Louise Mumford

“had done what he had asked. He had crawled into this tunnel, waiting to jump back out: ‘Surprise!’ Except surprise had come rushing at him, no warning, sending something sharp into the side of his skull. Oscar had sent him to his death. Beyond him and nearer the tunnel entrance, the weighty sound of earth and rocks tumbling made Oscar’s heart thump. The whole tunnel was unstable and, if he didn’t move fast, he could become the next dead body crushed in this narrow tomb. A fizzing sound and the torchlight died. Oscar whimpered. There were no thoughts, only an urge to run, which was impossible, so he decided to crawl with such speed that he was certain he left bits of skin behind from his palms and knees. There had been something clutched in Leo’s fist and Oscar knew he needed it so he pressed his lips together and edged his hand out in the dark until he touched cold flesh. The rubbery shock of lifeless fingers made him grit his teeth as he prised out the thing held in their grasp. A lighter. By its flame, he made his way back to the hidden cove. Chapter 50 Oscar, ten years ago. The rest of the night was a broken-legged bird, limping and slow. Oscar sat in the boat in the cove, too scared to leave, too scared to stay. He didn’t know how much time had gone by when the lights on the water disappeared and a quiet fell once more. Those words kept looping in his head, a piece of string that tied itself around his brain and pulled tight. Dead, dead, dead, dead. The slapping waves smacked against the side of”
― Louise Mumford, The Hotel