The Sanatorium (Detective Elin Warner, #1)

by Sarah Pearse

This is the anomaly, she thinks, the tension she’s picked up on. This juxtaposition . . . it’s chilling. Institution butting up against beauty.

This place, like Isaac, is all about façades. Covering up what really lies beneath.

As she turns away, it hits her: Isaac never told Laure how things changed after Sam died. He hasn’t told her any of it.

Her body is reacting to something here; something living, breathing, woven into the DNA of the building, as much a part of it as its walls and floors.

How do you go about unpicking someone from your life when they’re the thread tying every part of you together?

“I don’t know if you realize it, but you always look a certain way when you see him.” “A certain way?” Elin can hear her heart, pulsing in her ears. “Scared.” Will pushes his plate away. “Every time you see him you look scared.”

It’s strange, she thinks, how for her, claustrophobia doesn’t only exist in spaces outside herself, but within her too. That horrible sense of being trapped inside your own body.

She’s forgotten how easy it is to lose track of someone; the sum of their parts.

Elin digests his words. “Did you recognize who she was arguing with?” “Yes. The assistant manager here. Her name’s Laure. Laure Strehl.”

Grief is like a series of bombs exploding, one after another. Every hour, a new detonation. Shock after shock after shock.