The Sanatorium (Detective Elin Warner, #1)

by Sarah Pearse

“A liar should have a good memory,”

canton.”

Bridging. Smoothing things over.

Could the falling-out have been over him? The thought, its depressing predictability, disappoints her.

Two strong women still defined by sibling dynamics, fighting for oxygen against alpha brothers.

Living beyond the space in her head.

almost willing him to mishear so she doesn’t have to be the one to do this; to implicate

“All I know is that by throwing yourself into this, there doesn’t seem to be room for anyone else.

every landmark smothered.

painfully aware of the inadequacy of her words.

eyes raw with accusation.

the unsaid implication—he’s referring to her, too, but it’s safer to call out their mother instead. She’s not here, not able to defend herself.

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

However she positions it, it all comes back to one thing: She’s at a disadvantage, scrabbling around for answers to questions she isn’t even sure are the right ones to be asking.

“One of the treatments was a pneumothorax—collapsing the lung. They did this by either introducing air into the pleural cavity, or permanently collapsing it by removing part of the rib cage. Some of the methods were even more rudimentary. In one, they used a mallet to collapse the lung tissue.”

voice is thin with frustration.

while protecting them, they’re also excusing them, finding answers for their shitty behavior when perhaps there shouldn’t be any.

It’s hard to believe that nature can be so brutally violent.

limpet

Unlike a fiery, passionate rage, a cold, bitter anger like this can’t burn itself out. It’s gone past that point and hardened into something solid. Unbreakable.

He said it was because I’d changed, but I knew it was because I was damaged. He wanted someone whole, someone who functioned properly.”