthepowerisrestored.Thepowercutseemstohavewipedouttheremainingmobilephonereception.Butthekeythingisthattheydoknowwe’rehere.WeknowfromwhatInigosaidthatwe’reontheirlist,wejusthavetobepatientwhiletheyworkthroughthemorecriticalrescues.”
“DotheyknowaboutEvathough?”ThequestioncomesfromTiger,hervoiceevenmorehuskythanusual,asifsheisholdingbackastrongemotion,andasilencefallsovertheroomasItrytoanswerit.
“Inigotoldthemthat’sshe’smissingyes.Buttheydon’tknowthelatest.However—”
Istopandswallow.Iknewthiswouldbehard,butthisisridiculouslyhard.IseeLiz’seyes,luminouswithdistress,reflectingbackatmefromtheothersideoftheroom,Topher’sanguishedface;AnishadinghereyeswithahandtohidethesuddentearsthatTiger’squestionhasprovoked.Itakeabreath,steadymyselfonthearmofachair,tryingtotaketheweightoffmyankle,givemyselfspacetofindtherightwords.WhatIwanttotrytotellthemisthatevenifwecangetElliot’sinformationtothesearchandrescueteam,it’snotgoingtohelp.Eva’salreadydead,andnowshe’sprobablyunderthousandsoftonnesofsnowaswell.Thereisnochanceofanyonerescuingheralive;infact,there’snotevenanycertaintythattheywillbeabletorecoverherbody.Someofthehighpassesnevermelt,eveninsummer.IfEvaisburiedatthebottomofoneofthesteepravines,well,that’sit.Therearen’tenoughresourcesandmoneyintheworldtomakethatrecovery.
“Thepositionshe’sin—”Istop,swallowagain,butbeforeIcanfindwordstogoon,Carlisinterrupting.
“Howdoweknowshe’sdefinitelytherethough?”Hisexpressionistruculent.“Imeanthiswholeplacehasshitphonereception.HowcanElliotsaythosecoordinatesareright?”
IlookaroundforElliot.Whereishe?
“MyunderstandingisthatGPSdoesn’trelyonphonereception,”Ifumble,stilldesperatelyscanningtheroomforhisface,willinghimtostepinandexplainthetechnicalitiesofhowSnoopgetsitsgeolocationinformation.Iamwayoutofmydepthhere.“Imeanobviouslyyouhavetorelaythepositioning,youcan’tdothatwithoutsomekindofinformationexchange,buttheGPScoordinatesthemselvesdon’trelyonmobiletowersforaccuracy,they’re…satellite,Ithink?Isthatright,Elliot?”ButIcan’tseehim.“WhereisElliot?”
Otherpeoplearelookingaroundnow,askingthemselvesthesamequestion.
“HewasupinhisroomwhenIlastsawhim,”Anisays,frowning.“Hewasworkingonsomething.He’sprobablygothisheadphoneson,didn’thearthegong.I’llgoandgethim.”
SheturnsandrunslightlyupthespiralstaircaseandwehearherfootstepsrecedingdownthecorridortowardsElliot’sroom,andtherat-a-tatonhisdoor.
Noanswer.Sheknocksagain,moreloudly,andthencalls,“Elliot?”throughthewood.
Thereisapause.Iimaginehercautiouslyopeningthedoor,venturingforwardstotapElliotontheshoulder…butmymentalpictureisbrokenintoshardsbyascream.Andnotjustalittleshriekofsurpriseeither.Thisisafull-throatedpanic-cry.
Withmyinjuredankle,I’mnotfirstupthestairs.Topher,Rik,Danny,andMirandaareaheadofme,andLizandCarlbothjostlepastmehalfwayup.BythetimeIreachthefirstfloorIcanhearAni’ssobbingcriesof“OhGod,he’sdead,he’sdead!”andTopher’sbrusque,impatient,“Stopbeinghysterical.”
WhenIfinallymakeittotheendofthecorridorandpushmywayintoElliot’sroom,everythinglookscompletelynormal,exceptfortwothings.
Elliotislyingslumpedacrossthelittledeskbythewindow.Heisfacedowninapoolofblackcoffee,spilledfromacuptippedonitsside.
Nexttohisdesk,onatowelonthefloor,ishiscomputer,andithasbeensmashedtopieces.
LIZ
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Elliotisdead.Youcantellthatwithouteventouchinghim.Thereissomethingabouttheunnaturalwayheisslumped,onearmhanginglimp,thespilledcoffeepoolingaroundhisfaceandinhiseyes.
Butitisnotonlythat.Itiswhathashappenedtohiscomputerthatmakesitclear.Elliotwouldhavediedbeforeheletanyonetouchthatcomputer.
Ithasbeen—wreckeddoesn’tseemtherightword.Ithasbeenobliterated.Thekeyboardhasbeenrippedoff,revealingtheinnerworkingsofthedevice.Thescreenhascracked,andadarkstainisspreadingacrosstheLCD.Andfinally,theharddrivehasbeenpulledout,crackedopen,andbentandtwistedbeyondallrecognition.
“What—”Topher’sfaceiswhiteandstark.HelooksmorefrightenedthanIhaveeverseenhim.“What’shappened?OhmyGod,ohGod,ohJesus—hewantedtotellmesomethingandIdidn’t—Iwouldn’tlet—ohGod…”
Hestumblesfromtheroom.Helookslikehemightbesick.
Aniappearsstruckcompletelydumbbythediscovery.Shesimplystandsthere,gaping,tearsstreamingsilentlydownherface,untilTigertakesherarmandleadsheraway.
ItisErinwhospeaks.
“Everyone,out.”
“What?”Carlsaysitstupidly.Helookslikeaboxerwhohastakentoomanyblowstothehead.
“Out.Outoftheroom.Thisisacrimescene.”
ShegoesacrosstoElliot,putstwofingerstohisneck,pullsElliot’seyelidsback,andthenshakesherheadveryslightlyatDanny.
“Well,whatareyouwaitingfor?”Dannysaystotherestoftheroom.Hesoundsalmostangry.“Didn’tyouhearwhatshesaid?Getout.”
Wefileout.Erintakesastaffkeyfromherpocketandlocksthedoorbehindus.Herfaceisoutwardlycalm,butIthinkunderneathitsheisholdingdownpanic.
“Inigo,”shesays,“IknowIdon’tneedtotellyouthis,butpleasekeepcheckingforreceptionwithyourphone.It’sabsolutelyimperativethatwegetholdofthepolice,now.”
“Uh,yes,ofcourse.”InigolooksasstunnedasCarl.“I’llgonow,andcheck.Ileftitdownstairs.”
“Whatcanwedo?”MirandasaysblanklytoErin.“Whatcanwedo?”
“Nothing,”Erinsays.Herfaceisgrimnow.“Thereisnothingwecando.Trytokeepittogetheruntilthesearchandrescuecome.”
ERIN
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Inthekitchen,Dannystandswithhisbacktothedoorasifhisweightcanshutouttherealityofwhatweleftbehindus,andhestaresatmewithanexpressionofhorror.
“Fuck,”hesays.AndIcan’tthinkofanythingtosayinreply.Becausewhatelseistheretosay?Thisis…thisisbad.Thisisbeyondbad.AndIcan’tmakesenseofit.
“Danny,whatthehellisgoingon?”
“Ihavenofuckingclue,mate.Didhecommitsuicide?”
“Maybe.”Irealizehowlittleweknowaboutthesepeople—anyofthem.Afterall,Elliotcouldhavebeenunderanykindofpressure,andDannyandIwouldneverhaveknown.Butthat’sthething—wedon’tknow.Wehavenoideawhatishappeninghere.
IputmyhandstomyheadasifIcanforciblykeepittogetherwiththepressureoffleshonbone.OhGod,itfeelslikeeverythingisfallingapart.
“Hewasn’thurt,”Isay,tryingtofigureitoutasIspeak.“Imean,Icouldn’tseeanyphysicalinjuries,itdidn’tlooklikeanyonehadattackedhim.Whichmeans…Isupposehemusthavetakensomething.Don’tyouthink?”
“Drugs?Injectables?Pills?”
“Idon’tknow.Idon’tknow.Holyfuck.Danny,whatdowedo?”Thereality—ifyoucancallitthat—ofourpredicamentissinkingin.Wearestuckhere—verystuck,inmycase,withmywrenchedankle—inachaletwithagroupofpeoplewebarelyknow,andtwoofthemhavediedinthelasttwenty-fourhours.Eva—Eva’sdeathwasatragicaccident.Oneofthosehorrible,awfullightningstrikesthatcanoccurineventhemosttranquilplaces.ButElliot—surelythereisnowayhisdeathcanbeanythingbutmurderorsuicide.Abrainaneurism—amassivestroke—aheartattack—anyofthosemightkillnearenoughinstantly.Buttheydon’texplainthesmashed-upcomputer.
“Washedefinitelydead?”Dannyasks.
“Definitely.”Ican’tsuppressashudderasIthinkofit.
“Areyousure?”Dannyisgraspingatstraws,andIthinkheknowsit,buthecan’tstophimselfasking.“Areyouabsolutelycertain,mate?”
“Danny,Imayhavedroppedoutofmedschoolwithoutadegree,butI’veseenenoughdeadbodiestoknowone.Ipromiseyou,hewasdead.Dilatedpupils,absentpulse,theworks.”Idon’tmentionthepuddleofpissunderthechair.Dannydoesn’tneedtoknowaboutthat.
“Buthow?”Dannysays.Helookslikehemightbesick.“Howthefuckdidsomeonegettohim,ifthat’swhathappened?Somethinginthecoffee?”
“Maybe,Idon’tknow.”
“Shouldwegoand,youknow…check?”
“Idon’tknow,”Isayagain,moreforcefullythistime.Myheadisspinning,tryingtofigureouttherightcourseofaction.“Thepolicewillwantto—Imean,weshouldn’tdisturbthescene.Butmaybeifweknewwhatitwas—”
Ilookdownatthekeyinmyhandandmakeupmymind.
“We’llgoandcheck.Wewon’ttouchanything,we’lljustlook.”
Dannynods,andtogetherwemakeourwayquietlyuptheservicestairstothefirstfloor,tryingnottolettheothersseewherewe’reheading.
Wedon’tdiscussourdecisiontosticktogether,butIknowweareboththinkingthesamething.IfElliotdidn’tcommitsuicide,thensomeoneinthisgroupisamurderer.Andthatisaveryscaryideaindeed.Couldoneofthosesleek,moniedhipstersdownstairsreallyhavemurderedsomeone?ItrytoimaginegentleTigerwithherslimhandsaroundElliot’sneck,orTopherwhackinghimwithanemptybottleofwhiskey—andIfeelsuddenlysick.
ThestaffkeygratesinElliot’slockeddoorandthenturns,andDannyandItiptoeinsidetheroom.Itisverycold,anditsmellsofspilledcoffee,andsomethingelse,moreacrid:thatstenchofurine,whichIrecognizefrommyhospitaldays.
Dannyhangsback,bythedoor,asifhecan’tbringhimselftocomeanyclosertoElliot’sbody.Soit’sclearlyuptome.Iswallow.Very,verycautiously,tryingnottodisturbanything,Imoveforwardtowardsthedesk.Elliotisstilllyinginthesameslumped,unnaturalposition,hisfaceinthepuddleofcoldblackcoffee.Ialreadymovedhimslightlytocheckforsignsoflife,butIwanttoavoiddisturbingthesceneanyfurther.Sowithouttouchinghim,oranythingelse,Ileanoverandtrytopeerinsidetheempty,fallencup.It’sdifficult,withoutmovingit;theangleisallwrong.Igoroundtotheothersideofthedesk—andsuddenly,thereIcanseeit.
Shit.Dannywasright.
“There’ssomethinginthecup,”ItellDanny,whoisnotcominganycloserthanhecanhelp.“Somethingwhite.”
“Sugar?”
“No,definitelynot.It’s…chalky.”
“Fuck.”
IstraightenupandDannyandIlookateachother,tryingtofigureoutwhatthismeans.Hisblackeyesarevery,veryworried.
“Ithinkthisrulesoutsuicide,”Isay,withimmensereluctance.Iamkeepingmyvoicelow.Idon’twantanyonebutDannytoknowI’minhere.
“Doyouthink?”Dannylookslikeheisdesperateforanalternative.Ican’tblamehim.“Whatifhewasreallybadattakingpills—don’tyouthinksomeonemightcrushthem?”
Ishakemyhead.
“Youdidn’tseehimeating,Danny.”IthinkofElliotatdinner,spooningdownhisvenisonwithconcentratedferocity,swallowinggreatgulpsofitwhilebarelychewing.“Butit’snotjustthepills.Lookatthecomputer.”
“Whatdoyoumean?Hecouldhavesmashedituphimself,couldn’the?”
Ishakemyhead,pointingtothewreckage,strewnacrossoneofthechalet’sthick,fluffywhitebathtowels.
“Someonewrappeditinatowelbeforetheydestroyedit.Whichmeanstheydidn’twanttobeheard.IfitwasElliotsmashinguphisownlaptopinafitoffrustration,hewouldn’thavebotheredtokeepthenoisedown.Andifhewastryingtocoversomethingupcovertly,he’djusthavereformattedtheharddrive—whytaketheriskofsmashingitupifyoucanjustrewriteallthedata?No,thiswasdonebysomeonewhocouldn’tlogin.Someonewhocouldn’taffordtobeoverheard.”
Webothstand,contemplatingthesmashedscreenandbrokenpiecesofharddrive.Dannydoesn’tsayanything.I’mnotsurethereisanythinghecansay.
Thensomethingelseoccurstome.
“Weretheyhispills,doyouthink?Didhetakeanymedication?”
“We’llhavetoasktheothers.”Dannylookslikehe’srelishingtheprospectaboutasmuchasaslugenema.“Jesus.Howdowehavethatconversation?”
Howdowediscussanyofthis.Hey,guys,listen,there’sastrongchanceoneofyourcolleaguesisamurderer
Butwhy?WhywouldanyonewanttokillElliot?Hisshares?HissupportforTopher?WithEvadead,isitpossiblesomeoneistryingtoundermineTopher’ssupport?
NoneofthatwouldexplainthedestructionofElliot’scomputer,though.ItisthecomputerthatIkeepcomingbackto.Thatvicious,efficient,stealthyactofdestruction.Thatcouldnothavebeenanaccident.AndIdon’tforasecondbelieveitwasElliot.
Thereisonlyoneplausiblereasonforthisaction—tohidesomethingonthecomputeritself.SomethingElliotknew.Somethingthatgothimkilled.
IthinkofTopher’sanguishedwail,whenwefoundElliot’sbody:OhGod,ohJesus—hewantedtotellmesomething…
Iswallow.
“Danny,whatifEva’sdeathwasn’tanaccident?”
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Wesit,allofus,huddledaroundthewoodburnerinthelivingroom.Exceptitisnotallofus,thatistheproblem.
Nowweareten.
Nowwearenine.
Nowweareeight.
Thewordschantinsidemyhead,akindofgruesomecountdown,edgingclosertozero,onebyone.
SuddenlyIthinkImightvomit.
“Wasit…,”Tigerspeaks.Hervoiceiscrackedandrough,asifshehasbeencrying.“Wasit…suicide?”
“No!”Topher’sanswercomesasquickasagunshot.Hestandsup.Hebeginstopace.“Fuckno.Elliot?Never.”
“Sowhat?”Rikstandstoo,squaringuptoTopherasifheisabouttopunchhim.“Whatareyousaying?”
Topherlooksathim.IthinkhegenuinelydoesnotunderstandRik’squestion.
“Useyourhead,Toph.Ifit’snotsuicide”—Rik’svoicehasanedgeIhaveneverheardbefore.Hesounds…dangerous—“Thenit’smurder.Isthatwhatyou’resaying,Topher?Isit?”
Topher’smouthfallsopen.Thenhesitsabruptly.Helookswinded,almostasifRikreallyhadpunchedhim.
“God.You’reright.OhmyGod.”Hisfaceisashen.“Elliot,”hesaysbrokenly.Andthenhebeginstocry.
Itisawful,watchinghim.Noneofusknowswhattodo.RiklooksatMiranda,whosefaceisaghast.CarlputshishandsupinaDon’tlookatme,mategestureofrepudiation.Inigo’sexpressionispurepanic.
ItisTigerwhostepsup.ShegoestositbesideTopher.Sheputsherhandonhisarm.
“Topher,”shesays.Hervoiceisgentle.“Weallfeelhisloss,butitmustbeincalculableforyou,morethananyofus.ComingontopofEva’sdeath—”
Shestops.NotevenTigercanspinthisaswhatwillbe,willbe.
“Why?”Topher’smouthissquareandugly,tearsrunningdownhischeeks.Helookssofarfromthepolished,urbanesophisticateIusedtoknow;IamnotsureifIcanbearit.“Whywouldanyonedothistohim?WhywouldtheyhurtElliot?”
That,ofcourse,isthe$64,000question.
Wealllookatoneanother.Nooneissurewhattosay.
“Comeon,”TigertakesTophergentlybythehand.Sheleadshimfromtheroom.“Let’sgoandsplashyourfacewithwater.”
Astheyleave,asighofreleasedtensionripplesroundtheroom.
“Jesus,”Carlsaysgruffly.
“Buthe’sright,”Riksays.“WhywouldanyonehurtElliot?Imean,Eva,okay.ButElliot?Itmakesnosenseatall.IknowTopherdoesn’twanttohearit,butmaybehedidcommitsuicide,uncomfortableasitisforallofustoface?Eva’sdisappearanceandthenontopofthattheshockoftheavalanche—hewasquitea—”Hestops.Ithinkheistryingtoworkouthowtophraseitwithoutgivingoffense.“Hewasquiteaquirkypersonality.”
“Ithinkthat’saprettyoffensivestretch,Rik,”Mirandasayswearily.“Yes,hehadhiseccentricities—wealldo.Buttogofromthatto—”
“No,”Riksaysdefensively,“that’snotwhatImeant.Jesus,Ilikedhim.Wewereatschooltogether,forgoodness’sake.I’mjustsaying—lookhewasveryhardtoread.Stillwatersrundeepandallthat.Therecouldhavebeenalotgoingonunderneath.”
“Andwhatdoyoumean,youcouldunderstandsomeonewantingtohurtEva?”Carlsayssuddenly.
Rikwinces.Heknowsthathehasmadeamisstep,notonce,buttwice.
“Ididn’tmeanthateither.Ohbloodyhell,I’mputtingmyfootinitalloverthefuckingshop.”
“Sowhatdidyoumean?”ItisInigo.Hisvoiceisbitter,almostaccusing.Hisinterjectionissouncharacteristicthatweallturnandstareathim.
Rikflushes.
“AllImeant,”hesayscarefully.Icantellheispickinghiswordsnow.“AllImeantwasEva’sdeath…itchangedstuff.”
“Whatstuff?”
Rikdoesnotwanttospellitout.Icanseethathedoesn’t.
ItisCarlwhosaysitforhim.
“Eva’sdeathgavecontrolofSnoopovertoTopher,isn’tthatwhatyoumean,mate?”
Rikcannotbringhimselftoreply,buthegivesasmall,tightnod.
Thereisamoment’slong,shockedsilence,aswhatheissayingsinksinaroundthecircle.
Rikhasjoinedthefirsttwodots,butnoonewantstogoanyfurther.Theycanalreadyseethepatternthatisforming.
SeveralpeopleherehadapowerfulfinancialmotiveforEva’sdeath.SpecificallyTopher,andElliot.Plusanyoneelsewhowasopposedtothebuyoutfortheirownprivatereasons.
Whichmeans…
Itmeans—
Ifeelthebloodrushtomyface.SuddenlyIcan’tgoonwiththis,can’tsitherethinkingthethoughtsthatarethreateningtooverwhelmme.Ihavetogetout—getaway.
Istand,andIrunoutoftheroom.
ERIN
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DannyandIarestillstandingoutsideElliot’sroomwhenIhearthesoundofrunningfeet,andIturntoseeLizhurryingalongthecorridor.ForaminuteIthinksheisrunningtowardsus,andItense,bracingmyselfforwhateverhashappened,butshestopshalfwayalongthecorridor,opensherbedroomdoor,andslamsitbehindherself.Ihearthekeyscrapeinthelockfromtheinside,andthennothing.
“Jeez,”Dannysays.Helookstakenaback.“What’seatingher?”
“Doyouneedtoask?”Iwhisperit.Thedoorsherearethick,butyoucanhearthroughthemifyourroomisquiet.
“Doyouthinksheheard?”Dannylowershisvoicetoo.“Youknow.Whatweweresayingbefore.”Hedoesn’trepeatit,butthewordsIutteredjustbeforeLizcamebarrelingtowardsusstillhangintheairbetweenus.MaybeEva’sdeathwasn’tanaccident.
“Idon’tknow,”Imutter.“Let’sgetoutofhere.Wecan’ttalkhere,andIneedtothinkthisthrough.”
Aswemakeourwaydownthecorridortothestaffpartofthebuilding,whereDannyandIhaveourprivaterooms,mymindisracing,tickingthroughpossibilities.Butit’sonlywhenwe’resafelyinmylittlebedroom,thedoorclosedbehindus,thatIfeelabletovoicethem.
“WhatIjustsaid—”
“Eva’sdeath?”Dannylookstroubled,butskeptical.“Yeah,howd’youmakethatout?Elliot,sure.There’ssomekindofhanky-pankythere.ButEva?Sheskiedablackruninafuckingblizzardandfellofftheedge.It’satragedy,butIcan’tseehowit’sanyone’sfault.”
“Listen,”Isay.I’mspeakingverylow,eventhoughwe’rebehindtwosetsofdoors.SomehowitfeelslikeIneedtogetthesesuspicionsoutintheopen,likeitmightevenbedangeroustokeepquietrightnow.BecauseifI’mright,itwasElliot’ssilencethatkilledhim.“Listen,we’remissingtheimportantthinghere.WhoeverkilledElliot—”
“Ifhewaskilled,”Dannybreaksin.
“Ifhewaskilled,”Iechoimpatiently,brushinghiswordsawaylikeirritatingflies.“Butthepointisifhewaskilled,whoeverkilledhimdidn’tjustgetridofhim,theygotridofhiscomputer.Whywouldtheydothat?It’sreallyhardworktodestroyaharddrive—ittakesawhile,andtheymusthaveriskedsomeonenoticingtheirabsenceorhearingthemdoit.”
“So…you’resaying…hewaskilledforsomethingonhiscomputer?”
“Yes.Hewaskilledforsomethingheknew,butitmusthavebeensomethinghe’dfiguredoutfromhiscomputerdata.”
“SomethingaboutSnoop?”
“Maybe.Kindof.Lookatthetiming.Elliotiscodingthisgeolocationupdate,whateverthey’recallingit.Thenherealizesthattheinformationhe’sgotcanleadhimtoEva.Thatmuchweknow.Butwhatifhebegantotrackbackfromthat?Whatifhewaslookingathermovementsbeforeshedied?Whatiftherewassomethingfishyaboutthem,likeperhapsshedidn’tshootofftheedge,butstoppedforachatwithsomeone,andwaspushed?”
“Holyfuck.”Danny’sfaceisstricken.“You’resaying…someoneinthatgroupgotridofEvaandthenkilledElliottocovertheirtracks?”
“Idon’twanttobelieveit,but…Ican’tseewhatelsemakessense.”Ifeelsickevensayingthewords.“Thereisoneotherpossibility,butIdon’tknowifit’smuchbetter.”
“Whichis?”
“Well,ElliotistheonlypersonwithoutanykindofalibithedayEvadied.Hewassupposedtobehere,workingonhiscode,butthere’snocorroborationofthat.It’snotimpossiblehehadsomethingtodowithherdeath.Maybe…maybehecouldn’tlivewiththatknowledgeanylonger.”
“You’resayinghetoppedhimselfoutofguilt??”
“I’msayingit’sapossibility.”
“Okay,yeah,butevensupposinghekilledEvatohelpTopher,thenhadanattackofconscience,whywouldhedestroyhiscomputer?Ifhe’sdead,whywouldhecareabouttheevidence?”
Iswallow.Thisiswhythispossibilityisn’treallyanymorecomfortingthantheothers.
“Becausewhateverwasonthere,implicatessomeoneelse.Someonehe’stryingtoprotect.”
“FlamingNora.”Thewordsshouldsoundfunny,cominginDanny’sdeep,matter-of-factvoice.Infact,they’reanythingbut.ActuallyIthinkIwanttobesick.
“SoyouthinkI’mright?”
“Ithink…”
IcanseeDanny’sbrainprocessingfuriously,tryingtofindholesinmylogicandfailing.Hepullsoffhisbandannairritably,scrubshisfacewithit.“Fuckinghell.Idon’tknow.Ithinkyoucouldbe,andthat’senoughtogivemethecoldheaves.Whatdowedo?Wegottatellsomeone,right?”
“Whocanwetell?Andwhatcouldtheydoevenifwedid?”Iwaveahandatthewindow,wheretheviciouswindiswhippingthesnowpasttheglasswiththescouringforceofasandstorm.Noonecangooutinthat,letaloneflyahelicopter.You’dbemadtotry.
“FUCK!”Dannybellowsit,standingupandrunninghishandsoverhisshorthairlikehecancudgelanideaoutofhishead.
“Shh!”Isayfrantically.“Bequiet!Theothers’llhear.”
“Butwehavetotellthem!”hesays.“Don’twe?Imeanwhat’sthealternative,wekeepquietandletsomehomicidalprickpickthemoffonebyone?”
“Wecan’ttellthem!”Myvoiceisascreamingwhispernow.“Areyoumad?Tellwhoever’sresponsibleforthisthatwemightbeontothem?”
“Wecan’tnottellthem!”Dannytakesmyarms,andforaminuteIthinkhe’sgoingtoshakeme,likeanactorinanoldmoviedealingwithahystericalwoman,andIfeeladesperateurgetolaughinspiteofthepredicamentwe’rein,buthedoesn’t;hejuststaresintomyface,hisdarkeyesverywideandasscaredasIfeel.Butsomehowseeingmyownfearreflectedbackatmyself,therealizationthatDanny’sasterrifiedasme,andthatwe’reinthistogether,itanchorsme.Itakeadeep,shudderingbreath,andDannysaysquietly,“Erin,I’mshittingmyselfasmuchasyouare.ButIdon’tthinkI’mgoingtobeabletogodownthereandactnormal,knowingthatoneofthosehipsterwankersmightbeanhonest-to-Godmurderer.Lookatme—”Heholdsoutatremblinghand.“I’mshakinglikeabloodyleaf.Whoever’sdonethis,they’regoingtofigureoutthatweknowsomething,andifwehaven’ttoldanyonewhatweknow,we’llendupthesamewayasElliot.Thebestwaytomakeourselvessafeistonotkeepthisasecret.”
Hiswordssilenceme.Thereisakindofhorriblelogicinthat.
“Andbesides,”headds,“Ireckonweowetheothersthechancetoprotectthemselves.Whatiftheyknowsomethingtheydon’trealize?Whatifthey’rethenextpeopledrinkingcoffeewithakick?”
Iswallow.Buthiswordshaveanundeniabletruthbehindthem.Putlikethat,it’shardtojustifynotwarningtheseveninnocentpeopleinthechalet,evenifthatmeansgivingthemurdereraheads-up.
Murderer.Theveryword,hangingunspokeninmymouth,feelsunreal.Isthisactuallyhappening?Arewereallygoingtodothis?
“Okay,”Isayatlast.Ilookoutofthewindow,atthestorm,asinkingfeelingbeginningtochurninmygutatthethoughtofthemeetingtocome.“Okay…maybeyou’reright.So…what?Howdowetellthem?Whatdowetellthem?”
“Wetellthemthetruth,”Dannysays.Hisexpressionissetandgrimnow.“WesaywethinkEva’sdeathmaynothavebeenanaccidentafterallandthatElliotmight’vebeenkilledforwhateverhewasabouttotellTopher.Wetell’emtostayinpairsatalltimes,maketheirowndrinks,eatnothingbutstuffyouandIservethem.We’retheonlypeoplewhocan’tpossiblybesuspected.Wedidn’tknowanyofthembeforetheycamehere.Weweren’tuponthatmountain.We’vegotnoconnectiontoanyofthatgroup.”
Inod.Only…andIcan’tbringmyselftosaythistoDanny,notnow…theproblemis,inmycase,it’snotquitetrue.
LIZ
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Iamupinmyroomwithmyheadinmyhands,tryingtoblockouttherealityofwhatishappening,whenIhearthesoundofthegonginthefoyerbeingstruck.
Myheadjerksup.
Iopenmydoorcautiously.Erin’svoicecomesfloatingupthestairwell.
“—youcouldallcomeandgatherinthelobbyforasecond.Thiswon’ttakelong,andthenwe’llservelunch.”
Iamnotreadytofacetheothers.Butwhateverisgoingondownthere,Ihavetoknow.Maybethepolicehavebeenincontact.Maybeweareabouttobeairliftedout.
Itakeadeepbreath.Iflexmyfingers.Iopenthedoorofmyroomandwalkdownstairs.
Theothersareallwaitinginthefoyer,huddledaroundthewoodstove.Ithasgotnoticeablycoldernow.Thewarmthleftoverfromyesterday’scentralheatinghasdispersed,andnowonlythetwostovesdownstairsarekeepingtheplacefromslowlyfreezing.
Erinisstandingafewstepsuponthespiralstaircase.Herfaceisverywhite,andherscarlooksmoreshockingthanever,alividslashagainstherpaleskin.Dannyisathershoulderlikealieutenant.Ihavetopushpastthemtogettothegroundfloor.Therearepuddlesonthewoodinthefoyer,wherethepiled-upsnowisleakinginthroughthebowedfrontdoor,spoilingthepolish.
Whenweareallgatheredinfrontofthem,lookingupexpectantly,Erinclearsherthroat.
“Okay,iseveryonehere?”She’scountingheads,andIrealizewithashudderthatsheisthinkingofourabortivemeetingthismorning,whichendedwiththerealizationthatElliotwasmissing.Itasteblood,andIrealizeIamchewingmycuticleagain.Disgustinglittlegirl.Iflinch.Ishovemyhandsinmypockets.
“We’regoingtoservelunchinthelivingroomifthat’sokay,thediningroomisstartingtofeelquitecold.It’ssalad—Iknowthat’snotthemostappropriate,butwithoutelectricityDannyisverylimitedonwhathecancook,andweneedtofinishupthefreshvegetables,nowthatthefridgeisoff.”
There’samildgrumblefromTopher,butMirandaglaresathim,andeveryoneelsenods.Weknowwearenotinapositiontocomplain.
“But…therealreasonweaskedyouallhere—”Erinstops.Shelooksalittlebitsick.Likesheisworkingherselfuptosaysomethingshereallydoesn’twanttosay.Suddenly,Idonotwanttohearwhatsheisabouttosay.“DannyandI,we…”
ShelooksoverhershoulderatDanny.Hegivesheralookback.Iamnotsureifitisencouragementorimpatience,butitseemstospurErinon.
“Wehavesomeconcerns,”shefinishes,inarush,“aboutthemannerofElliot’sdeath.We’reprettysurethathe—thathewaspoisoned.”
Littlegaspscomefromallaroundtheroom.Itiswhattheyhaveallbeenthinking,butthereissomethinghorrifyingabouthearingthewordsspokenaloud.
“Therearetracesofcrushedpillsinhiscoffee,”Erinsays,“andwhilehemayhavetakenanoverdosedeliberately,thesabotagedcomputermakesitatleastpossible—”
Dannymutterssomething.Hisvoiceistoolowformetohear,butErinsighs.Shetightensherfistsathersides.
“Maybeevenprobable,thatElliotwasmurdered.AndthatleadsbackwardstothepossibilitythatEvawaskilledtoo,andElliotwasmurderedbecauseofwhatheknew.”
Thereisanotherrippleofreactionaroundtheroom,butitisnotreallysurprise.Sheisonlyvoicingwhatmostpeopleherehadalreadybeguntosuspect.Itismorelikeakindofhorror:thesearenolongerparanoidfears,butapotentialreality.
“DannyandIdebatedthisannouncementlongandhard,”Erincontinues,“becauseultimatelyit’sonlyspeculation—wehavenoproofofanyofthis.It’sstillpossiblethatEva’sdeathwasanaccidentandElliot’swassuicideoranaccidentaloverdose.However,thefactremainsthattwodeathshaveoccurredandthatis…well,concerningdoesn’treallycoverit.Soevenwhilewehopethisisoverk—”
Shestops.Irealizethatthewordshewasgoingtousewasoverkillbutthatshehasthoughtbetterofit.
“Evenwhilewehopethisisoverlycautious,”sherephrases,“wewouldstillurgeeveryoneheretotakeprecautions.Ifyouknowsomethingthatmayendangeryou,comeandtellmeandDannyasquicklyaspossible.Stayinpairsorgroupsatalltimes.Thatincludessleeping.Prepareyourowndrinksanddon’tleavethemlyingaround.OnlyacceptfoodfromDannyorme.There’snoneedtobeparanoidbut—”
Carlbreaksin.Hisshortlaughsoundslikethebarkofadog.
“Noneedtobeparanoid?Areyouhavingagiraffe?”
“Irealizethisisall—”Erinbegins,buthecutsheroffagain.
“You’retellingusthere’sahomicidalfuckingmaniacrunningaroundandtheansweristomakeourowncoffee?”
“I’mnottellingyouanythingofthekind,”Erinsays.Hervoiceisverylevel.“Iamsimplystatingthefactsofwhat’shappened.Whetheryouconcurwithmyconclusionsandfollowmyadviceisuptoyou.”
“Thisisafuckingshitshow,”Carlsaysangrily.“AndIshouldsuethearseoffyou.Thousandsofpoundstostayinatin-potlittleshitholewithapsychoon—”
“Oi,”Dannybreaksin.HestepsforwardsoheisclosetoCarl’sface.“That’senoughofthat,mate.Erinandmearenotresponsibleifyoubroughtsomepsychoticfuckerwithyoufromtheairport.”
“AreyouaccusingSnoopemployeesofthis?”Carlispracticallyshoutingnow.HeandDannyaresquaringup.“Becausethat,mate,isslander,andI’llseeyouincourt.”
“I’mnotaccusingSnoopemployeesofanything,”Dannysnarls,“I’msayingthatwe’vehostedahundredfuckingholidaysanditwasn’tuntilyoulotturnedup—”
“Hey,”Erinstepsforward.Sheisspeakingtobothofthem,butitisDanny’sarmshetakes.Sheshakesitgently.“Hey.Thisisn’thelping.”
“Carl,”TigerputsherhandonCarl’sshoulder.“Comeon,Erin’sright.It’scompletelyunderstandablethatyou’reangry,butyouneedtochannelthatenergyintoamorepositiveplace.ErinandDannyaren’tatfaulthere.They’retryingtohelp.C’mon.Deepbreaths.”
Carlisstillmutteringashestalkstotheothersideoftheroom.Heslumpsonthesofa,armsfolded,butIcanseeheknowsTigerisright.
“Inigo,”Erinsaysnow,“haveyouhadanymoreluckwithmobilereception?”
Inigoshakeshishead.
“Nothing,sorry.AndnowI’mdowntotwelvepercentbattery,soI’mtryingjusttoturnitonoccasionallytocheck.”
“Anyoneelse?”Erinsays.Thereisanedgeofdesperationinhervoice.Thereareheadshakesallaroundtheroom.Mostpeoplemustbeoutofbatterynow,anyway.Iturnedmyphoneoffwhenitgotto4percent.
“Andwhatdidtheysaywhenyouspoketothem?”Erinasks,turningbacktoInigo.Hefrowns.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Imean,didtheygiveanytimescalesatall?Anyindicationofhowtheyproposedtogettous?Iknowtheydidn’tknowthefullextentofitthen,buttheyknewwehadsomeonemissing,right?Iwouldhavethoughtwe’dhavebeenquitehighupthelistofpriorities.”
“I…”Inigoisfrowning,asifheistryingtoremember.“Yes,Imean,ItoldthemEvawasmissingandthatweweretrappedinourchaletatthetopofthefunicular.AndIsaid…Itoldthemaboutyourankle.Andtheyjustaskedsomequestionsaboutsuppliesandthensaidtheywouldcomeouttousasquicklyaspossible.”
“Thatwasit?Notimingsatall?”
“N-no…”Inigosoundsuncertain.“Imean,thereceptionwasreallybad.I’mtryingtoremember,butIdon’tthinkitwasmentioned.”
“Okay,”Erinsays.Thereisanedgeoffrustrationinhervoicethathercalmpolitenessdoesn’tquitemask.“That’sunderstandable.Well,we’lljustsittightIguess.Okay,well,that’sit,everyone.Ifyougothroughtothelivingroom,DannyandIwillbringlunchalongveryshortly.”
Everyonebeginstodisperse.Carlisstillmutteringangrily.Tigeristalkingtohimsoothingly.MirandaandRikarethelasttoleavethelobby.Iamdirectlyinfrontofthem.Icanheartheirlowconversationaswefileslowlyintothelounge.
“IsupposeInigodidactuallyphonethepolice?”Rikspeaks.Hisvoiceisbarelyaboveamutter.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Mirandasoundssurprised.
“Well…Imean…Erinseemedprettyconcernedthatwehadn’theardanything.AndIcanseeherpoint.You’dhavethoughtthey’dhavegotsomeoneuphere,right?Evenifitwasjustascout.”
“Butweheardhim,Rik,weheardhimcallingthem.”
“Weheardhisendoftheconversation,yes.Buthowdoweknowheactuallymadethecall?Imeanit’sabitsuspiciousfullstopthathemanagedtogetreceptionwhennoneoftherestofusdid.Whatwasthatallabout?”
Mirandadoesn’tanswerthat.ButInoticethatwhenweareallgatheredinthelivingroom,shetakestheseatfarthestawayfromInigo,andshedoesn’tmeethiseyes.
ERIN
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“Bollocks.”I’mstandinginthekitchen,watchingDannyputthefinishingtouchestobigbowlsofsalad.He’sdoneanamazingjobwithtinsandjars,butthereisnowayofmaskingthefactthatthebreadisstaleandthelettucehasseenbetterdays.Twenty-fourhourswithoutelectricityisstartingtotakeitstollonthefreshnessofthechilledfood.
“Whatdoyoumean,bollocks?”Dannydoesn’tlookup.He’scrumblingcrushedwalnutsoverabigplateofripe,slicedpearsandslightlyoverripeBleud’Auvergnecheese.
“Ijust…Ifeellikethatdidn’tgosowell?”
Dannytastesthedressingandthenshrugs.
“Idunno.Youweretellingthemsomethingtheydidn’twanttohear.Whatdidyouexpectthemtodo—applaud?”
Ishrug.Iamnotsurewhattosay.
AtlastDannyisready,andweeachpickupacoupleofbowlsandcarrythemout.AsIlimpafterDanny,throughtheemptylobby,Iseecroissantcrumbsfromearliertodayscatteredacrossthethicksheepskinrug.There’snotmuchIcandowithoutanyelectricityfortheHoover,butinmycurrentmooditfeelslikeasignofthewaythingsarefrayingattheedges,fallingapartwhileDannyandIdesperatelytrytokeepthewheelson.
Inthelivingroom,thesilenceisdeafening.There’snolongeranyfriendlybackdropofmusictomaskthetensionsinthegroup,onlythesoftroarofthelogburner,andthepatterofsnowagainstthewindow.RikandMirandaaresittingtogether,theirarmstouching.Theyseemtohaveabandonedallpretenseofnotbeingacouple,andasIdrawcloserIseethattheirhandsareentwinedinMiranda’slap.
TigerisstilltalkingtoCarlinalowvoice,asifshecancalmhimdown.
Lizissittingawkwardlyontheedgeofherseat.Herfingersareinhermouth,chewingathernails,butasIentertheroomshetakesthemoutandflexesherhandsnervously,crackingherknuckles.Thelittlevolleyofclicksisveryloudinthequietroom,andAni,sittingbetweenLizandTopher,makesaninvoluntarygrimaceatthesound.
OnlyInigoisbyhimself,andwhenIofferhimthelastbowlofsalad,hewavesitawaywithonehand.
“Thanks,butI’mnothungry.”
“You’vegottoeat,Inigo,”Isay,butthelookonhisfaceworriesmemorethanhisappetite.Thelastthingweneedissomeonesinkingintoadepression.
“I’mnothungry.”Hesaysitwithmoreforce,andIputmyhandsup.
“Okay,okay.Nottryingtostrong-armanyone.I’llleaveithere,okay?Ifyoudon’twantit,nopressure.”
IamturningtogobacktothekitchenwhenIhearhisvoice,verylow.
“Ifeellikeeveryoneisblamingme.”
“Blamingyou?”Isay,insurprise.“Whyonearthwouldtheydothat?”
“Becauseofwhatyousaidbefore—aboutnotbeingabletogetthroughtothepolice.Iheardthem.”Hisvoicedropstoawhisper,andIhavetobendclosertofindoutwhat’sbeingsaid.“IheardRikandMiranda,theyweresaying—”Hestops,swallowingheroically,andIseetherearetearsinhiseyes.“IthinktheythinkIwasmakingitup.ThatIdidn’ttalktothepolice,orifIdidthatIdidn’tstresstheurgencyofthesituationenough.Butwhy?”Helooksup,hisextraordinaryblueeyesswimmingwithtears.“WhywouldIdothat?UnlessI’d—unlessI’dk-k—”
Buthecan’tsayit.UnlessI’dkilledher.
“Ilovedher,”hesays,hisvoicecrackingonthelastsyllable.“That’swhatnoneofthemunderstand.Ilovedher.”
Ohshit.Iremembertherumorsofthefirstmorning,Inigocomingtobedlate,Topher’sdrawling,Notthatagain.Evashouldknowbetter
“Ilovedher!”Inigorepeats,andIvery,verymuchwanttotellhimtoshutup.Becauseheseemstobelievethatthisconfessionwillexoneratehim.Butifanything,it’sthereverse.Becauseyouneedaprettypowerfulmotivetokillsomeone—andoneofthosemotivesismoney—that’stheonewe’veallbeenassumingwasatthebottomofthis.AndInigohasnofinancialmotivetokillEva.OnlyTopherandElliotfallintothatcamp,asfarasweknow.Buttheotherthingthatprovokespeopletokillislove.AndInigo’sjustputhimselfforwardastheonlycandidateforthatcategory.
“I’msureyoudid,”Isayquietly,andthenIwatchashestandsandwalksoutoftheroom,unabletoholdittogetherinfrontofhiscolleaguesanymore.
InthekitchenIsinkintomychair,propmyachingfootonDanny’smakeshiftfootrest,andwaitforhimtocomeinthroughtheservicedoor.
“WhatwasallthataboutwithInigo?”heasks,andIexplain.
“Bloodyhell.”Herunshishandthroughhishair.“Whatastupidlittleprick.What,withEvashaggingInigo,andTophergettinghisendawaywithAni—haven’ttheyheardofMeToo?Youcan’tgoaroundbonkingyouremployeesanymore.It’snotright.”
“Itgiveshimamotivethough,doesn’tit?”Isayreluctantly,andDannyshrugs.
“Idunno.Imeanwecouldprobablygivethemallmotivesifweneededto.MirandacouldbemadlyinlovewithInigoherself.Rikmightbearagingincelwhohateshavingafemaleboss.Whothefuckknows.IcouldcomeupwithsomeoldbollocksagainstallofthemifIhadto.Ifyouaskmeit’salibisweshouldbelookingat.Theremustbesomeofthemwecanruleout.”
“NotforElliot’sdeath.Thatcouldbeanyone.Wewereallhere—everyonewascomingandgoingfromthelivingroom.”
“Anitookhimthecoffee.Andweallknowshe’sgotthehotsforTopher.”
“Shetookhimacoffee,butwedon’tknowifitwasthesamecupthatkilledhim.You’dhavetobeprettystupidtoannouncetotheworldyouweretakingupcoffeetosomeoneyouwereabouttopoison.”
“Couldbeadoublebluff,”Dannysays,alittlefeebly,butIcantellhe’sonlyplayingdevil’sadvocate.“Butokay,sortingoutalibisforElliot’sgonnabetricky,Icanseethat.WhataboutEvathough?Ifwe’reacceptingthatElliotwaskilledbecauseheknewsomethingaboutwhathappenedtoEva…”
“Well…”I’mtryingtothinkback,rememberwhateveryonesaidabouttheirwhereaboutswhenwewerediscussingEva’sdisappearance.“AniandCarlsawEvasafeandsoundhalfwaydownLaSorcière.Soifsomeonedidkillher,theymusthavebeenonthemountainbeforeAniandCarl.AndtheymusthavebeenagoodenoughskiertointerceptEvahalfwaydownthatrun.Right?”
“Riiight…,”Dannyechoes,slightlydoubtfully.“Although…ifitcomestothat,Carlneveractuallysaidhesawher.ItwasonlyeverAni’swordforit.”
“Okay,butshedidseeher,shemusthavedone.ThiswasbeforeElliot’sGPSinformationcameout.AnihadnowayofknowingthatEvahadgonedownLaSorcièreotherwise,surely?Ifshewerelying,she’dhavesaidthatEvawentdownBlanche-Neige,whichiswhatyou’dassume,andwhatanyonewouldsayiftheyweretryingtothrowsomeoneoffthescent.”
“Okay,Icanbuythat.SoAniandCarlareintheclear,isthatyourpoint?”
“Yes,andLiz,becauseshe’dalreadygonedowninthebubblelift.SheleftbeforeEvaevenarrivedatthetop.We’relookingatthepeoplewhowereatthetopoftherunbeforeEva—whichmeansTopher,Rik,Tiger,Inigo,andMiranda.”
“NotMiranda,”Dannysaysunexpectedly,andIfrown.
“Whynot?”
“Well,ifwe’reacceptingAni’ssighting,EvawaskilledabouthalfwaydownLaSorcière.Whichmeanswe’relookingforsomeonewho’sgoodenoughtoskithatrun.”
Inodslowly.He’sright.Whichmeans…Well,it’sactuallyaprettysmallgroupofpeopleinthatcase.Tiger.Inigo.MaybeRik,thoughI’mnotcertainaboutthat.He’sgood,butyouwouldn’tneedtobejustgood,you’dneedtobeverygoodindeed.AndTopher.
WekeepcomingbacktoTopher.Whichishardlysurprising,becauseTopherhasthestrongestmotiveoutofanyonehere.Andnowhehasopportunityaswell.
“Theygotseparatedatthetop,didn’tthey,”Isay,thinkingaloud.“WhenthepisteursclosedBlanche-Neige.Someofthemwentbackdowninthebubble,andsomeofthemskieditanyway.Thepeoplewhotookthebubblebackdowncan’thavehadanythingtodowithit.Whowasthat?”
“Idon’tthinktheyeversaid.”Danny’sfrowningnow.“IknowTopherandInigoskiedit,butI’mnotsureabouttheothers.Wantmetoask?”
Inod,alittlereluctantly.Ishouldgoouttheremyself,really.Danny’smannerwiththegroupisgettingmoreandmoreterse.HewasclosetosquaringoffwithCarlearlier,whichis—well,it’sjustunthinkable.Thelastthingweneedisafight,addedtothispowderkegofgriefandtension.Butmyankleishurting.Alot.AndIcan’tbringmyselftoputweightonitrightnow.
WhenthedoorswingsshutbehindDanny,IfeelinmypocketfortheblisterpackofibuprofenandcountthehourssinceI’vehadmylastdose.Three.Ishouldreallywaitanotherhour.Instead,quickly,beforeDannycomesback,Icrackthefoilandswallowdowntwomorepills.
AsIwashitdownwithagulpofcoldtea,thedoorswingsopen.
“Topher,Inigo,Tiger,andRikskiedBlanche-Neige,”Dannysays.“TherestofthemwentdowninthebubbleandmetupwithLiz,whowasalreadywaitingatthebottom.”
“Okay.Well…ifsomeonehungbacktheycouldprobablyhavesidesteppedbackuptothetopoftherunandskiedLaSorcièreinstead.Butthey’dhavehadtobequick.Veryquick.Evawasafastskier,andshewasalreadyhalfwaydowntherunwhenAnisawher.Thatdoesn’tgivesomeonemuchtimetointerceptherbeforeshegottothebottom.”
“Unless…unless…”Dannysays.He’sspeakingslowly;Icanalmostseehimfiguringoutthepossibilities.“Whatifshe’dfallen?Whatiftheycaughtupwithher,she’shurtherselforsomething,they’repretendingtohelpherwithherbindingsandinstead…”
Inod.There’sadefinitepossibilityinwhathe’ssaying.Ifthiswereopportunisticratherthanplanned…butthenanobjectionoccurstome,andit’sabigone.
“There’snodroponthebottomsectionoftherun,”Isay.“There’snowaysomeonecouldhavepushedherofftheedge.”
“No,butifshewasincapacitatedsomehowtheycouldkillherandleaveherbodyinthetrees.Elliotsaidhimselfthathewasn’tsurehowthemountainsaffecttheGPSsignal.Maybethat’swhathediscovered—thatshewasn’tinthevalleyatall.Someonekilledheronthepiste.”
“Maybe…”ButDanny’scommenthastippedoffsomethinginmymind.“Butjustasecond,there’soneotherproblemwithallofthis.”
“What?Ithoughtweweredoingprettywell.”
“Itallhangstogetherexceptforonething.HowdidanyoneknowEvawasskiingLaSorcière?We’retalkingasifsomeonewentafterherdeliberatelyinthehopesofcatchingupwithher.Butnoonesawherleave.Nooneknewshewasskiingthatrun.”
“Fuck,you’reright.”Dannyfrownsagain,hisdarkbrowsknittingtogether.“Howthefuckdidtheyknowtogoafterher?”
“Theonlyperson…”I’mthinking,puttingtwoandtwotogether.“TheonlypersonwhoknewshewasonthatrunwasAni.Whatifshetoldsomeonewhatshesaw?”
“Ifshetoldsomeone…,”Dannysaysslowly,butwhenhefinisheshissentence,it’snotwhatIexpectedhimtosay.“Ifshetoldsomeone,shecouldbeinafuckofalotofdanger.Wehavetofindoutwhoshetold.Andquick.”
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“Fuckinghell.”
Topherisinmyroom.Topherisinmyroom.Heispacing,backandforth,backandforthbetweenmeandthedoor.Helooksdemented.Idon’tknowwhattodo.Myroomhasalwaysbeenmyrefuge—theoneplaceIcouldclosethedoorandshuteveryoneelseout—thesmellofbeer,thesoundofmymother’ssobs,myfather’sbellowingvoice.Gotoyourroom,Elizabeth.Hemeantitasapunishment.Instead,itwasanescape.
Nowmyroomhasbeeninvadedandmyescapehasbeencutoff.
“Fuckinghell,Liz,thisisanightmare.They’realllookingatme.Theyallthinkit’sme!”
“Topher—”
ItrytothinkwhatTigerwoulddointhissituation.Wouldsheputherhandonhisarm?Givehimahug?Thelattermakesmefeelabitill,butIcouldtrythearm.
Istickoutmyhand,awkwardly,butTopherispacing.HejustbrushesstraightpastitlikeIwashailingataxiandhewasadriverwithapassenger.Iamnotsureheevenseesit.Igotochewmycuticles,thenIshovemyhandinmypockettostopmyself.
“God,IthinkI’mgoingmad.OhJesus,Eva.Eva!”
Topherstopsandslumpsontomybed.Heputshisfaceinhishands,andthentomyhorror,hebeginstosob.
Atleasthe’sstationarynow.Iputmyhandout,tryingtorememberhowTigercalmedCarldown.Iletitdropontohisshoulder.
Butthenhegivesahugewrenchingsob,almostlikehemightbeabouttobesick,andIsnatchitaway.
“Topher,”Iwhisper.“Letme—”Ilookroundtheroom,searchingforinspiration.Myeyefallsupontheemptywaterglassbymybed.“Letmegetyouaglassofwater.”
I’mnotsureifhehearsmeasItiptoeintothecorridor.Ishutthedoor,leaningagainstit,breathinghard.
Ohgod,thisisnotwhatIamgoodat.
Iamgoodatfiling,andtakingnotes,andmakingsureeverythingaddsup.Iamgoodattidyinguplooseendsandkeepingeverythingstraight.Iamtask-orientedandtime-consciousanddetail-focused.AndIamvery,verygoodatmakingmyselfinvisible.
Inshort,IwasaperfectPA.ButIamnotcutoutforthis.
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DannyandIshouldbewashingupfromlunch—it’snojoke,withnodishwasher.Theonlyhotwaternowcomesfromkettlesweboilonthewoodburningstove,andit’sbecomingafull-timetaskjusttokeepenoughcleancrockerytoservemeals.Thegreasycrockeryfromlunchispiledhighonthedrainingboard,andcutleryissoakinginlukewarmwaterthat’sfastlosingitsheat.Butimportantasitistokeeptheguestsfed,keepingthemaliveismorecrucial,andneitherofuswantstoleavetheotherontheirown,sothereisnodiscussionoverwhowillgoandwhowillstaywhenIproposetalkingtoAni.Thatwewillbothtackleheriswithoutquestion.Theonlythingindoubtiswhereandhow.
“Now,”Dannysaysfirmly.“Ifshetalkedtothemurderer,toldthemwhereEvawas,it’sonlyamatteroftimebeforetheyfigurethatout.Andwhentheydo…”
Hetrailsoff.Iswallow.Iknowhe’sright.
“But,whatifshe’swithoneoftheothers?”Iask.“What’sourexcusefortalkingtoheralone?”
Dannyshakeshishead.
“No,wetalktoherinfrontofeveryone.It’sbettertogetitonthetable.Ifeveryoneknowsthetruth,great.Theycan’tkillallofus.”
Hesaysitalmostglibly,andapartofmefindsmyselfwantingtolaugh,hysterically.Howhasitcometothis,thatwe’rediscussingmurderlikesomekindofparlorgame?Buthe’sright.There’snosenseinkeepingwhateverAnihastosayunderwraps.Themorepeoplewhoknowthetruth,thebetter.
Wedon’thavefartogotofindher.Weexitthekitchenandmakeourwaythroughthechillydiningroom,andtheresheis—sittinginthelobbyinfrontofthewoodburner,playingcardswithCarl,Rik,andMiranda,herhugeglassespusheduponherforeheadasshestaresdownatherhand.
“Threeofakind,”Carlissayingsmugly,ashelaysdownthreekings.
“Hi,”Dannysays,alittlebrusquely,positioninghimselfinfrontofthegroup.“Canwetalkforamoment?”
“Sure,”Mirandasayswithasigh,stackinghercards.“Carl’swhippingourarsesanyway,sopleasecomeandsaveusfromanotherdefeat.”Sherunsahandthroughherlongdarkhair,andthenmakesaface.Iknowhowsheisfeeling.Nohotwatermeansnoshowers,andeveryoneislookingalittlelimpandgrubbyaroundtheedges,includingmeandDanny.“Haveyougotnews?”
Thehopeonherfacegivesmeamomentarystabofguilt,asIrealizewhatourpurposefulentrymusthavelookedlike.Ishakemyhead.
“No,I’msosorry.Stillnothing.”
“Bloodyhell,”Riksays.“Still?Isn’tthisgettingalittlebit…concerning?”
“Well,Imustadmit,Iwouldhavehopedthey’dbeherebynow.”
Ilookoutofthetallwindowsthatspanthedouble-heightlobby.It’sthemiddleoftheafternoon,buttheairissodarkwithwhirlingsnowthatitlooksliketwilight,andIcan’tseethelightsofSt.AntoineleLacbelow,letalonethefar-offmountainranges.Butthen,thethoughtoccurstomeuncomfortably,maybetheyarewithoutpowerdowninLeLactoo.ThebatteriesinDanny’sradiohavedied,andwehavenoideanowwhat’shappeningdownthere.Itcouldbemuchworsethanwe’reimagining.
“It’smorethantwenty-fourhourssincetheavalanche,”Rikpresses.“Shouldn’tsomeonehavebeenincontactbynow?”
“Idon’tknow,”Isay.
Hisconcernismakingmeincreasinglyuneasy.Maybehe’sright.Maybethereissomethingwrong.
“They’reverystretched,Iimagine.”
“Whatareyougettingat,mate?”Carlsayssharply,lookingacrossathiscolleague.“Yougotapointtomake,spititout.”
RikexchangesalookwithMirandaandthensays,almostreluctantly,“Look,thisisn’tanaccusation,pleasedon’tthinkthat.ButI’mjustsayingthatit’s…well,it’sunfortunatethatnooneelsemanagedtotalktothepolice,apartfromInigo.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Carlsays,takenaback.
“I’mjustsaying…itwouldbenicetohavecorroborationofwhatwentdown.Weonlyheardhissideoftheconversation.Anditdoesseemalittle…strange,thathe’stheonlypersonwhomanagedtogetanyreception.”
“Areyousayinghedidn’tcallthem?”Carl’seyebrowsgouptohisshavenhairline.
Riksaysnothing,buthegivesalittleshruggingwincethatcouldbeyesorno,butfunctionseffectivelyasanacknowledgmentofthepossibility.
“Fuck,”Carlsays.Hebreathesitoutlikesomekindofprayer.“Faaaark.”
Dannyshootsmeastartled,worriedlook,andIrealizethatInevertoldhimaboutmyconversationwithInigo,andRik’ssuspicions,perhapsbecauseIneverreallybelievedtheyweretrue.NowIfeelfrighteninglyna?ve.WhatifRik’sright?Whatifnooneiscoming?
“Whatdidyouwanttotalktousabout?”Mirandasays,bringingusbacktoouroriginalmission,andIdragmymindbacktothetaskinhandwithaneffort.
“Oh.Yes.Well,itwasactuallyAniwewantedtospeakto—wehadaquickquestion.”
“Oh?”Anilooksupfromherhand.“Yeah!Imean,sure,anythingIcanhelpwith?”
“Youwantabitofprivacy?”Carlsays,andhemakestohalfrise,butDannyshakeshishead.
“Stay.Bettertokeepallourcardsonthetable,ifyouknowwhatImean.”
Carlconsidersforasecond,thenseesthewisdomofwhatDanny’ssayingandgivesashortnod,andsitsagain.
“Ani,”Isay,tryingtothinkhowtoputthiswithoutcausingunduealarmbutbeingasclearaspossibleaboutwhatImean.“YousawEvaskiingLaSorcièrewhenyouwerecomingupinthelift,isthatright?”
“Yes,”Anisays.“Definitely.I,like,alreadysaidthatthough…?”
“Yes,butwhatIwantedtoaskis,didyoutellanyoneatthetime?”
“Oh…”Shefrowns,tryingtothink.“Idon’tremember.ImighthavesaidsomethingtoCarl.Like,Oh,hey,there’sEva.Doyouremember,Carl?”
“Tobequitehonest,Idon’t,”Carlsaysflatly.“Idon’tthinkyousaidanything,buthandonheart,Icouldn’tsweartoiteitherway.”
“Oh!”Anisayssuddenly.She’sflushingpink,andshelookslikeachildwho’spleasedthey’vecomeupwiththeansweryouwerepromptingfor.Irealize,withadisquietingshift,thatAnithinkswearetestingher,checkinguponherstory,andshe’spleasedshecangiveuscorroboration.“Wait,Ididtellsomeone.Wecameofftheliftatthetop,andTopherwastalkingaboutsettingoff,andInigosaid,‘But,like,wecan’t,’becauseofwaitingforEva,andIsaid,‘Goshno,didn’tshetellyou?She’salreadyleft.Isawherskiingdowntheblackrun.’I’mnotsureifTopherheardme,butInigodefinitelydid.Hecanbackmeup.”
Hecanbackmeup.
She’slookingatmewithwide,shiningeyes,andhertrustmakesalumpcometomythroat.
ButCarl…Carlislookingatherwithakindofhorror,andIknowthathehasjoinedthedotsthatDannyandIhadalreadyfiguredout.
“Bollockstobackingyouup,”hesaysabruptly.“Don’tyougetit?”
“Getwhat?”Anisays.Shelookssurprised,likewe’vetakenawayhergoldstar.Shecan’tunderstandwhyCarlisn’tpleasedforher,happythatherstoryhascheckedout.
“Inigoknew,”Carlsays.“Heknewwhereshewasskiing.Eva.Youtoldhimhowtofindher.”
“OhmyGod,”Anisays,andthecolordrainsoutofherface,leavinghertranslucentskinbonewhite,theblueofherveinsshowingthroughatthetemple.“OhmyGod,you’resaying—you’resaying—”
“I’msaying,someonewentdownthatrunandkilledEva.Soquestionis,whoknewshewasskiingit?”
“NotInigo!”Anisays,andhervoiceisacryofanguish.“NotInigo,no,hewas—heandEva—”
Shestops,herhandoverhermouth,asifshe’ssaidtoomuch.
“Evawasshagginghim,”Carlsaysbrutally.“Comeon,love,weallknowthat.Youdon’thavetobeSherlockbloodyHolmestogetthatfar.Butshaggingsomeoneisn’tanalibi,youknowthat.”
“No!”Anistandsup.Thecolorhascomebacktoherface,andshelookspinkandfurious.“No.I’mnothavingthis!Eva’sdeath—itwasanaccident.AndElliot—Ijust—no!Iwon’t—Ican’tthinklikethis.Ican’t!”
Sheletsthecardsflutterfromherhand,andstumblesfromtheroom.
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Iamstandingoutsidemybedroomdoor,mybackpressedtothewood,whensomeonecomesupthestairs.Ican’tseewhoitisatfirst.Withthelightsout,thecorridoristoodark.Butasshecomescloser,IseethatitisAni.Shelooksasifshehasbeencrying.
Myfirstinstinctistoduckbackinsidemyroom—butIcan’t.Topherisinthere.Iamtrapped.Sheiswalkingtowardsme.Iamgoingtohavetointeractwithher.
“Areyouokay?”Isay.
“They’re—they’resayingawfulthings,”shegulps.“AboutInigo.Idon’tbelieveit,Liz,Iwon’t!”
“Whatkindofthings?”Thereisacoldfeelinginthepitofmystomach.
“Thathe—”Shegulpsagain,andforcesherselfon.“ThathekilledEva.Thathedidn’tcallthepolice.”
“Hedidn’tcallthepolice?Areyousayingnoone’scoming?”
“Buthedid!”Aniwails.“Wesawhim!It’scompletelyunfairthey’resayingthisstuffandnotgivinghimthechancetodefendhimself.I’veworkedsidebysidewithhimfortwoyears,forGod’ssake.Iknowhim!”Shepushespastmeandbangsonhisdoor.
CarlhaspursuedAniupthestairs.Theothersarefollowing.IseeRik,Danny—holdingatorch—Miranda,lastofallErin,stilllimping.
“Ani,wait,”Carlsays.Justashesaysit,mybedroomdooropenssosuddenlythatInearlyfallbackwards,becausemyweightisstillrestingagainstthewood.Tophershovespastmeintothecorridor.Hisfaceisstillblotchedfromearlierbutheisnolongercrying.
“What’sgoingon?”heasksabruptly.
“Inigo!”Aniisstillbangingonhisdoor.Thereisnoanswer.“Whereishe?”
“OhGod,”Riksays.HelooksatMiranda,andthenatErin.“Youdon’tthink—”
“Ohno,no,”Dannysaysquickly.“We’renothavinganotherbody.Notonmywatch.”HeelbowspastAni,takesastaffkeyoutofhispocket,andopensthedoor.Thenheshinesthetorchintotheroom.
Thereisnooneinside.
OverhisshoulderIcanseeCarl’sbelongings,thrownuntidilyaround,andInigo’scampbed,thecoversneatlysmoothedandtucked.
Inthecenterofthepillowisafoldedpieceofpaper.
Nooneseemstoknowwhattodo,butthenErinhobblespastDannyintotheroomandpicksitup.
“It’sanote,”shesays,scanningitinthetorchlight.Thenherfacegoesblank.“Oh…fuck.”
ItisthefirsttimeIhaveheardherswearinfrontofus.Dannyhaslostitafewtimes,butErinhasalwaysbeencompletelyprofessional.Nowherfaceiswhite.ShelooksupatDannyandmouthssomethingIcan’tdecipher.
“Whatdoesitsay?”Tophersaysauthoritatively.Apartfromaslightcroakinessinhisvoice,youwouldneverknowhehadbeensobbinghisheartoutinmyroomafewminutesago.“Ihavearighttoknow,I’mstillCEOofthiscompany.”
HepullsthenotefromErin’sfingers.Shedoesnotresist.Hereadsitaloud.
“?‘Deareveryone,Ihavemadeaterriblemistake.Ihavegonetotrytoputitright.Pleasedon’tcomeafterme.Inigo.’?”
“Ohfuck,”Mirandasays,echoingErin.“Theidiot.”Sheisstandinginthedoorway.Nowsheturnsandlooksoutthelongwindowattheendofthecorridor,thewindowInigostoodattotrytogetreception.Itisalmostcompletelydarknow.Thesnowisbeatingontheglassasifitistryingtogetin.Icannothelpaninvoluntaryshiveratthesight.“Imean—lookatitoutthere.He’sgoingtokillhimself.”
“Whatdoesitactuallymeanthough?”Erinasks.Shelooksbewildered.“ThenoteImean.Ishesayinghedidn’tcallthepolicebutnowhe’sgonetofetchthem?OrhashegoneafterEva?”
“Fuckknows,”Carlsaysbrusquely.“Stupidlittleplonker.Hasheactuallyleftalready?”
“Goodquestion,”Dannysays.“I’llcheck.”Heturnsandwalksquicklydownthecorridortakingthetorchwithhim.Theshadowsclosearoundusashedisappears.Wehearhimclatteringonthespiralstaircase,andthenthebangofthedoorintotheservicepartofthebuildingwheretheskilockersare.Whenhereturns,heiswalkingmoreslowly,andhisfaceisset.“Yes,he’sleft,”hesaysashecomesclosertoourgroup.“Hisskisaregone.So’shisjacket.”
“Shit,”Carlsaysangrily.“Bloodylittleidiot.Whendidhego?Whosawhimlast?”
Thereareshrugsallaroundthegroup.
“Isawhimatlunch,”Mirandavolunteers,andseveralotherpeoplenod.
“Isawhimatlunchtoo,”Erinsaysheavily.“Hewas…hedidn’teat.Hewasn’tinagoodstate.Hewentoff,Iassumedtohisroom,buthemighthavegonetotheskilockers.Didanyoneseehimafterlunch?”
Everyoneshakestheirhead.ThenErinfrowns.
“WhataboutTiger?”
Wealllookaroundateachother,andIcanseeasinkingdreadmirroredonthefacesoftheothers.WhereisTiger?
Withoutsayinganything,Dannysetsoffinthedirectionofherroom.Weallfollowhim,likeaflockofanxioussheep.
Atthedoorheknocks.Nothing.Icanfeelthetensionrising.
“Bollockstothis,”Dannysaysroughly,andhestickshisstaffkeyinthelock.Thedoorspringsopen—andeveryonecrowdsinside,jostlingtosee.Iamattheback,myviewblockedbyTopher’sbroadshoulders.IhearAni’sanxious,“Tiger?”
AndthenIhearasleepyvoicesaying,“Hey,what’shappened?”
There’sanaudibleexhalation,amixtureofreliefandexasperation.
“Jesus,Tiger!”It’sMiranda.Heraccentisusuallyanupper-classdrawl.Nowshesoundssharpandannoyed.“Don’tdothattous!Didn’tyouhearErin’sspeech?Sticktogether!”
“Ilockedmydoor,”Tigersays.Hernormallyunruffledvoicesoundsalittlebitlessserenethannormal.“What’sthematter?”
“Inigo’sgone,”Mirandasays.Andthen,tomyastonishment,somethinginherpolishedfacadeseemstocrack,andshebeginstocry.
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Weallgotobedveryearly,exhaustedbyahideous,hideousday.Somepeoplepairup,makingsureeveryoneknowswhothey’rewith.MirandaandRikaren’tpretendinganymore.AfterMiranda’sbreakdownoutsideTiger’sroomearlier,theyhavebeeninseparable.
Now,Riksimplysaysbluntly,“I’llbesleepinginMiranda’sroomtonight,”andthereisnotevenarippleofsurprise.
WhatisperhapsmoresurprisingisthatTigerandAnipairup,leavingCarlandTopherasthetworemainingsinglemen.IhadthoughtthatAniandTopherwouldhavegoneofftogethertoo…butsomethinghaschangedbetweenthemsinceElliot’sdeath.WhatIcan’tfigureoutiswhoinitiatedthereserve.ElliotdiedhavingtriedtotellTophersomething,somethingTophernevergavehimthechancetosay.Youdon’thavetobeageniustofigureoutthatmaybetherewasareasonTopherdidn’twanthimairingthosesuspicions.
Butontheotherhand,itwasthefactthatTopherwasinbedwithAnithatpreventedElliotfromtalkingtoTopher.Itwouldn’tbesurprisingifTopher,onsomelevel,howeverirrationally,resentedthatfact.AndAniwas,undeniably,thepersonwhotookupthatcoffee.Oratleastacoffee,Iremindmyself.ThoughitwasTopherwhoaskedhertodoit,fromwhatshesaidtomeinthekitchen.Assumingshewastellingthetruth.Jesus.Iamtalkingmyselfincircleshere.
It’sMirandawhoraisesthequestionwe’dalloverlooked.
“WhataboutLiz?”
Thereisanawkwardsilenceasweallrealizethat,onceagain,everyonehasforgottenaboutLiz.Alleyesturntoher,andsheseemstoshrinkintoherself,wrappingherarmsaroundherselfasifshecanprotectherselffromourstares.
“Doyouwantto,like,sharewithmeandTiger?”Anisaysbrightly,butLizshakesherhead.
“No,thanks,I’llbefinealone.”
“Liz,no,”Mirandasays,withsomeconcern,“Ireallydon’tthinkthat’sagoodidea.Erin’sright—weshouldstaytogether.”
“Honestly,”Lizsays.Thereissomethingobstinate,mulishalmostinherface.“Idon’tlikesharingaroom.I’lllockthedoor.”
“Fulldisclosure,”Dannysaysbluntly,“Erinandme,we’vegotstaffkeys.Wecangetineverywhere.Now,I’mnotsayingwe’regonnacomeandbumpyouoffinthenight,butthesedoorsain’texactlyFortKnox,ifyouknowwhatI’msaying.”
“I’llputachairunderthedoorknob,”Lizsays.Shefoldsherarms,andIexchangeaglancewithDannyandaminuteshrug.Wecan’tmakehertakeouradvice.
“Allright,”Dannysaysatlast.“Yourfuneral.”
It’sonlyafterthewordsarespokenthatherealizeshowtheysound.
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Iknowwhattheyarethinkingaswetrailslowlyofftoourseparaterooms.TheyarethinkingIammad.Perhapstheyareright.AsIshutandlockthedoorbehindme,Ican’thelpwonderingifthisisaterrible,dangerousidea,makingmyselftheoddoneoutlikethis.Whatifitgivessomeoneideas?
ButIcannotexplaintothemhowmuchthethoughtofsharingaroomwithTigerandAnifillsmewithdread.Ithasbeenbadenoughduringtheday,jostlingwiththesefacesfromthepast,hemmedintoanightmarewithpeopleIbarelyknow.
Ineedmyrefuge.Ineedtobeabletoclosethedoorbehindme.TheideaofspendingthenightonamattressonTiger’sfloor,listeningtohersoftbreathing,andAnishiftinginhersleep—itmakesmewanttoshudder.
Ipushachairunderthehandleofthedoor,thengetintobed,fullydressed.Itistoocoldtochange.Iamlyingthere,withmyeyesclosed,tryingtorelaxmystiffmuscles,tryingtotellmyselfit’ssafetofallintounconsciousness,whenthereisanoiseatthedoor.Iraisemyhead.Instantlymyheartisracingat150beatsaminute.
“Wh-whoisit?”Myvoiceisshakywithadrenaline.
Icanbarelyhearthewhisperthroughthethickwood.
“It’sme,Ani.”
“Hangon.”Iswingmylegsoutofbedandmakemywayovertothedoor,pullingawaythechair.ThenIopenitcautiously.
Aniisstandingoutside.Sheisdressedinathickpinksweaterthatcomesdownalmosttoherknees.Hereyesarehugeinthedarkness.
“Ani,whatareyoudoing?Younearlygavemeaheartattack.”
“I’msorry,”shewhispers.“Icouldn’tsleep,youknow?Ikeptworryingaboutyou,andIthinkErin’sright.Weshould,like,sticktogether?PleasecomeinwithmeandTiger.”
“No,honestly,I’mfine,”Isay.Anistandsthereinthedarkcorridor,twistingherfingerstogether.SheislookingatmeinawayIdon’tlike.Hereyesareverywideandveryworried.“I’mfine,”Isaymoreforcefully.“Go,Tigerwillbewonderingwhereyouare.”
“Tiger’salreadyasleep,”shesayswithatremulouslittlelaugh.“Outlikealightandsnoring.Idon’tknowhowshedoesit—she’ssozen.AndIjustkeptthinkingaboutthings,turningstuffoverinmymind.”
“Ithinkshetookapill,”Isay.“Shewastalkingaboutitatbreakfast.But—whatdoyoumean,thinkingaboutstuff?”
“Oh…nothing.”Shegivesthatlittleshakylaughagain,butthereissomethinginhereyes.Itispleadingandconcerned.Igetasuddenlurchofapprehension.
“Ani,doyouknowsomethingyou’venottoldanyone?”
Sheshakesherhead,butit’snotreallyadecisiveshake,it’smoreofaworriedDon’tknow.
“Listentome,”Isay.Myvoiceisanurgentwhisper.Itisnotlikemetobesoforceful,butIamveryworried.“YouheardwhatErinsaid,ifyouknowsomething,tellsomeone.Keepingsecretsisthemostdangerousthingyoucando.Didyouseesomething?WasitwhenElliotcametoTopher’sroom?SomethingaboutInigo?”
“No,Ididn’t—”shesays,withacatchinhervoice.“Ijust—Ikeepfeelinglikethere’ssomethingwrong…somethingIsaw…Ijust—like,can’tputmyfingeronit.”
OhGod.Mystomachischurningwithunease.IhaveahorriblefeelingthatwhatAnican’tremembermightbevery,veryimportant.Itmightbethecluetothekiller’sidentity.Itmightbetheonethingthatgivesthemaway.
“Ani,tellme,”Iplead.“Don’tkeepthistoyourself.”
Oureyeslock,andIseesomethingthere.Somethingthatsheknows.AndsuddenlyIamvery,veryfrightened.
“Ani,please,”Isay.Iambegging,IknowIam,andInolongercare.Butshejustshakesherhead,hereyesaswideandasscaredasIfeel.
“Ican’t,”shewhispers.“Ihaveto…Ihavetothink…”
Thenshedisappearsintotheshadows,leavingmestandinginthecorridor,watchingwithforebodingasTiger’sdoorclosessoftlybehindher.Iwait,justtomakesure,andthenIheartheclickassheturnsthekeyinthelock,andIturnbacktomyroom.ThereisnothingelseIcando.
ERIN
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“Shit.”Dannyislyingonamattresshe’sdraggedintomyroom,hishandsoverhisface.“WhydidIsaythataboutthebloodyfuneral?I’msobleedingtactless!TheirmateshavejustdiedandtheyprobablythinkI’mmakingcracksaboutit.”
“Honestly,Danny,Itrulythinkthat’sthelastthinganyoneisworryingabout.”
Iamsotiredmyeyesarescratchingwithit,andI’msureDannymustfeelthesame,butIalsoknowthatthere’snowayI’mgoingtobeabletofallasleep.Everythingistoowrong.Danny’spresence,comfortingasitis,istoostrange.Theroomistoocold.Thesituationistoodire.AndI’mworriedthatifIdofallasleep,I’mgoingtohavemyrecurringdreamaboutdiggingthroughsnow,thatI’llwakeupDanny,thathe’llaskquestionsIcan’tanswer.
MostofallIjustfeelincrediblyscared.
Itdoesn’thelpthatmyfootishurtingagain.Alot.Iamstartingtoworrythatmaybesomethingisbrokenafterall.
“Someoneshouldhavecome,”Dannysays,intothesilence,andIknowwhathe’stalkingabout.
“Wedon’tknowInigodidn’tphone.”
“Whatdidhemeanthen,aboutmakingahugemistake?”
“Idon’tknow,butitmakesnosense,Danny.Whyonearthwouldn’thephone?Theonlyreasonwouldbeifhe’dkilledEva,andifthat’sthecase,we’resaferwithouthim,aren’twe?”
“Maybehedid.Maybehe’sgettingaheadstartonthepolice.Wedon’tknow,dowe?”
Danny’sremarkstopsmeinmytracks,andIcan’thonestlythinkwhattosayinreply.ThetruthisthatIjustdon’tthinkInigoisakiller.Heseemedgentle,anddesperate,andgenuinelysadaboutEva.ButthenIthinkofallthenewspaperpiecesI’veeverreadabout“perfectlyniceguys”whokilledtheirkidsortheirpartnersoracompletestranger.AndIamforcedtoremindmyselfofwhatDannywastryingtogetat—thesepeoplearestrangerstous.Whateveroddintimacythissituationhascreated,it’sillusory.WehaveknownInigo,liketherestofthem,forlessthanthreedays.
There’sanotherlongsilence,andforawhileIthinkmaybeDannyhasdriftedofftosleep,butthenhegivesagreatsigh.
“Shit,whatarewegoingtodo,Erin?”
“Idon’tknow.”ThethreewordsencompassallthedesperationI’vebeenbuildingupsinceEva’sdisappearance.Thisisjustunimaginablyawful.FirstEva,thenElliot,nowInigo.Ourguestsaredisappearingonebyone,likesomebadhorrormovie.“IfInigoreallyhasgonetogethelp—”
“Idon’tbelieveit,”Dannysays,withfinality.“Ifhecalledthepolicelikeheclaimed,thenthere’snoneedforhimtogoandgetthem.Andifhedidn’tcallthem,whygoandbecometheknightinshiningarmorallofasudden?Itdoesn’tmakesense.He’snotgoneforthepolice.He’sscarpered,andthisishiswayofcoveringitup.”
Hiswordsmakemystomachsink,butthere’snodenyingthelogicofwhathesaid.Thetruthis,whetherInigohasdisappearedornot,itdoesn’tchangeourpredicament.Wearestuckhere,andwehavenowayofknowingwhetherInigowillsucceedingettinghelp—orevenifhe’lltry.Allthecomplicatedanalysisintheworldcan’tchangethat.Allwecandoissitandwait.Then,suddenly,anideacomestome.“Wait,there’sonethingwecoulddo.”
“What?”
“Youcouldgo.YoucouldwalktoHautMontagne.Raisethealarm.”
There’salongsilence.ThenDannysaysflatly,“No.”
“Iknowit’sdangerous,butIcan’tgowithmyank—”
“Fuckthedanger,”Dannybreaksin.“Idon’tcareaboutthebloodydanger.Butyou’reright—youcan’tgo,andI’mnotleavingyouherewithabunchofpsychopaths.”
“Wedon’tknowanyonehereisapsychopath—ifit’struethatInigo—”
“I’mnotleavingyou,”Dannysays,andsomethingabouthistonemakesitveryclear:that’sgoingtobehislastwordonthesubject.Iheararustleofcoversasheturnssharplyoverinbed.“Andthat’sthat.Nowgotosleep.”
Butit’saverylongtimebeforeIdo.
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Iclimbbackintobed.IamsotensethatIamnotsureIwillgettosleep,butwhenatlastIdodriftoff,itisintothedeep,dreamlesssleepofcompleteexhaustion.WhenIwakeupitisbitterlycold,andalthoughmyclothesfeelcrumpledandsweaty,IamgratefulthatInevertookthemoff.Gettingupwouldhavebeentoopainful.Evenwithmyclotheson,itistoocoldtofacegettingoutofbed,andIshutmyeyesandjustliethere.Myphonehasdiedcompletely,soIhavenoideawhatthetimeis.
Itisthenthatthescreamripsthroughthequiet.Itisalong,loudonethatgoeson,andon.
Isitboltupright,myheartthumping,andthenIswingmylegsoutofbedandstand.Themovementismuchtoofast.Ifeeltheblooddrainawayfrommyhead,andthenreturnwithapricklingrush.Myheartisstillpoundingwithadrenaline
OutinthecorridorIcanheardoorsbanging.Voicesarecallingoutinpanic.
“It’scomingfromTiger’sroom,”Ihearsomeoneshout.
MyhandsareshakingasIfumbleformyglassesandshovethemontomynose.ItissocoldthatmybreathhuffswhiteasIundothedoorlock.
InthecorridorRik,Miranda,Topher,andCarlarecrowdedaroundTiger’sdoor.Mirandaiswearingabeaniehatandgloves.
“Openup!”Topherisshouting.“What’sthematter?Ani?Tiger?Openthedoor!”
Thescreaminghasdiedintoalowsobbing.Itisimpossibletotellwhoismakingthesound.
Ihearrunningfeet,andthenDannythechefcomesskiddingaroundthecornerofthecorridor,wearingjoggingpantsandacrumpledsweatshirt.
“Whatthefuck’sgoingon?What’salltheshouting?”
“Weheardscreaming,”Riksaystersely.“FromTigerandAni’sroom.Wecan’tgetthemtoopenthedoor.”
“Standaside,”Dannysays,reachingintohispocketforhispasskey.Hishandcomesoutempty.“Fuck,musthaveleftitinmyothertrousers.Oi!”Hebangsonthedoor.“Openup!Wecan’thelpyouunlessyouopenthedoor!”
Thereisaclick.Thedoorswingsopen.
Withsomanypeopleintheway,Ican’tseewhoitis.ButthenIhearMiranda’sstartledvoicesay,“Tiger!Whatonearthisthematter!”
Tigerissobbingsohardshecanhardlygetthewordsout.
“Ani,ohGod,p-pleasehelpme.It’sAni.Ithinkshe’sd-dead.”
ERIN
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Ittakesmepainfullylongtohobblealongthecorridor.Myanklehaspuffedupovernightandithurtstoputweightonit.AsIroundthecornerthesoundofvoicesswellsintoapanickedhubbub.
“What’sgoingon?”Iask,butnoone’slistening,they’recrowdingaroundTigerandAni’sdoor.Tigeriscrouchedinthecorridor,herarmswrappedaroundherhead,sobbinghysterically.Lizisstandingoverherlookingterrified,andoccasionallyplacingahandgingerlyonTiger’shair,likeit’sabouttoburstintoflames.
“What’sgoingon?”Isayagain,andthistimeDannyappearsoutofTiger’sroom,hisfacegray.
“Fuckinghell,”hesays.“They’vegotAni.”
“They’vegother?Who’sgother?Whatdoyoumean?”Icanfeelfearrisinginsideme.
“Imean,I’mprettysureshe’sdead.”
OhGod.DreadtwistsatmygutsasIpushpasttheothersandintotheroom.
Aniislyingonamattressonthefloor.She’sfacedown,butwhenIpullhershouldertoturnherover,shecomesallofapiece,likeamannequin,herjointslockedwithrigormortis.Idon’tneedtofeelhercold,waxenfacetoknowthatshe’svery,verydead.
Suddenlymylegswon’tholdme,andIstaggertoTiger’sbed,whichisstillwarmandrumpled.TheroomswimsinandoutoffocusandIputmyheadbetweenmyknees,tryingtoholdittogether.
“Thatcan’thavebeenInigo,”Dannysayshoarsely.Ishakemyheadinagreement.Thatmuchisclear.OhGod,whatisthislivingnightmarewe’vefoundourselvesin.
“Andthenweweresix,”saysalittlevoicefromthedoorway,andIlookuptoseeLiz,herfaceawhitemaskofhorrorasshegazesatAni’sproneform.
“What?”Dannysays.Helooksbewildered,asifhedidn’thearherright.
“Nothing,”Lizsays.Shegivesashaking,tremulouslaugh.Itsoundslikeshe’sonthevergeofhysterics.Iknowhowshefeels.Andthensheturnsanddisappears.Ihearherdoorslam,andthelockgrindintoplace.Idon’tblameher.Astrongpartofmewouldliketodothesame.ButIcan’t.Ihaveto…
Istand,goovertothebody,andverygentlyturnitagain,thistimeforcingmyselftolookdownatAni’sdeadface.
Shelooksalmostlikeshediedinhersleep.Almost.Notquite.There’satinystainingofbloodonherlipwhereshemusthavebittenhertongue.Andonherface,afewminutereddots.Iknowwhattheyare,orrather,Iknowwhattheymean,butittakesafewminutescudgelingmymemorybeforemybraincancomeupwiththemedicalterm.Petechiae.First-yearmedicalstudentsdon’tcomeacrossmuchhomicide—butI’veseenenoughtextbookphotographstorecognizeit.
Therearenomarksonherneck,andnootherwoundsthatIcansee,apartfromthetinyspecksofbloodonherlips.WhenIbendtolowerhergentlybacktothepositionIfoundher,facedown,Iseeithasfleckedthepillowtoo.Alinesingsinmyhead:Lipsasredasblood,skinaswhiteassnow.
“Ithinkshewassmothered,”IsayquietlytoDanny.“Whoeverdiditeitherpressedherfacedownintothepillow,ortheyheldsomethingoverherfaceandthenturnedheroverafterwards.There’snotmuchbruisingandnodefensivemarksthatIcansee—shewasprobablyasleep.”
“OhmyGod.”Danny’sfacecrumplesintohorror.Helookslikeamandecadesolderthanhistwenty-fiveyears.“But,you’renottellingme—Tiger?”
Ishakemyhead,butI’mnotdisagreeingwithhim—Ijusthavenoideawhattosay.Ican’tbelievethatgentle,zen-likeTigercouldpossiblyhavedonethis.Butontheotherhand—thedoorwaslocked.AndcouldsomeonereallyhavecreptinandsmotheredAniinhersleepwithoutTigerwaking?Ithinkbacktoheryoga-tonedbody,thoseslim,stronghands.Theworldseemstotiltandshiftonitsaxis.
Outinthecorridor,theothersarewaiting,paleandworried.Tigerhassobbedherselfsilentandisstillcrouchedagainstthewall,Miranda’sarmprotectivelyaroundher.Lizisstilllockedinherroom.CarlandRikarestandingwithgrim,drawnfaceseithersideofthedoorlikesentries.Topherispacing,andhelookslikeamanpossessedbydemons.Thereisanexpressiononhisfacethatfrightensme.
“What.The.Fuck,”hespitsasDannyandIleavetheroom,closingthedoorbehindus.
“Oi,mate,”Dannyputsuphishands,butIshushhim.Fiveofthesepeoplearescaredandgrieving.One…ButIcan’tthinkaboutthat.It’stoosurreal,toohorrible.
“Comedowntothelivingroom,”Isay.“Ithinkweallneedadrink.”
It’sbarely9:00a.m.,butdownstairsIpourusallstiffwhiskeys,andeveryonedrinksthemwithoutamurmur,exceptforTiger,whoislyingonthesofa,shivering,inastateofwhatIcanonlycallnear-catatonicshock.
“So,”Riksays,asheputsdownhisglass.“Whathappened?”
“Justasecond,”Mirandasays.“Where’sLiz?”
Ifeelawashofpanic,followedbyawaveofrationality.ThereisnowayanyonecanhavekilledLizwhilewewereallstandingoutinthecorridor.
“Ithinkshe’sinherroom,”Isay.“I’llgoandgether.”
“Notaloneyouwon’t,”Dannygrowls,andhefollowsmeupstairslikeawatchdogasImakemypainful,limpingwaytoknockatLiz’sdoor.
“Wh-whoisit?”Ihearthroughthewood.ShesoundsasscaredasIfeel.
“It’sme,Erin,”Isay.“AndDanny.We—weneedtotalkaboutthisLiz.Aboutwhathappened.Weneedtotrytofigureoutwhattodonext.Canyoucomeout?”
Thereisascrapingnoise,andthedooropens,veryslowly,untilLizisstandingthere,white-facedandhollow-eyed.Shelooksterrified,likethereisnothingintheworldshewouldlessratherdothangodownstairsandfaceherfellowguests—andIcan’tblameher.Ifeelthesameway.Butwehavetodoit.
Bythetimewegetdownstairs,MirandahasbuiltupthefireandRikhaspouredeveryoneanotherroundofverygenerouswhiskeys.Iwanttosaysomethingabouttheadvisabilityofaddingmorealcoholtothismix,butsinceIwastheonewhosuggestedadrinkinthefirstplace,Idon’tfeellikeIhavetherighttoobject.
“So,whathappened?”RiksaysagainashehandsLizaglass.Hisvoiceteetersontheedgeofwhatsoundslikeaggression,butIthinkit’sactuallyfear.“Don’ttellmeshejustdiedinhersleep.”
“Shedidn’t,”Isay,veryquietly,buttheyallfallinstantlysilent.“Shehadsomethingcalledpetechialhemorrhaging.Doyouknowwhatthatmeans?”
Thereareheadshakesallaroundthecircle,apartfromCarl,whonods.
“Littlereddots,right?Yeah,IwatchCSI.Shootme.”
“Exactly.Littlereddotswherebloodvesselshavebrokenintheskin.Itusuallymeanssomeonehasdiedofsomeformofasphyxiation—chokingorhanging.Inthiscase,giventhereweren’tanymarksaroundherneck,IthinkAniwasprobablysmotheredinhersleep.”
“OhmyGod.”It’salonggroanfromMiranda.Sheputsherhandsoverherface
“She—sheknewsomething.”It’sLiz.Shespeaksverylow,andIhavetoshushtheotherstohearwhatshe’ssaying.“Shecametomyroomlastnight,totrytopersuademenottosleepalone.WhenIaskedwhyshewasstillawake,shesaidshehadsomethingonhermind,somethingshe’dseen—Ibeggedhertotellme—”Shebreaksoff,hervoicecracking.It’svirtuallythelongestspeechI’veeverheardhermake,andshelookslikeshe’sshrinkingasalltheeyesoftheroomturntoher.
“Oh,bloodyhell.”Danny’svoiceisangry,andhestandsup,asifhecan’tcontainhisfeelings.“WhatdidErinfuckingsay?Ifyouknowsomethingtellsomeone.”
“Iknow!”Lizsays,hervoicelikeasob.“Ibeggedhertosaysomething,Ireallydid—butshesaidshewasn’tsure—”
“Tiger.”MirandaisshakingTigernow,gently.“Tiger,didAnisayanythingtoyoulastnight,beforeshefellasleep?”
“Iwasasleep.”Tiger’svoiceisbroken,andveryhoarse.It’shardtounderstandwhatshe’ssaying,thewordsarecrackedandfractured.Imakeout,“I’msosorry…asleep…tookasleepingpill…”
“Wait,youtakesleepingpills?”Isay.IglanceatDanny,whoraisesaneyebrowback,andIknowheisthinking,asIam,ofthecrushedpillsinElliot’scoffee.Tigergivesahugesob.
“Notnormally,butIcouldn’tsleep,Ihaven’tbeenabletosinceIgothere.Itstartedthef-firstday.Evasaiditwasthealtitude.Shegavemesomeofherpills.”
“It’strue,”Mirandasays.Sheglancesroundthecircle,lookingforsupport.“Itwasafterbreakfastthatfirstmorning,Iremembertheconversation.Rik,youheardher,didn’tyou?”
“I’msorry,”Riksayswithashrug.Hisvoiceisdefensive.“I’msureyou’reright,butIdon’tremember.”
“Everyonewasthere,”Mirandapersists.“Itwasrightbeforewewentintothemeetingroom.EvasaidtoTiger,youlooklikeyouhaven’tslept,andTigersaid,Iactuallydidn’t.AndEvasaid,it’sthealtitude.Remindmetogiveyousomeofmysleepingpills.Carlwastheretoo,andLiz.AndTopher.”
“Idon’tremembereither.IexpectIwastoobusythinkingaboutthepresentation,”Tophersays,ratherbrusquely.“Whatareyoutryingtosay?”
Helooksruffled,likehethinksMirandaistryingtopinsomethingonhim.ButIknowwhyMirandaispushingthis.SheknowsthatTigeristhenumberonesuspectforAni’sdeath.TigerwasintheroomwhenAniwassmothered,andshesleptthroughit.Whichisprettyunlikely—unlessyouknowthatshewastakingsleepingpills.Mirandaistryingtoshowthateveryoneknewthatfact.ThatanyonecouldhavetakenadvantageofTiger’sdruggedstatetosneakinandkillAniwhileTigerslept.Iadmireherforit,inaway—she’sstandingbyhercolleagueinthefaceofsomeprettyhorribleevidence.
Butthereisstillthequestionofthelockeddoor.
“WhogottoAni’sroomfirst?”Iask.
“Idid,”Tophersays.Heisstandingproppedagainstthemantelpiece,nowhefoldshisarms.“Butitwaslocked.Yousawthat.”HenodsatDanny,whoshrugswithcorroboration.
“Itriedthedoor,yeah.Itwaslocked.”
“Sohowdidsomeonegetin?”Topherdemands.“Staffkey?Howmanyofthosethingsarethere?”
“Justtwo,”Isay.Iholdupmine.“Ihadminewithmeallnight.I’mcertainofit.Danny?”
ButDannyisfrowning,pattinghispockets.
“Ithoughtminewasinhere.TheseweretheclothesIwaswearingyesterday.Ithought…Hangon.”
Andwithoutwaitingforanyoneelsetoaccompanyhim,hejumpsupandleavestheroom.
“Danny!”Ishoutafterhim,buthecallsback.
“I’llonlybeasec.”
There’salongsilence.Ifindmyheartbeatinguncomfortablyfast,eventhoughIknowit’sirrational.Everyoneisinhere.I’mlookingatthemrightnow.ButthisisstartingtofeellikeLordoftheFlies
WhenDannycomesback,hisfaceisverygrave,andthelookheshootsatmetellsmehe’snotrelishingwhathe’sabouttosay.
“Well,thereain’tnopointinsugarcoatingthis,”hesays.“Mykey’sgone.Someone’shalf-inchedit.”
“Fuck.”It’sRik,thewordsoundinglikegunshotintheensuingsilence.“Fuck.You’resayingsomeonehasaccesstoeveryroomintheplacenow?Noneofuscanlockourdoors?”
“That’saboutthesizeofit,”Dannysaysgrimly.
“You,”Topherspits,“areafuckingirresponsiblewanker,youhadadutyofcaretousand—”
Dannystandsup,puttinghimselfonthesamelevelasTopher,almostsquaringuptohim.
“Don’ttakethattonewithme,mate.”
“Thisisbloodyconvenientforyou,isn’tit?Before,ifanyonemanagedtogetaccesstoanyoftheroomsyouandErinwereprimesuspects,nowyou’vecontrived—”
“Ihaven’tcontrivedanything,”Dannysnarlsback.“Anddon’tyoubringmeandErinintoit.Weain’tdonenothing,andweneverhadanytroubleuntilyoulotturnedupandstartedbumpingeachotheroff.Wedon’tknowanyofyoufromAdam.Sothefactthatoneofyouremployeesnickedmykey—”
“Wellthat’sanotherthing,”Tophersaysangrily.“WhoexactlyisErinanyway,becausesheseemstobealittleoverqualifiedforachaletgirlifyouaskme.Petrificalfuckingwhateveritwas—isthatpartoftheskichalettraining?”
Shit.Iknewthiswascoming.Isighandstanduptoo,favoringmygoodleg.
“No.Noit’snot.Thetruthis…”IglanceatDanny,wonderingwhatIcangetawaywith.“Thetruthis,IwenttomedicalschoolbeforeIcamehere.Idroppedout,butthat’showIknowaboutthepetechiae.”
“Butthat’snotall,isit,”Topherprods.“It’sbeenbotheringmesinceIgothere.Iknowyou.IknowIdo.”
Fuck.Fuck
Thereisnopointinbeatingaroundthebushanylonger.
“Yes,youprobablydoknowme.MysurnameisFitzClarence.MyfriendsallcallmeErin,butthat’smymiddlename.”
“Ifuckingknewit!”Topher’svoiceisashoutoftriumph.“IknewIknewyou.DorotheaFitzClarence.Iwasatschoolwithyourbrother,Alex—theonewho—”
Hebreaksoff,andInodreluctantly,becausethereisnothingelseIcando.
“What?”Dannysays.Helooksthunderstruck.“Erin,whatisthisbullshit?Dorothea—youwhat?”
“Letmeintroduceyou,”Tophersays,withgreatmalice,“toLadyDorotheadePlessisFitzClarence,youngestdaughteroftheMarquessofCardale.”
LIZ
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Lookingaroundthecircleoffrowningfaces,itisclearthatIamnottheonlypersonwhoisveryconfused.Erinlooksstricken.Topherlooksdelighted.ButeveryoneelselooksasbaffledasIfeel.Whathasjusthappened?WhathasthisgottodowithAni’sdeath?
Thereisnotimetofindout.Dannyturnsaroundsoabruptlythatheknocksoverachair.Itfallswithaclatter,smashingawhiskeyglass.
“Danny,”Erinsaysdesperately.
“Youfuckingliar,”heshootsoverhisshoulder.Thenheleavestheroom.
EringivesafuriouslookatTopher.
“Thanksabunch,”shesays,andthensheisgone,hobblingafterDanny.
“Ha,”Tophersays,sittingdowninanarmchair.Thereisalookofgrimsatisfactiononhisface.
“Topher,”Mirandasays,bewildered.“Whatonearthwasallthatabout?Aniisdeadforgoodness’sake.Haveyouforgottenthat?”
“No,”Tophersaysdefensively,thoughIthinkthetruthisthathehad,justforaminuteortwo.“No,notatall.That’sveryhurtfulofyoutoimplythat,Miranda.ButI’dhadenoughofthatchippychefthrowingaroundaccusations.We’renottheonlypeoplehidingstuff.”
“Speakforyourself,mate!”Carlsplutters.“I’mnothidinganything!WhatthehellhasitgottodowithanythingifErin’sabitposherthanshe’sbeenlettingon?”
“Becauseshe’sgotskininthisgametoo,”Topherhissesangrily.“I’mfedupofthembothactingsohighandmighty.”
“IrememberAlexFitzClarence,”Riksaysslowly.“Hewasacoupleofyearsbelowus.Didn’t…didn’thedieafewyearsago?”
“That’shim,”Tophersays.“Hewasareallygoodblokeactually.Thatwasn’tmypoint—mypointwassimplythatErinisabitmoreentangledinthisthanshe’slettingon.AndwhathappenedtoAlex—”Hestops.SuddenlyhisexpressionchangesandhegripsRik’sarm,sohardthatRikgivesalittlewince.HelooksasifhehasbeengivenaverygenerousChristmaspresent.“Hangonasecond.Alexdiedinanavalanche.Withhisbestmate.”
“Whatareyousaying?”Rikislookingwary.
“Irememberreadingaboutitinthealumnaenewsletter.AlexFitzClarencediedinanavalancheinthealpswithhisbestfriend,WillHamilton.TheonlysurvivorwasWill’sgirlfriend,ErinFitzClarence.”
“Topher.”MirandaislookingasalarmedasRiknow.“Topher,whatareyougettingat?”
“I’msaying,thisisn’tthefirsttimeourlittleErinhasbeeninvolvedinafatalskiingaccident.”
ERIN
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“Danny!”Thereisnoanswer,butIknowhe’sinthere.“Danny,please,I’msorry.Pleaseletmeexplain.”Ibangonhisdoorformaybethetwentiethorthirtiethtime,butwithoutmuchhopenow.It’sclearhedoesn’twanttoopenup.
Onlythenhedoes.
“Thishadbetterbegood,”hesays,andhisexpressionmakesmequail,it’ssoangry.
“Danny,I’msorry,”Isayagain,desperately.
“Yousaidyouweregoingtoexplain.”Hefoldshisarms,hisfurybarelycontained.“Sogoonthen.Explain.Explainwhyyouliedtome.”
“Ididn’tlietoyou—”
Hebeginstoshutthedoorinmyface.
“Hey!”Icry,andinstinctivelyIshovemyfootinthegap,forgettingthatit’smybadankle.Thedoorcrunchesonit,andIletoutascreamofpureagony.Dannyclapshishandstohismouth.
“Holyshit,Erin,I’msorry—I’mso,sosorry—it’sfine!”hebellows,knowingthattheothersareprobablyjumpingupinpanic,attunedtotheworst-casescenario.“Erin’sfine,shejustknockedherankle.”
“I’mfine,”Icallcroakily,blinkingawaythesuddentearsofpainthathavestartedintomyeyes,andwhethertheybelieveus,ortheycan’thearanythingthroughthestaffdoor,noonecomesrunning.
Eitherway,somethinghasbrokeninthedeadlockbetweenus,becauseDannyopensthedoorwiderandjerkshisheadathisbed.
“Youbettercomein.Taketheweightoff.”
Ihobblemeeklyinsideandsitdown.
Thereisalongsilence.
“So?”Dannysaysatlast.Everymuscleinhisbodyscreamsantagonism,butatleastI’vebeenofferedthechancetoexplain.
“You’reright,”Isay.“EvenifIdidn’tlietoyou,Ididn’texactlytellyouthetruth.”
“Ithoughtwewerefriends,”Dannysays,andalthoughtheangerisfadingfromhiskind,crumpledface,what’sleftisworse—bewilderedhurt.“Ithought—Ithoughtyouandmewasonthesameside.”
“Wewere—weare,”Isaydesperately.“Thisdoesn’tchangeanything.EverythingItoldyou—aboutme,aboutdroppingoutofuni—it’salltrue.Ijustdidn’ttellyouwhy.”
“Whythen?”Dannysays.Hefoldshisarmsandleansbackagainsthislittlechestofdrawers,lettingmeknowwithhisbodylanguagethatthisisn’tgoingtobethateasy.I’vegotaholetodigmyselfoutof.
Iswallow.Ihaven’ttalkedtoanyoneaboutthis—notsincethenightmaredaysandweeksaftertheaccident.ButIoweDannythetruth.
“It’struemydad’samarquess,”Isay.“Buthonestly,Danny,itsoundsahellofalotgranderthanitis.Hedoesn’tliveinacastle.Myfamilyisn’tparticularlywell-off.Alexwenttoboardingschool,butIwenttothelocalcomprehensivebecausemyparentscouldn’taffordtwosetsoffees;I’mnodifferentfromyou.”
Hegivesmealookatthat,asiftosay,Fuckoffareyou,andIwince,knowinghe’sright.DannygrewuponacouncilestateontheoutskirtsofPortsmouth,theonlychildofasinglemumwhostruggledforyearstomakeendsmeet.Hehaspulledhimselfupbyhisbootstraps,withnohelpfromanyone.HoweverfartheFitzClarencefortuneshavefallen,ourupbringingsweredifferent,andthat’sthetruth.Topretendotherwiseisprettyinsulting.
“Okay,I’msorry,that—thatwasclumsy.It’snotwhatImeant.Ijustmeant—I’mtryingtoexplain—”
Istop.Iputmyheadinmyhands.ThisisallIneed.Dannywastheonepersononmyside,theonepersonIfeltIcouldrelyon.HaveIreallyscrewedallthatup,thankstoTopher?
“WhenIwasnineteen,”Ibeginagain,moreslowlythistime,“Iwentonaskiingholidaywithmyboyfriend,Will,andmybrother,Alex,Will’sbestfriend.Wewereskiingoff-piste,andwewerestupid.Wegotcaughtina—”Iswallow.Idon’tknowhowtotalkaboutthis,howtoexplainthehorrorofwhathappened.Wordsaren’tenough.
“Wegotcaughtinanavalanche,”Isayatlast,forcingthewordout.“Wetriggeredit.Wewereallwearingavalanchepacks,butAlexdidn’tmanagetosethisoff.Will’sdeployed,butitdidn’tsavehim,hewasburiedtoodeep,andIcouldn’tdighimoutfastenough.Iwastheonlypersonwhosurvived.”
Istop.Ican’tgoon.Ican’tdescribethosenightmarishhoursonthemountain,sobbingasIdugwithnumbbleedinghandsthroughthehard-packeddriftstotrytoreachWill,whowastrappedheaddownbeneathahundredweightofsnowandice.IdugandIwept,andIweptandIdug,usinganythingIcouldfindinmypack—myliftpass,mywaterbottle,anythingthatcouldformamakeshiftpick,formypolesandskiswerelonggone,rippedawayfrommesomewherefaruptheslope.
Itwastoolate.Iknewthat.IhadknownitevenbeforeIbegantodig,Ithink,andasthehoursworeon,andthesnowlayallaroundinunmovingsilence,Isomehowfoundthestrengthtoacceptit.ButstillIdug.NotjustforWill,butformyownsurvival.BecauseWillhadtheGPSlocatorbeaconinhispack.AndifIdidn’tactivateit,Iwoulddiealongwithhim.
Thesearchandrescueeventuallyfoundus.Orrather,theyfoundme.BythetimetheyarrivedIwashypothermic,cradlingWill’sdeadbody.Alexwasnotrecovereduntilthefollowingspring.
“I—Icouldn’tgoback,”Isay,veryquietly.“Doyouunderstandthat?Icouldn’tgobacktomyoldlife.Itwascompletelymeaningless.IwenthometoburyWill,andthenIcamebacktothemountains—atfirstbecauseIcouldn’tbeartoleavewithoutAlex,andthenafterwardsbecause…”
Istop.Thetruthis,Idon’tknowwhyIstayed.OnlythatIcouldn’tstandtobeathome,withthepityofallmyfriendssuffocatingme,andmyparents’awful,crushinggrief.Anditseemedlikeakindofpenancetostayhere,amongtheterribleausterebeautyoftheAlps,tokeepforcingmyselftolookatthemountainsthathadkilledWillandAlex.
“That’swhyyoudon’tskioff-piste,”Dannysayshoarsely.Heislookingatmeverydifferentlynow.Theangerhasgone.Thereisonlyakindof…pityleft.Ithurtstoseeitinhisface,andIturnaway,nodding.
“Yes,that’swhy.Istillloveskiing—whichisperverse,Iknow.MyparentsthinkI’mcrazy.MydadcalledmeamasochistwhenItookthisjob.ButIcan’tseemtobringmyselftoleavethemountains,andyoucan’tlivehereyear-roundwithoutskiing.ButIdon’tthinkI’llevergooff-pisteagain.”
“Fuck,Erin.Whydidn’tyoutellme?”Dannyasks,buthedoesn’tsayitlikehe’sexpectingananswer.Ithinkheknowsthatitwasn’tthatIdidn’twanttotellhim—itwasthatIcouldn’tbeartosayit.Icouldn’tbeartobecomeavictimtohimtoo.
Thereisasilence,andthenhefoldsmeinhisarms,andIrestmyfaceagainsthiswarm,muscledshoulderandIclosemyeyesandbreatheinthegood,Dannysmellofhim.Ifeelthetearssoakintothewornsoftnessofhissweater.
“Soyou’reproperposh,eh?”hesays,witharumblingchuckle,andIgiveashakyansweringlaugh,andliftmyhead,wipingthetearsoffmynosewithmysleeve.“Youbelongdownthere,withthatlot,notuphereintheservants’quarters,withthehoipolloi.”
“No,Idon’t.”IsayitmoreemphaticallythanImean,andDannylaughsagain,butI’mserious.“No,Imeanit,Danny,Idon’tbelongwiththemanymore.I’mnotsureIeverdid.Whattheystandfor—”
Istop,thinkingofTopherandhiscushioned,moniedexistence—thewayhehashadeverythinghandedtohimonaplate,thewayhe’sneverhadtoscrapforanything,neverhadtoswallowasnubfromaboss,orpickupastranger’sdirtyunderwear,ordoanyofthemyriaddemeaning,boringjobstherestofustakeforgranted.
Theyarearrogant,that’swhatIrealize—maybenotLizandCarlquitesomuch,butallofthemtosomedegree.TheyareprotectedbythemagicoftheirsharesandtheirstatusandtheirIP.Theythinkthatlifecan’ttouchthem—justlikeIusedtodo.
Onlynowithas.Nowlifehasthembythethroat.Anditwon’tletgo.
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“You’resayingErinisbehindthis?”Miranda’sfaceisskeptical.Shefoldsherarms,lookingatTopherwithnarroweddarkeyes.Topher’sexpressionisdefensive.
“No.No,that’snotwhatIsaid—Isimply—”
“It’swhatyouimpliedthough,”Mirandasays.Irealizesomething—MirandadoesnotlikeTopher.Idon’tknowwhyIdidn’tnoticethisuntilnow—perhapsitisthefactthatsheissoformalandpolite.Nowsheisnotbotheringtohideheropinion.
“I’mjustsaying,onceisbadluck,twiceisahellofacoincidence.Howmanyskiingdeathscanonepersonbeinvolvedin?”
“Oh,whydon’twestopbeatingaroundthebush,”Mirandasaysbitingly.“Weallknowwhyyou’redesperatetothrowsuspiciononotherpeople.”
“Whatareyousuggesting?”Tophersays,andhisvoiceissuddenlydangerous.
“I’mnotsuggestinganything,”Mirandasays.Shestepsuptohim.Evenwithoutherheels,theyarealmostexactlythesameheight.“I’mstatingfacts.MostpeopleinthisroomstoodtogainalotofmoneybeforeEvadied.Veryfewpeoplehadamotiveforwantingheroutoftheway.Youwereoneofthosefew.”
RikandCarlexchangeanuneasylook.NeitherofthemjumpintodefendTopher.
“One,thatisfuckingslander,andtwo,youaretalkingaboutmybestfriend,”Topherbeginsfuriously,butthenTigerliftsherheadandsayssomething.It’sanalmostinaudiblecroak,butallheadsturntoher,andTopherstopsmidsentence.
“Whatdidyousay?”Mirandaswingsaround,andTigerstrugglesupright,brushingherhairawayfromherforehead.Herfaceisblotchedredandwhite.
“Shesaidsomething,”sherepeats,hervoicestillhoarsewithtears.
“Who?”Rikcomesandkneelsbesideher.Hisfaceisurgent,andhegrabsTiger’sarm.Hisgestureseemstohavebeenharderthanheintended,becauseshewincesalittle.“Whosaidwhat?”
“Lastnight,Ani.Ijustremembered.Shesaidsomething.Shetriedtowakemeup,butIwas—”Shegulps,forcingbacksobs.“Shesaid,Ididn’tseeher.IfonlyI’dbeenabletowakeupproperly,ifonlyIhadn’ttakenthatsleepingpill—”Shebreaksoff.Twohugetearsrolldownherface.
“Tiger,”Mirandasaysuneasily.ShecrouchesbesideRik.“Tiger,areyousureaboutthis?Beforeyouweresayingyoudidn’twakeup.”
“Iknow,IknowIsaidthat,butIwaswrong,Iremembernow.Irememberhershakingme.Irememberthewords.”
MirandashootsaquestioninglookatRikandhegivesaminuteshrugback.
“Well,”Tophersays.There’satouchoftriumphinhisvoice.“Well,well,well.Ididn’tseeher.Nowwho’sgotareasontostartslingingmud,Ms.Khan?Afterall,thatsoundslikeitrulesouthalftheroom,doesn’tit?”
“Whatdoes?”saysadeepvoicefromthedirectionofthelobby.
Wealllookaround.DannyandErinarestandinginthedoorway,sidebyside.Erinlooksasifshehasbeencrying.Iamnotsureiftheyhavemadeupcompletely,butitlooksliketheyhavepatchedtheirdifferencesenoughtoputupaunitedfront.Topherlooksslightlyannoyed.
“Tigerclaims—”Mirandabegins,butTigerinterruptswithanangrysob.
“Idon’tclaimanything.Iheardher,I’msureofit.Anitriedtotellmesomethinglastnight—sheshookmyshoulderandshesaid,Ididn’tseeher.OnlyIcouldn’twakeupproperly.Butitfits—itfitswithwhatLizsaid,thatAnihadsomethingshewastryingtofigureout,somethingshewasn’tsureof.”
“Ididn’tseeher,”Erinrepeatsslowly.“Areyousureofthat,Tiger?”
“Yes,”Tigersays,moreemphaticallythistime.“Yes,Iwaslyingonthesofajustnowtryingtothinkbacktolastnight,thinkwhetherI’dheardanything,andIrememberedsuddenlyAnicomingovertomeandshakingmyshoulder.Itwaslikeaflashback.”
“Whichimplies,”Tophersayssmugly,“thatwe’relookingforawoman.No?Her,that’swhatTigersaid.Aniwastryingtofiguresomethingoutaboutoneofthewomenintheparty.”
HeglaresatMiranda.
“Notnecessarily…”Dannysaysslowly.Heisfrowning.Hescratcheshishead,thinking.“Maybeshewasn’ttalkingaboutthekiller.AniwastheonlypersonwhosawEvaontheslope.Isn’tthatright?Carlwastheonlyotherpersononthebubble,andhedidn’tseeher.Right?”
“Right,”Carlsaysshortly.“Butwhatareyousaying?”
“I’msaying,whatifAnirealizedshe’dmadeamistake?WhatifEvaneverskiedthatslopeafterall?”
“Butshedid,”Mirandasays,withexasperation.“Elliot’sgeotargetingprovesthat.”
“Itprovesherphoneisthere,”Dannysays.“ButtheonlyevidenceweeverhadthatEvawaswithherphoneonthatslopewasAni’ssighting.Whatifsherealizedshewaswrong?Whatif…here,whataboutthis—whatifEvafakedherowndeath?”
Thatlastsuggestioncausesalittleexcitedripplearoundthecircle.Facesbrighten.Peoplewanttobelievethis.Danny’ssuggestionisasolutionthatdoesn’trequireamurderer,andeverybodywoulddesperatelylikethattobetrue.
Butthereisaproblem.Twoproblemsinfact.Itisasolutionthatdoesn’texplainElliot’sorAni’sdeath.Itdoesnotholdupforaminute.Astheywouldrealizeiftheythoughtaboutit.ButIcanseetheyarenotthinking.
Speakingupinfrontoftheothersmakesmystomachcurdle,butIhavetosaysomething.Ican’tnot.
“Evawasonthatslope,”Isayreluctantly.“Isawhertoo.”
Everypairofeyesintheroomturnstome.Itfeelsliketheyareboringintome.Mycheeksflush.Iwanttosinkthroughthefloor.
“Whatdidyousay?”ItisMiranda,hervoicealmostaccusing.
“Isaid,IsawEvatoo.Iwasinthebubbleliftonthewaydown,andIsawherskiingaswell—furtheruptheslopethanAnidid,butIsawher.ShewasonLaSorcière.Aniwasn’tmistaken.Shemusthavebeentalkingaboutsomethingelse.”
“Andyoudidn’tthinktomentionthisbefore?”
“Ididn’t—itdidn’t…”Itrailoff.
“Notsomethingelse.Someoneelse,”Dannysaysflatly,andthereisamoment’ssilence.Everyone’sgazetravelsaroundtheroom,goingfromonepersontoanother.Weareallrealizingthesamething.IfTigerisright,thereareveryfewpeopleAnicouldhavebeentalkingabout.Topherfoldshisarms.Yourmove,hisexpressionsaystoMiranda.
“Tigerareyousure,”Mirandasays.Nowthereisanoteofdesperationinhervoice.“AreyouabsolutelycertainAnisaidher?”
“I’msure,”Tigersaysstubbornly.
Thereisalong,long,silence.Mirandastandsupandwalksoutoftheroom.
“Idon’tcare,”sheshootsoverhershoulderassheleaves.“Idon’tcarewhatAnisaid.ThereisonepersoninthisroomwhohadamotiveforEva’sdeath.Oneperson.Stoppretendingthatisn’tthecase!”
Andthenthere’snothingbutsilence,andtheclack-clackofherheelsonthespiralstaircaseassherunsuptoherroom.
Aftershehasgone,thereisanextremelyawkwardsilence.Topherisleaningagainstthemantelpiece,angryandflushed.Riklookslikeamanbeingrippedinhalf.Tigerisslumped,withherhandoverherface.ErinandDannylookintenselyuncomfortable.Carlbreaksthesilence.
“Yeah,butshe’sright,isn’tshe?”
Hisvoiceseemstobreaksomekindofspell,andTopherpusheshimselfuprightandturnsforthedoor.
“Fuckthis,”hesays.“I’mnotdoingthisanymore.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Rikturnstostareathim,puzzled.“You’renotdoingwhat?”
“This.I’mnotsittingherelikefuckingfrogsinapressurecooker.Ididn’tkillEva,nomatterwhatMirandaandCarlwanttobelieve,andIcertainlydidn’tfuckingkillmybestfriendorourPA.AndI’mnothangingaroundwaitingtoproveitbybeingthenextpersonkilled.I’moutofhere.I’mgoingtocross-countryitdowntoSt.AntoineleLac.”
“You’remad,”Riksaysinstantly.“Thepisteisrippedtoshreds,there’streesandrockseverywhere.AndlookattheweatherforGod’ssake!You’llfreezetodeath.”
Tophershrugs.
Thereisashortpause.
“You’remad!”Rikrepeatsdesperately.Andthen,“I’mcomingwithyou.”
ERIN
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It’salmostmidday,andthegrouphasspentthepasthourormorediscussingTopher’sdecisionandgoingbackandforthoverthestupidity—ornot—oftheidea.Topher,forhispart,ispackingdeterminedly.Sofarhe’sgotanavalanchepack,water,atorch,someenergybars,arope,andhe’slookingforashovel,thoughI’mnotsurehowheimagineshe’sgoingtouseit.Ifthere’sanotheravalanche,ashovelinhispackisn’tgoingtosavehim.Butifhedoesn’tmanagetogetdowntoSt.Antoinebeforenightfall,he’sgoingtoneedsomekindofshelter,somaybeit’snotsuchabadidea.There’sworsesurvivaltacticsthanasnowshelter.
Aboveallthough,heseemssetonsimplygettingaway—nomatterhowstupidorriskytheplan.Miranda’sstatementhasunleashedsomethingpeoplewererefusingtofacebefore—TopheristhepersonwhohasbenefitedmostfromEva’sdeath.He’sjustbeenhandedeverythinghewanted—solecontrolofSnoop.RikandLiz,ontheotherhand,standtolosemillionsofpoundsifthebuyoutdoesn’tgothrough,andIcan’timagineMirandaandCarlwillsurvivethisholidaywiththeirpostsintact.Whateverthefacts,it’sdifficulttobelievetheycancontinueworkingforTopherafterbasicallyaccusingtheirbossofmurder.Therearesomethingsyoudon’tcomebackfrom.
SoIcanunderstandwhyhefeelshecan’tstayhere—justasInigofelthehadnochoicebuttoleavewhenthegroupturnedonhim.What’smoresurprisingisthatRikseemssetongoingtoo—thoughIdon’thonestlyknowhowTopherfeelsaboutthis.HehastriedtodissuadeRik,butit’shardtodenythattwopeoplewillstandabetterchancethanone.It’streacherousgoingoutthere,andifonepersonsprainsanankle,they’dbeprettymuchdeadwithoutamobilephone.Atleastwithtwo,youhaveachanceofsendingforhelp.
Bytwelvefifteen,RikandTopherarestandinginthefoyer,lookingatthelarge-scalemapoftheresortthatwehavepinnedtooneofthewallsanddiscussingpotentialroutes,whenTigercomesdownthespiralstairs.She’swearinghersnowboardinggear,andshe’slookingdetermined.
“I’mcomingwithyoutoo,”shesays,withoutpreamble.
Topherfrowns.
“Tiger—”
“No,don’ttrytostopme.I’masgoodaboarderasyou—andI’mbetterthanRik.”Shesaysitwithnofalsemodesty.“AndIcan’tstayhereafterwhat—”Shegulps,stops,triesagain.“Afterwh-whathappened—”
Butshecan’tfinish.Icanseethatbeneathheroversizejacket,hersmallfistsareclenched.
RikandTopherlookateachother,andI’mnotsurewhatthey’rethinking.TigerisstillthepersonwhohadthebestopportunityforkillingAni,thatpartisundeniable.Thetwoofthemwerelockedinaroomtogether,andoneofthemdidn’twakeup.ButshewasalsoprettyfirmaboutAni’sfinalwords,wordsthatdeflectedsuspicionfromTopher,whichseemslikestrangebehaviorforamurderer.PlusRikandTopheraretwobig,strappingblokes,eachofthemprobablyweighingalmosttwiceasmuchasTigerbythemselves.IfTigerwerethekiller,itseemsunlikelyshecouldoverpoweroneofthem,letaloneboth.Ontheotherhand,andIcanalmostseeRikandTophercalculatingthisintheirheads,ifoneofthemisamurderer,isn’titbettertohaveathird-partywitness?
Thesurrealnessofthisreasoningstrikesmeagain,andIstifleashort,hystericallaugh,andthenclapmyhandovermymouth.
“Whatdidyousay?”Riksays,turningtome,frowning,andIshakemyhead.Tearsareleakingoutofmyeyes,butIcan’ttellwhy.
“Nothing,I’msorry.Ignoreme.”
“Fine,youcancome,”TophersaysbrusquelytoTiger,makinguphismind.
“Rik.”Weallturnatthevoicefromabove,andseeMirandacomingdownthespiralstaircasetoo.Herexpressionispale,butset.Rik’sfacefalls.Heknowswhat’scoming,andhe’salreadyshakinghishead.
“Rik,youcan’tdothis,”Mirandasays.Herbrittlevoiceseemstocrack.Shetakeshisarm,herfingersdiggingintohisjacket.“Thisisincrediblystupid.”
“Miranda,I’msorry,”Riksays.Hisdeepvoiceisveryquiet,he’stryingtokeepthisbetweenthetwoofthem,butit’simpossible,withtherestofusjustfeetaway.“Idon’twanttogo—butwecan’tstayhereandgetpickedoffonebyonelikethis.IthinkTopher’sright.Wehavetogettothepolice.”
“Butnotwithhim.”She’swhispering,buttheacousticsinthisroomareexcellent.Icanhearher,soI’mprettysureTophercan.“Please,please,I’mbeggingyou.Don’tgowithhim.I’mfrightenedyouwon’tcomeback.”
“Mir—”
“We’llgotogether.I’llgetmyskison—”
“You’renotastrongenoughskier,”hewhispersback.“Please,darling,believeme,IwouldifIcould,butit’sjusttoo—”
“Iwon’tstayherewithoutyou!”
“Oi,whatabouttheotherchalet?”WeallturntoseeCarl,standinginthelivingroomdoorway,hishandsinhispockets.Mirandafrowns,thrownoffcourse.
“Whatotherchalet?”
“Thatchef,Danny,wasn’thegoingtohikeouttosomechaletearlier?Beforeallthisstarted.”
Inod.
“Hewas,”Isay.“ChaletHautMontagne.It’sabig-chainchaletandmuchmorelikelytobeoccupiedthanthetwocloserones,butit’satrek—agoodthreeorfourmilesupthevalley.That’swhyheleftituntillast.”
“See?”Carlsaystriumphantly.“Threeorfourmiles,that’snothing.Youcouldwalkthatinamorning.”
“Iwouldn’tcallitnothing,”Isaycautiously.“Forastart,youwouldn’tbewalkingit,you’dhavetosnowshoe,andthat’sareallydifferentskill.Whatwiththeavalanche,nottomentionalmostaweekofunclearedsnow…I’dsayyou’dbelookingatagoodthreehourssnowshoeing.Maybemoreifyou’dneverdoneit.”
“Ireckonit’sabetterbetthantheresort,”Carlsaysflatly.“Imean,what’sthat,fifteenmiles?Andsteepasfuck.Youloseaskionthatboulderfield,you’refucked.”
“I’mnotgoingtoloseaski,”Tophersnarls.“Forastart,I’maboarder,notaskier.Second,I’mhalfwaycompetent.Andanyway—whathappensifwegettothechaletandit’sshutup?We’rebacktosquarefuckingone.Atleastweknowtheresorthaspeoplewhocanhelpus.No,I’vemademychoice,andI’mstickingtoit.”
Hisirritationdoesn’truboffonCarl,whojustgivesashrug.
“Maybeit’snotachoice.”
There’salongpuzzledsilence.
“Whatareyousaying?”Rikasksatlast.
“I’msaying,it’snotaneither-orsituation.Look,thestrongskiers,that’syou,Toph,andTiger,trytomakeittothevillageandraisethealarmthere.Therestofus’lltryforthechalet.Whoevermakesitthrough,we’llsendapartytorescuetheotherlot.”
It’s…it’sactuallynotabadplan.IcanseeTopherandRiklookingateachother,thinkingitover,comingtothesameconclusion.AtlastTophernods,likeCarlwasaskinghimforpermission,thoughIdon’tthinkhewas.WearelongpastthepointwhereTopherhasthatkindofauthority.
“Yeah,okay,”hesays,alittlesulkily,accedingtotheinevitable.
“Miranda?”Riksays,andshegivesanunhappyshrug.
“I—Iguess.Ifyouwon’ttakemewithyou,it’sbetterthansittinghere.”
“Liz?”Carlsays.“Howaboutit?”
Forasecond,Lizjustblinks,likesheisstartledtobereferredtobyname.Foramomentshedoesnothingatall—likeafrightenedanimalfrozenintheheadlampbeamofCarl’sattention.
Thenshecracksthetiniestsmileandgivesashaky,uncertainnod.
Forthefirsttimeinafewdays,Ifeelaflareofhopeinsidemychest.
Maybeitwillbeokay.
Maybeitwillreallyallbeokay.
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Aftersomanydaysreactingtoevents,itfeelsgoodtohaveaplan.UpinmyroomIstruggleintomyfadedbluejumpsuitandpullonskisocksandgloves.Myhelmetandgogglesaredowninthelockerroom.Iwillputthoseonwhenwearereadytogooutside.Oneglanceoutofthewindowtellsmethatsunglasseswon’tbeneeded.It’smidday,butalmostdark.Thesunisbarelyfilteringthroughtheclouds,andthewindishowlinglikesomethingtryingtogetin.
WhenIamdressed,Ifeel,forthefirsttimeinacoupleofdays,hotandpuffedout.Itisstrangetofeeltoowarmagain,afterthegrowingchillofthechalet.Iletmyselfsinktothebedandcatchmybreathforafewmoments.
Nowthatitisalmostover,Icanlookbackonthelivingnightmareofthelastfewdays.Howhasitcometothis.How?OfallthewaysIwasexpectingthisweektogo,Ineverimaginedthisunfoldinghorror.
InmymindItickthemoff,amacabreschoolrollcall.
Eva—dead.
Elliot—dead.
Inigo—gone,andgoodnessknowswhathashappenedtohim.DidhemakeittoSt.Antoine?Orishelyingfrozenwithhypothermiainsomeisolatedshack,farfromthepiste?
Ani—dead.
There’sjustsixofusleft.Me,Rik,Miranda,Carl,Tiger,andTopher.
Topher.Italwayscomesbacktohimsomehow.BecauseitistruewhatMirandasaid—howevermuchpeopletrytoignorethefact,TopherhasaverystrongmotiveforEva’sdeath.Infacthehasthebestmotiveoutofeveryonehere.
Thethoughtshouldmakemyhearthurt.Topher—whohiredmeoutofapoolofslick,skinnygraduatesandgavememyfirstchance.Topher—whostoodupforme,stoodbyme,madesureIgotthosesharesthathavehungaroundmynecklikeanalbatrosseversince.Topher—thereasonIamhere.
Andmaybeit’sbecauseofthatlastone—butmyheartdoesn’thurt.Ifeelnothing—nothingatall.
BecauseTopheristhereasonIhavebeendraggedintothis,intosomethingIneverwantedandneveraskedfor.TopherandEvabetweenthem,pushingme,pullingme,manipulatingmelikeachesspieceintheirbattleforcontrolofSnoop.
IknowwhatTopherthoughtwhenhegavemethoseshares.Hethoughtthathewashandingovertwopercentofthecompanytosomeonehecouldcontrol.Iwashisinsurancepolicy,incaseEvaandRikevergangeduponhim.Awaytotipthebalanceinhisfavor.
TopherthoughtIwouldbelikeputtyinhishands.Soft.Malleable.Pliant.Hethoughtthatbecauseofthekindofpersonhesaw—someonemeekandquiet,dressedinbadclothes,whoneversaidbootoagoose.
InTopher’sworld,peoplearehard,polishedshells,theirshinyexteriorshidingtheinadequaciesandanxietiesinside.
ButTophermadeamistake.Hedidn’tunderstandthatsomepeoplearetheotherwayaround.ButEva…IthinkEvadidunderstandthat.Andperhapsit’swhatkilledherintheend.
ERIN
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Itisoneo’clock.EveryoneapartfromLizisgatheredinthelobbywearingtheirskigear.Topher’spartyisholdingsnowboards,skis,andpoles.MirandaandCarlareequippedwithapairofsnowshoeseach.Andmyheartisthumping.Thumpingbecause…maybethisisit.Maybethislongnightmareisfinallyover.Surelyonegroupwillbesuccessful?
“WhatonearthisLizdoing?”Mirandasaysirritably.ShehasbeenonedgeeversinceRiktoldhershecouldn’tgowithhimdowntothevillage.Thetwo-partyideamakessense,andsheknowsitdoes,butshewouldstillprefertobewithRik,andIcanseethewayhergazekeepsstealingacrosstohim.
“I’mhere,”saysatimidvoicefromthetopofthestairs,andwealllookuptoseeLizstandingatthetopofthespiralstaircase.Sheiswearingtheoversizebluejumpsuitshehadonthefirstday,andisclutchingherskipolesinonemittenedhand.Abobblehatisbalancedontopofherhead,andherglassesaremisted.Shelookshotandsweaty,but,liketherestofus,relievedtobefinallydoingsomething.
Shestartsdownthestairs,andthenithappens.Something—apole?Atrailingstrap?catchesinthebanisters,andshestumbles.Hersockedfeetgooutfromunderher.Onehandgrabsforthehandrail,butthemittenhasnogripandthewoodenrailsimplyslidesoutfromundertheplastickyfabric.
Aswewatch,helpless,Liztumblesforwardsdownthespiralstaircasewithaseriesofsickeningthumps.Andthenshelandsatthebottom,ominouslyquiet.
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Ican’tbreathe.
Iliethere,panicpulsingthroughme,tryingtoinhaleandfailing.Icanhearmyselfmakinglittlestrangegasps,likeafishstrandedoutofwater.
“Liz!”ItisErin.Shecomeshobblingover.Herfaceiswhite.Shecrouchesbesideme.“Liz!OhGod,areyouokay?”
Ican’tanswer.Ican’tgetmybreathenoughtosayaword.Imakeamotion,halfnodding,halfshakingmyhead.AmIokay?Iamnotsure.
“Fuckinghell.”Carlfallstohiskneesnexttome.“Liz?”Heturnstotheothers.“Well,she’saliveatleast.Canyouspeak,Liz?”Hesaysitveryloudly,likeIamhardofhearing.
“Ithinkshe’sjustverybadlywinded,”Erinsays.Shestrokesmyforehead.Iresisttheurgetopullaway.IamnotsureifIcould,anyway.“It’sokay,don’tfightit.Justtrytobreatheslowly.I’llcountwithyou.One,two,three,four,five…andin.Andnowone,two,three,four,five,andout.”
WithErincounting,slowlyandrhythmically,Imanagetotakeabreath.Thenanother.Atlast,shakily,Isitup.
“Areyouokay?”Erinasksagain.“Doesanythinghurt?”
“Myknee,”Imanage.Ipullupthelegofmyjumpsuit,butIhadforgottenmyleggingsunderneath.Youcan’tseeanything,butmykneefeelshot.WhenErinsqueezesitgently,apulseofpainflaresupmylegandIflinch.
“Fuckinghell,”Riksaysshakily.“Ithoughtforaminutethere—”
Hestops.Hedoesnotneedtospellitout.Iknowexactlywhathethought.Ithoughtittooforasecond.Foramoment,wewerealmostfive.
Erinhelpsmetostandup.IfindIamshaking.
“Canyouwalk?”Erinasks.Inodandhobbleafewsteps.BehindmeCarl’sfaceisgrim.
“Well,youcan’tmanagefourmilesinsnow,canyou,”hesays.It’snotaquestion.
“Sowegoalone?”Mirandasays.NowitisRik’sturntolookuneasy.Iknowwhatheisthinking.Threepeopleshouldbesafetogether.ButifCarlisthemurderer,heissendingMirandaoutintothesnowalonewithakiller.
“Idon’tknow—”hesays,butErincutsin.
“Dannywillgo.”
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“Dannywillgo.”
ThewordsareoutofmymouthbeforeIhavetimetoconsiderthem,butassoonasI’vesaidthem,Iknowtheymakesense.It’snotjustaboutthemathsofsendingtwopeopleoutintothesnowtogether.Dannyknowstheway.CarlandMirandadon’t.
“What?”Thevoicecomesfrombehindme,andIturnaroundtoseeDannystandingthere,lookingmightilypissedoffwithme.“Erin,couldwehaveaword,please?”hesays,tightly.“Inthekitchen?”
WithaglanceatLiz,whoiswhiteasasheetandlookslikeshemightkeeloveratanysecond,Ifollowhim,andwhenthescreendoorswingsshutbehindus,Dannyletsrip.
“Areyououtofyourfuckingmind?Wewentoverthis.Iamnotleavingyouherewithabrokenankleandapsychoontheloose.”
“Ididn’tmeanjustyou,”Isay,tryingtokeepmyvoicelow.Itfeelsweirdtobearticulatingoursuspicionslikethis,withinearshotofthegroup.“Imeantthethreeofyoushouldgo.It’sobvious—isn’tit?Ican’tbelievewedidn’tthinkofitbefore.CarlandMirandahavenoideawherethey’regoing—evenwithamap,theroutesarecoveredupbytheavalanche;it’smorelikelythannotthey’llendupwanderingoffintotheforestandgetlost.Youknowwherethechaletis.YoucanspeakFrench.Andyouknowhowtosnowshoe.Itmakescompletesense.Theystandamuchbetterchanceofgettingthereandbackifyou’rewiththem.I’dbeseriouslyworriedaboutthemsettingoutalone.”
“Huh.”Dannylookstakenabackatthis.Hecanseethelogicinmyargument.“So…what,youandthatLizbirdstayherebyyourselves?”
“That’sright.Imean,thinkaboutit,Danny.She’snotgoinganywherewiththattwistedknee,she’saslameasIam.Andshewasneverreallyarealisticprospectforthekilleranyway.Shecan’tski,weknowshewasstuckonthebubbleliftwhenEvaactuallydied,andoutofeveryonehere,shehasoneofthestrongestmotivesfornotwantingEvadead.Imean,whoknowswhatmighthavehappenedtoeveryoneelseinabuyoutsituation—theywereprobablygoingtolosetheirjobsattheveryleast.ButLizhadnojobtolose—andshestoodtogainseveralmillionquidifthedealwentthrough.That’saprettystrongcounterargument.”
“Yeah…Icanseethat…,”Dannysaysslowly.
“Please,”Isay.Iputmyhandonhisarm.“Danny,please.GetMirandaandCarltothatchaletandgetwordtothepoliceaboutwhat’shappening.Wecan’taffordanotherdeath,andIdon’ttrustCarlandMirandabythemselves.”
“Allright,”Dannysays,makinguphismind.“You’reprobablyright.I’llgoandgetmygear.Butyoulockupwhenwe’regone,anddon’tanswerthedoortoanyoneexceptmeorthegendarmes.Yougotthat?Idon’tcareifTophercomescrawlingbackwithasobstoryofRikleavinghiminthesnow.Idon’tcareifTigersnapsabinding.Youdon’tletthemin.Anyofthem.AndfuckknowswhathappenedtoInigo,butIdon’tliketheideathathemightbeprowlingaroundoutthereinthesnow,waitingforeveryoneelsetoleave.”
Hiswordsarelikeanunwelcomesplashofcoldwaterintheface.Inigo.Wehadassumed—Ihadassumed—thatInigowasoutofthepicturenow.Whatifhe’snot?
Uneasinessshiftsinmybelly,butIputmychinup.
“We’llbefine.Evenifsomeonedoesshowup—whichIdoubt—there’stwoofus,andoneofthem.Andthey’llbeoutsideinthesnow,freezingtheirtitsoff.”
“Yeah,well,”Dannysaysdarkly.“Justyousticktothat,okay?Iknowyou.Someone’llturnup,claimhe’scrawledeightmilesthroughthesnowwithfrostbite,andyou’llopenthedoorbecauseyou’resoft.Don’tbestartingupwiththebleeding-heartcrap.Putyourselffirst.”
Ifeelasharptwingeofguilt—eventhoughIhaven’tdoneanything—becauseDanny’sright.ThatisexactlythekindofthingIwoulddo.Itrytoimaginemyselfsittinginthewarm,drychaletwhileInigo,orTopher,orevenacompletestrangerdiedslowlyoutsidethefrontdoor,beggingtobeletin,andIjustcan’tseeithappening.Iwouldcrack.Iwouldletthemin.IknowIwould.
“We’llbefine,”Isayagain,thoughmyvoiceisalittlebitlessconvincing,eventomyself.“Justgoandgetbackasfastasyoucan.”
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Aftertheothersaregone,Erinlocksandboltsthefrontdoor.Shefixesitinplaceassecurelyasshecan,butitisnotperfect.Ithasbeenwarpedbytheavalanchesothatthebottomlockdoesn’tfastenproperlyandmeltedsnowisleakingthroughthegap,butthelockatthetopworks.Thenshecheckstheskientrance,whichisstillburiedbysnow,andthedoorthatusedtoleadouttotheswimmingpool.
“Allsafeandsound,”shereportsasshecomesbackintothelobby.Hersmileisbrightandslightlyartificial.Thereissomethingalittlebitoppressiveaboutthesilencenow.Itweighsheavyandfeelslikeitispressinginonus.“Howareyoufeeling?”
“Uh—okay,Ithink.”IrubthebackofmyheadwhereIhititonthebanisterandtouchmykneegingerlythroughthepaddedsalopettes.Iwrenchedit,butitisnotasbadasIfeared.Nowthatthefirstshockiswearingoff,Icanputmyweightonit.“Stillabitwobbly,butIthinkitwasmostlyshock.”
“Whatapair,”Erinsays.Shegrinsatme,thescaronhercheektwistingwiththemovement.“Mewithmyankle,youwithyourknee.Coupleoflameducks.”
“Iknow.”Itryforalaugh,butitdoesn’tsoundquiteright.
“Ireckonit’lltakeDanny’spartyaboutsixhourstogettoHautMontagneandback.AndwhoknowsaboutTopher’slot.Ihavenoideahowbadlybashedupthepisteis.Ifit’snoteasilyskiable,theycouldbedays.”
Inod.Clamberingthroughwaist-deepsnowinskibootsisnojoke.Iknowthat.
“SoIthinkwehaveatleastsixhoursbeforeweneedtostartworrying,”Erinsays.“Thequestionis,howarewegoingtokillthetime?”
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It’sgonethree.Aftertheothersleft,LizandIateameagerlunchoflukewarmtinnedsoup—thebreadwasstale,almostinediblystale,butdippingitinthesoupmadeitsoftenoughtochew—andwehavebeenplayingcardseversince.Thechaletiscompletely,eerilysilent.Ineverrealizedbeforehowstiflingsilencecouldbe,perhapsbecausePerce-Neigeissorarelyquiet—it’salwaysfullofthenoiseofguestfootsteps,playingchildrenintheschoolholidays,theclatterofskis,thesoundofDannyinthekitchen.WhileTopherandtheotherswereheretherewastheconstantjangleofsomeoneplayingmusic,andlaterthebabbleofconversation.Evenonchangeoverdays,thereisthehumoftheHooverandthenoiseofDanny’sradio.
Now,thereisnomusic.Ourphonesarelongsincedead.TheTVandradiositsilentwithnoelectricitytopowerthem.Thereisnosoundatallapartfromthecrackleofthelogsintheburner.Eventhepatterofsnowoutsideisvirtuallysilent,behindthetripleglazing.
EveryfewminutesIglanceoutofthewindow,checkingtheweather.It…isn’tgreat.There’snopointinsugarcoatingthat.It’snotasbadasitcouldhavebeen.Thewindhasdroppedatleast.Butthesnowisstillfalling,andcloudhascomerollingdownthemountain,envelopingthechaletinathick,frozengrayblur,sothatvisibilityisdowntoafewfeet.IamprofoundlyrelievedthatDannyiswithMirandaandCarl,andknowswherehe’sgoing.Evenso,I’mstartingtowonder,inearnest,whetherhewillbeabletomakeittoHautMontagneandbackagainbeforenightfallsinearnest.MaybeLizandIwillbestuckherealoneovernight.It’snotacompletelycomfortablethought.
Asifechoingmyunease,Lizflexesherfingersnervously—crack,crack,crack.Thenoiseislikegunshotsinthesilence,anditputsmyteethonedge.
“HowdidyougetinvolvedwithSnoopanyway?”Iask.Ipitchmyvoiceslightlytooloud,tryingtocoverupthesound.Lizshiftsinherchair.Ican’ttellifherkneeishurtingher,orifit’sthequestionthat’smadeheruncomfortable.
“Ijustappliedforajob.Theywereastart-upatthetime—justTopher,Eva,Elliot,andRik.Iwastheirfirst…secretary,Isupposeyou’dcallit.PA,maybe.Theydidn’thavetheweirdjobtitlesinthosedays.”
Shefallssilentagain,asiftheuncharacteristicallylongspeechhasexhaustedher.I’mabouttoaskanotherquestionwhen,tomysurprise,shespeaksagain.
“Imissit.Imissthem.Itwasfun…forawhile.”
“Whatmadeyouleave?”Iask,butthat’swhentheshutterscomedownagain.Herfaceturnsblankandunreadable.
“Noreason,”shesays,lookingdownathercards.“Ijustwantedachange.”
InthesilenceIpickupacard,andputdownaking.Lizpicksitup,frowning.Ihaveputmyfootinit,butI’mnotquitesurehow.IthinkofDanny’sremarkabouttheincestuousnatureofSnoop’sworkforce,EvasleepingwithInigo,TopherwithAni.Haven’ttheyheardofMeToo?DidsomethinghappenbetweenLizandTopher?Somethingsheisrunningfrom?Butno,Idon’tthinkit’sthat.Ofallthepeopleinthecompany,LizactuallyseemstogetonbestwithTopher.AndTopher,forallhisfaults,doesn’tseemlikethekindofmantopressureanemployeeintosomethingsexual.WhateverwasbetweenhimandAni,Igottheimpressionitwasconsensual.
ButAniendedupdead…
Thewordsareawhisperinmyear,anuncomfortablereminderofthefactthatLizandIarenotaloneinthischalet—therearetwobodiesupstairs.Andsomewhereoutthereinthefrozenpeaksthereisathird,Eva,andmaybeafourth,becausewhoknowswhathappenedtoInigoafterhestumbledawayintothesnow.Itfeelslikedeathisclosingaroundus.ItfeelslikeLizandIcouldbenext.
Butno.Ishakemyself.Thisismorbid—ridiculouslyso.
“Yourturn,”Lizsays,andIlookdownandrealizeIhavenoideawhenshemadehermove.Ipickupacardfromthedrawpileatrandomanddiscardwithoutreallythinkingaboutstrategy.
“Rummy,”Lizsays,andshelaysoutarunoffourspadesandthreekings.Iforceasmile.
“Welldone.”
Lizpicksupthecardsanddealsagain.Ipickupmyhand.It’sagoodone—threeofakindstraightoff.ButIcan’tkeepmymindonthecards.
“Eva’sdeath…,”Isaycautiously,andLizlooksup.
She’sstillwearingheroversizebluejumpsuitandIcan’treallyblameher.Evenwiththewoodstove,thechaletisnowpainfullycold,andIcanseemybreathwhenIspeak.
“That…Itmusthavebeenquiteashock.Isupposethebuyoutwon’tgothroughnow?Howdiditfeel—havingallthatmoneyandthenhavingitsnatchedaway?”
I’mhalfexpectingLiztotellmethatit’snoneofmybusiness—andit’strue,it’snot.Butwe’vegonelongpastthepointofguestandchaletgirl,andwebothknowit.
“Itfelt…strange…,”Lizsays,slowly.Thefirelightisreflectingoffherglasses,makingherexpressionevenhardertoreadthanusual,butIcanseeherforeheadcrinkleasshefrowns.
“DidyouresentTopher?”Iask.“Forquashingthesale?IthinkIwouldhave.”
ButLizisshakingherhead.
“Ineverreallywantedthemoney,tobehonest.Itneverfeltlikemine.Itwassuchastupidsum,andforwhat?”
“Beingintherightplaceattherighttime,Iguess?”Isaywithalaugh,butLizdoesn’tsmileback.Sheshakesherheadagain,althoughI’mnotsurewhatshe’sdenying.Ican’tblameherthough.Whateverplacewehaveendedupin,allofus,it’sdefinitelynottherightone.
Silencefallsagain.Ilookatmywatch.Tenminutestofour.God,couldthisdaypassanyslower?SuddenlyIcan’tsitanylonger,andIstand,puttingmyweightcarefullyonmyswollenankle,andmakemywayovertothelongwindowoverlookingthevalley.
Itisalmostcompletelydarkoutsidenow,butthechaletisdarktoo,andsoIdon’tneedtocupmyhandstomyeyesasIlookoutacrossthesnow,wonderingwhereDannyandtheothersare.HavetheymadeittoHautMontagneyet?AndwhataboutTopherandhisparty?Iwish,harderthanI’veeverwishedforanythingbefore,thatIhadaphonewithjustasinglebarofreception.Oratwo-wayradio.Oranything—somewayofcommunicatingwiththeoutsideworld.
“Fouraces,”saysLiz,overmyshoulder,andIsigh,andturnbacktothedarkeningroom.
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Itis3:58.Weareonour—Idon’tknow.Twentiethgameofrummy,perhaps.Ihavenotbeencounting.Thoughtsarechasingaroundmybrainlikerats.Questionslike:Whatisgoingtohappen?Whenwilltheycome?Whatwillhappenwhenthepolicegethere?
Eringlancesupattheclockonthemantelpieceabovethestove.IcantellthatsheisfeelingthesamewayIam.
“Onemoreround,”shesays,“andthenI’llfigureoutsomethingforsupper.Theyshouldbetherebynow.”
Iftheymadeit
Thewordshang,unspoken,intheair,asErinbeginstodeal.
ItismoretodrivetheunsaiddoubtsawaythanbecauseIreallywanttoknowthatIsayit.
“Tophersaidyouwereinanavalanche.Whatwasitlike?”
Erinlooksup.Ihavecaughtherbysurprise,andforasecondherfaceisunguarded,horriblyvulnerable.ShelookslikeIhavepunchedher.Foramoment,Iregretaskingher.Thenshecomposesherself.Shedealsoutthelastfewcardsbeforeshespeaks.
“Iwas.Threeyearsago.Itwas—”Shestops,looksdownattheremainderofthedeckinherhand.“Itwastheworstthingthat’severhappenedtome.”
“I’msorry,”Isay.Thensomethingoccurstome.“Evencountingthisweekend?”
Shegivesalaughatthat,ashakymirthlessone,andnods.
“Yes,unbelievably.Evencountingthisweekend.Ican’texplainhowawfulitwas.Thenoise,theshock,thesenseofpowerlessness—”Shefalters,asifsheisstrugglingtofindthewords.“Ithought…Ithoughtthatitwouldhavemadeitworse,youknow?Beingcaughtupinthesamehorroralloveragain.ButinastrangewayI…IthinkI’vebeenexpectingittohappen.LikeIescapedthemountainonce,soitwouldcomebackforme.”
Shestaresintothedarkness.Sheisfacingme,soitshouldfeellikesheisstaringatme,butIhavetheoddfeelingthatsheisnot,thatsheislookingthroughme,asifIamnotthere.Itgivesmeastrangesensation.AsifIamalreadygone.
“Isthatwhenyou—whenyougotyour—”Ican’tsayit.Ijusttouchmyfacewithmyfingers,andshenods.
“Yes.Icutmyfaceonsomethinginthefall,probablymyownski.”
“Andisthatwhyyouleftuni?”Iask,andshenods,veryslowly.
“Yes.Ican’treallyexplainwhy,evennow.Ijust—IfeltlikeI’dbecomeadifferentperson,doyouknowwhatImean?”
Inodtoo.Iknowexactlywhatshemeans.Ihavetheimpressionthatsheistalkingaboutthisperhapsfortheveryfirsttime.
“Ihadtodighimout.”
Hervoiceisbarelyaboveawhisper.Ihavetostraintohearit.
“Iwasn’tcarryingaGPSlocator.Ihadtodigoutmyboyfriendtoactivatehisbeacon,knowinghewasalreadydead.”
Shelooksdown,cutsthepack,dealsthefirstcardintothepickuppile,movingmechanicallyallthewhile.
SuddenlyIdonotwanttotalkaboutthisanymore.IwishIhadneveraskedthequestion.Afterall,Ihavemyownsecrets,myownsubjectsIdonotwanttodiscuss.WhatifErinasksmeaboutmypastinreturn?WhatifshebringsupSnoopagain?AboutwhyIleft?WhatifsheasksaboutthefriendsIdon’thave,theschoolmateswhobulliedmeforfourteenyears,aboutthefamilyIhavecutmyselfofffrom?
Ihearagainmyfather’sslurringvoice,mymother’ssobs…Itasteblood.Iamchewingmycuticlesagain.Istickmyhandsinthepocketsofmyjumpsuit.
ButErindoesnotaskaboutanyofthesethings.Sheseemstobesomewhereelsecompletely,somewhereveryfaraway.Whenshespeaks,hervoicehasastrangequalitytoit.Itislikeaconfession.
“Itwasmyfault,yousee,”shesays.Shepicksuphercards.Herhandsaretremblingalittle.“Isuggestedwego.Off-pisteskiing.Iwastheonewhowantedtodoit.Ikilledthem.”Sheswallows.“Thatchangesaperson.”
Shelooksupatme,asifexpectingmetounderstand.IhavethemostpeculiarurgetotakeherhandandtellherthatIknowhowshefeels.
Butthatwouldbecrazy.SoIdon’t.Instead,Ilookdownatmyowncards.Ipickupathreeofheartsanddiscardajack.
“Yourmove,”Isay.
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Idon’tknowwhatmademespillmypasttoLizlikethat.Itwasthestrangestthing.I’venevertalkedtoanyoneaboutthattime—notmyparents,notWill’sparents;eventhecoronerandthesearchandrescueteamonlywantedthebarefacts,nottohearaboutmybewildermentandgrief.
It’snotthatIdidn’thavethechance—mymotherurgedmetoseeatherapist,andIlostcountofthenumberoffriendswhocalledmeup,saying,Ifyouneedtotalk,I’monlyaphonecallaway.ButIdidn’twanttotalk.Ididn’twanttobethatperson.Anobjectofpity.Avictim.
BecauseIknowhowTopherandtheothersmustfeel,inaway.ForIfeltittoo.Andthat’sthethingIhavenevertoldanyone—thatintheminutesandhoursIspentsearchingforWillandAlexaftertheavalanche,itwasn’tterrororfearthatwasuppermostinmymindbutakindofshockeddisbelief,thatthishadhappenedtome,tous.Iwasnotthisperson.Iwasnotthepersonterriblethingshappenedto.Thatwasotherpeople,otherfamilies.Iwasgolden,slippingthroughlifeonacharm,insulatedbythesecurityofmyfamily,myowngoodlooks,andtheluckofhavingfoundWill’slove.
Becauseyes,thatwasluck.Allofit.AndIknewit.Butitwasalsohowitwassupposedtobe,becauseIwassupposedtobelucky
Andnowsuddenlythatluckhadturned.
Andafteritdid,IfoundthatIcouldn’tstandtobetherewiththepeoplestillwalkinginthatperpetualgoldensunwhileIlivedinaplacethatwasblackwithguiltandgrief.Icouldn’tstandtoseethepityintheireyes.
It’salmostcompletelydarkinthelivingroomnow,andwhenIwalkacrosstotheclockoverthemantelpiece,Iseethatit’sgettingonfor6:00p.m.DannyandtheothersshouldhavebeenatHautMontagneabouttwohoursago.It’spossibletheycouldbestartingback.It’spossibletheyhavemanagedtocontactthepoliceandachopperisonitsway.
Possible.Notcertain.Possible.
It’sequallypossibletheroadistrashedandtheyarestilltrudgingacrossicyrubble,orHautMontagnewasemptyandshutup.
God,thepossibilitiesaregoingtosendmemad.
Idon’tknowwhy,butwithDannyandtheothersgone,itfeelsliketheatmosphereofthechaletisclosingaroundmeandLiz.Icanfeeltheweightofthesnowpressingagainsttheroofandthewalls,feelthetonnesandtonnesstillrestingonthemountainside,waitingforanothertrigger.Icanfeelthedarknessseepingthroughtheroomsandcorridors.
Iknowwhattheedgeofendurancefeelslike,becauseIpasseditoncebefore—sittingfrozenonacoldmountainsidewiththedeadbodyofmylover,notknowingwhetherhelpwasgoingtocome.Ipassedit,andIsurvived.Icameback.Backtosafety.Backtonormality.
ButtherearetimeswhenIfeelmyselfbeingdraggedbackacrossthatlineintoaplacewherenothingmattersanymore,whereeveryheartbeatdragsyouclosertotheedge,andIthinkIamgoingtofallintotheabyssagain,andthistimeIwon’tbeabletoclawmywayout.
WhenIshutmyeyesIcanseehisface,Will’sface,coldandwhiteasmarble,andpeaceful,soterriblypeaceful.
“Erin.”Thevoicecomesfromveryfaraway.
Ishakemyhead.
“Erin.”
Iopenmyeyes.Lizisstandinginfrontofme,lookinganxious.
“Erin,areyouokay?Shouldwegetsomethingtoeat?”
Iforcemyselftosmile.
“Yes.Sure.Comethroughtothekitchen,andwe’llseewhatwecanfind.”
Ileadtheway,limping,andLizfollowsmeintothechillydarkenedcavernofthekitchen,lookingaroundherwonderinglyasweenter,asifit’sAladdin’scaveratherthanaveryordinaryprofessionalkitchen.
“There’sat-tinofcassoulethere,”Isay,tryingtoreadthelabelinthedimlight.It’sextremelycoldawayfromthefire,andmyteetharetryingtochatter.“AtleastIthinkit’sc-cassoulet,itcouldbeconfitducanard.It’shardtotell.Willthatdo?”
“Sure,”Lizsays.She’sstilllookingatmelikeshe’sconcerned.“Areyouallright,Erin?”
“I’mfine,Ijust—I’mjustworriedaboutD-Danny.Ikeephopingwe’llhearsomething.”
Liznods,andIrealizeshemustbeasworriedasme,she’sjusthidingitbetter,underthatcalm,stolidexterior.Ifindmyselfwonderingwhatshe’sthinking,andwhenthetin(itwascassoulet)isdecantedintoapanandwarmingontopofthewoodburningstoveinthelivingroom,IpluckupmycouragetoaskherthequestionI’vebeenponderingbutnotquitedaringtoask.
“Liz,whatdoyouthinkhappened?ToEva,Imean.”
HerfacecrumplesandIrealizesheisholdingbacktheunthinkablejustashardasIam.
“Idon’tknow.I’vebeenthinkingandthinking—Ijust—Ican’tbelieveanyofitistrue.Itdoesn’tseemreal.IkeepwonderingifEvawasjustinanaccident,butthenwhataboutElliotandAni?”
Whatindeed.
“WhatdoyouthinkAnimeant?”Isay,stirringthebeansslowly,feelingtheheatofthefireatmyfaceandthechillcoldoftheroomatmyback.“Whenshesaid,Shewasn’tthere.”OrwasitIdidn’tseeher?Ican’tremembernow,andthatfactbothersme.IheartherustleofwaterprooffabricasLizshrugs.
“Idon’tknow.Ikeepgoingoverandoveritinmyhead.IthoughtatfirstshemusthavebeentalkingaboutEva,butitmakesnosense.Shewasthere,ontheslope,Isawhertoo.”
“Couldithavebeensomeoneatthetop?”I’mstrugglingtoremembertheexactwordingnow.Fuck.ThiscouldbeimportantandIcan’tremember.“I’mwondering…whenshegottothetopofthebubblelift.Wassomeonealreadymissing,someoneotherthanEva?Someonewhohadalreadyskiedafterher?”
“Butwho?”Lizsays.“Thereweren’tthatmanywomenleftatthetop.I’dalreadygonedowninthebubble.ThetwowomenleftatthetopwereTiger”—sheticksthemoffonherfingers—“inwhichcaseitseemsveryoddthatshewouldreportwhatAnisaid.AndMiranda—butshehadnoopportunitytogoafterEva.ShewentdowninthebubblewithAni.”
“Maybeshedidn’t.”Myheartissuddenlythumping.“Maybethat’swhatAniremembered.ThatMirandawasn’tinthelift.It’seasytogetconfusedafterall—there’sashuffleofbodiesatthetop,peopleheadingforonetelecabine,it’sfull,theygoforanother.Maybethat’swhatAnirealized,thatMirandanevergotonthelift?”
“Whatareyousaying?”Lizlooksuneasy.Herbrows,behindthethickglasses,areknittedtogetherandinthedarknessIhearthecrack,crack,crackofherknucklesasshenervouslyflexesherfingers.
“Maybeshe’sabetterskierthanshe’slettingon.It’squiteeasytopretendtobeworsethanyouare.Maybeshepeeledoffwheneveryoneelsewasgettingonthelift,andinsteadofgoingdowninthebubble,shefollowedEvadownLaSorcière.”
“I…Iguess…,”Lizsaysslowly.Shelookstroubled.
I’mladlingthecassouletoutintotwobowlswhenIrealizesomething.Ifit’strue,ifwhatI’mguessingiscorrect,thenI’vesentDannyoffwithakiller.Andmyheartclutcheslikesomeonehasputitinavice.
Becauseyes,it’strue,therearetwoofthemandoneofher.ButthepathtoHautMontagnepassesalongsomeprettytreacherousstretches.Howhardwoulditbetowaituntilsomeonewasclosetotheedge,andthengivealittleshove.
Ihavenoproofofanyofthis,Iremindmyself,desperately.It’sjustatheory.It’sjustatheory.
Butmythroatisconstricted,andmystomachisclosedandsick,andsuddenlyIcan’tfaceeatingthefast-coolingmessofbeansandmeatinfrontofme.IfeelillwiththeforceofwhatImayhavedone.
BecauseItoldhimtogo.Withmyinstincttoorganize,mycertaintythatIknowwhat’sbestforothers,ItoldDannytogooutintothesnowalonewithMirandaandCarl.
Isittrue?
HaveIsentanotherfriendtohisdeath?
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Erinhardlytoucheshersupper.Shehasgonefrombeingprofessionalandfriendlytosomethingquitedifferentinthespaceofabouthalfanhour.Iamatalosstounderstandit.WhenIaskheraboutitshejustmutterssomethingaboutbeingworriedaboutDanny,butIamnotsureifthatiscompletelytrue.
Ieatmostofherportionaswellasmyown.ThenIgetupandgropemywaythroughtothekitchentorinsethebowlsunderthecoldtap.Thereisnopointintryingtowashup.Wearepastthingslikethat.Thisisstartingtofeellikesurvival.ButwhenIturnthetap,nothinghappens.Itrytheother.Stillnothing
WhenIgetbackintothelivingroom,Erinishunchedover,staringintothefire.Isitbesideher,gingerlyflexingmyknee,thoughit’sfeelingalotbetterthanitwas.
“We’vegotaproblem,”Isay.
Shelooksup,asifstartledatthesoundofmyvoice.
“What?Whatdidyousay?”
“We’vegotaproblem,”Irepeat.“Thewaterisn’tworking.Ithinkthepipeshavefrozen.”
“Fuck.”Shecloseshereyesandrubsherfaceasifsheistryingtowakeherselffromanightmare,whichIsupposeinawaysheis.“Well,there’snothingwecandoexceptsittight.Dannyandtheothersmustbetherebynow.Wejusthavetomakeituntilmorning.Ifwecanmanagethatwithoutfreezingtodeath.”
Herwordsareunsettling,themoresobecauseIrealizethatevenwithmysnowsuiton,thechaletisalmostunbearablycoldnow.Mybreathinthekitchenwasacloudofwhite.Upstairsmustbesubzero.
“Maybe…shouldwesleepdownhere?”Iask.
“I—Iguess.Yes.Isupposeitmakessense.”
“I’llgoandgetmybedding,”Isay,makingupmymind.Erinnods.
“I’llmakethesofasupintobeds.Theyfoldout.”
I’malmostoutoftheroomwhenshesays,“Liz?”
AndIlookback,expectantly,wonderingwhatshe’sabouttosay.
“Yes?”
“Liz,Ijustwantedtosay—thanks.Thanksforstayingherewithme.AndI’msorryitturnedoutlikethis.”
“It’sokay,”Isay,butsomehowthewordsarehardtosay.Thereissomethinginmythroat—anunexpectedkindoflump.“It’sokay.It’snotyourfault.”
AndthenIturnandhobbleintothelobbyandupthespiralstairs,beforeshecanseethetearsinmyeyes.
ERIN
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WhenLiz’sfootstepsdisappearalongthecorridor,Islumpbackinmyseatwithasighandrunmyhandovermyface.I’msorry.Idon’tknowwhatpossessedmetosaythat,exceptthatoutofeveryonehere,it’sLizIfeelmostsorryfor.I’mnotevensurewhyexactly—maybebecauseitwassoplain,rightfromthestart,thatsheneverwantedtobehere.Topher,Eva,howeverawfulthisweekendhasturnedouttobeforbothofthem,theybroughtitonthemselvesinaway—choosingtocomehere,brandishingtheirmoney,pushingpeoplearoundlikelittlechesspiecesintheirbattleforcontrolofSnoop.
ButLiz—Lizisjustapawn,likeme,caughtupinsomethingsheneveraskedfor,neverwanted.
Andyetnotoncehasshecomplained.WhereTopherhasgrumbledaboutthecrapfood,andCarlhasstampedandroaredandthreatenedlegalaction,andRikhasblusteredabouthealthandsafetyandcorporateresponsibility,andMirandahasmadeaccusations—Lizhasjusttrudgedon,puttingupwithitall,eventhoughunderherself-effacingmannerI’msureshewasasscaredasanyone.
MyanklethrobsasIforcemyselftostanding,andIbegintomoveasidethesofacushions,readytopulloutthemattresshiddeninsidetheframe.ButasIpickupthelastcushion,Iseesomethinglyingunderneathit,rightwhereLizandIweresitting.Itglittersinthefirelight,andforasecondIthinkit’sabroochorapieceofjewelry—butwhenIpickitup,Irealizeit’sakey.Averyfamiliarone.
It’sastaffkey.
AutomaticallyIfeelinmypocket,assumingitmusthaveslidoutofmyjeanswhenIsatdown,butmineisstillthere,hardandreassuringagainstmybackside.
Only…it’snotreassuringatall.
Becauseifmykeyisinmypocketitmeans…ohGod,itmeans…thisisDanny’skey.
Danny’skeythatwasstolen.
Thekeythatwastakenbythekiller.
Istandthereforaverylongtime,completelyfrozen,justlookingdownatthekeyinthepalmofmyhandandtryingtocudgelmybrainintofiguringthisout.Somehow,someonegotholdofthiskey—probablyduringthekerfuffleovergettingentrytoTiger’sroom,afterInigo’sdisappearance.It’snothardtoimaginesomeoneslippingitsurreptitiouslyoutofthelockwhilewewereallpreoccupiedwithcheckingifTigerwasokay.Whoevertookitusedittogainentrytothatsameroominthemiddleofthenight,andkillAni.Andthenatsomepointafterthat,presumablythismorningwhilewewerealldistractedbytalkingabouttheplantoskidowntothevillage,itslippedoutoftheirpocketandfellbetweenthesofacushions.
Theonlyquestionis:Whotookit?Whowassittingonthatspaceonthesofathismorning?BecauseIcannotforthelifeofmeremember.
Ishutmyeyes,tryingtopicturethescene—Tigerlyingonthesofa,sobbing,Mirandatryingtocomforther,Rikhandingoutwhiskeys…Ineedtoplaceallthecharactersintheroom,onebyone,figurethisout.
DannyandIwerestanding.Irememberthatclearly.Topher…Topherwasleaningupagainstthemantelpiece.Mirandawaskneelingonthefloorbythecoffeetable.Lizwasinoneofthearmchairsbythefire.RikandCarl…theywereonasofa,butwhichone?Isqueezemyeyesshutharder,andhaveasuddenvisionofRikleaningforward,fillingupthewhiskeyglassatthefarendofthetable.Itwastheothersofa,theonebeneaththewindow.Whichmeans…Iopenmyeyes.
ItmeansTigerwaslyingonthesofawhereIfoundthekey,herhiprightonthepointwherethecushionsjoin.Itwouldmakecompletesense—thekeycouldsoeasilyhaveslidoutofherpocketwhileshewaslyingtherecrying.Except…itmakesnosenseatall.Tigeristheonlypersonwhodidn’tneedakeytokillAni.Shewasalreadyintheroom.Andifshewantedanalibi,shecouldhavesimplysaidsheforgottolockthedoor.
Butnooneelseoccupiedthatseatafterthekeywentmissing,apartfromme…
AndLiz.
Asifhypnotized,mygazedriftsupwards,totheceiling,whereontheflooraboveLizismovingaroundherroom,gatheringupduvetsandpillows.Icanhearthefaintcreakofthefloorjoists,andthenthesoundofherdoorshutting.
Iheartheshush,shushasshedragstheduvetalongthecorridor.
ThenIhearthehaltingnoiseofherfeetonthespiralstairs,goingcarefullythistime;shedoesnotwanttoslipagain.
Thensheappearsinthedoorwayofthelivingroom,herhandsfullofbedcovers,herfaceunreadableinthedimlight,thefirelightflickeringoffherbig,owl-likeglasses,andwithafunnylittlepangIrememberthatveryfirstday,thewaysheremindedmeofanowl,paralyzedbythelightsofanoncomingcar.
Shestilllookslikeanowl,butsuddenlytheresemblanceseemsverydifferent,andquiteanotherkindofchillcomesovermeasIrealizeIwasrightallalong—butsovery,verywrong.
Becausehereisthething.Wethinkweknowowls.Theyarethesoft,friendly,blinkingcreaturesofchildren’srhymesandstories.Theymaybewise,buttheyarealsoslow,andeasilyconfused.
Theproblemis,noneofthatistrue.Owlsarenotslow.Theyarefast—lightningfast.Andtheyarenotconfused.Intheirownelement—thedark—theyareswiftandmercilesshunters.
Owlsareraptors.Predators.
ThatwaswhatIsawinLiz,rightbackonthatveryfirstday.Iwasjusttooblindedbymyownpreconceptionstorecognizeit.
Inthedark,owlsarenotthehunted,butthehunter.Andrightnow,itisdark.
“Hi,”Lizsays,andshesmiles,anunreadablesmilebehindthoseblank,flickeringlenses.“Areyouallright?”
LIZ
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WhenIcomebackdown,myarmsfullofduvetsandpillows,Erinisstandingstock-stillinthemiddleoftheroom,onehandonthesofa-bedframe,asifathoughthasjustoccurredtoher.
“Hi,”Isay.Ithrowthebeddingintothearmchair.Then,whenshestilldoesn’tmove,Iadd,“Areyouallright?”Idon’tknowwhyIsaythat,exceptthatshelooksreallyodd.“Isthesofabedstuck?”
“What?”Sheseemstoshakeherself.Thenshegivesasmileandashortlaugh.“No,sorry.Justthinking.Iwas—IwasthinkingaboutDanny.Theymustbetherebynow.Iwaswonderingifwe’dhearfromthemtonight.”
Iglanceupattheclockonthemantelpiece.Itissodarknowthatthehandsarealmostunreadable,butIthinkIcanmakeoutthatit’snearlyeighto’clock
“Iguessyou’reright.Howlongdidyousayitwouldtaketogetthere?”
“Ithoughtaboutthreehours.ButgivenMirandaandCarlhaveneversnowshoedbefore,itmighttakelonger.Still,theyleftjustafterone.Evenallowingforrestsandstuff,theyoughttobeatHautMontagneeasilybynow.Maybeevenontheirwayback,thoughIdon’tknowifthey’llsnowshoeinthedark.”
Shegivesthemetalframeatug.Thesofabedunfurlswithascreech.
“Ihopeyou’reright.”ImovemypillowsontothemattressandthenhelpErintakethecushionsofftheothersofaandunfoldthebed.“Losingthewaterfeelslikethelaststraw.”
“We’llhavetomeltsnow,”Erinsays.Herfacelookswhiteandstrainedinthedimlight,butit’snotsurprisingreally.“Ican’tbelieveit’sonlybeentwodayssincetheavalanche.Itfeelslikeforever.”
“Twodays?”ForasecondIdon’tbelieveher,andthenIcountupinmyhead,andIrealizeshe’sright.Twodaysandfourhours.Itfeelslikealifetimeago.Itdoesfeellikewe’vebeentrappedhereforever.Andnowitisalmostover.Thestrangethingis,IamnotsureI’mreadytofacerealityagain.Itisjustdawningonmethatwhatfeltlikecaptivitymightactuallybeakindofidyllictranquility.Perce-Neigeisacrimescene.Andwearesuspects.Whenwegetbacktotherealworld,wearegoingtohavetofacethefullglareofpublicity.Therewillbeapoliceinvestigation,reporters,newsstories.Interviews.Icanseetheheadlinesnow:CHALETOFDEATH.
Allsortsofthingsaregoingtocomeoutofthewoodwork.
Nowitismyturntostand,stock-still,staringintothedarkness,thinking.
“I’llgoandgetmybedding,”Erinsays,intothesilence.“Canyouputanotherloginthestove?”
“Sure,”Isay,shakingmyselfbacktothehereandnow.Iwatchherasshepicksupatorchandpassesthroughintothelobby,thethinbeamspiralingaroundasshemakesherwayupthestairs,herhandgoingclick,click,clickonthebanisterassomethinghard,aringperhaps,strikesagainstthemetal.
Click.Click.Click.
Ihearagainmymother’sbreathless,nervousOh,Liz,youknowDaddydoesn’tlikethat…
Tick.Tick.Tick.Disappearingintothedarkness.
Perhapsitisthethoughtofthepolice,andeverythingthatisgoingtocomecrashingdown,butsuddenly,Idon’tknowwhy,itsoundslikeaclock,tickingdowntozero.
ERIN
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MyheartishammeringasIwalkalongthecorridortothestaffsection,andletmyselfintomybedroom.Theroomistotallydark,litonlybythenarrowbeamofthetorch,butIdon’twanttoriskthebatteriesgivingwaysoIswitchitoff,andinthedarknessIsinkdownontomybed.Ineedtothink
Myfistisclenchedaroundthekey,hardagainstmypalm,likeaphysicalreminderofthecrazinessofthissituation,andnowasIsitthere,tryingdesperatelytomakemyselfunderstandthisconundrum,IfindthatI’mholdingitsohardthatit’sbitingintomyfingers,leavingdentsIcanstillfeelwhenIforcemyhandopen.
Whatdoesitmean?Whatdoesitmean?
IfLiztookthatkey…isshethekiller?Buthow?
Icastmymindback,relivingthescruminthecorridorwhenDannybrokeintoTiger’sroom.Lizwasthere,I’mcertain.ButIrememberthatwhileeveryoneelsesurgedforwardintotheroom,shehungback.Ithoughtatthetimeitwasbecauseofhernaturalreserve—itseemedsoincharacter,comparedtothewayeveryoneelsethrustthemselvesforward,pushingtoseewhatwasgoingon.ButnowIwonder.Wasshehangingbacksothatshecouldpocketthekey,unobserved?
Butwhy,that’swhatIcan’tunderstand.LizcannothavekilledEva.Motiveaside,she’soneofthefewpeople,alongwithAniandCarl,whohadnoopportunityatall.ShewasstuckonthebubbleliftgoingbackdowntothebottomofBlanche-NeigewhenEvawasseenskiingLaSorcière.
Butthekey.Thekeythatishardandjaggedandincontrovertibleinmyhand,asifrefusingtoallowmetoforgetitsevidence.
Whataboutthekey?
Irubmyhandovermyface,feelingtheshinyscartissue,theever-presentreminderofwhatIdid,thepriceIpaidforbeingtoosureofmyself,andI’msuddenlyawarethatIhavebeensittingherefor—I’mnotsurehowlong,butalongtime.Toolong.Suspiciouslylong.Ihavetogetbackdownstairs,orLizwillknowsomethingiswrong.
Iswitchthetorchbackonandgatherupanarmfulofduvets,andthen,holdingthetorchinmyteeth,balancedontopofthestackofpillows,Iopenthedoorwithmyfreehand.
Lizisstandingrightoutside,almostnosetonosewithme,thetorchlightreflectingoffherglasses.
Iscream,andthetorchbouncesoffthepillowsandfallstothefloorwithathump,whereitgoesout.
Myheartishammeringinmychestlikeapneumaticdrill.
“Jesus,”Imanage,myvoiceshaking.“Liz,youscaredme.”
Isettheduvetsdownwithtremblinghands,andgropeforthetorch.
“Sorry,”shesays.Itsoundslikeshe’ssmiling,butIcan’tbesureinthedarkness.Thereissomethingsoflatabouthervoice,sohardtoread.“Youtooksolong.Igotworried.”
“I—”Ohfuck,whatcanIsay?WhatexcusecanIgive?“Iwasjustchangingmytop.”
What.WhyonearthdidIsaythis?She’llbeabletoseeI’mwearingthesameclothesIwasbefore.Whatastupidlie.
Ifeelsickwithnerves.Iamaterribleliar.EvenatschoolIcouldneverdothetwo-faced“Oh,youlooksolovely!Ilookliketrash!”thingthattheothergirlsdid.TheonlytimeIcandissembleiswhenI’minstaffmode.ThenI’mpoliteandcheerfultoeveryone,nomatterhowIreallyfeel—notbecauseIlikethem,butbecausetheyareguests,andI’mstaff,andthat’smyjob.
Thethoughtcalmsme.
It’smyjob.Icandothis.Lizisaguest,andit’smyjobtobesympathetictoher.Ijusthavetochannelthatthought.
Iswitchonthetorch,andImakemyselfsmile.
“Shallweheaddown?It’sreallycolduphere.”
AndLiznods,andturnsforthestairs.
LIZ
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ThereissomethingwrongwithErin.Iamnotsurewhat.ShesaidshewasworriedaboutDanny,butifthat’sthecase,Idon’tknowwhyherfearscameonsosuddenly.Shewasquitecheerfuluntilabouttwohoursago.Thenshegotnervousandedgy.
Wehavebeenlyinginthedarknessforperhapsanhourormore,butsheisnotasleep.It’snotjustthatshe’snotsnoring—outofthecornerofmygazeIcanseehereyesarestillopen,reflectingthelightfromthefire’sembersassheblinks.Sheislyingthereinthedarkness,silentlywatchingme.Sheisthinkingaboutsomething.ButIdonotknowwhat.
Whatisshethinking?
Isqueezemyeyesshut,tryingtolookasnormalaspossible.
AfewminuteslaterIhearthecreakofthemattresssprings.Eriniscautiouslyswingingherlegsoutofbed.
“Whereareyougoing?”Iask.
Shejumpslikeacriminalcaughtinthemiddleofsomething,andputsherhandtoherheart.
“God!Liz,youscaredme.”
“Sorry.”Idon’tsayanythingelse.Frommyexperience,ifyoukeepquiet,peoplegetnervous.Theytalk.Theyfillthesilencewiththeirownconversation.Youcanfindoutalotthatway.Sureenough,afterapause,Erinanswersmyquestionwithoutmehavingtorestateit.
“Ididn’tmeantowakeyou.Icouldn’tsleep.I’mgoingtothet-toilet.”Sheisshivering.Icanhearherteethbeginningtochatter.Itisvery,verycoldintheroomnow.Thefirehasdieddowntoglowingash.
“Okay.”Irollover,pullingthecoversuptomychin.“Don’tforgetthepipesarefrozen.”
“Ikn-now.”Sheopensthestovetoputinanotherlog.“I’lluseoneoftheupstairsbathrooms.Ithinkwe’veflushedboththed-downstairsloosalready.”
Idon’tsayanything.Ijustwatchherasshewrapshercoatmoretightlyaroundher,andthenpadsupthestairs.ThenIturnoverandfeelinmypocketforthekey.
Itisgone.
ERIN
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Bloodyhell.MyheartispoundingasItiptoeupthestaircase.Idon’tknowwherethatlieaboutthetoiletscamefrom,butI’veneverbeensothankfulforfrozenpipes.TheyhavegivenmeexactlywhatIneeded—anexcusetogoupstairs.
Ihavenoideawhatthetruthisaboutthekey.DidLiztakeit?Idon’tdaretoask.MaybesomeoneelsesatonthatsofawhenIwasn’taround.OrmaybeLizfoundthekeyandpickeditupbuthasbeentooscaredtotellanyoneincasetheysuspectedher.Therecouldbeadozeninnocentexplanations.Ortherecouldbeone,verydamningone.
Eitherway,Icouldnotliethereinthedarknesslisteningtohersoft,regularbreathingasecondmore.Ihadtodosomething.AndatlastmysubconsciousoverrodemyracingthoughtstoprodmeaboutsomethingIhadtotallyforgotten.
Elliot’schargingblock.Thegiantexternalbatteryhewasusingtopowerhislaptop,beforehediedandhiscomputerwasdestroyed.IfIcangettothatbatteryandplugmydeadphonein,maybeIcangetasliverofconnection.It’sworthatry.It’salsonotsomethingLizcouldpossiblyobjectto.Andyet,forreasonsIcan’tfaceexamining,Idon’twanttotellher.
Whynot?mybrainwhispersasItiptoealongthecorridor,intimewithmysteps.Whynot?
BecauseIdon’ttrusther.
Whynot?
Because…Iswallow,hearingthedryclickofmyjawintheeeriesilence.Becauseinmyheartofhearts,IdothinkshecouldhavekilledEva.Idon’tknowhow,butmyfearovertheselasttwohourshasshownmesomethingIwouldnothavebelievedbeforetonight:IdothinkLizhasitinhertokill.It’snotjustthekey—thoughthatisconcerningenough.ThepanicIfeltwhenIopenedthedoorofmyroomandsawherstandingthere,smilingblanklyatme,herfacehiddenbehindthosesilverylenses—therewassomethingdeepandtrueandrealaboutthatpanic.IttoldmesomethingIhadnotadmittedtomyselfbefore:IamafraidofLiz.Shemaybemeekandquietandalmostpainfullyreserved,butbehindthatmeekness,Ibelievethereissteel,andyes,Ithinkshecouldkillsomeone.IbelievethatinawaythatIneverbelieveditofInigo,orevenTopher,despitealltheevidencepiledupagainsthim.
Outofeveryonehere,IbelieveLizcouldkillincoldblood,andconcealthatfactfromusall.Noonepaysattentiontoher.Andforakiller,that’sakindofsuperpower.
IamalmostatElliot’sdoor.IamwalkingassilentlyasIcannow,rememberingthewayLiz’sstepsalongthecorridorwereaudibleintheroombelow.Itakethepasskeysoutofmypocket,andchoosingone,Iinsertitgentlyintothelock,turnit,andopenElliot’sdoor,very,veryquietly.
Itcreaks,justalittlebit,andIholdmybreath,hopingLizdidn’thear.Butthereisnosoundfrombelow.Ifshecameup,Iwouldhavenoexcuseforbeingdownthisendofthebuilding.Thenaturalthingwouldbeformetousethestaffbathroom,upthefarend.Or,ifIcouldn’tbebotheredtowalkthatfar,toaccessoneoftheguestbedroomsclosertothestairs.NotElliot’s.Notaroomwitha—
ThesmellhitsmeasIopenthedoor.It’sasmellIrememberfromtheteachinghospital.
Thereisadeadbodyinthisroom—beneaththereekofurineandtheincongruouslyhomelysmellofspilledcoffee,itsmellsofdeath.Notbadly,theroomistoocoldforthat,butunmistakably.Afetid,animalkindofsmell.
Thereisnowayyouwouldchoosetousethisroomforanything,ifyouhadanotheroption.
Thesmellmakesmegag,butIpushtheurgedownandedgeacrosstheroomtothefarsideofElliot’sdesk.Andthereitis—sittinglikeacinderblockonthefloor,asingleredLEDpiercingthegloom.Myheartgivesathumpofrelief.AndalmostatthesametimeInoticetwothings.Thefirstisthataphoneispluggedintothechargingblock,andit’sswitchedon,andfullycharged.Elliotlefthisphonecharging.Ofcoursehedid.
ButthesecondthingIseeisthathehasanandroid,andmineisaniPhone.Myphoneisinmypocket,butIcan’tusehischarger.
Iwanttokickmyself.Ishouldhavecollectedmyownchargerfirst—thatwasincrediblystupidofme.DoIhavetime?Ordinarilyitwouldtakemelessthanaminutetoruntotheotherendofthecorridor,slamthroughthestaffdoors,andgrabmychargerfrombesidemybed.Butnow,Ican’trun.Ican’tslamthroughthedoors.Ican’taffordtomakeasound.
Imakeupmymind.IwilltryElliot’sphonefirst.Youcandialsomeemergencynumbersfromthelockscreen—Ijusthavenoideawhether112or17areamongthem.
Ipickitupandthescreenjumpsintolife,butwithalurchofdisappointmentIseethereisstillnoreception—justanxbythegrayed-outscale.Ican’tcallanyone.
Still,thereareabunchofappnotificationsonthelockscreen,andit’swithaflickerofhopethatIscrolldownthem,tryingtofigureoutifthephonehasconnectedatallduringthepasttwenty-fourhours.Ifit’sgettingeventinyblipsofreception,thatmightbeenough.IfIcangetintothephoneIcouldsendatext,whichwouldjustsitthereintheoutboxuntilthephoneconnected.Iwouldn’thavetodoanything.Justwaitforittosend.
Andthereitis.AWhatsAppfromsixhoursago.Andbelowthat,anotificationfromSnoop.Anon101isgeoclose,whateverthatmeans.Geoclose?I’veneverhadanotificationlikethatonmySnoopaccount.
Ihavenotimetoworryaboutthatnowthough.ThequestionishowIgetintothephone.Ihavethreetriesbeforeitlocksout,andthenI’llhavenochoicebuttogobackandgetmycharger,andwaitwhilemyownphonepowersup,whichwilltakelongenoughtomakeLizwonderwhereIam.
I’mrackingmybrains,tryingtorememberifKateevertoldmeElliot’sdateofbirth,andifsowhethertotrytheyear,orthedayandmonth,butwhenIbringupthelockscreen,Icomeupshort.It’snotapinpad,it’sathumbscanner.
Mystomachdropswithdisappointment,butthenIrealizewhatthismeans,andIexperienceadifferentkindoflurch,thisoneofnauseatedhorror,asitdawnsonmewhatIhavetodonext.OhGod.CanIdoit?AndifIcan,whatkindofpersondoesthatmakeme?
Iglanceacrossatthedesk.IforcemyselftolookattheshapeIhavebeentryingtoignore,letmyeyesskitteracross:Elliot.Elliot’sbody.
Hishandisstretchedoutacrossthedesk,andIfeelmycheeksgohotandthencoldandthenhotagainwithakindofdeeppiercingshameatwhatIamabouttodo.ButIhavetogetinsidethatphone.
Istandup.Iunplugthephonefromtheblock,andItakeastepacrosstheroom,closertowhereElliotissprawled.Andthenanother.AndthenIamstandingbyhisdesk,reachingforhishand—hiscold,firmhand.
Itisalittleclammy,thoughthatismostlyduetohowcoldtheroomis,andhisarmissurprisinglyheavytomaneuver,buttherigorhaswornoff,anditiswithouttoomuchdifficultythatIunfurlhisfingers,andholdhislong,bonythumbbetweenmyfingers,chillandfirmasajointofmeat.
“I’msorry,”Iwhispertohim.“I’mso,sosorry.”
AndthenIpressthetipagainstthelockscreen.
ForaminutenothinghappensandIfeelapiecing,shootingsenseofdisappointment.Canthephonesomehowtell?Doesitworkoffbodywarmth?Doesitknowthatthisisadeadman,notalivingowner?
Thereisonlyonewaytofindout.Feelingevensicker,Iputdownthephoneandrubthecold,clammytipofElliot’sthumbbetweenmypalms,chafingitroughly,tryingtogetalittleofmyownbodyheatintoElliot’sskin.
It’ssurprisinglyhard.Myhandsarecoldtoo,andforalongtime,allIcanfeelisthebone-deepchillofdeadfleshagainstmine.ButIpersist,huffingonhisthumbtotryandwarmhimwithmybreath,andatlasttheredoesseemtobesomeperceptibledifferenceintemperature.Beforeitcandissipate,Ipickupthephoneandpressitquicklyagainstthetip,holdingmybreath.
Andthenthedisplaylightsup,withthehotpinkoftheSnoopapp’shomescreen.AndI’minsideElliot’sphone.
I’mabouttominimizeSnoopandnavigatetothetextmessageapp,whenIstop.ThereissomethingreallyoddaboutElliot’sSnoopapp.
Heisbeingfollowedby1.2millionpeople.Whichisnotthatsurprising,Iguess.He’sknowntobeoneofthecofoundersofthecompany,andhisSnoopIDispublic.
Buttheweirdthingisthathe’sfollowingonlytwopeople.OneofthemisTopher—IrememberhisavatarandIDfromwhenIfollowedhimmyself—Xtopherandaphotoofhimbalancingaspoononhisnose,withalittleticktoshowhe’sverified.SnoopingXtopherfor3years,saysthetextbesidehisname.That’snottheweirdpart.
Theweirdpartisthattheotherpersonhe’ssubscribedtoisatotallyanonymoususer,Anon101.Anonhasnopicture,andwhenIclickontheblankspacewheretheiravatarwouldhavebeen,totakemethroughtotheirprofile,thereisnothingintheirbioeither.Goaway,istheonlylinethey’veputinthe“About”field,whichmaybeexplainswhytheyhaveonlyonefollower.That’sit.
Butunderlocation,thereisanentry.AstringofGPScoordinatesandatinylogosaying“beta”inbrackets.
ThismustbetheupdateElliotwasworkingonbeforehedied—thegeosnoopingupdatethatheandTopherweresoexcitedabout,theonethatletthemlocateEva.ButwhoisAnon101andwhyisElliotfollowingthem?IsAnonEva?But,no,that’sridiculous,notwithonefollower.Andbesides,I’vesnoopedEva.Ican’trememberwhatherIDwas,butIrememberheravatar—asnowleopardwearingRay-Bans.
Iclickbacktothepreviousscreen.
SnoopingAnon101for2dayssaysthetextbesidetheirname.
ElliotfollowedAnon101rightbeforehedied.
Mystomachisflutteringnow,andmythumbhoversabovethe“Geosnoop(beta)”tabatthetopofthemenu.Irememberthatnotificationonthehomescreennow—thenotificationthatIswipedasidesocarelessly.Anon101isgeoclose.
IpresstheGeosnooptab.
Inyourarea:readsthetextatthetopofthemenu.Andthen,underneath,thereisalistofjusttwopeople.
Littlemy
Anon101
IamLittlemy.Whichmeans…Anon101mustbe…Liz.
LIZ
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Thereissomethingwrong.Erinhasnotcomebackfromhertriptothetoilet.Shehasbeengonealongtime,butmorethanthat,Ican’thearanythingatall.Nodoorsopening.Nofootstepsonthestairs.Nosoundofwaterflushing.Hassomethinghappened?Hasshefallenasleep?
Ilietherechewingmylip,tryingtoworkoutwhattodo.Iwentafterherlasttime.Iwasworriedwhenshetooksolongoverchanginghertop,butnowIamnotsureifthatwasagoodidea.Thepaniconherfacewhensheopenedthebedroomdoorandsawmestandingthere,justabouttoknock,mademethinkIhadmadeamistake.AndnowIwonder,isthatwhenhermannerchanged?Maybesheisfrightenedofme.PerhapsshethinksI’mastalker.
Peoplehaveahabitofpullingawayfromme.ItissomethingIhavenoticedovertheyears.Itstartedwiththegirlsatschool—theywouldbefriendlyatfirst,andI’dtrytomakeoverturesback—andthentheywouldstarttocool,forreasonsIcouldneverputmyfingeron.SoIwouldtryharder.Makemoreeffort.ButthemoreItried,themoretheyseemedtogrowcold,untilatlasteverythingIdidjustseemedtomakethemhatememore.
Atprimaryschool,theothergirlsweren’tsubtleaboutit.Goaway,Liz,you’resoweird.Ihearditagainandagain.Aswegotolder,thegirlsinmyclasspretendedtobekinder,butunderneaththeywerethinkingthesamethings,beneaththeirOh,sosorry,we’resavingthisseatorMymumsaysIcanonlyhavethreegirlstothesleepover,reallysorry,Liz
Thegirlswerebad.Theboyswereworse.TheworstofallwasKevin.
Evenhisnamemakesmeshudder.
IlikedKevin.Ithoughtthathemightlikemetoo.Hehadacneandhisbreathwasalittlestale,andhewasn’tparticularlyhandsome.Hedidn’tseemasunattainableassomeoftheotherboys.Igotabookoutofthelibraryonhowtomakeboyslikeyou,butitwasconfusingandcontradictory.Laughathisjokes,itread.SoIdid.ButthenKevinwouldlookatmeasifIwerecrazyandsay,“Whatareyoulaughingat?”
Givehimsomethingtoremindhimofyou.IgavehimapairofmittensIhadknitted.Ilefttheminhislocker,butheneverworethem.LaterIfoundtheminlostproperty.
Engineerchancemeetings.Ifollowedhimaround.ImadesurethatIwasthere,leaningagainstthelockerswhenhecameoutoftheboys’toilets.Iwaitedbyhisbusstop.OnedayIfollowedhimhome.
ItwasNovemberandalmostdusk.Ididn’tthinkhehadnoticedme,buthehad.Wehadwalkednearlytwomileswhenheturnedonme.“Whatdoyouwant,youfuckingweirdo?”hesaid,hisvoicecrackingandbreakingonthelastword.Onlyhedidn’tsayit.Hecamerightupintomyfaceandscreamedit.Icouldsmellhisstalebreathandfeelhisspithittingmeasheshouted.
Itwasdark.Rainhadbeguntofall.Wewereinalonelypartofthepark.Asmallpartofmewantedtokillhim.ButIdidn’t.Instead,Icoweredawayfromhim,cringingfromhisangerandthen,whenhepushedmeandyelled,“Areyoufuckingdesperateorwhat?”Iran.Iwascryingandshaking.
BythetimeIwashiredatSnoop,Ihadlearnedmylesson.Ikeptmyselftomyself.Ididn’ttrytomakefriends.Ididn’ttrustanyone.
ButErin…somehowErinseemeddifferent.Shewassofriendlywhenwefirstarrived.IrememberhersympathywhenIaskedheradviceaboutthedresscode,herkindnessasshetowedmetotheskiliftthatfirstday.Shereallyseemedtolikeme.NowIamnotsosure.Whatifshewaspretendingallalong?
Iwanttogoupthereandaskherwhatshethinksofme,whethersheisscaredofme,whatsheisdoingupthereinthedark.ButIdon’tknowhowshewouldfeelaboutthat.MaybeIcouldsayIwasworriedabouther.Afterall,threepeoplehavedied.It’swhatagoodfriendwoulddo.Lookoutforher.Checkshewasokay.
Butwouldsheseeitthatway?WouldsheknowIwasjustbeingagoodfriend?Orwouldshegivemethatlookagain—thatpanicked,terrifiedlookIsawinKevin’seyeswhenheturnedonme.TheoneIsawinErin’seyeswhensheopenedthedoorlasttime.Thelookthatsays,Youweirdo.Thelookthatsays,I’mscared.
Iamstillditheringtenminuteslater.AtlastIcan’ttakethesilenceanymore.Ihavetoknowwhatsheisdoing.
Iswingmylegsoutofbedandstandup.I’mstillwearingmyskisuit,soI’mnotthatcold.Mykneestillhurts,butIcanputmyweightonitnow.ReallyIamverygladnottobesnowshoeingtotheotherchalet.Imean,Iwouldneverhavefallendownthestairsdeliberately,thatwouldbeareallystupididea.Icouldhavebeenkilled.Butitworkedoutwell.
Still,Igocarefullyonthestairs,holdingthehandrail.Thewoodisslipperybeneathmysocks,thetreadsthemselvesarehardtoseeinthedarkness,andIdefinitelydon’twantanotherfall.
AtthetopofthestairsIpause,holdingmybreath,tryingtolisten.Whereisshe?Inthestaffquarters?I’mjustabouttoturnleft,toseeifshe’sdownthatendofthecorridor,whenIhearanoise.It’saveryslightone,butitiscomingfromtheoppositedirection—fromthedirectionofthecorridorthatholdsMiranda’s,Elliot’s,andmyrooms.Whatwouldshebedoingdownthere?
ButbeforeIcanfindout,Ihearanothernoisefromthesamedirection—thistimeunmistakable.It’sthesoundofatoiletflushing.ThedoortoMiranda’sroomopens,andErincomesout.Shedoesn’tlookthatsurprisedtoseeme,thistime,insteadshejustsmiles.
“Hi,Liz.”Hervoiceisslightlybreathless.“Sorry,wereyouworried?”
“Abit.”Ifrownather.“WhatwereyoudoinginMiranda’sroom?”
“Ialreadyflushedthestafftoilet.Ididn’tthinkMirandawouldmind,anditwastheclosest.Um,Liz,fairwarning—”It’shardtotellinthedarkness,butitlookslikeherfaceisabitflushed.“Sorry,thisisTMI,butIhadabitofanupsetstomach.Ithinkmaybethecassouletwasn’theatedthroughproperly.That’swhyI—well,that’swhyittookmeabitlonger.”
“Oh!”I’mnotsurewhattosaytothat.ShouldIlaugh?No,thatwouldseemstrange.IarrangemyfeaturesintowhatIhopeisasympatheticsmile.ThenIworrythatitmightjustlooklikeasmile,soIfrowninstead.“Oh,gosh,pooryou.”
“Irealizeyouprobablydidn’twanttoknowthat,butIthoughtIshouldwarnyouincase—well,Imean,wehadthesamesupper—”
“Oh,I’vebeenfine,”Isayhastily.It’sthetruth.Ihaven’thadsomuchasatwinge.ButthenI’vealwayshadreallygooddigestion.
“Oh,good,”shesays.There’sreliefinherface.“I’dhatetohavegivenyoufoodpoisoningontopofeverythingelse.”Shegivesashakylaugh,andthensays,“Well,shallwe?”
Foraminute,I’mnotsurewhatshe’sreferringto,butthenshenodsatthestairs,andIunderstandwhatshe’ssaying.
“Sure,”Isay.Butthensomethingstopsme.“Actually,youheaddown.Ineedthetoiletaswell.”
Shenods,andbeginstolimpherwaydownthespiralstaircase.Iwatchhergoforamoment,andthenIheaddownthecorridortowardsmyownroom.Iunlockthedoorandslipinside,andgoovertothebuilt-inclosetinthecornerofmyroom.Thedoorisajar,whichishowIleftit.But,isitmyimagination,orisitveryslightlywiderthanitwasbefore?
Istandstock-stillforalongmoment,lookingatthedoor.It’scrackedopenmaybetwoinches.Itlookslikealot.Itlookslikeawidergapthanbefore.ButIcan’tbesure.
Makingupmymind,Iopenthedoorandpulloutmysuitcase,andthenIunzipthelining.Inside,pressedflatagainstthebaseofthesuitcase,behindthesilkyliningandapieceofcard,shouldbeascarletskijacket.It’stoodarktoreallysee,andIleftmytorchdownstairs,butwhenIpokemyfingersthroughthenarrowgap,Icanfeelitisthere—itsdownysoftnessreassuring.Iletoutasighofreliefandsitbackonmyheels.
ThenIzipuptheliningandreplacethecaseinsidethecupboard,andIstandpainfullyandgothroughtothebathroom.ImightaswellmakemystoryconvincingwhileI’mhere.
Butit’sonlywhenI’mhalfwaythroughpeelingoffmyskisuitthatsomethingstrikesme,somethingthatstopsmeinmytracks.
Thatsuitcasewasontopofthestack,ontopofmylittlewheeliecabinbag.
Ileftittheotherwayaround.Iamabsolutelycertainofit.
Someonehasbeeninsidemycloset.
Erin?Orsomeoneelse?
Myheartisthumping.
Slowly,veryslowly,Ipullupthezipofmyjumpsuit,thinkinghard,tryingtofigureoutwhattodo.
ThenIflushthetoiletandwalkbackdownstairstotrytofigureouthowmuchErinknows.
ERIN
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FromupaboveIhearLiz’stoiletflush,andIhunkerdownunderneaththeduvet,hopingIcanpretendtobeasleepwhenshecomesback.Mymindisracing,tryingtofigureoutwhatcanpossiblyhavehappened.
ThankGodIheardhercomingupthestairsandwasabletoleaveElliot’sroomandniptwodoorsdowntoMiranda’s.IfshehadfoundmecomingoutofElliot’s,Iwouldhavehadtocomeclean.Andthetruthis,Iammuchtooscaredtodothat.
Whatthehelldoesitallmean?IsLizthekiller?Buthow?Nevermindmotive,shehasacast-ironalibi.ShewasonthebubbleliftgoingdownthevalleywhenEvawaskilled.
Except…
Exceptnooneactuallysawhergetonthelift.
Itrytothinkbacktothatfinalrundownthemountainaseveryonehaddescribedit.EvawascomingupintheReinebubblelift.Carlhadfallenoveratthebottom,tryingtogeton,andAniwashelpinghim.Everyoneelsewasstandingatthetopofthebluerun,Blanche-Neige,huddledinthescreamingwind,waitingforEva,Carl,andAnitoarrive.
ThencameLiz’srefusaltoski,andTopher’sbullyingattempttoforcehertodoit.
Everyoneagreedwhathappenednext—Liztoreoffherskisandwalkedbackuptheslopetothelift,togetonthebubblebackdowntothechalet.
Butwhatifshehadn’t?Whatifshehadgonethroughthelittleshackhousingtheliftandstraightouttheotherside,towardstheblackrun,LaSorcière.Then,atthetopoftherun,rightbythesteepestpartofthepiste,shestoodandwaited.
ItrytoimaginehowLizcouldhaveluredEvaacross.Maybeshepretendedshehadslidhelplesslydowntheblackrun,towardsthesheerdrop.Maybeshefakedaproblemwithherbootorherski.Eitherway,shemusthavecalledtoEva,andthen,whenEvawasveryclosetoher,andoffguard,shepushedherofftheprecipice.
Thatwouldhavebeentheriskiestpart.Nottheriskofbeingseen—thevisibilitywastoobadforthat,andtheliftbuildingwouldhavebeenbetweenthemandtheskiersstandingonBlanche-Neige.ButtheriskoffailingtopushEvaovertheedge.IfEvahadmanagedtosaveherself,orworse,ifshehadgrabbedholdofherattackerandtakenherovertheedgeaswell,everythingwouldhavebeenfinished.Butitworked.Itmusthavedone.AndnowLizjusthadtogiveherselfanalibi—byensuringthatEvawasseentobesafeandwellafterLizwassupposedtohavegonebackdowninthelift.
Irememberthathuge,bulkyskisuit,thewayLizwassweating,juststandingaroundatthebaseofthelift.Ievenrememberthinkingthatshewasclearlywearingfartoomanylayers,andwonderingwhy,onsuchaniceday.NowIknowwhy.Itwasn’tinexperienceatall.Itwasplanned.
Itwouldnothavebeenveryhardtohaveasecondskijacketonunderneaththefirst.Itwouldhavetakensecondstounzipthebaggybluejumpsuit,takeoffthescarletskijacketbeneath,andputitonoverthetop.Withherhelmet,goggles,anddark-coloredskipants,anyoneseeingheratadistancewouldtakeitforgrantedthatshewasEva.
AndsoshesetofftoskiLaSorcière,stoppingjusttomakesurethatonepersonatleast—faithfullittleAni,faraboveherinthebubblelift—wouldbeabletobackupherstory.
IthinkofAni’slastwordstoTiger,herpuzzledIdidn’tseeher.
WeallthoughtshewastalkingaboutEva.
Butwhatif…whatifsheweretalkingaboutLiz.Liz,whowassupposedtobeonthebubblegoingdownthemountain,atthesametimeAniwascomingup.WhatifthatwaswhatAnirealized,thatLizneverpassedthemgoingbackdown?Thatshenevertooktheliftatall?
Itisplausible.Itisallhorriblyplausible.Anditwouldverylikelyhaveworkedifitweren’tforonething.Elliot’sgeosnoopingapp,covertlygatheringdataoneveryoneintheparty.
BecauseElliotwasn’tstupid.AssoonashefiguredoutthatEvahaddied,hewouldhavelookedatthemovementsofeveryoneelseonthemountainthatday.HewouldhaveknownthatthepersonwhoskiedLaSorcièrewasnotEvabutAnon101.Onlyevenwithalltheinfoathisdisposal,hecouldnotbecertainwhoAnon101was.
SohefollowedAnononSnoop.Andhesetaboutfiguringitoutbyprocessofelimination.ButhewaskilledbeforehecouldsharehissuspicionswithTopher.
Thistheoryexplainsalmosteverything.ItexplainswhyElliothadtodie,whyhiscomputer,withallthegeosnoopingdata,wassmashedup.ItexplainswhyAniwaskilled.
There’sonlyonethingitdoesn’texplain.Why.
WhyEvawaskilledinthefirstplace.
BecauseLizstilldoesn’thaveamotive.
Still,IrememberDanny’swords.Idunno.Wecouldprobablygivethemallmotivesifweneededto.
He’sright.Alibiisthekey,notmotive.AndIhavejustsmashedLiz’salibitopieces.Thereisoneproblem—ifI’mright,thatfactputsmenextinlinetobekilled.
Iamaloneinanisolatedchaletwithamurderer,andthere’snothingIcando.
LIZ
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Whomovedmysuitcase?
ThequestiongnawsatmelikearatasIwalkslowlybackdownstairs.WhenIenterthelivingroomIcanseeErinishuddledundertheduvet.Hereyesareclosed,andshe’sbreathingsoftlyandrhythmically.Butitseemstome—andIcan’ttellifI’mbeingparanoidhere—thatthereissomethingalittlefakeaboutthewaysheislying.Doesanyonereallylookthatcomposedinsleep?
“Erin,”Iwhisperverysoftly.Shestirs,hereyelidsflickeringmomentarily,butshedoesn’tappeartowake.
Isitonthesofabedbesideherandtrytothink.
Iamcompletelysureaboutthesuitcase.AtleastIthinkIam.ButIhavenotlookedinthatcupboardsinceSunday.Anyonecouldhavemovedmycase.Eveniftheymovedit,thatdoesn’tmeanthattheylookedinsidethelining.ItcouldhavebeenElliot—gatheringinformationbeforehetookhissuspicionstoTopher.Itcouldevenhavebeensomethingcompletelyinnocent.
IcouldkillErin.Thatisnottheissue.Icouldputapillowoverherface,justlikeIdidwithAni,buthereistheproblem:IfIkillErin,everyonewillknowitwasme.Thereisnoonehereformilesaround.Iwouldhavenohopeofpersuadinganyonethatanunknownintruderbrokeinandsmotheredherinhersleep
IkilledElliotandAnibecauseIhadto.Iactedquickly,onthespurofthemoment,workingwithwhatIhadtohand.WithElliot,thatwasEva’ssleepingpills,crushedintoacupofblackcoffee.HeneversuspectedathingwhenIofferedhimarefill.Iguessthat’sallIeverwastohim:someonetofetchthecoffee.
ForAni,itwasherownpillow,pressedoverhernoseandmouth.Shediedquietly,herstrugglesmuffledbythethickduvetwrappedaroundher.Ifelt…well,IwouldliketosaythatIfeltguiltyforthemboth,butthetruthis,Ididn’treally.Elliotbroughtitonhimself,withhissnoopingandhisprying.IdidfeelsorryforAni.Butshewasinthewrongplaceatthewrongtime.WhatIsawinhereyeswhenshestood,frozeninmydoorwaythatnight,wasthesuddenrealizationofwhatshehadseen.Whatshehadnotseen.Theemptyglassspheresofthebubblelift,returningbackdowntothestation,whenoneofthemshouldhavecontainedme.
Sherealizedwhatitmeant.Icouldtellthatstraightaway,fromthemomentoureyeslockedandhersfilledwithsuddenfear.Shehurriedbacktoherroom,lockingthedoorbehindher.Sheprobablyfeltsafe.Shedidn’tknowIhadapasskey.
ButIdon’tfeelguilty,evenaboutAni,becauseit’snotmyfault,anyofthis.Iwasinthewrongplaceatthewrongtimetoo.Ineveraskedforanyofthis.IwascaughtupinsomethingIcouldn’thelp,caughtupinTopher’sandEva’sownpersonalgameofthrones—notevenoneofthemajorplayers,justapawnforEvatoplayagainstTopherwhenthetimewasright,myownpastleveragedagainstme.
Becausehere’sthething—Iamagoodperson.Ineverwantedanyofthis.Icertainlydon’twanttokillanyoneifIdon’thaveto.IfErindidn’tlookinsidethatcase,ifshehasn’tfiguredthisout,well,Idon’twanttohurther.
Idon’tneedtoactquickly.Ihavetimetothinkaboutthis.Thereisnowayhelpcangetherebeforemorning.Icantakemytimetoworkoutifsheknowssomething,andifso,whatIcandoaboutit.Itwouldhavetobeanaccident,orlooklikeanaccident.Anothersliponthestairs,maybe?Acarbonmonoxideleakwiththestove?ThoughIamnotsurehowIwouldengineerthat.
Slowly,Itakeoffmyglassesandliedown,butIdon’tshutmyeyes.Iliethere,facingErin,watchingher.Watchinghersleep.
ERIN
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Liziswatchingme.Idon’tdaretoopenmyeyesmorethanasliver,butundercoveroftossinginmysleepImovemyheadalittle,lettingmyeyelidsflicker,andIcanseeher,lyingthere,staringunblinkinglyintothedarkness.
Withherglassesoffshelooksquitedifferent.Theowlish,impenetrablelookisgone,andshelooksyounger,butatthesametimethereissomethingevenmoreunsettlingaboutherblank,unwaveringstare.WhenIclosemyeyesandsettlebackdownwithalittlefakesnore,Icansensehergazeboringintome.
Ifeellight-headedwithfear.WhatamIgoingtodo?
Itrytoforcemyselftobreatheslowly—tothinkthisthroughclearly.AmIindanger?Immediatedanger?Idon’tknow.IfIamright,Lizhaskilledthreepeople—butIdon’tthinksheiskillingforfun.IstillhavenoideawhyEvahadtodie,butAniandElliotwereonlykilledwhentheyhadconcreteinformationaboutLiz’sguilt.IfIcankeepmysuspicionsunderwrapsuntilmorning,Imaybeokay.
Isqueezemyeyesshut,andIthinkaboutElliot’sphone,pluggedbackintothebatteryupstairs,withthetextmessageIsenttoDannyintheoutbox,waitingforathreadofconnection.“SOS,pleasesendhelp.IT’SLIZ.”AmessageIcomposedwithtremblingfingers,tryingtowalkthefinelinebetweenamessageDannywouldunderstand,amessagethatwouldactasaclueifsomethinghappenstomebeforemorning,andamessagethatIcouldplausiblyexplainawayifLizsomehowstumblesuponit.
Idon’tthinkshehasaccesstoElliot’sphone.ButIdon’tknow.That’stheproblem,Idon’tknowanything.Shewasdoingsomethinguptherewhensheclaimedtobegoingtothetoilet.Shespentmuchtoolonginherroom,andIcouldhearherpacingaround,openingandclosingdoors.Shewalkedintothelooandimmediatelyflushedit,withoutevenclosingthedoorasfarasIcouldtell,letalonesittingonthetoilet.
Sheknowssomething.Shesuspectssomething.Ijustdon’tknowwhat.AllIknowisthatAniwaskilledinhersleep,andsoIdon’tdaretoletmyselfdriftoff.
LIZ
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Erinknows.
Iwasnotsureatfirst,butasthetimestretchesoutintowhatfeelsincreasinglylikeanendlessnight,Iamsureofit.
BecauseinspiteofwhatIfirstassumed,sheisnotasleep.Sheispretendingtobeasleep,butsheisnot.Sheislyingtherewithhereyesclosed,andeverynowandagain,whenshethinksIamnotwatching,sheopenshereyesjustthesmallestslit,tocheckifIamstillawake.Iseetheglintofmoonlightbetweenherlashes,andthenshesqueezesthemshutagainanddoesalittlefakesnore.
It’ssounfair.Godit’ssounfair!
Ineveraskedforthis.Ineverwantedanyofit.Ijustwantedtobeleftalone
ItisallI’veeverwanted.It’sallIwantedfromthegirlsatschool,withtheirbitchingandtheirteasingandtheirprying.
It’sallIwantedatuni,withpeoplebadgeringmetojoinuptoclubsandattendfreshers’formals.
It’sallIwantedatSnoop.Andatfirsttheydid—theyleftmealone,andyouknowwhat?Itwasfine!
Andthenitwasn’t.Itallunraveled.Andthat’swhyIhatethemsomuch.
IhateTopherfordraggingmeintothis,forsaddlingmewiththeseshareslikeamillstonearoundmyneck.
IhateEvaformeddlingandmeddlingandmeddlingwhensheshouldhaveleftwellenoughalone.IhatedherAreyouokay?andIsthereanythingIcando?andWe’llmakethisright,Liz,Iswear.
IhateElliotforpokingandpryingandbeingtoocleverbyhalf.
IhateRikforjust—forjustbeingoneofthem.Soentitled.Soslick.Swimmingwithsharksandnevergettinghurtbecausehe’soneofthem.Becausehe’saman,andaprivate-schoolboy,andsovery,verycharming.
AndnowIhateErintoo.
Lyingthere,withherfakelittlesnores,andherhalfsmile,whenallthetimeshehasbeenputtingtwoandtwotogether…
Onlyitistoolate.WhatcanIdo?IfonlyIhadbeensureofthisearlier—IstillhaveeightofEva’ssleepingtabletsinmypocket.Itwouldhavebeenpossible—noteasy,butpossible—toslipthemintothecassoulet.IcouldhaveswappedourplateswhenErinwasn’tlooking.Nowitistoolate.Thoughperhapsthathasalreadyoccurredtoher.Perhapsthatwaswhatshewasreallydoinginthetoilet,whenshetooksolongandcameupwiththattransparentfood-poisoningstory.Perhapsshewasmakingherselfsick.
CouldIstageabreak-in?PerhapsIcouldpretendthatInigocamebackforus?Itcouldwork—butnotifInigohimselfhasanalibi.AndtheproblemisthatifInigodoeshaveanalibiandifErindoesn’tsuspectme,thenIwouldbeexposingmyselffornoreason.Iwouldbeshootingmyselfinthefoot.
Ihavetobevery,verycareful.Icannotaffordamistake.
ButIhavetoknow.Ihavetoknowwhatsheknows.
“Erin,”Iwhisper,veryquietly.Thereiscompletesilence,butitisnotquitethesilenceofsomeonefullyasleep.Itismorelikethesilenceofsomeonethinkingitover.
Atlastthereisasigh,andErinsays,“Yes?”
“You’restillawake?”
“Ican’tsleep.Ikeepthinkingabouttheothers,wonderingwheretheyare.”
Itcouldbetrue.ButthenIthinkaboutthatlittleslitofhereye,glintingatmeinthedark.Idon’tthinkitis.Idon’tthinkthatiswhatiskeepingherawake.Iplayalong.
“AreyouworriedaboutDanny?”
Thereisanotherlongpause.Ithinksheistryingtoworkoutwhattosay.Sheistryingtofigureoutwhethersheneedstopretendtosuspectsomeoneelse.
“Abit,”shesaysatlast.“Ihopedhe’dcomebacktonight,youknow?”
Iamabouttosaysomethingelse,I’mnotsurewhat,somethingmeaninglessaboutbeingsureDannyisokay.
Onlythen,inthesilenceasIformulatemywords,thereisadoublebeep.Veryfaint,andcomingfromupstairs,butcompletelyunmistakable.
ItisasoundthatsetsmypulseracingevenbeforeIhavepinneddownwhatitis.
Itisthesoundofatextmessagecomingthrough.
ERIN
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IcantellatoncethatLizhasheard.Herwholebodygoesstiffandalert,andshepushesherselfuponherelbow,listeningintently.
Fuck
“Whatwasthat?”shesays.
Myheartisracing.Iknowbloodywellwhatitwas.ItwasDannyreplyingtoElliot’stextmessage.Itmustbe.Elliot’sistheonlyphoneinthehousethatstillhasanychargeleftonit.Theremusthavebeenablipofreception—thesamesliverthatallowedthenotificationfromSnooptocomethrough.
ButIkeepmyfacecarefullyneutral.
“Ihavenoidea—itsoundedlikeaphone,don’tyouthink?Butthatcan’tberight.”
Lizisstaringatme,likeshe’stryingtofigureoutwhat’sgoingonbehindmyface.Ohmygodsheknows.Shedefinitelyknows.Shejustisn’tsureenoughtoactonhersuspicions.Ihavetobevery,verycareful.
“Itsoundedlikeitwascomingfromupstairs,”Lizsays.Shegrabsherglassesandswingsonelegoutofbed.
“Yeah…,”Isayitslowly,mymindracing.Atallcosts,Ican’tlethergetintoElliot’sroom.Ifsheseesthatmessage,Iaminbigtrouble.Shealreadysuspectsme.Itwouldbeveryhardtoexplainthatmessageaway.“Yeah,itdid.”
Couldshekillme?Idon’tknow.Herkneeisasscrewedasmyankle.Couldsheout-hobblemeifitcametotryingtogetaway?Iamtryingtothinkofaplan.CouldIlureheroutsidesomehow?Lockthedoor?ButthenIthinkofDanny’swords,aboutInigoturningup,beggingtobeletin,andIknowhewasright.Icouldneverstandthereandwatchanotherhumanbeingfreezetodeathinchesaway,onlyapaneofglassseparatingus.Ijustcouldn’t.NotevenLiz.
ButIcan’tletherfindthattextmessage.
Mymindisracing,tryingtorememberwhatIcouldseeonElliot’slockscreenbeforeIclearedit.Somepeoplehavetheirtextmessagesshowupintheirentirety.OthersonlyhavetheIDofthesender,orjustYouhaveatext.WhichisElliot?Whydidn’tIcheckbeforeIunlockedthephoneandclearedhisnotifications?OfcourseifitoccurstoLiztouseElliot’sdeadbodytounlockthephonelikeIdid,noneofthismatters.
“ItsoundslikeitcamefromMiranda’sroom,”Isayslowly,tryingtothinkhowtoputherofftrack.
“Youthink?”Lizsays.Herfaceisskeptical.“IthoughtitsoundedmorelikeElliot’s.It’dbejustlikehimtohavesomekindofsuperlong-chargebattery.”
Mystomachflips.Ofcourse.Ofcourseshe’sright.Sheknowsthesepeople.AndnowIrealizeI’mtrapped.Ican’tsuggestwesplitupandIcheckElliot’sroom,whenIalreadysaidIthinkthesoundcamefromMiranda’s.Iwillhavetogoalongwithhersuggestion.
“Shouldwe…goandcheck?”Itrytolookdoubtful.“Itseemsabitdisrespectful.Maybeweshouldruleouttheotherroomsfirst?”
Lizswingstheotherlegoutofbed.Shelooksdecisive.
“Ithinkit’smoreimportantthatwegettothephonewhileitstillhasreception,”shesays,reasonably,andIcan’tfindawayofcontradictingherbecausethethingis,she’sright.That’sexactlywhatI’dbesayingtoo,ifIhadn’tsentthatfuckingtext.“Iunderstandifyoudon’twanttocome,”sheadds.
Iwaver.It’stempting.ButIcan’tlethergouptherealone.Thatwouldbeworse.TheremaybesomewayIcangettothephonebeforeshedoes,deleteDanny’sreply.
“Ofcourse,”Isayinstead,likeI’msteelingmyselftodosomethingnecessary.“Ofcourse,you’reright,Iwasjustbeingsqueamish.It’smoreimportanttogetwordout.Anyway,thedoorwillbelocked.You’llneedmykey.”
“Ofcourse,”sheechoes,andforasecond,justasecond,herhandstraystowardsherpocket,wherethemissingpasskeymusthavebeenhidden,inatotallyinvoluntarygesturethatIwouldhavemissedifIhadn’tbeenwatchinghereverymove.Shecatchesherselfbeforeherhandmakescontact,sothatitjustlookslikeshe’sadjustingherskisuit.ButIknowwhatshewasthinking.
Aswemakeourwayupthestairs,Ihaveasharp,piercingsenseofdéjàvu,thenumberoftimeswehavecreptupthesestairsindaylightorindarkness,tosomehorriblediscovery.Onlythistime,Iknowwhatliesatthetopofthem,andIamtheonewhoisfearingexposure.
MyheartisracingasweapproachElliot’sdoor,andwhenIreachintomypocketforthepasskey,Ifindmyhandisshaking.
“Areyouokay?”Lizsays.Shehasputherglassesbackon,andtheyglitterinthedarkness.“Youdon’thavetocomeinifyoudon’twant.”
“I’mfine,”Isay,throughgrittedteeth.“Justcold.”
AndthenIturnthekeyandweareinsideElliot’sroom,thestenchofdeathsomehowevenworsethanbefore,thoughIknow,logically,thatcannotbethecase,notinthefewhourssinceIwaslasthere.
Lizgags,andputsherhandoverhermouth,andheractiongivesmeanexcuse.
Thebatteryblockisdownthesideofthedesk,hiddenfromthedoor.IfIcangethertoconcentrateonthefarsideoftheroom…
“Thesmell’sprettybad,”Isay.“Ifyouwanttoconcentrateonthebedsideoftheroom,Icantakethedesk.”
Shenods,andmovesovertotheothersideoftheroom.Iambusygoingthroughthemotions,openingdrawers,pretendingtosearchforaphoneIknowfullwellisjustoutofsight,whenIhearsomething.
Andthen—
“Erin.”
Ilookup,looktowardsthebed,butshe’snotthere.Shehascomeupbehindme.Andshehasfoundthephone.
MyheartstartsbeatingsoloudlyIamsurethatLizwillbeabletohear.
Run,run,run,avoiceinmyearisscreaming.ButIdon’t.Iholdverystill.MaybeIcanstilltalkmywayoutofthis.Whatdoesitsay.Whatdoesitsay?
IwishIcouldseethelockscreen,butIcan’t.Lizisholdingthephoneinherhand,anglingittowardsher,sothatallIcanseeisthelightfromthescreenreflectingoffherglasses.
“Thatsound…,”shesays,veryslowly.Shelooksupatme,afrownfurrowedbetweenthelensesofherspectacles.“Itwasatextmessage.Anditwastoyou.”
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Istaredownatthescreen,andthenupatErin’sblankface.
Thisdoesn’tmakesense.Ordoesit?
Messages:readsthelockscreen,andthenalittlepreviewpaneshowingthefirstlineofthemessage.Fuck.Erinisthatyou?
Erinislookingatmelikearabbitinasnare.
Elliot’sphoneisathumblock.ItmakeswhatIhavetodonextveryeasy.
Ireachout,andgrabhiscold,heavyhand.
“No!”Erinyelps,andshereachesforthephone,butitistoolate.Iamin.
SOS,Iread,feelingfurybegintokindleinsideme,makingmycheekshot.Pleasesendhelp.IT’SLIZ.
IstareupatErin,lookingherrightintheeye,feelingmyjawfallopenwithshockedbetrayal.
Thatbitch.Thattotalbitch.
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IseeLiz’sfacechangeasshereadsitandIknow,instantly,thereisnowayofexplainingmywayoutofthis.
Herfacegoeswhite,andshestaysvery,verystill,butIdon’tthinkit’sfearthat’sparalyzingher.Ithink…Ithinkitmightbesomethingelse.Ithinkitmightbeanger.
“Youdon’tunderstand,”Isayweakly,butmyvoiceiscroaky,andIknowthereisnopointinthis.Idon’tknowhowIeverthoughtthattextwasambiguous.SeeingLiz’sface,Iunderstandnow,thereisonlyonewayforhertotakeit.
“Youknow,”shesays,andhervoiceishorriblycalm.Iwanthertoscreamandshout—anythingwouldbebetterthanthisicychill.
Butthere’sakindofreliefwithherwords,becausenowIcanstoppretending.IcanstopthishorribledanceofDoessheknowIknowsheknows,andjustfaceuptothetruth.
“Yes,Iknow,”Isayquietly.AndthenItakeastepbackwards,andIsinkdownonElliot’sbedandputmyfaceinmyhands.Partlybecausemyankleiskillingme,andthepainisstartingtomakemefeelsick,andpartlybecausemylegsareshakingsohardIcan’tkeepuprightanymore.
Shestandsthere,lookingdownatme,herfaceblankandunreadablebehindthosehugeglasses.ThelightfromElliot’sphonegivesherfaceaneerie,up-litglow.BehindherElliot,themanshekilled,liessprawledacrosshisdesk—aterrifyinglyimmediatereminderofwhatshehasdonetoprotecthersecret.ThesecretInowhave.OhGod,whathaveIdone?Danny,whereareyou?
“God,hestinks,”shesaysatlast,wrinklingupherface.Shecracksherknuckles,click,click,click,butitnolongersoundsnervy.Itsoundslikesomeonelimberingupforafight.“Let’sgetoutofhere.Comedownstairsandwecantalkthisthrough.”
Asifinadream—ormaybeanightmare—Ifollowheroutoftheroom.Sheholdsthephoneoutinfrontofherlikeacandle,illuminatingthecorridor,andwhenwegettothetopofthestairsshesays,“Afteryou.”
Ihesitate.
Idon’twanttomakeherangry—butatthesametime,thereisnowayIamgoingdownthatslippery,precariousstaircasewithheratmyback.I’mjustnot.
Lizseesmyhesitationandgivesamirthlesslaugh.
“Okay,Idon’tblameyou.I’llgofirst.Butyoukeepastepback,okay?I’mnothavingyoupushingmedownthestepseither.”
Inod.Idon’tmindkeepingmydistance.Itwouldbealmostaseasyforhertosnatchmyankleoutfromunderneathmeasitwouldbeformetokickherinthesmalloftheback.
God,thisissurreal.
Iwatchherasshemakesherwaycarefullydownthestairs,holdingthehandrail,thephoneguidingthewaylikeafaintwill-o’-the-wisp.
Downstairs,shemovesawayfromthefootofthestairsandfeedsanotherlogintotheburner,makingitflaresothattheroomisbrightwithitsglow,andIhurrydownwhileherbackisturned,myheartbeatingquickeruntilIamonsolidground.Thenshestraightensupandshutstheglassdoorofthestove.
Iamalonewithamurderer.Iamalonewithamurderer.MaybeifIkeeprepeatingthewordstomyselfitwillstarttofeelreal?
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Inaway,itisarelieftohaveitoutintheopen.Icouldtelltherewassomethingwrong,andIhavealwayshatedtryingtoreadbetweenthelines,second-guessingmyself,attemptingtoparseafrownorablanklookorapausethatmightbesomethingormightbenothing.
Nowwebothknowwhereweare.Whichisarelief.Butitisalsoaproblem.BecauseIlikedErin.No,that’swrong.Ishouldn’tbeusingthepasttense.Notyet.
Ilikeher.Iactuallydoreallylikeher.Idon’twanttohavetodothis.Butshedidsomethingreally,reallystupidwhenshesentthattext,andnowIhavenochoice.She’sforcedmyhand,really.Ifanythingthisisherfault.
Thesenseofinjusticeboilsupagain.Thisissounfair.
“Ineverwantedanyofthis,youknow,”Isaytoherasshesinksdownontooneofthechairs,staringintotheflames.Sheisshaking.I’mnotsureifit’scoldorshock.
“What?”
Shelooksup,andIfeelangerbubbleupinsideme,andthenIpushitbackdown.Hassheevenbeenlistening?
“IsaidIneverwantedthis.”Isinkdownintothearmchairoppositeher.Istareatthefire,feelingitsheatonmyface.“IwouldneverhavekilledanyofthemifIcouldhelpit.I’mjustasmuchofavictimhere.”
Sheblinks—andforaminuteitlookslikeshe’sgoingtosaysomething,butthensheseemstothinkbetterofit.
“Tellmeaboutit,”shesays.AndsoIdo.
ERIN
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IamlostinthoughtasLizsitsdownoppositeme,andittakesmeamomenttorealizesheistalking.Whatsheissayingdoesn’tmakesense—somenonsenseaboutherbeingtherealvictiminallofthis.
Ilookup,andImeethereyes,andIamoverwhelmedwiththeurgetoslapher,toshakeher,toscream,You?Areyoukiddingme?WhataboutEva?WhataboutElliot?WhataboutfuckingAni,whoneverharmedafly?
ButIdon’t.
BecauseIsuddenlyknowwhatIhavetodohere.
Ihavetohumorher.IhavetokeephertalkinglongenoughforDannytogetbackherewithreinforcements.Hehasseenthetext.Heknowswhatitmeans.Hewillbedoingeverythinghecantohelpme.Idon’tknowwhattimeitis,butitmustbewayaftermidnight.IfIcanjustkeepLiztalkinglongenough,Imaybeabletosurvivethis.Imayevenbeabletogetjusticeforallthepeopleshehaskilled.
BecauseIamasurvivor,that’swhatLizdoesn’tknowaboutme.Sheseesasoft,poshgirlfromthesamebackgroundasTopherandEva,someonewhohasneverhadtoworkforherliving,toscrapforsurvival.
Butthat’snottrue.Notinmycase.Inspiteofmyfamilyname,Ididn’tgrowupwithasilverspooninmymouth,notinthewayTopherandEvadid.I’vealwaysknownthatIwassecondbest,andthatIwouldhavetofightformyself.Iknowwhatit’sliketocleanupotherpeople’smessesforaliving.
Butmorethanthat,themostimportantthingaboutme,somethingLizwillneverunderstand,couldneverunderstand,unlessshehadstoodinmyshoes:Ilookeddeathinthefaceonce,andIturnedhimaway.
Icandoitagain.
“Tellmeaboutit,”Isay.Thereisacatchinmythroat,andmyvoiceisshakingwiththeeffortofkeepingitcalm,whenIfeelanythingbut.ButLizdoesn’tseemtonotice.Instead,shesmiles.Incredibly,unbelievably,shesmiles.
Andshebeginstospeak.
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“Youdon’tknowwhatitwaslike,startingatSnoop,”Isay.ItiseasiernottolookatErinwhileI’mtellingherthis,soIlookawayagain,intothefire,rememberingthatfirstday—openingtheofficedoor,andseeingthemall,loungingaroundinside,laughing,bantering,soeffortlessly,searinglycool.“Itwaslikewalkingintoadifferentworld.LikesomethingofftheTV,wherepeopleweresleekandbeautifulandwitty.Theywerelikeadifferentspecies,andIwantedtobethemsomuch.School—schoolwassohorrible.Ican’texplainit.IknewIwasdifferentfromtheothergirlsinmyclass,Iknewtheyalllaughedatme.ButsomehowIthoughtwhenIgottomyreallifeitwouldbedifferent.IthoughtthatmaybeIwasjustanuglyduckling.”
Iswallow.Itisstrangesayingallofthis—unwrappingsecretsIhavecarriedforthreeyears.
“ButwhenIgottoSnoopIrealizedthatwasn’ttrue—Iwasn’tgoingtomagicallygrowintoaswanovernight.EvaandTopher,evenElliotandRikinaway,theyhadbeendifferentandspecialandbeautifulrightfromthedaytheywereborn.AndIwasn’t.Iwasnevergoingtobeaswan.Ihadtoacceptthat.Butthethingis,Iwasgoodatmyjob.Reallygood.AndSnoopwasdoingwell.AndIcaredaboutit—aboutthem.Sowhenthefirmhadproblemsraisingmoneyjustbeforethelaunch,IofferedTopherandEvamygrandmother’smoney.IstillremembertheshockontheirfaceswhenImadethesuggestion.”Ilaugh,rememberingTopher’sexpressionwhenIspokeupinthatmeeting—asifhisofficechairhadpipedup,offeringasolutiontotheirfinances.“Ithinktheyrealizedthenthatthey’dunderestimatedme—thatthegirlwhobroughtthecoffeeandtooktheminuteswasarealhumanbeingwhocouldunderstandaprofitandlosssheet,andfigureoutwhenthecompanywasintrouble.Itwasliketheyreallylookedatmeforthefirsttime.Evaofferedtopaymebackwithinterest,anditwasagoodratetoo.Iwouldhavegotbackalmosthalfasmuchagainbythetimeitwasallpaidback.ButTopher—TophertookmeasideintohisofficeandtoldmeIshouldaskforshares,andhangoutuntilIgotthem.
“Iknewitwasarisk.Rikspelleditoutreallycarefully—Iwouldn’tseemymoneybackforalongtime,andifthefirmwentunder,I’dloseeverything.ButTopher—youdon’tknowwhathe’slike.He’ssocharismatic.Hemakesyoufeelthatyou’reeverything,thathewilltakecareofyou,thatyourmoneycouldnotbeinsaferhands.Sothat’swhatIwentforintheend.IthoughtatthetimethatTopherwasbeinggenerous.Ithoughthewaslookingoutforme.”Istareintotheflames,feelingthebrightnessburningintomyretinas,asifitcanburnawaythememoriesIhavecarriedwithmeforyears.“Ididn’tknowthenwhatIknownow—thathehadseenhowitwouldpanoutintheeventofadisagreement,andthoughtIwassomeonehecouldpressureintheeventofasplit.”
Istop.SuddenlythisfeelshardinawayIdidn’tthinkitwould.Itisgoodtospillallofthis.Erinisagoodlistenerinsomeways,anditfeelsalittlelikelancingaboil—lettingoutallthepoisonthathasfesteredawaysincethatnight.Butithurtstoo.AndwhenIswallowagainstthepain,mythroatisdry.Thesensationgivesmeanidea.
“ShallImakesometea?”Iask.
“Sorry?”Erinsays.Thereisanincredulousnoteinhervoice.Ican’tquiteblameher—thequestionmusthavesoundedslightlysurrealinthemidstofallthis.
“Tea,”Isay.“Idon’tknowaboutyou,butI’mreallythirsty.”
“Tea?”Erinechoes,likesomeonespeakinginaforeignlanguage,andthenshegivesashakylaugh.“Tea…wouldactuallybegreat.It’sexactlywhatIneedrightnow.”
Wegetupandlimptogetherintothekitchen,whereIfindtwocups,andErinfetchesthestovetopkettleandapacketofteabags.
“There’snomilkI’mafraid,”shesaysassheputsthekettleunderthetap.“Itwentoffyesterday.”
Webothstandthere,waitingforthekettletofill,butthereisnosoundofrushingwater.AndthenIremember.IcanseefromthesuddenlookofcomprehensiononErin’sfacethatshehasrememberedtoo.
“Thepipes,”shesaysunnecessarily.Inod.
“Shouldwegetsnow?”Iask.
“I…guess?”Erinsays,butIcanhearfromthehesitationinhervoicethatshedoesn’twanttogooutside.Ican’tsayIexactlyblameher.Idon’treallywanttogoouteither.Webothknowthatsteppingoutsidethechaletwouldgivetheotherpersonthechancetolockusout,wherewewouldverylikelyfreezetodeath.Butthesnowispiledupagainstthefrontdoor,soifwedothisright,neitherofusneedstogooutside.
“Ifyouopenthefrontdoor,”Isay,“andstandtherewiththekettle,Icanchipbitsoffthedriftbythedoor.”
Shenods,andIcanseefromherexpressionthatsheisgratefulthatIhavetakenonthemoreprecariousrole.Thesnowispiledupsohighthatyouhavetoclimboverthedrifttogetout,soit’sfairlyunlikelysomeonecouldjustpushyououtofthedoor,butitisstillpossible.
“Thanks,”shesays,andtogetherwetroopthroughintothefoyer,whereErinunlocksthebowingfrontdoor.Ibegintodigatthehard-packedsnowwithaspoon,chippingofflumps,andputtingthemintothekettleErinisholdingout.Atlastwearebothshiveringwithcold,butthekettleisfull,andweshutthedoorandreturntothelivingroom,andtheblazingfire,whereErinbalancesthekettleontheedgeofthewoodstove,andwebothwarmupourhandsattheglass.
“Youweresaying,”sheprompts,asthekettlebeginstohissandsigh.“Theshares?”Herwordsbringmebackwithabumptoourpresentreality.Ifingertheemptypacketofsleepingpillsinmypocket.IthinkaboutwhatIhavetodo.
ERIN
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Findingthekettle,gettingthesnow,allthelittlemundanepracticalitiesofmakingtheteahaveletmepushoursituationtothebackofmymindforamoment,butasthesilenceclosesaroundus,Ifeelfearsettlelikeaweightonthebackofmyneck.Lizissilent,herfaceblankandunreadable,herhandsstuckouttotheblaze,andsomehowhersilenceismoreterrifyingthananyspeech.Ifindmyselftryingtoworkoutwhatisgoingthroughhermind—isshefiguringawayoutofthis?Orjustthinkingaboutwhatshehasdone?
Thekettlehissessoftly.Lizjustsitsthere,staringatthekettle,onehandheldouttheblaze,theotherinherpocket,andsuddenlyIcan’ttakeitanymore.
“Youweresaying?”Iblurtout.
Lizlooksup.Shelooksatmeappraisingly,inawayIdon’tlike.Sheiscrunchingapieceofplasticinherpocket.ThenoiseisloudinthesilenceandIthinkifshedoesn’tsaysomething,Imightscream.
Andthensheswallowsandpicksupherstoryagain.
“Theshares.Yes.Soyes,thereIam,twenty-two,ashareholderinthisup-and-comingapp—andTopherandEvastarttreatingmeabitmorelikeahumanbeing,nowthatI’minvestedinthebusiness.Imean,I’veonlygottwopercent.EvenElliotandRikdwarfmyshare.ButIamashareholder.Andonenight,afewdaysafterwesignedthepapers,there’sthisdrinkspartyinthisflashyLondonbar—Ican’trememberwhy,Ithinktheywereafterapartnershipwithsomestreamingcompany,somekindofquidproquo.”
Shestops.Somethingiscoming,Icantell.Idon’tknowwhatexactly,butitfeelslikeLizisgearingherselfupforsomething,forcingherselfontoapartofthestoryshedoesn’twanttospellout.
“Theyhadanargument,overwhetherIshouldgo.IrememberRiksaying,Doyouthinkthisistheimagewewanttoproject?Hedidn’tknowIwaslistening,ofcourse.TheywereinEva’soffice,andIwaslisteninginviatheintercom.AndEvasaid,Forfuck’ssake,Rik,it’snotrocketscience,Icanmakeherpresentable.Andshe’soneofusonpapernow,thankstoToph,soshemightaswelllookthepart.Thenshepausedandsaid,Besides,Norlandlikeshertype.Helikesthemyoung.SoIknewwhatwasgoingonwhenEvagotmetocomeovertoherhousebeforethepartyandofferedtolendmeadress,becausesheknewIwasonabudgetafterpouringallmymoneyintoSnoop.Whenshesaiditlikethatitsoundedperfectlyreasonable,kind,even,butIknewthetruth.
“Well,you’veseenEva.Youknowwhatshe’slike.There’sprobablyonlyaboutthreewomeninLondonwhocouldsqueezeintoherjeans.Butwefoundsomething,somehow,andEvamadeupmyface,andwhenwearrivedatthebarandwereintroducedtotheexecutivesfromtheothercompany—Idon’tknow—IactuallystartedtofeellikearealSnooper.EvaintroducedmenotasherPAbutasLiz,whoisaminorityshareholder,andtheytalkedtomewithrespect,andastheeveningworeonIreallystartedtobelievethiswasit—thiswasthelifeIhadbeenwaitingfor.Idon’tnormallydrinkmuch,butIdrankthatnight.Idrankalot—alotofcocktails,and—”
Shestops.Thekettleishissingandbubbling,andshepicksitupgingerlybythehandleandfillseachofthecups,thendropsateabaginthetop.
Itaketheoneshehandstome,lookingdownintoitsurreptitiously.Idon’twanttoaggravatehersuspicions,butgivenhowElliotdied,itwouldbestupidofmenottocheck.Themeltedsnowisalittlecloudy,andtheteaisstartingtoleachoutofthebagandcolorthehotwater,butIcanstillseethebottomofthecupandthere’sdefinitelynothingthere.Nopills,anyway.
“And?”Iprompt,verygently,andthenwhenshelooksaway,Isay,“I’msorry.Idon’twanttopry.Ifthisistoopainful—”
“No,”shesays,witharush.“It’sokay,honestly.I—ithelpsinaweirdway,talkingaboutit.Ijusthaven’tthoughtaboutitinsolong.Weallgotvery,verydrunk.Andsomehow—Ican’trememberhow—IendedupgoingwithEva…withoneoftheexecutivesfromthebar.Itwasjustthethreeofus.Topherwasgoingtocome,Irememberthat,becausehewasinthetaxi,butthenatthelastminutehebailedoutandaskedthedrivertodrophimoff.WearrivedatthishouseinPimlico,andmyGod,itwasamazing—itwassobeautiful,thisGeorgianbuilding,storieshigh,withabalconyrightatthetopoverlookingtheriver…”Sheisstaringpastmenow,asifsheislookingatsomethingIcan’tquitesee.“Hetookusupstairs,andwewentoutontothebalcony,andhegaveuschampagneandwechattedforawhile,andthenEvaexcusedherselfandwenttothebathroom.”
Shebreaksoff.ButIdon’tthinkit’sbecauseshecan’tgoon.Notquite.It’sbecausesheistryingtoworkoutwhattosay,howtosayit.
“Hetriedtoassaultme,”shesaysatlastbluntly.“Hehadhishandsdownmytop,Iwastryingtopushhimaway.AndI—I—”
Shestops,sheputsherhandstoherface.
“Ipushedhim.Ipushedhimhard.Ipushedhimoffthebalcony.”
“OhmyGod,”Isay.WhateverIexpected,itwasnotthis.“Liz,I’m—I’msosorry.I—”
Theimplicationsarebuzzinginmyhead,evenasIstammeroutmypatheticallyinadequateattemptsatsympathy.
Shekilledaman.
Butitwasself-defense.
ButLizisstilltalking,ignoringme,rushingon,asifshewantstobepastthispartofthenarrative.
“IbrokedownwhenIrealizedwhatI’ddone.ButEva—she—shewasamazing.Shecamerunning,andwhenshesawwhathadhappenedshedidn’taskanyquestions,shejustgotusbothoutofthere,andwhenitcameoutinthepaper,itwaswrittenupasatragicaccident.Thereweredrugsandalcoholinhissystemandpeople;theyjustassumedthathefellIsuppose,orthathethrewhimselfover.NooneevermentionedthatEvaandIwereeventhere.Itjustgoestoshowwhatmoneyandinfluencecanbuy,Iguess.”
Shelooksawayatthat,andthenburiesherfaceinherteasothatherglassesmistwithsteam.
“Icouldn’tstayafterthat,”shesays,veryquietly.“IleftSnoop—andIneverlookedback.Iwenttoworksomewherecompletelydifferent,abankingcallcenter.Itbecamelikethishorriblenightmarishepisodeinmylifethatwasdoneandgone.Untilthebuyouthappened.AndIwasdraggedbackintoallofthis.”
“I’msosorry,”Isayagain,andit’strue.Iamsorry.Sorryforthatpoorkiddraggedintoaworldshedidn’tunderstand.
ButIstilldon’tcompletelyunderstand.Shewasassaulted.Shewastryingtogetawayfromanattacker.AndevenifLizdidn’ttrustthecourttobelievethat,andIcanseewhyshewouldn’t,whydidEvahavetodie?ShekeptLiz’ssecret.
Andthen,inahorrible,blindingflash,Igetit.
TopherwastheonewhogaveLizthoseshares,onthetacitunderstandingthatshewouldbackhimupifitevercametoacrunchlikethis.Sheowedhimeverything.
ButEva—EvaknewsomethingaboutLizthatcouldruinher.Attheveryleast,shewouldbeembroiledinamessy,publiccourtcase,andIknowenoughaboutLiztoknowthatthatwouldbetorturetoher.Attheworst,shemightbelookingatamanslaughtercharge,andprison.
Whethershearticulateditornot,Evawastheonewhocoveredupwhathappened.Sheheldthatevidenceinherhands.AndshemusthavebeenholdingthatfactoverLiz’sheadalltheseyears.
NowonderLizcouldneverfindthecouragetosayhowshewasplanningtovote.
Shecouldvotetobetrayhermentor,themanwhohiredher,stuckupforher,gotherthesharesinthefirstplace.
Orshecouldvoteagainstthepersonwhoheldherlifeinherhands.Thepersonwhocouldsendhertoprisontorot.
Whentherealizationcomes,it’swithatwistedlurchofsympathyforLiz.
Ithinkofthatpoor,younggirl—freshoutofuniversity,swimminginwatersfartoostrangeanddangerousforhertonavigate.BecauseLizwasthevictimnotofonehorriblesituation—butoftwo.Evahadhelpedheroutofonenightmare,onlytocreateanotherofherownmaking—blackmailingthegirlshehadprofessedtohelp.
OfcourseLizdidthesensiblething.ShetoldEvathatshewasvotingwithher.Butwhataboutnexttime?Andthetimeafterthat?HowcouldsheliveherlifeknowingthatEvahadthissecrettoholdoverherheadanytimesheneededsomethingLizwasunwillingtogive?
No.Sheneededtomakeherselfsafeforever.Sheneededtogetridofthepersonwhohadstartedallthis,theonlypersonwhoknewhersecret.
SheneededtokillEva.
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“Sothat’sit,”Isayatlast.Iputmyteatomylipsforalongtime,pretendingtogulpitthirstilydown.
Erinisstaringatme,butIcan’ttellwhatherexpressionis.Itlooksslightlyhorrified—butthatcouldbesympathetichorroratwhatI’vebeenthrough.Doesshebelieveme?Ican’tdecide.
Don’tyouwanttodrinkyourtea?Iwanttoask,butIcan’tsaythat.Itwouldsoundsuspicious.Instead,Iraisemycuptomylipsagain,hopingtoconveythemessagebysubliminalsuggestion.Tomydelight,itworks.Erinpicksupthecup.Iseethemusclesofherthroatworkassheswallows.
“Soyouhadnochoice,”shesaysfaintly,andItrytoarrangemyfaceintheexpressionIthinkshewillexpecttosee.Akindof…painedregret.Andit’strue—Idoregretthis.Thatnight,mostofall.
“Ineverwantedanyofthis,”Isay.“IjustfeellikeI’vebeensweptupinsomethingawfulandhorrible.”
Erinshakesherhead,butnotlikesheistellingmeshedoesn’tbelieveme.Morelikeshe’scondemningwhateverbroughtushere.Sheisstaringdownintohercup.Ican’tseeherfaceverywell.Thatbothersme,butthenshetakesanothersipoftea,andIbegintofeelmorerelaxed.
Iputmyowncuptomylipstoo,inordernottoseemsuspicious.I’mcarefulnottoactuallyswallowanyoftheliquidinside.
“I’veworkedoutwhatyoudid,”Erinsays,assheputsthecuponherknees,nursingitwithherhands.IcanseefromwhereI’msittingthatit’shalfempty,andIbegintofeelmoreconfident.“Itwasveryclever.YouhadaskijacketlikeEva’s.Youmetheratthetopofthelift—”
Shepauses,andIknowwhy.SheistryingnottospelloutwhatIdid,asifitwilloffendmeinsomestrangeway.Butit’sokay.Ihavetolivewithwhathappened,thereisnopointinnotfacinguptoit.
IwaswaitingatthetopoftheliftwhenEvagotoff,rightbythebarrierwhereIhadpretendedtolosecontrolandalmostskiovertheedgewithRikearlierthatday.Ofcourse,Ididn’tlosecontrolatall.Itwasadeliberateslidetogivemyselfthechancetocheckouttheedgeupthere.IwantedtoseeifitwasascloseasIremembered,toseeifthebarrierhadbeenraisedsincemylastvisit,twoyearsago.
Nothinghadchanged.Itwasperfect.
TheironyisI’mactuallyaverygoodskier.ButTopherandRikandtheotherswerealltoowillingtobelievethatagirlfromaCrawleycomprehensivewouldn’tknowoneendofaskipolefromtheother.Thetruth,hadtheyeverbotheredtoaskme,isthatIlovedskiing—rightfromthefirsttimeIwentonaschooltrip,atagefifteen.Ihadneversetfootonaskislopebefore,butIremembertheteachersayingadmiringly,“You’reanatural,Liz!”
AndIwas.Iamnotsporty,asarule.Idon’tdowellwithanythingthatrequiresteamwork,orrunningincircles.Idislikedgettingred-facedandsweaty,everythingjigglingunpleasantlyunderastickyT-shirt,whilegirlsshoutedatmetopasstheball,nonotthatway,ohforGod’ssakeLiz!UntilIwantedtorunawayandhidefromthemall.
Butskiingwasdifferent.Skiingissolo—anditisstrategic.Youhavetothinkonyourfeet,makingsplit-seconddecisionsthatcouldsaveyourlifeorsendyouhurtlingdownasheerslopeatahundredkilometersanhour.
Ilovedit.
ImanagedtogobackagainduringmyA-levels,andtwiceatuniversity—theverycheapesttripsIcouldmanage:coachtoBulgaria,tostayinaSoviet-eraconcretemonolith;RyanairtoRomania,toaself-cateringAirbnbwithhot-airventsthatsmelledofham.Butitwasworthit.Itwasworththescrimpingandthesavingandthelongnightsspentcrunchedintoeconomycoachseats,barrelingdownGermanautobahnsinthemiddleofthenight.
TheydidacorporateskitripwhenIwasatSnoop,wooinginvestors.Ofcourse,theydidn’tinviteme.ButsinceIleftSnoop,sinceIhavebeenearningmyownmoney,IhavebeenbacktotheAlpseveryyear,sometimestwice.AndIhavebecomeavery,verygoodskier.NotquiteasgoodasEva,whohasbeenskiingeveryyearsinceshewasatoddler.Butalmost.AndIhavebeentoSt.Antoinetwice.IknowLaSorcièreverywellindeed.
Whenshegotoffthelift,Iwasoverbythebarrier.Icalledouttoher,pretendingthatIwasinsomekindofdifficulty,andwhensheskiedoverIwaiteduntilshewasrightnexttome,bendingover,lookingatthebindingofmyboot,andthenIgaveheranalmightypush,topplingherbackwardsovertheshallowsafetybarrier.
Thebarriercaughtherinthebackofherkneesandshewentdownlikeaskittleandlandedinthethick,untouchedsnow,rightontheedgeoftheprecipice,herskiswindmillingintheair.ForaminuteIdidn’tthinkithadworked.Ithoughtshewasgoingtostay,sprawledonthenarrowledgeofsnow,crawlherwaybacktothebarrier,askmewhatthehellIwasplayingat.
Butthentherewasanimperceptiblesound—likeasigh.Thesnowledgebegantoshiftandtilt,andacrackappearedatthetop.ForasecondIsawEva,frozeninhorror,lookingupatme,holdingoutherarmslikeIwasgoingtobehersavior—andthenthewholeledgegaveway,andshewasgone.
Iwaitedforamoment,andthenIunzippedmyjumpsuitandpulledoutthescarletjacketIwaswearingunderneath.Iputitonoverthetopofmynavyblueskisuit,pulledmyscarfup,andsettledmygogglesovermyface.Thenturnedmyskistofacedowntherun,andIbegantoskiLaSorcière.
IwouldbelyingifIsaiditwasn’tdifficult.Itwas.Itstwistsandturns,fullofsheerdrops,heart-stoppinghairpinbendsandverticalicesheetswhereIcouldn’tdoanythingbutakindofcontrolledfall.IfIhadn’tknowntherunwell,Ithinkitwouldhavekilledme.ButIhaveneverskiedbetter.
Istoppedhalfwaydowntocatchmybreathandwaitforthetremblinginmylegstosubside,anditwasthenthatIsawCarlandAni,travelinghighaboveinthebubble.Ilookedup,safeintheknowledgethatmygoggleswerepulledupandmyhatwaspulleddown,andthatnoonecouldpossiblytellwhowaswearingthedistinctivescarletskijacket.Iwavedmyskipole,establishingmyalibi,andAnisawme,andwavedback.
Itwasjustmyluckthatshesawsomethingelsetoo:theemptybubbleliftsmakingtheirwaybacktothevalleyfloor.ThebubbleliftsthatshouldhavebeentakingmebacktoSt.Antoine.
Isawtherecognitioninhereyesthatnightwhenshecametomyroom.Isawherliterallyputtwoandtwotogetherstandingthereinthedoorway,thepuzzlementchangingtohorrorasshemadeherexcuses.Suddenlyshedidn’twanttospeaktomeanymore.Shewantedtogetaway—figureoutwhattodo,andshortofputtingahandoverhermouthanddraggingherintomyroom,Icouldn’tthinkofanyotheralternative.SoIlethergo.
IknewthenwhatIhadtodo.IthankedmyluckystarsforTiger’sinsomnia,andtheinstinctthathadpromptedmetopocketthepasskeywhenDannyleftitinthedoorearlierthatday.
Althoughthatwasn’tluckreally,wasit.Thetruthis,Iamnotaluckyperson.Yes,theTigerthingwentmyway—butsomuchelsehasgoneagainstme.Andthepasskey—thatwasn’tluck.Thatwasme.Asplit-seconddecisionthatlookedlikeitwasabouttosavemyskin.
Becausethethingis,Imaynotbelucky.ButIamgoodatthinkingonmyfeet.PerhapsthatiswhyIlikeskiingsomuch.Itisthesameskills,thesametwistingandturning,thesameheart-poundingexcitement.Thesamedropinyourstomachwhenyourealizeyou’vemadeastupidmistake,andthenthesameliftofexcitementwhenyourealizeyoucanmaneuveryourwayoutofit.
IfeltbadaboutAnithough.BadinawaythatIdidn’taboutElliot.Elliotdeservedwhathappenedtohim.Hedidn’thavetopoke,andpry.Thatwashischoice.Ani’schoicewasnochoiceatall—shewasinthewrongplaceatthewrongtime,justlikeme.Andthatisatragedy.Butit’snotmyfault.Ihavetorememberthat.Noneofthisismyfault.
“Wh-whatdidyousay?”Erinasksme,andIrealizeImusthavemutteredsomeofthosewordsaloud.I’mabouttoanswerwhenIlookatErinmorecarefully.Sheappearsalmost…drunk.Sheislistingtooneside.
“Nothing,don’tworry.Areyoutired?”Iask.Iamtryingnottosoundtoohopeful.Shenods.
“Yes,Ifeel—”hervoiceisslurred,andwhensheblinks,itisasifherfacialmusclesaremovinginslowmotion.“Ifeelreallysh-strange.”
“Youmustbeexhausted,”Isay.Itrytosoundsoothing,butmyheartisbeatingfasterwithexcitement.Iputmyuntouchedteadownonthetableandwipethedregsoffmymouth,andIpeerintoErin’scup.Itisallbutempty.“Whydon’tyouliedown?”
“Ifeelstrange…,”shesaysagain,buthervoicetrailsoff.Sheletsmehelphertoliehorizontallyonthesofa.Herbodyisheavy.Ihavenoideahowmanypillsshehasdrunk.Threeorfour,maybe?IhadeightleftandIputthemallintothekettle,trustingtotheboilingwatertodissolvethem.Ihadnoideawhethertheheatwoulddamagethechemicals,butIknewthatErinwouldbeonthelookoutformetamperingwithhercup,andIwasright—shewatchedmelikeahawkasIputintheteabagandpouredoutthewater.
Thekettlewasmyonlychance—slippingthepillsinonebyoneasIpackedinthesnow,relyingonthewhitesnowtocamouflagethewhitepills,andthestrong,unfamiliartasteofmilklessteatomaskanyoddtaste.And,almostunbelievably,itseemstohaveworked.Erinhasdrunkthewholecup.Elliothadfive,groundupinhiscup,anditkilledhim.Erinissmallerandlighter,andshehadabouthalfthewater,whichmeansapproximatelyfourpills.Fourshouldbeenough,assumingtheheatofthewaterhasn’tdegradedtheactiveingredient.Iwillhavetomakesureofthat.Ican’ttakehersilenceforgranted.ButfirstthereissomethingIhavetodo.Somethingquiteurgent.
WithasidewaysglanceatErin,whoislyingsprawledonthesofa,droolcomingoutofthesideofhermouth,Ileavethelivingroom.IrunasquicklyasIdareupthestairstoElliot’sroom.Thedoorisunlocked,andIopenhisphoneagain.ThenInavigatetothetextmessagingapp,andErin’smessagetoDanny.SOS.Pleasesendhelp.IT’SLIZ.
Hisreplyisstillthere.Fuck.Erinisthatyou?
Theprecipiceisinfrontofme—andexpertly,Iswervetoavoidit.
No,Itype.Ialreadytoldyou—thisisLIZ.Erinhasjustconfessedeverything—andshe’stalkingaboutkillingherself.PLEASECOMENOW.
AndthenIpresssend.
ERIN
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Iliecompletelystill,listeningasLizpeersintomycupandthenstandsoverme,breathingheavily.Thensheseemstomakeuphermind,andIhearthesoftsoundofhersockedfeetretreatingintothelobbyandthecreakasshebeginstomakeherwayupthestairs.
IholdstillforaslongasIcanbear,andthenIsitupright,wincingateveryrustleoffabric,everysqueakofthesofasprings.
Myarmandthigharedrenchedwithtea—butthankGod,Lizdidn’tseemtonoticethespreadingdampnessonthesofa,onlytheemptycup.
Thepillswereinthekettle.IsuspectedassoonasItastedthefirstgulpoftea—therewasastrange,chemicalacridity,andaveryfaintsweetnessthatmusthavecomefromthesugarcoating.AndwhenIsawLizputtingthecuptoherlipsbutonlypretendingtodrink,Iwascertainofit.Afterthat,IknewwhatIhadtodo.Ihadtopretendtodrinktoo—takingadvantageofthecoverofdarknesstosloptheteadownmyarm,ontothesofa,everytimeLizturnedaway.
Ihadnowayofknowinghowlongthepillsshouldtaketowork—butIhadtogambleonLiz’signorancetoo.ShewouldhavenowayofknowingexactlywhatconcentrationIhadtaken,orhowquicklyitwouldtakeeffect.Tenminutes?Fifteen?Whichever,sheseemedtobuymyperformanceofslippingintoincoherence,andthenunconsciousness.
Everythinghingesnowonwhethershegavemeenoughtokillme.Ifshethinksshe’sgivenmeafataldose,I’llbesafeforalittlewhilelonger—atleastuntilshecomesbackandnoticesI’mstillbreathing.Butifshe’sonlygivenmeenoughtoknockmeout,she’llbecomingbackverysoontofinishmeoff.WillitbeapillowoverthefacelikeAni,orablowtothehead,coveredupasafalldownthestairs?Orsomethingcompletelydifferent?
Eitherway,Idon’twanttofindout.Ihavetogetaway,andthesoonerthebetter.
Holdingmybreath,listeningoutforanysoundfromabove,IhobbleasswiftlyandquietlyasIcanthroughthelobby,tothedoorbehindthestairs,theonethatleadstotheskilockers.Myownskiclothesareupinmyroom,andIcan’trisktryingtogettoit,butmybootsandskisaredowninthestoragelockers,andthereshouldbeenoughspareclothingstrewnaroundformetoputtogetheranoutfitthatwillatleastkeepmewarmenoughtoskiin.Idon’thavenearlyenoughlayerstosurviveanightintheopen,andIcan’twalkonthisankle.IwillhavetogetdowntoSt.Antoine.Buthow?Skiingistheonlyoption,andhopetoGodthattheskibootgivesmyankleenoughsupporttodoit.
Thedoortothelockerroomopenswiththegentleclick,andIslidethrough,andcloseitwithinfinitecare,myheartbeatinghard.It’sverydarkinside,themoonlightfilteringfaintlythroughawindowalmostcompletelyblockedwithsnow,butmyeyesareusedtothedarkness,andI’mabletopickoutthevagueshapesofjacketsandskipantshangingfrompegs,andbootsdryingontheironce-heatedpoles.Hastily,myheartthumpinginmythroat,Iyankonapairofsalopettes.It’sonlywhenIlookdownatmyselfthatIrealize—theybelongedtoAni.ThethoughtthatI’mliterallysteppingintoadeadgirl’sclothesmakesmystomachlurchwithguilt.ButIcan’tletmyselfgetsentimentalaboutthis.Aniisgone—Ican’tsaveher.ButmaybeIcanbringherkillertojustice.
AsIstruggleintosomeone’sskijacket—Elliot’s,Ithink,judgingbythesize—IrememberLiz’sself-pityingwhineasshetoldmeabouteverythingthathadhappened.Andthethingis,Icouldalmosthaveboughtit.Idon’tknowforsurewhathappenedonthatbalcony—butIcouldbelievethatpartofit,thefrightenedgirl,thedesperateshove.AndIcouldbelieve,too,hercorneredfearassherealizedthatEvahadhertrapped—andherterrifiedreaction.
ButElliot—no.AndmostofallAni.PoorlittleAni,killedasshesleptfornothingmorethanhavingseensomethingLizdidn’twanthertosee.
WhateverLizthinksaboutEva,andthatunnamedinvestor,andmaybeevenElliot—Ani,outofeveryone,didn’tdeservethis.Shecouldn’thave.
OnlyamonstercouldhavekilledAni.
It’sAni’sfacethatIseebeforemenowasIpullonwetskisocks,andsearcharoundformittens.
Ani’sface,speckledwiththescarletdotsthatgivethelietoLiz’sstory.
BecauseLizsaysthatsheneverwantedAnitodie—butIknowthat’snottrue.Animusthavefought.Shefoughtforeverybreath,sohardthatbloodvesselsbrokeinherskin.
AndLizstoodthere,andpressedthepillowdownoverherface,allthatlong,longtime.
Youhavetowantsomeonetodietokillthembysuffocation.Youhavetowantitalot.
It’sAniI’mthinkingofasIopenupmyskibootaswideasitwillgo.Ani,asIshovemyfootinside,grittingmyteethasthepaininmyankleflaressuddenly,brightandhot.
Mybreathiswhimperingbetweenmyteeth,littlesobsofpaincominginspiteoftheneedforsilenceasIforcemyfootaroundthecurveoftheboot,hearingthebonesinmyfeetclickandgrindinprotest,feelingtheswollenfleshsqueezingagainstthehardplasticshell.ButIhavetodothis.Ihaveto.
Ani.Ani.Ani
Andthenwithacrunch,myfootslidesintoplace.I’msweatingandshakingwiththepain,coldperspirationonmyupperlip.Butmyfootisin.And,miraculously,whenItrytostand,thepainisn’tasbadasIthoughtitwouldbe;thetopofthebootistightenoughthatI’mtakingsomeofmyweightonmyshinratherthanmyankle.IratchetthebootclipsastightasIcan,prayingthatthesupportwillkeepthejointstableforlongenoughtomakeitdownthevalley.IfIhavebrokenabone,Imayenduplameforgoodafterthis—butit’sbetterthandead.
Hastily,Ishovemyotherfootintoitsbootandclipitup.
AndthenIhearanoisefromthestairs.
Myheartseemstostop.It’sLizcomingdownthespiralstaircase.
ForasecondIfreeze.IhaveeverythingIneed—butcanIgetoutthebackentrance?Theskidoorfacesthesamewayastheswimmingpool,anditwillhavebeenblockedbytheavalanche.
Itopensinwards.Atleast…I’mprettycertainitdoes.Ipressmyhandstomytemples,tryingtoremember.Doesit?IfitopensoutwardsI’mscrewed,regardless.ButI’msureitopensinwards.ThequestioniswhetherIcandigmywayout.
Andthenmyeyesgotothenarrowlittlewindowabovetheskilockers.It’sletterbox–shaped,andalthoughit’scertainlylongenough,it’sprobablyonlytwelveincheshigh,lesswhenyoutakeintoaccounttheframeandthehinges.Butitmightbemybestbet.
Wincingateverysound,Iclimbupontothewoodenbench,andfromthereIleanovertheskilockersandopenthewindow.Afreezingblastscoursmyface,butIcanseethattheapertureisn’tblocked—thesnowobscuringtheglasswasjustdriftingflakesstickingtothepane.Thereisadriftalmostuptothetopofthelockers—butthatwillcushionmyfall.
Ipushmyskisoutfirst,onebyone,listeningastheytipintothesoftsnowwithaflump.Thenmypoles.Ipullontheborrowedmittens,andgrabahelmetatrandomfromtherack.Itfits,thankGod,becauseIdon’thavetimetopickandchoose.AndthenIclimbuptolieflatalongthetopofthelockers.Theyrockprecariously—butonlyforamoment.
Ifeelsickwithnerves.FromsomewhereinthechaletIhearacryofsurprise—andthenashoutof“Erin?…Erin,whereareyou?”
LizhasdiscoveredthatI’mgone.
Islidemylegsoutfirst.Iamapprehensiveaboutfallingontomybadankle,butthealternativeisdroppingface-firstintothesnow,andIdon’tfancythateither.Okay,I’mwearingahelmet,butthefallcouldstillbreakmyneck,orifthedriftisdeepenough,ImightplungeinverticallyandsuffocatebeforeIcoulddigmyselfout.Feetfirstissafer.
It’sasqueeze,butIammanaging.Oneboot,sideways,mygoodlegfirst,thentheother.Theweightoftheboothangingoffmybadanklemakesmegasp,butit’sbearable,just.
Andthenthelockerroomdooropens.
Ican’tseeanythingatfirstbecauseshe’sholdingatorch—Elliot’sphone,Ithink—andit’sshiningfullinmyface.ButIcanseetheshapeofafigureinthedoorway,andIknowwhoitisbeforesherunstowardsmewithasnarlofangerthatsoundsmoreanimalthanhuman.
Ifeelherhandsgrapplingmyarms,snatching,scratching,buthernailsslideoffthethick,smoothfabric,andthereisnothingforhertocatchholdoff.Iforcemybumthroughthenarrowgap,andthenmybodyweightdoestherest,draggingmeafter—untilIstick,withasickeningjolt.
ForasplitsecondIcan’tworkoutwhat’shappened.HasLizshutthewindow?Hasshegrabbedmyhelmet?ThenIrealize.
Fuck.Thehelmetwon’tfit.
Iamhangingfrommyneck,andI’mbeginningtochoke,thestrapofthehelmetisdiggingintomyjawandthroat,andI’mtwistinglikeafishonaline.Mymittenedhandsareatmyneck,desperatelytryingtorelievethepressureofthestrap.Myfeetarescramblinginthesoftsnow,frantictogetenoughpurchasetoloosenthestrainonmythroat
Myfootfindssomething,losesitagain,andthenfindsitoncemore,justforasecond—justlongenoughformetounclipthestrap.
AndthenIfall,gaspingandretching,intoaheapofsoftsnowandpainfulobstructionsthatafteraminuteortwoIidentifyasmyownskisandpoles.
Thereisnotimetorecover.
Lizisyankingfuriouslyatthehelmet,stuckintheaperture,tryingtopullitfreesothatshecanfollowme.Iexpecthertoshoutorswear,butshedoesn’t,andsomehowthat’smoreterrifying.Shesaysnothing,allIcanhearishergruntingbreathasshestrugglestogetthehelmetoutofthewindow.Ihavetogetawaybeforeshepullsitfree.
Imanagetostumbletomyfeet,sinkingintothesnowasIdo,andusingmyskisascrutchesIstaggerdownthedrifttothehard-packedsnow.
There,Itakeasplit-secondinventory.Mittens—yes.Skis—yes,both.Andmypoles.
Scarf—gone.Itmusthavegotpulledoffwiththehelmet.Andnohatofcourse.Idon’twearonenow—thehelmetisusuallywarmenough,butwiththecoldwindscouringmycheeksandfaceIknowI’mgoingtoregretthat.Still,thereisnothingIcando.Ican’tturnback.IhavetomakeitdowntoSt.Antoine,somehow.
Ialsohavenoavalanchepack.
Fuck.Fuck.Whichway?
Slowly,painfully,Idragmyselfandmyskisaroundtothesideofthechalet,andsurveythepiste.
ThelongbluedownintoSt.Antoineisawreck—thereisnootherwaytodescribeit.IsawthetopoftherunwhenDannyandImadeourwaypainfullybackfromthecrushedfunicular—theavalanchehasdumpedeverythingstraightdownit—hugeboulders,liftpoles,treetrunks.It’snotjustunskiable—it’simpassable.Andthepaththroughthewoodstothegreenrun,Atchoum,istotallyinaccessible—thelittlecopsehastakenthefullforceoftheavalancheandthetreesarecrushedandobliterated,buriedunderahundredtonnesofsnow.
Butthereisanotherway.
It’scalledtheSecretValley,oratleast,that’swhattheEnglishskierscallit.Idon’tthinkithasanofficialname—it’snotapiste,justanunofficialroutethatyoucanjustaboutskiiftheconditionsareright,andifyou’reverygoodandyouenjoyachallenge.Besides,“piste”givescompletelythewrongimpressionanyway—itconjuresuptheimageofaflatapronofsnow,withskierscrisscrossingeachotherwithelegantturns.Thisisnothinglikethat.It’salongcouloirbetweentwosheerrockwalls,formedbyadeepcrevasseinthemountains.Itneedsalotofsnowtoblanketthejaggedbouldersatthebottom,andevenwhenconditionsaregood,thepathatthebottomissonarrowthatitcanonlytakeasingleskier,andinplacesifyoureachout,youcantouchbothsideswithyourfingertips
IfIcangetdowntoit,Ithinkitwillbepassable—surelywe’vehadenoughsnowtocovertheworstofthejaggedrocks,andit’soutofthepathofthemainavalanche.
Butit’snotarunsomuchasanobstaclecourse—atwisting,turningslalomofbouldersandtreetrunks,hardenoughtonavigateindaylight,letalonewithnolightbutthemoon.It’salsoverypronetominiavalanches—thesnowbuildsupontheridgesabove,andbreaksoffwithoutwarning,delugingtheskiersbelow.
That’snottheworstpartthough.Theworstpart,thepartthatismakingmehesitate,isthatonceyou’redownthere—thereisnowayout.Thesidesofthecrevasserisehigher,andhigher,andthereisnowayofgettingahelicopterorabloodwagondowntosomeonetrappedthere.Youjusthavetokeepgoing,untilthechutespitsyououtamongthetreesatthetopofthevillage.
Itismybestchance.AndLizverylikelydoesn’tknowaboutit.There’snowayoffindingitunlesssomeoneshowsyoutheentrance.
It’salsomyworstnightmare.
ButIhavenochoice.
Holdingmyskislikeacrutch,Ibegintowalktowardstheheadofthepass.
LIZ
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Erinismissing.
Ialmostdon’tnotice.WhenIfirstwalkintothelivingroom,Iamsosureshewillbetherethatitdoesn’tevenoccurtometocheck.Butthensomethingcatchesatthecornerofmyvision—somethingthatisnotquiteasIleftit.WhenIturnaroundIseewhathaschanged,thesofaisempty.
ForamomentIjuststandthere,toopuzzledtobeworried.Hasshewokenup?Stumbledtothetoilet?
“Erin?”Ishout.Igobackintothelobby.Istarearoundthedarkspace,shiningmytorchupthestairs,intothekitchen.“Erin,whereareyou?”
Shecannothavegonefar.Shedrankenoughofthosepillstoknockheroutforaweek.
ItisonlywhenIgobackintothelivingroomthatIseethedarkspreadingstainonthesofa.Itouchitandsniffmyfingers.Itsmellsoftea.ThatiswhenIunderstand.Sheneverdranktheteaatall.
Idon’toftenswear,butIdowhenIseethis,andIrealizehowshetrickedme
Irun.Firsttothedoorinthelobby,butthesnowoutsideisuntouched.Shehasn’tleftthebuildingbythatrouteatanyrate.
Thenintothekitchen—butsheisnotthereeither.
Iamhalfwayupstairs,readytocheckthebedrooms,whenIhearanoise.Itisveryfaint,butitsoundslikesomethingfallingontothesnowoutside.Itiscomingfromthebackofthebuilding,wheretheskientranceis.
ImakemywaybackdowntothelobbyandIopenthedoortotherearpartofthebuilding,wherealltheskilockersare.Ittakesamomentformyeyestogetusedtothedarkness—andthenIseesomething—orsomeone—movingatthefarsideoftheroom.ItisErin.Shehasclimbedupontopoftheskilockers,andsheisalmostoutofthewindow.
Ihurlmyselfacrossthelockerroom,scrambleupthebenchshehasplacedbelowthewindow,ignoringthetwingesinmyknee,andgrabholdofherhelmet,whichisjustabouttodisappearthroughthewindow.
ThenIrealizewhysheisstillthere.Thehelmetwon’tfitthroughthegap.Sheisstuck.Sheisdanglingfromthehelmet,horriblewheezingnoisescomingfromherthroat,kickingandkickingtotryandgetenoughpurchaseonthesnowtotwistfree.
ButbeforeIhavehadtimetofigureoutwhattodo,thereisasuddenjerk,andtheweightonthehelmetfallsaway.Thecatchhasbroken—orshehasunclippedherself,Iamnotsurewhich.Forasecondshelies,gaspingandwindedinthesnow,andthenshestaggerstoherfeet,picksupherskis,andbeginstohobbleofftowardsthefrontofthechaletandthepaththatleadsuptothefunicular
Ihavetofollowher,butthehelmetisstuckintheframe,blockingit.ItisonlyafterafewminutesoffruitlesstuggingthatIrealize,thisisstupid.Erinhasherskisandpoles.SheisclearlyintendingtoskitoSt.Antoine—andIhavetostopher.
Ihavetoskiafterher.
Lettinggoofthehelmet,Iturnbacktotheroom.Iamwearingmyjumpsuitalready.AllIneedareboots,skis,andmittens.Fast,beforeEringetsaway.
Ihavetworealizationstocomfortme—first,inthesoftsnow,shewon’tbeabletohidehertracks.Iwillbeabletotellexactlywhichwayshehasgone.
Andsecond,Icanskifasterthanher.Mywrenchedkneehasalmostrecovered,whileheranklehasonlybeengettingworse.Isawthewayshehobbledbackfromthekitchenwiththeteajustacoupleofhoursago.Shecouldn’tputanyrealweightonitatall.Iamprettysureitisbroken—andthereisnowayshecanskiaggressivelywithabrokenankle.Shewillhavetogoslowlyandcarefully,anditwilltakeheralongtimetoclamberoverthebroken-upsnowatthebeginningofthebluepiste.Isawwhatitlookedlikeaftertheavalanche—amessofrubbleanddebris.Itwilltakeawhiletopickherwaythroughthat,evenifitclearsfurtherdown.Iwillbeabletocatchuptoher.IfIactquickly.
Imakeupmymind.Irammyfeetintomybootsandgrabmyskisandpolesfromtherack.Mymittensareinthepocketofmyjumpsuit.Butmyhelmet—whereismyhelmet?It’smissingfromthelocker,andafterafewsecondsIrealize:it’stheonethatErintook,anditiswedgedintothewindow.
Ihaveanothergoattryingtofreeit,butit’suseless,andIcastaroundforanalternativebeforerealizingthatIamwastingtime.IfEringetstoomuchofaheadstart,evenwithherankle,Iwon’tcatchher.
ShovingElliot’sphoneintomypocket,Ihoistmyskisontomyshoulderandclack-clackmywaybackalongthecorridortothelobby,whereIopenthedoorintothesnow,andsqueezeintothenight.
Itisunbelievablycoldoutside,andIrealizethathoweverchillythechaletwaswithoutheating,itwasactuallydoingaprettygoodjobofprotectingusfromtheelements.
Now,outhere,Idon’tknowwhatthetemperatureis,butitcan’tbemuchoverminustwenty.Maybeevenless.Theskyisclear,andthemoonhasthatstrangefrosthaloarounditthatyouonlygetinextremecold
Shivering,eveninmywarmjumpsuit,Iclipmybootsintomyskibindingsandthenstraightenup,lookingaroundforErin’stracks.
Theretheyare—deepslashesoffurrowedsnow,darkagainstthemoonlitwhite.
Buttheyarenotleadingupthetracktothesmashed-upbluepiste.Theyaregoingtheotherway,intotheforest.
ERIN
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Ihadforgottenthebeginning.OhGod,thebeginning.It’slikeasheerwallofthick,softsnow,hemmedinwithtrees,studdedwithboulders,narrowingtoasteeppathjustafewfeetwide.Andtakingthefirststepisbasicallylikejumpingofftheedgeofacliffandtrustingtothesnowtoholdyou.
WithtwogoodlegsIcoulddothis—probablynotelegantly,butIcoulddothis.I’mrusty,butI’vedoneenoughoff-pisteskiingthatIamprettyconfidentinmytechnique.Iknowhowtomanagethedeep,draggingsnow,howtonavigatetheheavyturns,howtoavoidplungingintodriftsandhowtokeepupmomentum.
Iknowallthatintheory.It’sjustthatit’smorethanthreeyearssinceI’veskiedoff-piste.AndIdon’tknowifIcanputanyofitintopracticewithabrokenankle.
Myheartisinmymouth.ButLizwillhaveseenmytracksinthesnow.She’llbefollowingafterme.Ihavetodothis.
Mydownhilllegwillbebearingmostofmyweight.Iclipmyskibootsintotheirbindings,andthenturnandanglemyselfsothatmygoodankleisdowntheslope.Then,withasickfeeling,Itipoff.
Atfirstitgoesokay.Ischusssidewaysinthefresh,fluffysnow,feelinglikesomeonetryingtoswimwithaduvetaroundtheirlegs.ButI’mheadingrapidlytowardsthetrees.I’mgoingtohavetoturn—ontomybadleg.
Imanageanawkwardkindofparallelturn,butI’dforgottenthephysicalityofskiinginthickdrifts.Thesnowdragsatmyskis,nearlysendingmeover,buttherealproblemistheshockasIcompletetheturnandlandonmybadleg.Itsendspricklesofpainupanddownmyspine,andIhastilyturnback,tryingtokeepmysoundlegdowntheslope.
Butit’snogood—Ihavetoturnagaintoavoidatreethatloomsoutofthedarkness,andthistimemytrailingskicatchesinadrift,twistingmyanklewithsuchexcruciatingforcethatIscream,thenoiseechoingoffthesteepwallsofthevalley.Ilandheavilyonmybadleg,trytosavemyselfwithaflailingpole,andthen—Idon’tknowwhathappensafterthat.AllIknowisthatmyleggiveswayandmypolesinks,andIamfalling,tumblinginthesoftsnow,myarmsaroundmyheadtotrytoprotectmyselffromthehalf-buriedbouldersthatstudtheslope.
Oneskiisrippedoff,mypolesarewrenchingatmywrists,Iamupright,andthenheaddown,thenslidingbumfirst,thenIsomersault—andlandwithabone-shakingjoltagainstarock,atthebottomofthepass.
ForasecondIcan’tdoanythingexceptliethere,gasping,winded,tryingnottoshriekfromthepainpulsingthroughmyleg.ButIhavetomove.
MyspinemakesasoundlikecrunchingglasswhenItrytositup,andIthinkImightthrowupfromthepaininmyankle—butIcanseestraight.I’mnotconcussed.Atleast,Idon’tthinkIam.AndwhenIdragmyselftokneelingthepaininmylegisintense,butit’sstillbearable.Just.
IpullmyselftostandingusingonepoleandthenIrestforamoment,panting,shiveringwithshockandpain,forcingmyselftobreathelongandslow.Itworks…toapoint.ThenwhenI’mcalmenough,Ishakethesnowoutofmyhairandcollarandtakestock.Ihaveoneskistillon,andI’mholdingoneofmypoles.Theotherisleaningagainstarockonthefarsideofthegully,andIhobbleacrossandgrabitwithhandsthatarestillshakingwithadrenaline.Okay.Thisisgood.
Theotherskithough…whereisit?Icouldskiwithonepole,butIcan’tdoanythingwithonlyoneski.IfIcan’tfindthemissingski,I’mscrewed.
AndthenIseeit.ThetipisstickingoutofthesnowafewfeetuptheclifffaceIjustfelldown.Isigh,unclipmyremainingski,andcrawlupthesoft,shiftingsideofthecrevassetotrytopullitout,butit’stoodeep,thebindingsarestuckagainstsomethingdeepinthesnow,andsoIbegintodigwithmymittenedhands.Andsuddenly,outofnowhere,Iamhitwithasickening,joltingflashback—themostvividI’vehadsincethosefirst,awfuldayswhenIwokeupsweatingeverymorning,freshfromarelivednightmare.
Digging.Diggingthroughthesnow.Will’shair.Theendofhisski.Hiscold,waxenface…
Nausearisesinmythroat.
Ipushitaway.
Iscrabbleatthesnowwithmyfingers.
Thesnowinhiseyelashes,thefrozentipofhisnose…
Iwanttosob,butIcan’t.Ican’taffordtomakeanymorenoisethanIalreadyhave.Lizcouldbeverynear.
Thetornedgeofhisscarf.Hisbluelips—
AndthenIhavetheski.Thebindingsareclearofthesnow,andIcanpulltherestofitoutofthehole.
EverypartofmeisshakingasIslidebackdowntheslopetowhereIleftmyotherski.Myteetharechattering,myhandsaretremblingsohardthatIcan’tgetthemthroughtheloopsinmypoles,andIhavetotrytoforcemybootsintothebindingssixorseventimesbeforeIfinallyheartheansweringclickandfeelthefirmnessoftheclasp.
Whenit’sdoneIjuststandforamoment,restingwearilyonmypoles,givingmypoor,quiveringmusclesamoment’srespite.I’mhonestlynotsureifit’spain,orexhaustion,orthememoryofWill’sandAlex’sdeathsthat’sgettingtomemost.Maybeit’sallthree.ButIcan’tallowmyselftorest.Ican’t
Thereisanoisefromtheslopeaboveme.Itmightbeamarmot,orjustthesnowIdisturbedshiftingandfallinginmywake,butIcan’taffordtostaytofindout.
Ipushoffwithmypoles,andbegintoskicautiouslyintothemouthofthepass
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HaveImadeamistake?Erin’stracksstopatthetopofwhatlookslikeasheerdropintoagullybelow.Theravineitselfisindeepshadow,andIcan’tseethebottom.Therecouldbeanythingdownthere—jaggedrocks,amountainstream,athousand-footdrop…
Andyet,whenIpeercloser,Icanseemarksinthesnow.Something—ormaybesomeone—hasbeendownhere.Ican’tbelievethatanythingexceptforamountaingoatcouldmakeitdownthisslopeinonepiece,butasmyeyesadjusttotheshadows,Icanseetwodeepgroovesinthesnowthatlooklikesomeonesatbackontheirskis,catchingtheirbreath,beforemakingaturn.
Istand,hesitating,wonderingwhattodo.SurelyErinhasn’tskieddownherewithabrokenankle?Evenforsomeoneexperiencedinoff-pisteskiing,itlookslikesuicide.
Buthertracksdefinitelyleadhere.Andtheydefinitelystophere.Didsheclimbdown?No.Whoeverwentdowntherewaswearingskis.Didshefalldown?Ifshedid,myproblemsmaybesolved.
Orisitsomekindofelaboratetrick?
Ipauseforamoment,lookingupanddownthevalley,butIcan’tseehowitcouldbearuse.Thereareonlytwosetsoftracksleadinguptothiscliffedge,Erin’sandmine,andneitherofthemleadaway.Andshedidn’thaveenoughtimetodoanythingSherlockHolmes–like.Ifshehadretracedherownfootprintstolayafalsetrail,Iwouldhavemethercomingtheotherway.
ThismustbearoutedowntoSt.Antoine.Andsomehow,Erinhasmanagedtoclamberdowntoit.
Well,ifshecandoit,socanI.
Iamdefinitelynotskiingdownthere.Idon’tcarewhetherErindid—Ihavenotdoneenoughoff-pisteskiingtotrustmyselfonanythingthissteep.Instead,Iunclipmyskisand,holdingtheminonehand,Isitontheedgeofthedropandlowermyselfdownintothesoftsnowtotrytowalkdowntheprecipice.
Iknowimmediatelythatitwasamistake.Withoutskistospreadmyweight,Isinkdeep,deepintothefeatherydrift.Iscrambleup,clawingforpurchase,usingmyskisasasupport,butasIstruggle,thesnowbeginstoshiftunderneathme.Allofasudden,itgivesway,andweslitherdowntheslopewithterrifyingspeed—me,myskis,andaslippery,movingmassofsnow.Atfirstitisscary,butokay.Imanagetostayupright,IcanseewhereIamheading,andIamabletosteermyselfawayfromthetrees,slowmydescent—butthenmybootcatchesonarock.Ican’tstopmyself.Theweightofsnowatmybackistoogreat.Ipitchforward.Myskisarerippedfrommyhands.Iamfalling—fallinginaterrifyingwhiteblurofsnowandrocksandskis.
Ihavemyarmswrappedaroundmyhead.Ifeelsomethinghitmycheek,andmyshouldercrunchesagainstsomethinghard.IthinkIscream.IthinkIamdying.Thisisn’thowIwantedtodie.
Andthenthereisanalmightythump,andIrealizeIhavestoppedmoving.
Iamlyingonmyback,myheadpointingdowntheslope,andthereishotbloodcomingfrommycheek.Myshoulderispulsingwithpain.IthinkImayhavebrokenmycollarbone.
Itrytopullmyselftositting,butthesnowslitherstreacherouslybeneathme,andIsuppressascreamasIbegintofallagain,butitgrindstoahaltafterjustafewfeet,andIlie,panting,sobbingwithfear,beforeIrealizethatthatlastslidetookmealmosttothebottomoftheslope.Thereisapathjustafewfeetbelowme.Icanseeoneofmyskislyingacrossit.
Slowly,painfully,Iswivelmyselfaroundsothatmybootsaredowntheslope,andIletmyselftobogganthelastfewfeet.ThenIamdown.Iamlyingonthevalleyfloor,practicallycryingwithrelief.
Everythinghurts.Icantastebloodinmymouth.ButIamdown.AndnowthatIamattheshadowybottomoftheravine,IcanseethatIwasright,andtherealizationgivesmealittlepulseofexcitementthathelpstakemymindoffmythrobbingshoulder.
BecauseIcanseeskitracksinthesnowleadingawaydownthevalley,towardsSt.Antoine.Oneset,presseddeepintothesnow,markedwithdivotseithersidewheretheskierpulledthemselvesalongwiththeirpoles.
Erinwashere.AndifIhurry,Icancatchup.
ERIN
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ThisisharderthanIcouldeverhavebelieved.Irememberdoingthisrouteindaylight—thesunsparklingfromthefrostedtreeshighupabove,blazingbackatusfromthebrightsnowatourfeet.Iremembertwisting,turning,laughing,leapingoverhalf-buriedbouldersanddodgingmoguls.
Icannotseeanyofthosenow.Trapsloomoutofthedarkness—treebranchesthatswipeatmyface,jaggedprojectionsrearingupwithoutwarningsothatIhavetoswervewithsickeningforce,myanklescreamingwitheveryjoltandtwist.
Inaway,ithelpsthatthegullyisthickwithfreshsnow.Itmakestheskiingslowandarduous,andIhavenotrackstoguideme,butitmeansIdon’thavetoconstantlytrytoslowmyselfdown.WhenIcamethiswaylasttime,theroutewashardpackedbyskierswhohadgonebeforeme.Icouldseewheretheyhadtwistedandturned,wheretheyhadmisjudgedanangleandwipedoutagainstanunexpectedtree,orplowedintoadrifttheydidn’tseecoming.Butatthesametime,itmadethegoingfastandfurious,andwithatrackfartoonarrowforproperturns,mostofmyattentionwastakenupbytryingtoslowmyselfdowntoasafepace.
Thethicksnowmakesthismuchlessofanissue.Butitgivesmeanurgentproblem.Lizwillbecomingupbehind,skiinginmytracks,whereIhavealreadypresseddownthesnow.Shewillbegoingmuchfaster.Andshehasmytrackstoguideher.
Ihavetogofaster.ButifIdo,Icouldendupkillingmyself.
Igivemyselfashovewithmypoles,skiaroundatightturn,myanklescreamingwithprotest,andthenthumpoverwhatmustbeaconcealedhummockinthesnow.Theshockofagonythatrunsupmylegmakesmecryout,andIwobble,andfallwithacrash,thumpingpainfullyintotherockysideofthecouloir.ForafewminutesIjustliethere,panting,hottearsrunningdownmyface.Icannotbelievehowmuchthishurts.Idon’tdareopenuptheskiboottofindoutwhat’sinside,butIcanfeelmywholelegthrobbingwithmypulse.Idon’tknowifIwillbeabletoskiagain,afterthis.Idon’tknowifIwillbeabletowalkagain.
ButLizhaskilledthreepeoplealready.Ihavetokeepgoing.
Itakeadeepbreath,andgotopushmyselfuponmypole.ButIcan’tdoit.Mymusclesareshakingsohard,Ican’tmakemyselfdoit—Ican’tforcemyselftoputweightonmylegagain,itmakesmywholebodytremblewhenIthinkofdoingit.
Andthen,fromsomewhereupthegully,Ihearsounds.There’sacry—thesoundofsomeonewhohasjustbeenhitinthefacebyanunexpectedbranch,maybe—followedbytheroughscrapeofskisbeingforcedintoanemergencysnowplow.
Liziscoming.Andsheisveryclose.
Ihavetodothis.Ihavetodothis.
Iforcemypoleintothesnow,andheavemyselfupright,sweatingandshaking.
AndthenIpushoff.
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Where.Is.She.
Where.Is.She.
ThewordskeeprepeatinginsidemyheadasItwistandturn,doggedlyfollowinginErin’stracks.Shecannothavebeenthatfaraheadofme,andherankleisinamuchworsestatethanmyknee.Ishouldhavecaughtupwithherbynow.ButIhaven’t.Andthatfactismakingme…notworriedexactly.Iamnotatthatpointyet.Butdefinitelyfrustrated.
Partofthefrustrationisbecausethisisdifficultskiing,moredifficultthanIhadimagineditwouldbe.Evenaftermyeyeshavegotusedtothemoonlitdimnessatthebottomofthecrevasse,Ican’tseeverymuchexceptforErin’sskitracks,andIhavenochoicebuttofollowthemblindly,asfastasIcan,hopingthatifshedidn’tmessuporwipeout,Iwon’teither.
ThereisalongstraightstretchcomingupandIgivemyselfapushwithmypolesandhunchdown,makingmybodymoreaerodynamic.Ifeelthewindinmyface,andthenIthumpintoaminimogul,invisibleinthedimlight.Ifeelairforamomentbeneathmyskis,andthenIslambackdown,allmyweightonmybadkneeinawaythatmakesmecatchmybreath.Ioughttoslowdown,recovermybalance,butbeforeIcandosoatreebranchcomesoutofnowhere,whippingmeacrossthefacesothatIcryout.
Igointoaninstant,reflexivesnowplow,thesnowshushingbeneathmyskis,myheartthumping,andgrindtoahalt.
Thatwasveryclose.IfIhadn’tbeenwearinggoggles,thatbranchcouldhaveblindedme.Asitis,ithasopenedthecutonmycheekagain.Ifeelaticklishtrickleofhotbloodrundownmychin.
Icannotaffordtostopthough.Ijusthavetobemorecareful.Ipushmyselfoffagain,peeringintothedarkness.Imustbecatchingup.Imustbe.
Then,justahundredmetersfurtheron,Ihearit—thehissingsoundofskisonsnow.Someoneupaheadiswhiskingaroundatightturn,throwingupsnowwiththebacksoftheirskis.
Mypulsequickens,andIracetocatchup.
ERIN
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Itisverydarknow,atthebottomofthegully.Therockywallsriseupsohighthatnomoonlightmakesitdown,andtherearetallpinesleaningoverthetop,theircanopyblockingoutthesky.ButIdon’tdareslowdown.
ThisisthepartoftherunIrememberthebest.Thepartjustbeforeitshootsyououtintothevillage.Imustbealmostthere.Hereisthelongslidingturnthattakesyouupthesideofthecouloir,betweentwoscragglylittlesaplings.Ishootupbetweenthem,tryingtoignorethescreamofmyankle,andthetremblingthumpsofmyheart,floodedwithmoreadrenalinethanitknowshowtocopewith.
Thenaswervetotheright.
Andthen—ohfuck.
I’malmostonitbeforeIremember.Whatlookslikeasheerrockwall,andabreakneckleftturn,atapointinthepathsonarrowit’svirtuallyimpossibletoslowyourselfdown.
Itsblacknessloomsoutofthedark,andIflingmyselfintoadesperatesidewaysslide,myskisthrowingupaglittering,hissingmistofcrystalsallaroundme.OneskicatchesonarockandIalmostlosecontrol.Myankleisonfirewiththepain,butIcan’tstopthefranticattempttobrake—ifIhittheturnatthisspeedIwon’tjustwipeout;withoutahelmetIwillbedead.
I’mturning,I’mturning,myskisalmostperpendiculartotheslope—andthenI’mround,andalmostimmediatelyIhitatreeroot,myanklegivesway,andthistimeIdowipeout,inatumblingflurryofskisandsnow.
Ihavetogetup.Lizisverynearnow.Icanhearthehissofherskiscomingcloser,thesoundgrowinglouder,funneledbythecouloir.Ihavetogetup.Only,whenItrytopushmyselftostanding,Ican’tdoit.Myanklewon’tbearmyweight.Itry—andmykneegoesoutfromunderme.Itryagain,sobbingthistime,nolongercaringaboutthenoiseI’mmaking,andcollapseintothesnow,weepingandswearing.
Sheisalmosthere.Sheiscoming,sheiscomingfast.
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IamveryclosetoErinnow—andthenIhearit.Acryfromupahead,andaclatterofskis.Yes.Shehasfallen!
Ifeelasurgeoftriumph,anditquickensmypace.Thisisgoingtobeokay.Iamgoingtocatchherup!Idon’tthinkaboutwhatwillhappenwhenIdo.Timeforthatlater.
Icrouchdownagain,Ifeelthewindinmyface.Thisisit.Icandothis.
Ithumpoverahummock,andIfeelthatsamesenseofexhilarationIdidwhenIskiedtheblackrun,onlythisisevenbetter.Iamskiingbypureinstinctnow,likeabird,flyinginaslipstream,wheelingandturningwitheffortlessskill.It’salmost—
Andthenithappens.
Awallofrockloomingoutofthedarkness,justfeetaway.
IthinkIscream,I’mnotsure—someonedoes.
Itry,desperately,tosnowplow—butthepathistoonarrow,andI’mnotslowingdown,I’mnotslowing,I’m—
ERIN
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ThesoundwhenshehitsislikenothingelseI’veeverheard.
Itisthesoundofskissnappingandbonesbreaking.It’sthesoundoffleshhittingrock.
It’swetandyielding,andit’shardasstoneallatonce.
Wasshewearingahelmet?Wasshewearingahelmet?
Thereissilence.Total,unbrokensilence.
“Liz?”Icallshakily,butthereisnoanswer,notevenawhimper.
Itrytostand,butIcan’t.Painroarsupanddownmylegandmyanklegivesway.
Icrouchonthesnow,hunchedonmyside,tryingnottothrowupwiththepain.
IknowIshouldleaveher,butIcan’tdothateither.
IthinkofDanny’swordsbeforeheleft.Iknowyou…Don’tbestartingupwiththebleeding-heartcrap.Putyourselffirst.
AndIknowhe’sright.ButIcan’tdoit.Ican’tleavehertheretodie,likeAlex,likeWill,aloneinthesnow.
Itakeoffmypoles.Iunclipmyskibootsfromtheirbindings,andthenIgetontomyhandsandkneesandIbegintocrawl,backupthepass,towardstheturn.
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ERIN
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WhenIgetthere,thesilenceiscomplete.
Lizislyingonhersideatthefootofthecliff,acrumpledheapofred,white,andblue.Theblueisherjumpsuit,thewhiteisthesnow,andthered…therediseverywhere
Shehasbeenbleedingoutoverthesnow,butithasstoppednow.Inthetimeittookmetocrawlthetwentyfeetbackupthepass,Lizhasdied.Thereisnobreathcomingfrombetweenherbrokenlips.WhenIputmyfingerstothesideofherneck,theskiniswarmandslickwithblood,butthereisnopulse,notevenaflicker.
ForaminuteIthinkabouttryingtheimpossible—chestcompressions,mouth-to-mouth…butwhenIturnherverygentlyontoherback,whatIseemakesmefallback,chokedwithhorror.Theleft-handsideofherskullissmashedinlikeanegg,andthereisbrainmatteronthesnow.
Ifeelfaintnesswashoverme,agreatwaveofrevulsionandnauseathatleavesmecrouchedandrockingontheground,huggingmyownknees,atearingsoundinmyearsthatIknowmustbemyownsobs,butwhichsoundliketheyarecomingfromsomeoneelsecompletely.
Idon’tknowhowmuchtimepasses.Ionlyknowthattwothingsshakemeoutofmycatatonicdespair.
Thefirstisthatthesunisbeginningtocomeup.Theravineistoodeepfortheraystopenetratedownhere,butfaintpinkstreaksoflightarebeginningtopatternthecloudsabove.
Andthesecond…thesecondisthatIcanhearabuzzing.
ForaminuteIcan’tthinkwhatitis.Itsoundslikeaphone,butIdon’thaveone—myownphoneismilesupinthemountains,backinChaletPerce-Neige,withabatteryasdeadandcoldasallthebodiesLizhasleftscatteredbehindher.
Thebuzzingstops,andthenitstartsagain—andthistimeIrealize.Liz.It’scomingfromLiz’spocket.
Herjumpsuitissoakedwithfrozenblood,butIknowIhavetodothis,andIreachacross,myarmsstiffwithcold,andtouchherhip.Ipullopenthezip,mymittenedfingersnumbandclumsy,andsomethingslithersoutontothesnow,somethingbrightasajewel,withajanglingsoundthatmakestearsstarttomyeyes
It’sElliot’sphone.
Itisringing.
AndthecallerisDanny.
ERIN
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Idon’tknowhowlongIlaythere,sidebysidewithLizintheslushypuddleofherfast-freezingblood.Ionlyknowthatwhentherescuersfinallytrekkedupthegorgewiththeirstretchers,Iwasalmosthypothermic,andIcouldn’tanswertheirquestions.
ItwasDannywhokeptmegoingthroughthoselonghours,hisvoiceinmyear,talking,talking,tellingmethattheywereontheirway,thatIjusthadtohangon,nottogiveup.Butwhentherescuepartyfinallyarrivedandpriedthephonefrommyfrozenmitten,slickedoverwithasheenofbloodyice,hecouldn’ttellthemwhathadhappenedeither.
Itwasn’tuntiltwodayslaterthatIwasfinallyabletopieceittogetherforthem—explaintheabandonedchalet,thecryptictexts,andheadlongflightdownthetreacherouscouloir.ButevenIcouldn’texplaineverything.Because,howdoyouexplainsomeonelikeLiz?
Toexplainistoassignareasonforsomething,tomakesenseofbehavior,tojustifyit,inaway.
AndIcannot,willnotjustifywhatLizdid.
Iamdischargedfromhospitalafterafewdays,butIcan’tgohome.PartlybecauseIdon’twantto—Iamtwenty-two.Idon’twanttogobacktomychildhoodbedroom,withitspostersoflong-forgottenbands,anditsphotographs,WillandAlexpermanentghostshoveringjustoutofthecornerofmyeye.
ButpartlybecauseIliterallycan’t.Thepolicehaven’tfinishedprocessingthecrimescenethatPerce-Neigehasbecome,andthey’veaskedeveryoneconcernedtoremaininthearea,atleastuntiltheirpreliminaryinvestigationsarecomplete.Wearen’tsuspects—atleast,Idon’tthinkweare,sothere’snothinglegallypreventingusfromreturningtotheUK.Butitwouldlookverybadtobeimpedingtheinvestigation,andeveryoneknowsthat.
It’sclearlyimpossibletogobacktothechaletaslongasit’sacrimescene,soIacceptwithsomereliefthepolice’sofferofaccommodationatahotelinSt.AntoineleLac.ItisonlywhenIarrive,plasticbagofbelongingsinmyhand,thatIrealizewhatthisoffermeans.
It’swheretheyhaveputeveryone.Topher.Rik.Miranda.Danny.Carl.Tiger.EvenInigo.
Infactit’sInigothatIseefirstwhenIstepthroughthedoorintothereceptionarea,andmymouthfallsopen.
“Inigo!”
Ipulloutmyearbuds,andheturnsfromwhereheisinexpertlyattemptingtosortoutinternetaccesswiththeFrench-speakingreceptionist.Whenheseesme,heflushesadeepunflatteringred,sodarkit’salmostpurple.Theflushdoesn’tsuithim,andittonesdownhisextraordinarygoodlooksintosomethingapproachingnormality.
“Um,excusez-moi,please,”hesays,awkwardlytothegirlbehindthecounter.“Unmoment.Je—Imean—Ineedto—God,Erin,whatmustyou—letmetakeyourbag.”
HegesturesatthecrutchI’musing,atmyankleinitssurgicalboot,andgrabsfortheplasticbagI’mholdinginmyfreehand.
“It’sokay,”Isay,laughing,thoughthesituationisn’treallyfunny.“Myankle’sfine.Imean—it’snotfine,it’sbroken,butIcanwalkagainnowthatI’vegotacast.”
“Nobutstill,”hesayswretchedly.Heushersmeovertothe1970swoolencouchinthecornerofreceptionandwesitdown,facingeachother,likeawkwardguestsonatalkshow.ForthefirsttimeIseethathehasasurgicaldressingonhisforehead,andtwoblackeyes.Hashebeeninafight?“Erin,youmusthavethought—youmustthink—Imean,God,Iwasatotalidiot.I’msosorry.I’mso,sosorry.”
“Sorryforwhat?”Isay,takenaback.
“Forgoingoffandleavingyoualllikethat!IhadnoideathatLiz—thatshe—”
“Inigo,itwasn’tyourfault!”
“Butitwas.ImeannotLiz—butifIhadn’tbeensuchanidiotwiththephonecallAnimightstill,shemightstill—”
Hestops,andIrealizethathe’sveryclosetocrying,andistryingdesperatelytomasterhimself.IalsorealizethatIhavenoideawhathe’stalkingabout.InfactIhavenoideawhatthestoryiswithInigoatall.Whatdidhappenwiththephonecall?Whydidherunoff?
“Inigo,Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout,”Isaymoregently.“Whathappened?Didyoufakethatphonecall,afterall?Why?”
“What?”It’shisturntolooktakenaback.“No!Godno!Howcouldyouthinksuchathing?”
“Thenwhydidyourunaway?”
“Itoldyou!Ileftanote—becauseImadesuchastupidmistake.”
Isuppressasighofirritationandwonder,notforthefirsttime,whetherInigowaseveractuallythatgoodasaPA.HowdidTopherputupwithhim?
“Yes,butyouneversaidwhatthemistakewas,”Ispellout.“Weallthought—”AndthenIstop.Inigoflushesagain,evendeeperthistime,butheputshischinup.
“Iknow.Youallthoughtitwasme.That’swhyIhadtoleave—toputthingsright.Themistake—God,Iwassodumb.ItoldthepolicewewereatChaletBlanche-Neige.”
ForaminuteIdon’tunderstand.Thenmymouthfallsopen.Ihaveasudden,vividflashbacktoInigoonthephonetothepolice.Yes…okay…ChaletBlanche-Neige.
Blanche-Neige.SnowWhite.Perce-Neige.Snowdrop.Aneasymistaketomakeforsomeonewhodidn’tspeakFrench.ButonethatwasfatalforAni.Oh,Inigo,youidiot
“IknowChaletBlanche-Neige,”Isayslowly.“It’sabouttenmilesaway,overtheothersideofthevalley.Ofcourse.Ofcourse,that’swhythepolicenevercame.Youtoldthemthewrongplace.”
Inigonods,inmiserableassent.
“Itwassuchastupidfuckingmistake.AndIrealizedthenextdaywhatI’ddone,andIkepttryingtogetthroughtoexplain,butthelinewasjustdead,”hesaysbrokenly.“SoIknewtheonlythingIcoulddototrytoputitrightwasskidowntothetown,totellthecopsinpersonwhathadhappenedandwherewewere.SoIleft.IknowitwasstupidbutIjustfeltso—soashamed,andIwantedtoputthingsright.IknewifItoldanyonewhatIwasdoingthey’dtrytocomeandIdidn’twantthemto,Ididn’twanttoputanyoneindangerbecauseofmymistake.Butinstead—”Hegulps,andIseetearsbrimminginhiseyes.Iknowheisthinking,asIam,ofElliot,andofAni,bothofwhommightstillbealiveifthepolicehadcomethatafternoon,iftheyhadknownwheretolook.“InsteadIgotlost,skiedintoatree,andwokeupinhospital.”Hetoucheshisforehead,thesurgicalbandageIsawwhenwesatdown.ForthefirsttimeInoticetherawnessoftheskinonhischeeksandfingers,theblackenedtipsofhisears,wherefrostbitemusthavesetin.“IfonlyIhadn’t—”Hisvoicebreaks.“IfIdidn’t—”
“Inigo,youcouldn’thaveknown,”Isaysoftly.“Itwasamistake—justaterriblemistake.”Thesearewordspeoplehavebeensayingtomeformonths,yearsnow.Youcouldn’thaveknownwhatwouldhappen,whenyousuggestedskiingoff-piste.It’snotyourfault.Itwasjustamistake—justaterriblemistake.
Theyarephrasesthathavealwaysseemedmeaningless.Now,suddenly,itisvitalthatInigobelievesthem.
“It’snotyourfault,”Isay,urgently,puttingeveryshredofconvictionthatIcanmusterintomywords.Iputoutahandtotouchhis,feelinghisrough,blisteredfingers.Inigowinces,butthenlooksupatme.Hegivesaweaksmile.Idon’tknowifhebelievesme.Maybe.Maybenot.
AniandElliottmightstillbealiveifInigohadsaidtherightname.Buthedidn’t.
Maybehewilllearntolivewithwhathappened,justasIdid.JustasIdo.
ERIN
SnoopID:LITTLEMY
Listeningto:Offline
Snoopers:8
Snoopscribers:160
Idon’tseetheothersuntildinnertime,whenthehotelservesupahearty,veggie-unfriendlydinnerat7:00p.m.sharp.Thereisnoreservation,nopickingandchoosingyourmealoryourtime.Thisisfamilydining—youcomedownwhenthecheftellsyouandyougettheplatdujour,oryoudon’teat.It’squiterestful.
I’minmyroom,curledupinbed,morethanhalfasleepwhenIhearthedinnerbellring,andIgetuppainfully,feelingtheachesandpainsinmybonesfromthelastfewdays,andrubbingthesideofmycheekwhereit’simprintedwiththewrinklesofthepillowcase.ThenIstepoutintothecorridor.
I’mlimpingalongtothestairswhenadooropensandanotherguestcomesbarrelingout,almostknockingmeover,makingmedropmycrutch.Ibendovertoretrieveit,feelingmyanklescreaminprotest,andwhenIstraightenupI’mabouttomakeanirritatedremark,butthenIseetheguest’sface.Heisstandingstock-still,justlookingatme.
It’sDanny.
“Danny!”
Iflingmyarmsaroundhim,buthejuststands,unresponsive,andthen,likeicethawing,heseemstomelt,andhisarmscreeparoundme,holdingmeinahugthatisatfirstgentle,thenfirm,andthencrushinglyhard,almostasifhe’stryingtomakehimselfbelieveI’mhereandsolidflesh.
“Ineverbelievedher,”hesaysatlast,hisdeepvoicecomingtomeasmuchthroughhischest,wheremyfaceispressed.“Ineverbelievedher.Thattext—Iknewsomethingwaswrong.Isetoutstraightaway—I’veneverwalkedsofastinmylife—butyouweregone.Ithoughtyou’ddied.Ithought—Ithought—”
Buthecan’tfinish.Hejustgulps,pressinghisfaceintothetopofmyhair,andIfeelthewetnessofhistearsonmyparting.
“Ishouldneverhavefuckingleft!”hesays,andhisarmstighten.“Iknewyouwasn’tsafetobeleftalone.Itoldyou,don’tdoanythingstupid.Andwhathappens?Skiingoff-pistewithabrokenankle?Youain’tJasoneffingBourne.”
Ishakemyhead,andtightenmygrip,buryingmyfaceinhisshoulder,tryingtohidemyshakingsobs.Ilovehim—Ilovehisattemptstolightentheatmosphereandmakeajokeofthis,butIcan’tevenpretendtolaugh.AllIcandoisholdhimandcry,andcry,andcry,foreverything.
“Fuckinghell,”heissaying,hisvoiceroughandsoftinmyear,rockingmebackandforth,backandforth.“You’reokay,Erin.You’reallright,pet.”
AndIwanttobelievehim.ButI’mnotsureifit’strue.
“Youlooklikeshit,”hesaysatlast,pullingbacktolookmeupanddown.Ifeellikehewantsmetolaugh,andpartofmewantsto.Youshouldhaveseentheotherguy.Theriposteisonthetipofmytongue.ButLizisdead,anditdoesn’tfeelfunny.Instead,IjustshrugandDanny’slipcurlsintosomethingclosetoasnarl.
“Fuckingbitch.”
“Don’t,”Isay.“Don’t—youdon’tknowwhatshe—”
ButI’minterruptedbytheclangingofthedinnerbellforthesecondtime,andDannyrollshiseyes.
“Bettergodown.Youready?”
“Notreally.You?”
“I’mfine,mate.You’retheonewhopulledofftheBearGryllsstuff.”
Ilaugh,butmynervesarestilljanglingasImakemywayslowlyandawkwardlydownthenarrowstairsfrommyroom,crutchclampedunderonearm,theothersupportingmyweightwiththericketybanister.
WhenIenterthediningroom,theyareallthere—allthepeoplewhoareleft,atanyrate.Topher,Tiger,Rik,Inigo,Miranda,andCarl—theyareallseatedaroundthelongdiningtable,andwhenIcomein,unsureofmyreception,thereisacollectiveintakeofbreathandthen,tomysurprise,TopherbreaksthesilencewithaslowroundofapplausethatistakenupfirstbyInigo,andthenbyRik,Miranda,andalltheothers.
“Bloodyhell,”Carlsays,jumpingupfromhisplacetohelpmewithmycrutchandmychair.“YoulookevenworsethanInigo,andthat’ssayingsomething.”
MyseatisnexttoTiger,andsheputsherarmaroundmeasCarlpushesmychairin,holdingmeinawarm,one-sidedhug.
“Erin,”shesays.“Areyouokay?Itmusthavebeenterrifying.I’msosorry—wenevershouldhaveleftyou.”
“It’sokay,”Imanage.Myeyesarefillingwithtears.Ican’tthinkwhattosay.Myankle,insidetheAircast,isthrobbingpainfully,andIcanfeeltheireyesonme.It’sawelcomedistractionwhenDannypullsoutthechaironmyothersideandslumpsintoitwithasigh.
“Smellslikethatbleedingcassouletagain,”hesaysmorosely.“Itwasbadenoughlasttime.”Somehowhisirritationbreakstheice,andInigoissmiling,awaterygrin.
“Bitlouder,mate,”Carlsays,astheyoungwaitress—thesamegirlfromreception—comesintotheroomcarefullycarryingthreeplatesofthickpalestewonatray,breathingheavilywithconcentrationasshenavigatesroundthecornerofthetable.“Wewanttobesureshespitsintherightplate.”
“Goingbythestufftheyservedtheothernight,spitwouldprobablyimproveit,”Riksaysunderhisbreath.
“Shh,”Mirandahissesseverely,andRikgrins,andrubsthebackofherneckwithaneasyintimacythatmakesmethinkwhatevertheirsituationathome,thesetwowillnotbegoingbacktoEnglandasjustcolleagues.Somethinghaschangedbetweenthem,somethingirrevocable,andRiklooksstronger,moredeterminedthanthepersonImetjustafewdaysago.
Topher,bycontrast,lookslikeapale,deflatedversionofthecharismaticmanwhosteppedoffthefunicular.It’snotsurprisinginaway—hehaslosthiscofounderandhisbestfriend,aterriblepricetopayforregainingcontrolofhisowncompany,byanystandards,andonethatseemstohaveagedhim,andscuffedawaysomeofhisconfidenceandsheen.He’sstillseatedattheheadofthetable,though,andwhenthecassouletisservedhetapshisforkonhisglass,andclearshisthroataswealllookroundexpectantly.
“Um…look,thiswon’ttakelong,”hesays,andthenstops,andrubshisforeheadwearily,seemingtohavelostthethreadofwhathewasabouttosay.“ButI—well,I’vehadacoupleofbitsofnews.Ithoughtyoudeservedtoknowassoonaspossible.”
Hetakesalongswigfromtheglassofredwineathisside,andthengrimaces,andwipeshismouth.Idon’tthinkit’sthekindofvintagehe’susedtodrinking.
“Thefirstthingis,well,there’snoeasywaytosaythis.”Heswallows,histhroatworking.“The,er,thebuyoutofferhasbeenwithdrawn.”
Thereisamurmurfromroundthetable.It’samixtureofshockandconcern,butthere’snotmuchsurpriseinpeople’svoices.RikandMirandashareaglance
“Whatdoesthatmeanforthecompanyvaluation,ifyoutakeSnooppublic?”Carlasksbluntly.Topherdoesn’tanswer.Rikfoldshisarms,hismouthathinlineofannoyance.
“Inthetoilet,amIright?Youdon’tneedtobullshithere,Toph.You’renotwooinginvestors.It’snotsurprising,isit?High-profilemassacreoncompanytime,onepartnerdead,arguablytheonetheinvestorslikedmore—”
“Rik!”It’sTigerspeaking;shestandsup,herchairscreechingonthetiledfloor,herfacetwisted,herairofserenityquitegone.“RikforGod’ssake!Doesthismatter?Evaisdead.Elliotisdead.Aniisdead.”Hervoicecracksonthelastword.“Howcanyougiveafuckaboutsharevaluation?”
Sheisright,andRikknowsit.Hesinksbackinhisseat,andshrugsslightlyfeebly.
“It’safact,”hesays,butnotlikehe’sarguingwithher,justlikehe’stryingtobacktrackonhisowninsensitivity.“That’sallIwassaying.”
Andthethingis,he’sright.Itisafact,andanimportantonetothepeoplewhoarelosingtheirmoney,andtheemployeeswhomaysoonbelosingtheirjobswhenSnoop’sbubblebursts.ButTigerisrighttoo.It’safactthatpalesintonothingcomparedtothelossoftheircolleagues.
“Whatwasthesecondthing?”Mirandasays.Herinterjection,intotheuneasysilenceafterTiger’soutburst,isunexpected,andTopherlooksnonplussedforamoment.“Acoupleofbitsofnews,yousaid,”sheprompts.“Whatwastheotherthing?”
“Oh.”Topherlooks…Idon’tknow.Sickened,almost.Herubshisface.“Igotaletter.Imeananemail.FromArnaud.”
Arnaud?Dannyglancesatme,frowning,andthenIremember.“Eva’shusband,”Iwhisper,andDanny’sexpressionchangestocomprehensionandunease.
“Hasheheard?”Riksays.Helooksalittlesick.Tophernods.
“Thepolicetoldhim.Theyhaven’tgivenhimthefullpicture,justthebasicfacts,thatshe’sbeeninvolvedinafatalskiingaccident.Anyway,hesentmeafile.”
“Afile?”Miranda’sexpressionisconfused.She’snottheonlyone.“AboutEva?”
“Afolder.Aboutlotsofpeople.Letters.Photos.Videos.Evaaskedhimtosenditalltomeintheeventofherdeath.Arnaudhasn’tseenanyofit,itwaspasswordprotected,butI’vebeenthroughitand…there’sthisonevideo…”Herunshishandthroughhismussedblondhair,touslingit,butitnolongerlookslikeit’sstickingupinawaythat’sbeenartfullytweakedintoplace,itjustlookslikeamess.“Idon’tknowwhatthefucktodowithit,youknow?Eva’sdumpeditinmylap,andtherestofit’sbadenoughbutthis—thisthing—Ifeellikeit’stoomuchforoneperson.”
Helooks…thewordcomestome.Helookslost.
“Youwantustowatchittoo?”Riksays.“Allofus?”
HisglanceflickersatmeandDanny.Hedoesn’tsayit,buttheimplicationisclear—isthisprivateSnoopstuff?Buttomysurprise,Tophernods.
“Allofyou.Itconcernseveryonehere.”
Besideme,Dannyisfrowning,andIknowhowhefeels.Somethingisabouttobedumpedontous—andIdon’tunderstandwhat.WhyisthistodowithmeandDanny?DidEvasendsomethingtoherhusbandbeforeherdeath?
TopherpullsopenhisMacBook,clicksalink,andtapsinapassword.Thenheanglesthescreentowardstherestofthetable,and,withaglanceatthedoortothekitchentocheckthewaitressisn’thovering,hepressesplay.
Foraminuteit’shardtomakeoutwhatI’mseeing.Itseemstobefootagefromamobilephone,butit’snighttime,andtheresolutionisgrainyandpoor.Itlookslikeagarden—orno,abalcony,becauseIcanseerooftopsbeyond.Amanandawomanarestandingthere,talking,butalthoughIcanhearthebreathingofthepersonfilming,Ican’thearanythingfromthecoupletalkingonthebalcony,whichmakesmethinktheyarebeingfilmedfrominside,throughglass.
Thewomanisleaningagainsttheoppositewall,andherfaceisinshadow,makingitimpossibletotellwhosheis,butthereissomethingaboutherstancethatlooksbothfamiliar,andmorethanalittletipsy.Sheissteadyingherselfwithahandonthewall,andwhenthemanleansin,offeringhermorechampagne,theglasssheholdsoutisdefinitelyswaying.
Theman,Idon’trecognize.I’msureofthat.Heisstandingwithhisbacktothebalconyparapet,sothatIcanonlyseehisprofile,butit’snooneIknow.He’shandsome,inanobviouskindofway,andthereissomethingalittlepatronizingabouthisexpression,likehe’senjoyingtalkingdowntothisyoungwomaninfrontofhim,enjoyingherhomage.Heliftshisglasstohislipsanddrainshisdrink,andthensayssomethingtothewoman.
Thewomanshakesherhead.Shemakesasiftomoveaway,butthemanputshisarmuponthewalloverherhead,blockingherin.Sheishemmedinbyhisbodyononeside,andthewallofthehouseontheother.Myheartbeginsbeatingfasterforher.Iknowwhatishappening.Ihavebeenthiswoman.Iknowherpanic.Iknowhowmuchshewillwanttoescape.
Andthen,verydeliberately,heputshishandonherbreast.
Iamscreamingatherinternallytokickhisshins,kneehimintheballs,getaway
ButIhaverealizedwithasinkingfeelingthatIknowthiswoman.AndIknowwhatsheisabouttodo.
Shesquirmstoonesidetryingtogetoutfromunderhisgrasp,butheblocksher,puttinghisotherhandtheretopreventherescape,andnowheleansin,toocloseformetoseewhathe’sdoing,thoughIcanimagine,Icanimaginealltoowell.Myheartisracingnow,sickeninglyfast.Whyisn’tthepersonholdingthephonegoingtohelp?
Theshove,whenitcomes,isnosurprisetome,eventhoughthereisanaudiblegaspfromthepersonfilming,andfromafewoftheviewersinthediningroom.
Onscreen,themanstaggersback,againstthelowbarrierofthebalcony,winded.AndthenthenextfewsecondsunfoldsofastIcanhardlymakeoutwhathappens.
Thewomanstepstowardshim,andforasecondIthinksheisabouttohelphimup.Butshedoesn’t.Shepusheshimagain.Andthistimehislegsgoup,hisglassslipsfromhishand,hisarmswindmill—andheisgone.
It’sonlywhenthewomanturnstowalkawaythatweseeherface.
It’scompletelycalm.
Itis,ofcourse,Liz.
ERIN
SnoopID:LITTLEMY
Listeningto:Offline
Snoopscribers:160
ThereiscompletesilencearoundthetableasTophercloseshislaptopandputsitaway.Carlisthefirsttospeak.
“Whatthefuckdidwejustwatch?”
“Ithink…”It’sMiranda,speakingveryslowly,herfacedrainedofcolor.“Ithink…wejustwatchedLizmurdersomeone.”
“It’swhyEvawaskilled,”Tophersays,andhisvoiceisgravelly.“Itmustbe,surely?Lizmusthaveknownsheknew.”
“But—thatmakesnosense,”Mirandasays,bewildered.“WhykillEvawhensheknewshehadfootage?”
“I’mguessingshedidn’tknowaboutthefootage,”Tophersays.Helooksindescribablyweary,hisfacegravenwiththelinesofamantenyearsolderthanhisactualage.
“Shedidn’t,”Isay.Mywordsdropintotheirsilencelikestonesintoawell,andtheyallturntolookatme,astonished.
“Youknewaboutthis?”Mirandasays,and,veryreluctantly,Inod.
“Yes,Iknew.Lizconfessedtomebefore—”Istop,Ican’tbringmyselftosaywhathappened,eventhoughI’vealreadybeenthroughitwiththepolice:theendlessnight,thepillsinthekettle,thatnightmarishchaseinthedarkness,thehorrorofherlonelydeath.“BeforeIran,”Iend,lamely.
“Shefuckingkilledamanincoldblood,”Carlsays,andhisvoiceisblankwithshock.
“Heassaultedher,”Mirandasaysstiffly,butIdon’tlistentotheargumentthatensues.Iamtoobusytryingtofigureoutsomethingelse.
Whowasfilming?Andwhy?
Thereisonlyoneexplanation—itmusthavebeenEva.Shewastheonlyotherpersontherethatnight,byLiz’saccount.Andshehadthefootage.Shemusthavebeenthepersonhidinginsidetheflat,filmingthroughtheclosedwindow.It’stheonlyexplanationthatmakessense,andittiesinwithLiz’saccountofthetimings,Evamakinganexcusetoleaveandgotothebathroom,rightbeforeithappened.
But…Iamputtingtwoandtwotogetherastheargumentragesaroundme,Miranda’sshrillvoicerisingoverCarl’sboomingtones.WhywouldEvabefilming?Unlesssheknew,oratleasthadaverygoodidea,thatLizwasgoingtobeassaulted.
AndthenIrememberLiz’swordstome,repeatingEva.Besides,Norlandlikeshertype.Helikesthemyoung.
Did…didEvasendLizinthere,knowingNorlandwouldlikelymakeapass,knowingLizwouldfighthimoffandthen…what?
Thepiecesclickintoplace,withahorriblefinality.
ThenEvawouldhavevideoofaman,apotentialinvestor,sexuallyassaultingheremployee.
Shewouldhavehimwhereshewantedhim.
Evaisablackmailer—Iknewthatalready.Butsomehow,thiscruel,calculatedsetupisinfinitelyworsethananythingIhadimagined.
ShesentLizintherelikealambtotheslaughter.Whatshedidn’tknowwasthatLizwasnolamb.
It’slikeLizsaid,everyoneatSnoopunderestimatedher.
Well,thatwasamistake.AndEva’smistakekilledher.AnditkilledNorlandtoo.Andnowit’skilledLiz.
“Sheknew.”Isayitquietly,andatfirsttheydon’thearme,andtheargumentcarriesonovermyhead,butthenTigersays,“Whatdidyousay,Erin?”
“Sheknew.”WhenIrepeatit,theothersfallquiet,sothatmywordsdropintothesuddensilencelikelittlebombs.
“Who?Liz?”
“Eva.SheknewthatguywouldprobablygoforLiz.That’swhyshewasfilming.Shetoldyou,Rik,doyouremember?Norlandlikeshertype.Helikesthemyoung.”
Riksaysnothing,buttheexpressiononhisfacesaysmorethananyspeech.Heremembers.Heremembersperfectly.Andheunderstands.Still,Ispellitoutfortheothers.
“ShedressedLizup,andshetookheruptohisflat,knowingthatNorlandwouldquitelikelymakeapassatherandLizwouldpanic.Andshewouldhaveitallonfilm.”
“Fuuuck.”It’sCarlwhospeaks,andhisfaceisashen.“Shetoldmeonce,whenIaskedherhowshegotsogoodatpersuadinginvestors.Shesaideveryonehasabutton,youjusthavetofindit,andthenyoupressitashardasyoucan,eveniftheysqueal.”
“Thatfilmwassupposedtobeherbutton,”Isay.“Onlyitdidn’tturnouthowsheplanned.”
“Andallthistime,”Tigersaysslowly.“AllthistimeshewasholdingitoverLiz’shead.Whatdowedo?”
“Whatcanwedo?”It’sTopher.Hestandsup,runshishandsthroughhishair.“Fuck,thisishorrible—thatfuckingfile.Andit’snotjustLiz.Shehadstuffonallsortsofpeople.It’slikeafuckingtimebomb.”
“DoesArnaudknow?”Rikasks.Tophershakeshishead.
“No,Ihaven’ttoldhimwhatthefoldercontained.Ifthisgetsout,it’llendSnoop.Whatdowedo?Acompanybuiltonblackmailinginvestors?WemighthavesurvivedEva’sdeath,eventherevelationsaboutLiz.Butifthisgetsout,wecouldallbegoingdown.”HelooksacrossthetableatRik.“Imeanliterallygoingdown.Like,youandmecouldbelookingatprisontime.Howdoweprovewedidn’tknowaboutthis?”
“Wecan’tburythis!”Tiger’svoiceishorrified.“Topher,whatareyousuggesting?Thatwepretendweneversawthis?”
“I’mjustsaying—”Topher’svoiceisdesperate;herunshishandsthroughhistow-coloredhairagain,lookinghalfcrazednow.“I’mjustsaying,whatgoodwoulditdotodragallofthisout?Eva’sdead.Lizisdead.Norlandisdead.Noonecangetbroughttojustice.AllwecandoishurtArnaudandRadisson.”
“AndSnoop,”Tigersaysaccusingly.“That’swhatyoureallymean,isn’tit?Thisisn’taboutArnaud,thisisaboutprotectingyourposition.”Herusuallytranquilvoicehasgrownhighwithangeranddistress.“WhataboutLiz?”
“Lizisamurderer!”Tophercries.
“She’savictim!”
“She’safuckingpsychopath,”Carlputsin,matter-of-factly.“Was,Imean.”
Thereissilence,whileweallconsiderthis.
Becausehere’sthething.Theyareallright.Lizwasavictim.Andjustlikeshesaid,sheneverwantedanyofthis.Shewasjustapoor,confusedkid,inthewrongplaceatthewrongtime.ButIcan’tforgetthatsecond,extrapush.AndIcan’tforgetlittle,trustingAni.PerhapsLizwasboth.
ERIN
SnoopID:LITTLEMY
Listeningto:TheVerve/BitterSweetSymphony
Snoopers:43
Snoopscribers:164
It’sstillnotresolvedwhendinnerbreaksup,andIclimbawkwardlyupthesteepstairstomyroom,leavingthevoicesoftheothersstillraisedinangrydiscussionandcircularargument.It’sareliefinfacttostickmyheadphonesinandslumpbackonthebedwithmyankleraised,thinkingofnothingbutthemusicinmyhead.
Ibarelyheartheknockatthedoor,butsomethingmakesmepulloutoneearbud,anditcomesagain,abriskrap-rap
Withasigh,Iswingmylegsoffthebedandhobbletothefloor.
It’sDanny.Andhe’sholdingacrutch.
“Youleftthis,mate.”
“Oh,ofcourse.”Ismackmyhandtomyforehead.“I’msuchanidiot.Thanks.”Hehandsitoverandthere’samoment’sawkwardsilence.“Doyouwanttocomein?”Iask,wavingahandatmyslightlymeagerroom.“Iknowit’snotexactlytheRitz,butI’mnotsureIcanfacesittingwiththeothersdownstairs.”
Slightlytomysurprise,Dannyshakeshishead.
“Nah.I’m…well,I’mactuallygonnagoout.Foradrink.”
“Withwho?”I’msurprised.I’mevenmoresurprisedwhenDannyblushes.
“Eric.Landlady’sson.Herunsthebaruptheroad,youknow,theonewiththebrasscounteronthecorner,thePetitCoin?Said…youknow.‘Comeinforadrinkaftersupper.’?”
“Danny!”Ican’tstopasmilespreadingacrossmyface.“That’sawesome.Ishe…?”
Dannyraisesoneeyebrow,drawingoutthesilence,makingmeblush,andthenheputsmeoutofmydiscomfort.
“Ifyoumean,doeshelikepi?acoladas,sourcessayyes.”
“Ha.Well.Goyou.”
“Yousure?Imean,youcouldcome…”Hetrailsoff,butI’mlaughingandshakingmyhead.
“No.No,thanks.Nopi?acoladasforme,I’mgoingtohaveanearlynight.”
“Okay.Goodplan,Batman.”Hepauses,buthestilldoesn’tleave.Hejuststandsthere,frowningdownathisfeet,tracingapatternontheluridcarpetwithhistoe.“Fuckingweird,wasn’tit?”
“Allthestuffwiththefilm?Yeah.Whatdoyouthinkthey’lldo?”
“Fuckknows.I’vebeenwonderingifweshouldgotothepoliceourselves,butIdunnoifthere’smuchpoint.”
I’vebeenwonderingthesamething,butIdon’thaveanyanswerseither,andintheendIjustshrug.
Dannyturnsasifhe’sabouttogo,andI’mjustabouttoclosethedoorwhenheswingsbackasifhe’sthoughtbetterofsomething.Heleansin,andIthinkhe’sgoingtowhispersomethinginmyear,butinstead,rathersweetly,andtomysurprise,hegivesmeakiss.Hislipsarefullandsoftagainstmycheekbone.
“Loveyou,mate,”hesays.Iputmyarmsaroundhim,andsqueeze.
“Loveyoutoo,Danny.Nowgo.You’vegotpi?acoladaswaiting.”
ERIN
SnoopID:LITTLEMY
Listeningto:CaroleKing/Tapestry
Snoopers:28
Snoopscribers:345
It’sjustoverthreeweekslater,andI’msittingbythefireinthechalet,staringoutofthetallwindowthatoverlooksthevalley,listeningtomusicandnotthinkingaboutanythinginparticular.
It’sstillstrangebeinginthechaletwithoutworking.BothDannyandIarestillemployed,technically,butIdon’tknowhowmuchlongerthatcangoon.AfterPerce-Neigewasdeclaredanofficialcrimescene,itsphotosmearedalloverthenewspapersinhalfadozencountries,itbecameveryclearthateveniftheavalanchedamagewasrepaired,itwasn’tgoingtobepossibletouseitforaholidaydestinationforthisseasonatleast.
Theremainingbookingsfortheyearhavebeeneithercancelled,orhastilyreallocatedtotheotherpropertiesownedbytheskiingcompany,andnowDannyandIaresimplywaitingtofindoutwhatwillhappen,pacingtheemptyrooms,lookingattheplacewhereAnilastsat,seeingElliot’sghost,spooningstewintohismouth,hearingtheclick-click-clickofEva’sheelsontheparquet,andtheslamofLiz’sbedroomdoor.
Ican’tstayinthisplace.Iknowthatnow.ButIcan’tkeeprunning.
Thesmellsfromthekitchenaremakingmystomachrumble,andI’mjustthinkingaboutheavingmyselfoutofmychairandclumpingthroughtoaskDannywhattimehewillbeservingup,whenmySnoopstreamgoesdead.ForaminuteI’mnotsurewhat’shappened.Iwasn’tsnoopingonanyoneelse,sothefeedshouldn’tcutoutlikethat.Itwasmymusic.
Iopenupmyphonetocheckontheapp,butthat’swhenInotice.There’sanemailnotification.Andit’sfromKate.ThesubjectlineisSomedifficultnews.Mystomachgivesalurchingjolt.
“Danny,”Ishout,overthesoundofpotsandpansfromthekitchen.There’snoreply,andIamabouttogetupandwalkthroughtoshowhimthenotificationwhenheappearsinthedoorway,holdinghisownphone.
“Didyougetittoo?”heasks,andInodmyhead.
“Yeah.Ithinkwe’rebothcc’din.Whatdoesitsay?”
“Openitandfindout.”
MygutischurningasIopentheemailandscandownthecontents.Difficultdecision…notpracticaltoreopen…eventualsale…sickpay…generousredundancypackages…fourweeks’notice.
“They’reclosingthechalet.”IlookupatDanny.
Henodssolemnly.
“Yup.That’saboutthesizeofit.Havetosay,I’mnotexactlysurprised,whatplonker’sgonnawanttostayinaplacewherefourguestsgotkilled?Imean,it’snotexactlyhomesweethome,isit,evenifyoutakethebanjaxedswimmingpooloutoftheequation.Whatareyougonnado?”
“WhatamIgoingtodo?”Istarebackathim.It’sstupid,becauseI’vehadthreeweekstofigurethisout,butI’mnoclosertodeciding.WouldIcomebacktowork?DidIwantto?Nowit’snotevenaquestion.
“Idon’tknow,”Isayatlast.“Whataboutyou?”
“Wecouldsue,youknow,”Dannysaysconversationally.“Imean,quoteunquotegenerousredundancypackageisallverywell,butyouwerebloodynearkilledinthelineofduty.Ireckonthatdeservessomethingabitmorethanafewweeks’payandaboxoffuckingchocs.”
“Idon’twanttosue,”Isayreflexively,withouteventhinkingaboutit,butasthewordsleavemymouthIamsureoftherightnessofthem.Idon’twantto.Itwashardenoughgoingthroughallthisonce.Iamnotputtingmyselfthroughitallagaininacourtoflaw,letalonedragginginTopher,Tiger,Rik,andeveryoneelsetogiveevidence.
“Nah,neitherdoIreally,”Dannysays,lookingdownatthescreen,withalittlesigh.“Couldadonewiththesquidsthough.Well,asmeoldmawouldsay,ifwisheswerehorsesandallthat.”Hesighsagain,andthensays,“ShallIserveup?Butternutsquashsoupwithhazelnutgremolataandcharredfougasse.”
“Soundsdelicious,”Isay,tryingforasmile.“Ican’twait.”
ERIN
SnoopID:LITTLEMY
Listeningto:
Snoopscribers:
AfterlunchDannyandIsitdowninfrontoftheTVandIgetoutmyphone.I’vebecomeslightlyaddictedtowatchingmySnoopscriberstickupwards.There’snothinglikenewsgettingaroundthatyou’vebeenalmostkilledtosendyournumbersrocketing.AndIlikecheckinguponTopher,Rik,andtheotherstoo.Rik’susernameisRikshawandhedoesn’thavenearlyasmanySnoopersasTopher,butIlikehismusictastealotmore.HewaslisteningtosomeamazingCubanraptheotherday.
ButwhenIopenuptheapp,there’snothingthere,justablankhomepage.
ForasecondIthinkI’veaccidentallyloggedout,butno—I’mstillsignedin,andthereismyprofilepictureinthetopright,LittleMyfromtheMoominsscowlingoutofthescreen.Butthereisnothinginmyrecentlyplayedlist,nosuggestionsofpeopletofollow,noSnoopscriberlist—infactevenmynumbershavedisappeared.Istheinternetdownagain?ButIrememberwhenthathappenedbefore,anditwasn’tlikethis.HaveIbeenbanned?
“Danny,”Isay.DannyisscrollingthroughNetflix.Hespeaks,withoutlookingawayfromthescreen.
“That’smyname,don’twearitout.”
“Danny,isyourSnoopworking?”
“Yeah,why?”hesays,andthenopensuptheapptocheck.“No,wait,what?I’velostallmysubscriptionsandallmyfavorites.What’sgoingon?”
“Idon’tknow.Hasthiseverhappenedbefore?Havewebeenbanned?”
“No…”Dannyisscrollingthroughmenus.“No,Idon’tthinkso…Imean,there’snothingtheycanbanyoufor.It’snotlikeTwitterwhereyoucanpostfar-rightshit.There’snothingyoucandoapartfromfollowpeople.Ithink…Ithinkthisdidhappenbefore,agesago,whentheywerestartingupandtheydidn’thaveenoughservers.Irememberafewdayswherethewholeappjustcrashed,anditwaslikethis.Justablankscreen.Maybethey’rehavingserverproblemstheirend?”
“Maybe.”
IpullupGoogle,andtypeinissnoopdown
Articleafterarticlecomesup.BREAKINGreadsthefirstone.Britishtechstart-upSnoopfilesforadministration.
Andanotherone:Snoopusersreceivedarudeshockwhentheyloggedintotheirfavoriteapptodaytobemetwithablankscreen,afterthecompanyshutdownserversfollowingadeclarationofbankruptcybyfounderandCEOTopherSt.Clair-Bridges.
“Fuck.”IcanseefromhisfaceandthewayhelooksupatmethatDannyhasjustmadethesamesearch,andisreadingthesamearticle—oronejustlikeit.“Fuck,they’vegoneunder.Rikwasright.”
Iletoutalongbreath,andatensionthatIdidn’trealizeIhadbeenholdingrollsoffme.It’snotthatI’mgladthatSnoophasgonebankrupt—farfromit.ThethoughtofInigo,Tiger,Carl,andalltherestofthemoutofajob,nottomentionallthepeopleInevermetbehindthescenes—thatgivesmezeropleasure.Butitsetsmymindatrestoveradecisionthathasbeengnawingatthebackofmymindforthreeweeksnow.WhattodoaboutEva’svideo.
BecausethatwastheonequestionthatweneverresolvedbeforetheSnoopteamleftSt.Antoine.Ontheonehand,therewasTopher’sstrenuousargumentthattellingthetruthwouldmakenoonebetteroff,andwoulddamageSnoopbeyondrepair,andprobablycosthundredsofinnocentpeopletheirjobs.
Butontheotherhand,thatequationwaspreciselywhatmadekeepingthesecretsouncomfortable.Wewerenotdoingwhatwasright,weweredoingwhatwasprofitable,afactthatTigerstressedagainandagainintheincreasinglybitterargumentsthatrepeatedthemselvesthelastfewnightsoftheirstayinthehotelinSt.Antoine.
“Areyoutellingme,”Topherraged,“thatifitweren’tforSnoopyou’dputEva’sfamilythroughallthat?WouldyoudeliberatelyaddanotherbodytoLiz’saccount,openallthoseoldwoundsthatpoorman’sfamilythoughttheylaidtorestyearsago,tormentArnaudwithsomethingheneverneedstoknow?Isallofthatreallyworthsacrificingforthetruthtocomeoutwheneveryoneconcernedisalreadydead?”
“No!”Tigercried.“Butthat’sthepoint,we’renotweighingallthatagainstthetruth,we’reweighingSnoopagainstthetruth,that’swhatmakesthissoproblematic!Topher,youcan’tgothroughlifeexpectingeveryonetosacrificeeveryprincipletheyhaveforyourcompany’svision—itdoesn’tworklikethat.Itjustmakesyousoundlikeanarrogantentitled—”
“Entitled,entitled,fuckingentitled!”Tophershoutedoverher.“Iamsobloodysickofthatword!It’sbecomeafuckingsticktobeatwhitemenwith.Doyouknowwhatentitledactuallymeans,Tiger?Itmeansyoudeservesomething,thatyouarelegallydueit,forwhateverreason.Thinkaboutthatnexttimeyoutalkaboutsomeonebeingentitled.”
Andthenhestormedout.
Now,threeweekslater,Idothinkaboutit.Ithinkaboutwhatentitledreallymeans.Aboutthefactthattheunknownexecutive’sfamilyareentitledtoknowthetruthabouttheirsonandbrother.AboutthefactthatEva’sinnocentbabydaughterisentitledtogrowupwithouttheshadowofhermother’sactionshangingoverher.AndIthinkaboutthefactthatthedeadareentitledtobeleftinpeace.
Topherisentitled,andthat’sthetruth.EntitledinthewaythatTigermeant.Hehasgonethroughlifetaking,andtaking,andtaking,justasEvadid.Theyusedpeopleliketheirownpersonalchesspieces.Employees,investors,friends,relations—theytookandtheytookfromallofthem.Andtheyneveracceptedresponsibilityfortheharmtheycaused.
Ithinkaboutwhatresponsibilitymeans.
Ithinkaboutguilt.
Ithinkaboutmovingon.
ERIN
Iamupinmyroom,packing,whentheemailcomesthrough.Idon’tknowwhatIwasexpecting—Kate,maybe,withsomelast-minutedetailsaboutourredundancypackages,orHRwithsomemorelegaldisclaimerstosign.It’sneitherofthose.AndIdon’trecognizetheemailaddress.
ButthesubjectlinereadsSorry,andsoIclickthrough.
Iscanfirsttothebottomoftheemailtoseewhoit’sfrom—andthenametheremakesmedoadoubletake.Topher.Whatthehellisheemailingmefor?
Ifrown.ThenIscrollbackuptoreadwhathe’sactuallysent.
DearErin.Iexpectbynowyou’llhaveseeninthepapersthatSnoophasgoneunder.Fuckingvulturecapitalists.Whenyou’rehottheycan’tgettheirtonguesfarenoughdownyourthroat—andwhenyouactuallyneedthem,youmightaswellhaveherpes.IfEvawashereshe’dbesayingItoldyouso,Iexpect,butshe’snot—andsoIcan’tevengiveherthatsmallsatisfaction.Igotyouremailofftheuserdatabasebeforewegotlockedout.Iknow.Don’tshopme.Butlisten,Iwantedtosay…ohfuckit.Idon’tknow.I’msorry,orsomebullshitlikethat.I’msorryforeverythingthathappenedtoyou,butmainly,I’msorryforbeingsuchafuckingprickaboutAlexandWill.IkeepthinkingbacktothatafternoonatthechaletwhenIrealizedwhoyouwere,and—well,look,Ican’ttakethewordsback,butIneverapologizedforsayingtheminthefirstplace,sothat’swhatthisisabout.I’mnotverygoodatsayingsorry.Ihaven’thadmuchpractice,totellyouthetruth,soI’lljustcomeoutwithit.Sorry.AlexandWill—theyweregoodblokes.Theydidn’tdeservetohavethathappentothem,andnordidyou.AndI’mfuckingsorryforwhatIimplied—Idon’tknowhowmuchyouoverheard,youwereoutoftheroomatthetime,butIsaidsomeprettyshittystuffintheheatofthemoment,andI’mnotproudofthat.Becausehereisthething—nowthatthedusthassettled,andI’vehadsometimetocometotermswithstuff,Igetit.Igetwhatlosingpeoplelikethatdoestoyou.Eva—Elliot—theyweren’tblood,buttheywerethenearestthingtoit.ElliotandIcameupthroughtheprepschoolsystemtogetherandEva—Idon’tknow.It’shardtoexplain.Evenafterwebrokeup,weneverreallyseveredthatconnection.SoIgetitnow.Igetwhyyoudidn’ttellus.Igetwhyyoucouldn’tleave.Ithinkaboutthemallthetime.AboutElliot,beingpostmortemedinsomeFrenchmorgue.AboutEva,stillupthere,frozeninthemountainpasseslikeSleepingBeauty.AndaboutAnitoo,Iguess.Fuck.Anyway—that’sallreally.Ijustwantedtosayitonelasttime.Sorry.TopherxPSIjustwantedtotellyou,thatfile—Ihandeditalltothepolice.Itfeltliketherightthingtodointheend.Andforwhatit’sworth,Ididitlastweek.Beforeallthishappened.It’snotwhySnoopwentunder—I’dliketosayitwas,butitwasn’t.ButIwantedyoutoknow.
WhenIlookupfromthescreen,I’msurprisedtofindmycheeksarewet.AndalthoughIdon’tknowwhattosay,Ihitreplyandsit,foralongtime,myfingersjusthoveringoverthekeys.AndthenItype.Justeightwords.AndIreally,reallyhopetheyaretrue.
DearTopher,it’sgoingtobeallright.ERIN
“Oh,mate.”Danny’sarmsarearoundmyneck,hisfaceisburiedinmyshoulder.“Gonnamissyou,youstupidcow.”
“I’mgoingtomissyoutoo.”Ihughimback,feelinghisstrongshoulders,hardbeneathhisdownjacket,smellinghispermanentscentofFrenchcooking—ofsimmeringwine-richstews,andmeltingbutter,andsautéedgarlicandallgoodthings.
“Yougonnabeallright?”
Inod.Becauseforthefirsttimeinalongwhile…IthinkIam.
“Ihavetogohome,”Isay,andImeanitthistime.Nothome,St.Antoine,buthometoEngland,whereWill’sgrievingparentsandmyownfamilyhavebeenwaitingpatientlyformetomakepeacewithmyghosts.
Ihavebeenalonewiththemforsolong,listeningtotheWillandAlexinmyhead,tryingtocometotermswithwhathappened,withwhatIdid—tryingtocometotermswiththeresponsibilityofhavingsaidthosefourlittlewords,Let’sgooff-piste.
LyingthereinthesnowwithLiz,feelingherlifeebbingawaybeneathmyfingers,Irealized—Ican’tkeeprunninganymore.Andmaybethat’sokay.
“Andareyougoingtobeallright?”Iask.Inthedistancethecoachiscoming,Icanhearthesoundofitssnowtiresagainsttheplowedroad.“Whatareyougoingtodo?Tryforajobinoneoftheotherchalets?”
“Oh,”Dannysays,andtomysurprise,he’sgonealittlepink.Thetipsofhisears,justvisibleinspiteofhisbeanyhat,aretingedwithrose.“Ohyeah,well,actually,I’vegotaplacelinedup.”
“Youhave?”
“Yeah.”Hecoughs,alittleawkwardly.“Um,yourememberthatBandBthepoliceputusin?”
“Theonewiththeshitcassoulet?OfcourseIremember!”
“Yeah,well,they’vesackedtheirchef.And,well,um,well,amateputinawordforme.”
“Amate?”Iamgrinningbroadlynow.“Amate?WouldthatmatebyanychancebesexyEricthelandlady’sson?MonsieurPi?aColadafromLePetitCoin?”
DannyisblushingsofuriouslythatIcan’thelpproddinghimintheribs,makinghimlaugh.
“Oh,Danny!Whatdidyouhavetodotoearnthat?”
“Neveryoumind.”Danny’scheeksareglowing,andhe’shalfglowering,halfgrinningback,butIcanseethehappinessradiatingoutofhim.“Bitofnepotismneverdidnooneanyharm.”
“Iverymuchdoubtitwasnepotism,”Isay.“OnetasteofyourcassouletandEricwouldbemadnottosnapyouup.”
Iwanttoknowmore.Iwanttoknoweverything,butnowthebusisnearlyhere,andthere’snotime.IkissDannyonthecheekandhepicksupmyotherbagandwhenthecoachdrawsup,hehandsittotheguyinchargeofloadingtheluggage.
“Lookafterher,”hesaysinFrenchtothedriverasImakemywaycarefullyupthesteps.Idon’tneedacrutchanymore,butmyankleisstillintheAircast.“She’snotastoughasshelooks.”
“Biensur,”thedrivercallsback,andwinksatme.
IamslidingintomyseatwhenIhearDannycallingsomethingthroughthethickwindow,andIpopopenthelittleventatthetopofthepaneandkneelupontheseattolookdownathim.
“Whatisit?”
“Iforgottosay—downloadChoon!”
“Choon?”
“It’sthenewSnoop,mate.Onlybetter.C,H,doubleO,N.”
“Choon.Gotit,”Icallback.AndthenthecoachbeginsmovingandIshutthewindow.Itpicksupspeed,andI’mwavingtoDanny,andhe’swavingtome,andkissinghishand,andIfeelateartracingdownmycheek.
He’scallingsomethingthroughtheglass,butIcan’thearwhat.
“Ican’thearyou!”Ishout.Myfaceiscrumpling.Iswipeatthetearsonmycheek,feelingthetightrippleofthefadingscarslickbeneathmyknuckles.“Iloveyou!”Butwe’retoofaruptheroad,andIknowhedidn’theareither.
Isinkbackintomyseat,feelingmyheartacheforeveryoneI’velost,everythingI’mleavingbehindinthemountains.Anothertearrollsdownmyface,andforaminuteIthinkI’mnotgoingtobeabletoholditback—thetearsaregoingtocomewhetherIwantthemtoornot,andI’mgoingtobawlmyheartoutonthebus.Butthenmyphonegivesasinglebeep.
It’satextmessage.FromDanny.
CHOON,mate.Oh—andmyID,it’sDANNYBOI.Luvya.ERIN
ChoonID:Little-My
Followers:1
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writingabookisforthemostpartaselfish,lonesomething,butIcannotstressenoughtheextenttowhichpublishingisateameffort—andthetirelessteamsofeditors,publicists,marketeers,designers,salesreps,rightspeople,productioneditors,andeveryoneelsebehindthescenesaretheunsungheroesofthebookworld,alongwiththebooksellersandlibrarianswhotakecareofoureffortsaftertheyhaveleftthedoorsofthepublishinghouse.Thefactthatthisbookmadeitfrommyheadintoyourhandsisdowntothem,andforthatIcannotsayalargeenoughthankyou.
ToAlison,Liz,Jade,Sara,Jen,Maggie,Noor,Sydney,Aimee,Bethan,Catherine,Nita,Kevin,Richard,Faye,Jessica,Rachel,Sophie,Mackenzie,Christian,Chloe,Anne,Anabel,Abby,Mikaela,Tom,Christina,Jane,Sophie,Jennifer,Kathy,Carolyn,andeveryoneatSimon&SchusterandPRH,myheartfeltthanks.Andtothebooksellers,librarians,bloggers,readersandreviewers—Icannotnameyouall,butyouarethereasonIkeepgettingtodothis,andIthankyoualleveryday.
Whilethecharactersandsituationsinthisbookareallmyowninvention,IwasshamelessinpickingthebrainsofotherstocreateSnoop—sothankyoutoJoe,James,andJamesforgivingmeadviceoneverythingfrommusicalplayliststoshareholdersagreements.
ToEveandLudo,Iliterallycouldnotdothiswithoutyou.
ToCarmenSaneandmyfabulouswriterfriends,youarefunny,wise,wonderful,andfilthypeopleandIwouldgetalotmoreworkdonewithoutyoubutwouldhavemuchlessfun.
ToJilly,AliandMark—thankyouforbeingthebestskiingsupportteam,mediaassistants,publicists,anddrinkingcompanions.AndofcourseformakingmeskitheSecretValley(thoughnotatnight).
Andlastandbestthanksalwaystomydearfamily,foreverything.
OnebyOne
RuthWare
ThisreadinggroupguideforOnebyOneincludesanintroduction,discussionquestions,andideasforenhancingyourbookclub.Thesuggestedquestionsareintendedtohelpyourreadinggroupfindnewandinterestinganglesandtopicsforyourdiscussion.Wehopethattheseideaswillenrichyourconversationandincreaseyourenjoymentofthebook.IntroductionThe#1NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofTheTurnoftheKeyandInaDark,DarkWoodreturnswithanothersuspensefulthrillersetonasnow-coveredmountain.Gettingsnowedinatabeautiful,rusticmountainchaletdoesn’tsoundliketheworstproblemintheworld,especiallywhenthere’sabreathtakingvista,acozyfire,andcompanytokeepyouwarm.Butwhathappenswhenthatcompanyiseightofyourcoworkers…andyoucan’ttrustanyofthem?Anoff-sitecompanyretreatmeanttopromotemindfulnessandcollaborationgoesutterlywrongwhenanavalanchehits;thecorporatefoodchainbecomesirrelevantandsurvivaltrumpstogetherness.ComeMondaymorning,howmanymembersshortwilltheteambe?TopicsandQuestionsforDiscussion1.ErinandDannyhaveastrongandsupportiverelationshipfromthebeginningofthebook.Beforeopeningthechalettoguests,theyhaveatraditionofswimmingtogether.Whydoyouthinkthisisimportantforthemtohavethistimealone?HaveyoueverhadaconfidantthatyoucanrelyonlikeErindidwithDanny?2.ErinandLizarebothusedtobeingoutsiders.Whydoyouthinktheauthorchosethesetwocharactersbetheonestotellthisstory?WhatdoyouthinktheexperiencewouldlooklikethroughDanny’seyes?WhataboutEva’sorTopher’sperspectives?3.DiscusstheappealofSnoopforusers.Doyouthinkyouwouldusetheappifitexisted?Whatpeoplewouldyoufollow?4.ThefoundersofSnoopdisagreeaboutwhetherornottosellthecompany,withLizasthedecidingvote.IfyouwereLiz,whatwouldyourdecisionbe?Whoofthefoundersdoyoufindmoretrustworthy:EvaorTopher?Why?5.ErinandDannybothbeginOnebyOneasthechalet’sstaff.However,oncetheavalanchetrapsthemalongwithSnoop’sstaff,theyarenotquitesurehowtoproceed.WhydoyouthinkErinandDannycontinuetoactasthechalet’scaretakers?DiscussmomentswhereErinandDannycomeintoconflictwithSnoopemployees.6.Aftertheavalanchehits,Snoopemployeesalsoignorethecorporatefoodchain,andinsteadfocusonsurvival.Howdidyoufeelaboutthealliancesthatpeoplemade?Whobeginsthebookwiththemostpower?Howdoesthatchangethroughoutthebook?7.Manypeoplealmostuncoverthemurdererbeforetheyarealsokilled.Discusshoweachcharacterfoundoutwhothemurdererwas.Howdidthekillerfindoutthattheyknew?8.ItquicklybecomesclearthatSnoop’scorporatecultureistoxic.HowdoyouthinkLizfitintothisculturewhensheworkedthere?HowdoyouthinkshefitintoSnoopaftersheleftasashareholder?WereyousurprisedthatEvaandTophereachhadsexualrelationshipswiththeirassistants?9.ThoughErinbeginsthebookasanoutsider,shecomesfromaverysimilarbackgroundtoTopher.Didthiscomeasasurprisetoyou?Whydoyouthinkshechosetostayclosetothemountainsaftersuchatraumaticaccident?10.Snoopcantrackthelocationofitsuserswhiletheyusetheapp.However,theusersarenotyetawareofthistechnology.Whatdoyouthinkthepublic’sreactionwouldhavebeen?Discusstheethicalimplicationsoftrackinguserswithoutnotifyingthem.Doestheapphelpingtouncoverthemurdererchangeyouropinion?11.Lizhadbeentakenadvantageofofteninherlife,bothinherownfamilyandbyherformercolleaguesatSnoop.HowmuchdidyouagreewithLiz’sviewofherselfasavictimofcircumstance?12.WhydoyouthinkTopherfeltitwasimportanttomessageErinafterSnoopwentunder?WhatdoyouthinkofErin’sreply?DidyoufindTophertobeasympatheticcharacter?Whyorwhynot?EnhanceYourBookClub1.Snoopisanappthatallowsitsuserstoanonymouslylistentowhatmusicanyoneisstreaminginrealtime.Inyourbookgroupinventatappthatyouwishexisted.Giveitaconcept,aname,andevenalogo.2.MusicplaysamajorroleforthecharactersinOnebyOne.Usetheonlineplaylisttoenhanceyourreadingexperience.Afterreadingthebook,flipbacktothecharacterintroductionswiththeirsongchoices.Playthesongsandhaveyourbookgroupguesswhichcharacteritrepresents.3.AuthorRuthWare’snovelsoftenfocusoncharactersthataretrappedinonelocation,suchasfancysmarthomes(TheTurnoftheKey),spookycabins(TheWomaninCabin10),orinthiscase,picturesquechalets.Haveyoureadanyotherthrillersthattakeplaceinonelocation?Whatdoyouthinkofthisasadeviceforathriller?
MorefromtheAuthor
TheTurnoftheKey
TheDeathofMrs.Westaway
TheLyingGame
TheWomaninCabin10
InaDark,DarkWood
ABOUTTHEAUTHOR
RUTHWAREworkedasawaitress,abookseller,ateacherofEnglishasaforeignlanguage,andapressofficerbeforesettlingdownasafull-timewriter.ShenowliveswithherfamilyinSussex,onthesouthcoastofEngland.Sheisthe#1NewYorkTimesandGlobeandMail(Toronto)bestsellingauthorofInaDark,DarkWood,TheWomaninCabin10,TheLyingGame,TheDeathofMrs.Westaway,andTheTurnoftheKey.VisitheratRuthWare.comorfollowheronTwitter@RuthWareWriter
FORMOREONTHISAUTHOR:SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Ruth-Ware
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TableofContents
Cover
TitlePage
Dedication
Chapter1:Liz
Chapter2:Erin
Chapter3:Liz
Chapter4:Erin
Chapter5:Liz
Chapter6:Erin
Chapter7:Liz
Chapter8:Erin
Chapter9:Liz
Chapter10:Erin
Chapter11:Liz
Chapter12:Erin
Chapter13:Liz
Chapter14:Erin
Chapter15:Liz
Chapter16:Erin
Chapter17:Liz
Chapter18:Erin
Chapter19:Liz
Chapter20:Erin
Chapter21:Liz
Chapter22:Erin
Chapter23:Liz
Chapter24:Erin
Chapter25:Liz
Chapter26:Erin
Chapter27:Liz
Chapter28:Erin
Chapter29:Liz
Chapter30:Erin
Chapter31:Liz
Chapter32:Erin
Chapter33:Liz
Chapter34:Erin
Chapter35:Liz
Chapter36:Erin
Chapter37:Liz
Chapter38:Erin
Chapter39:Liz
Chapter40:Erin
Chapter41:Liz
Chapter42:Erin
Chapter43:Liz
Chapter44:Erin
Chapter45:Liz
Chapter46:Erin
Chapter47:Liz
Chapter48:Erin
Chapter49:Liz
Chapter50:Erin
Chapter51:Liz
Chapter52:Erin
Chapter53:Liz
Chapter54:Erin
Chapter55:Liz
Chapter56:Erin
Chapter57:Liz
Chapter58:Erin
Chapter59:Liz
Chapter60:Erin
Chapter61:Liz
Chapter62:Erin
Chapter63:Liz
Chapter64:Erin
Chapter65:Liz
Chapter66:Erin
Chapter67:Liz
Chapter68:Erin
Chapter69:Liz
Chapter70:Erin
Chapter71:Liz
Chapter72:Erin
Chapter73:Liz
Chapter74:Erin
Chapter75:Liz
Chapter76:Erin
Chapter77:Liz
Chapter78:Erin
Chapter79:Liz
Chapter80:Erin
Chapter81:Erin
Chapter82:Erin
Chapter83:Erin
Chapter84:Erin
Chapter85:Erin
Chapter86:Erin
Chapter87:Erin
Chapter88:Erin
Chapter89:Erin
Acknowledgments
Reader’sGuide
AbouttheAuthor
Copyright