by Ruth Ware
When my father said it, there was only one answer you were allowed to give: No, Daddy. And then get out of the way as fast as possible, before the blow landed.
I’m nibbling on the edge of the croissant, staring into the flames of the woodburner, when a noise behind me makes me jump. The croissant falls to the floor in a shower of crumbs. I pick it up. Then I turn to see Rik and Miranda coming into the room. Rik looks like he hasn’t slept.
“How are you?” he says to me abruptly, as he sits beside me. I’m taken aback, not sure what to answer. It’s the perfect illustration of the difference between Rik and Elliot. If Elliot were asking I would know what he meant—only Elliot would likely never ask, because he would understand the impossibility of the question. But when Rik asks, it becomes a puzzle to decode. What does he mean? Does he want to know how I feel about Eva’s death? How can I sum that up in a simple answer? Or is he just asking in the meaningless way that people do, only wanting the answer fine?
“I’m… I’m okay,” I say cautiously. “Considering.”
“Really?” Rik looks at me, surprised. “You’re a bigger person than me.” He glances across at Elliot and then lowers his voice, though Elliot is still wearing his big noise-canceling headphones, and I doubt he can hear a thing. “Having that kind of money dangled under your nose and then snatched away…”
Suddenly the real meaning of his question is clear. He wants to talk about Topher. About what this shift in power means for the buyout.
“I… I hadn’t really thought about it,” I say, and it’s the truth… in a way. I would be lying if I claimed I hadn’t wondered what would happen now that Topher controls the company. But somehow the money never felt that real to me. I never felt I had earned it. It doesn’t feel like I had anything taken away—just like I had a strange dream, and then woke up to reality. Only, this—the avalanche, Eva’s death, this doesn’t feel like reality either. More like waking from a dream to find yourself in an equally surreal nightmare.
“But hadn’t you made plans? Banked on the money?”
“Not really,” I say, slowly. “To be honest, I hadn’t really come to terms with the idea that it was going to happen anyway.”
“Jesus.” Rik says. He looks annoyed. I think I’ve said the wrong thing, but I don’t know how. A sense of panic sets in. It is the same sense I always got with my father. That I would do or say the wrong thing. That he would take it out on my mother. “Could you cut the Mother Teresa act, Liz? We’ve lost everything. Don’t you get that?”
“W-we haven’t lost everything though, surely? I mean, we’ve still got the shares.”
“The shares!” Rik gives a short, barking laugh. “Liz, did you listen to the P and L figures I gave out yesterday? We’ll be lucky if Snoop makes it to the year-end at the rate Topher’s going, and without Eva to reassure investors, that’s only going to get worse.”
“But, the update,” I say, although I know I am scrabbling for reassurance now. “Elliot’s geosnooping thing—isn’t the whole point of that to make Snoop more profitable?”
“From a revenue point of view, we’ve already got that information, we’ve had it since the permissions changed last year. How Elliot integrates it into the app may make a difference to the user experience, but user satisfaction has never been our problem, the issue has always been monetizing that. From an investor perspective, rolling out the geosnoop update won’t make a difference—all the added value is already there. And anyway”—he glances over his shoulder at Elliot, who is still typing away—“I’ve got concerns about that update. I don’t think people realize how much information Snoop is gathering on them. I think when this update makes the level of tracking visible, we might have a backlash on our hands.”
“One of Snoop’s USPs has always been its light touch,” Miranda says, coming in from the lobby with a cup of coffee in her hand. She takes a sip and makes a face. I think it is the taste of the coffee that she is reacting to. Though it could be the prospect of the update. “People like the fact that you can be as anonymous as you want, it’s part of what keeps celebrities coming back. I’m not sure how many people clocked the change in permissions and really realized what it meant, because nothing changed at the user end. But this update is going to make it very obvious. Users will see exactly how much Snoop knows about their movements. I told Topher and Elliot at the time that there was a big PR risk with all of this, but they’re both so focused on the cool techy side of it—”
She stops and glances again at Elliot. He is still head down, tapping away with his earphones on.
“Anyway, never mind. This probably isn’t the time or place to have this discussion. It’s too… soon.” She sits beside me and Rik and takes another sip of coffee, then puts the cup aside. “How are you?” she says to me. I can hardly prevent myself from rolling my eyes. It seems like everyone is asking that question, when what they really want to know is, What are you thinking.
I am saved from answering by Elliot, who stands unexpectedly, clicking his laptop closed, and pulling off his headphones. He looks… tense. Which is unusual. He doesn’t show emotion easily.
“Okay, Elliot?” Miranda says brightly. I can tell she is wondering how much Elliot heard of our conversation.
“Erin’s put out coffee in the lobby if you want it,” she adds, but he ignores the remark.
“Do you know where Toph is? I need to speak to him.”
“He’s still in his room, I think,” Rik says. He is frowning. I can imagine him running over our conversation in his head, trying to work out if he said anything incriminating and what Elliot might be about to pass back to Topher. “But wait,” he adds, as Elliot heads purposefully towards the stairs. “I wouldn’t go up there, I think he’s got… company—”
But it is too late. Either Elliot didn’t hear, or he doesn’t care. He doesn’t reply to Rik’s warning. The last we hear of him is his heavy footsteps, thumping up the spiral staircase towards the bedrooms.
ERIN
Snoop ID: LITTLEMY
Listening to: Offline
Snoopers: 5
Snoopscribers: 10
“Oh, hey, Erin.”
I’m putting out another thermos of coffee when Ani trails into the dining room, smiling. She looks like she’s not slept a lot. I hope you know what you’re doing, I want to tell her, but I don’t.
“Morning, Ani. Can I get you coffee? The espresso machine isn’t working, but Danny’s managed to rig up a kettle on the woodburner so we’ve got hot French press.
“Ooh, yes please,” Ani says. “Could you take a cup up to Topher?”
“Sure.”
“Oh, I mean, unless… how’s your ankle?” she adds, flustered at having slipped so easily back into guest-and-server mode. “I can take it up if you’re not—”
She stops. Everyone has been thrown off-kilter by the strangeness of our setup here. Are we fellow survivors, or still holidaymakers and staff? I don’t know myself, but I do know that it’s going to be easier for everyone if we stick to the normal protocols. Someone needs to be in charge, and to be perfectly honest, I’d prefer it if that someone were me, not Topher.
“It’s loads better, thanks,” I lie. “I can manage the stairs, no problem.”
“But you shouldn’t have to,” Ani says, making up her mind. “I’ll take it up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, totally. I’ll take one for Elliot too. He must be freezing up there.”
She pours out three cupfuls and carries them carefully up the spiral staircase to the bedrooms.
* * *
By 10:00 a.m. everyone is awake, and Danny and I make the decision to summon all the guests into the lobby for a meeting. There’s no real news, and the weather is still too unpredictable for a helicopter to land on our narrow slice of mountainside, but local radio reports have been saying that search and rescue for casualties is ongoing, and that EDF are working on restoring power to outlying hamlets. We are not the only people trapped w
ithout electricity, by the sound of it. In fact we’re considerably better off than some. But it feels like a good idea to reassure everyone that progress is being made, and to stress that we have enough food and water to see us through until they either restore the funicular, or get a helicopter up to airlift us out.
We also have to discuss the elephant in the room—Eva’s death. Although the rumor has gone around the group and everyone seems to have learned of Elliot’s conclusions, neither Danny nor I have formally acknowledged the issue. I’ve been putting it off, unable to face the reality of what has happened, but the time has come that we really have to make an announcement, make it clear that we’re trying our best to contact the authorities and alert them to what’s happened, but at the same time put to rest any false hopes, dispel any fantasies that she’s going to come limping over the horizon at any moment.
Danny beats the gong in the lobby, sending its deafening crescendo ringing around the rafters, and when at last everyone is gathered I tap a spoon against a coffee cup and wait for silence.
“Hi, um, hi everyone. Sorry for dragging you out of your rooms like this, but Danny and I just wanted to give you an update on our situation. Danny spent the morning trekking out to our two closest chalets, which unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately, for the inhabitants—seem to be unoccupied. One is very badly damaged, but it doesn’t look like anyone was there at the time of the avalanche. The other one was out of the path of the fall so it’s fine, but again, there’s no one home. We were hoping to find someone with a two-way radio or a satellite phone, but it’s not looking good so far. There’s one more chalet up at this level, but it’s about three miles away, so Danny’s going to wait until the weather clears before he heads out to check on that one.”
“And have you managed to make contact with search and rescue?” Rik says.
“Yes and no,” I say. “As you know, Inigo made contact yesterday and told them about our situation, but we haven’t been able to get through since, and without access to a satellite phone, I don’t think that’s going to happen until the power is restored. The power cut seems to have wiped out the remaining mobile phone reception. But the key thing is that they do know we’re here. We know from what Inigo said that we’re on their list, we just have to be patient while they work through the more critical rescues.”
“Do they know about Eva though?” The question comes from Tiger, her voice even more husky than usual, as if she is holding back a strong emotion, and a silence falls over the room as I try to answer it.
“Inigo told them that’s she’s missing yes. But they don’t know the latest. However—”
I stop and swallow. I knew this would be hard, but this is ridiculously hard. I see Liz’s eyes, luminous with distress, reflecting back at me from the other side of the room, Topher’s anguished face; Ani shading her eyes with a hand to hide the sudden tears that Tiger’s question has provoked. I take a breath, steady myself on the arm of a chair, trying to take the weight off my ankle, give myself space to find the right words. What I want to try to tell them is that even if we can get Elliot’s information to the search and rescue team, it’s not going to help. Eva’s already dead, and now she’s probably under thousands of tonnes of snow as well. There is no chance of anyone rescuing her alive; in fact, there’s not even any certainty that they will be able to recover her body. Some of the high passes never melt, even in summer. If Eva is buried at the bottom of one of the steep ravines, well, that’s it. There aren’t enough resources and money in the world to make that recovery.
“The position she’s in—” I stop, swallow again, but before I can find words to go on, Carl is interrupting.
“How do we know she’s definitely there though?” His expression is truculent. “I mean this whole place has shit phone reception. How can Elliot say those coordinates are right?”
I look around for Elliot. Where is he?
“My understanding is that GPS doesn’t rely on phone reception,” I fumble, still desperately scanning the room for his face, willing him to step in and explain the technicalities of how Snoop gets its geolocation information. I am way out of my depth here. “I mean obviously you have to relay the positioning, you can’t do that without some kind of information exchange, but the GPS coordinates themselves don’t rely on mobile towers for accuracy, they’re… satellite, I think? Is that right, Elliot?” But I can’t see him. “Where is Elliot?”
Other people are looking around now, asking themselves the same question.
“He was up in his room when I last saw him,” Ani says, frowning. “He was working on something. He’s probably got his headphones on, didn’t hear the gong. I’ll go and get him.”
She turns and runs lightly up the spiral staircase and we hear her footsteps receding down the corridor towards Elliot’s room, and the rat-a-tat on his door.
No answer. She knocks again, more loudly, and then calls, “Elliot?” through the wood.
There is a pause. I imagine her cautiously opening the door, venturing forwards to tap Elliot on the shoulder… but my mental picture is broken into shards by a scream. And not just a little shriek of surprise either. This is a full-throated panic-cry.
With my injured ankle, I’m not first up the stairs. Topher, Rik, Danny, and Miranda are ahead of me, and Liz and Carl both jostle past me halfway up. By the time I reach the first floor I can hear Ani’s sobbing cries of “Oh God, he’s dead, he’s dead!” and Topher’s brusque, impatient, “Stop being hysterical.”
When I finally make it to the end of the corridor and push my way into Elliot’s room, everything looks completely normal, except for two things.
Elliot is lying slumped across the little desk by the window. He is facedown in a pool of black coffee, spilled from a cup tipped on its side.
Next to his desk, on a towel on the floor, is his computer, and it has been smashed to pieces.
LIZ
Snoop ID: ANON101
Listening to: Offline
Snoopers: 0
Snoopscribers: 1
Elliot is dead. You can tell that without even touching him. There is something about the unnatural way he is slumped, one arm hanging limp, the spilled coffee pooling around his face and in his eyes.
But it is not only that. It is what has happened to his computer that makes it clear. Elliot would have died before he let anyone touch that computer.
It has been—wrecked doesn’t seem the right word. It has been obliterated. The keyboard has been ripped off, revealing the inner workings of the device. The screen has cracked, and a dark stain is spreading across the LCD. And finally, the hard drive has been pulled out, cracked open, and bent and twisted beyond all recognition.
“What—” Topher’s face is white and stark. He looks more frightened than I have ever seen him. “What’s happened? Oh my God, oh God, oh Jesus—he wanted to tell me something and I didn’t—I wouldn’t let—oh God…”
He stumbles from the room. He looks like he might be sick.
Ani appears struck completely dumb by the discovery. She simply stands there, gaping, tears streaming silently down her face, until Tiger takes her arm and leads her away.
It is Erin who speaks.
“Everyone, out.”
“What?” Carl says it stupidly. He looks like a boxer who has taken too many blows to the head.
“Out. Out of the room. This is a crime scene.”
She goes across to Elliot, puts two fingers to his neck, pulls Elliot’s eyelids back, and then shakes her head very slightly at Danny.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Danny says to the rest of the room. He sounds almost angry. “Didn’t you hear what she said? Get out.”
We file out. Erin takes a staff key from her pocket and locks the door behind us. Her face is outwardly calm, but I think underneath it she is holding down panic.
“Inigo,” she says, “I know I don’t need to tell you this, but please keep checking for reception with your phone. It’s absolutely imperative t
hat we get hold of the police, now.”
“Uh, yes, of course.” Inigo looks as stunned as Carl. “I’ll go now, and check. I left it downstairs.”
“What can we do?” Miranda says blankly to Erin. “What can we do?”
“Nothing,” Erin says. Her face is grim now. “There is nothing we can do. Try to keep it together until the search and rescue come.”
ERIN
Snoop ID: LITTLEMY
Listening to: Offline
Snoopers: 5
Snoopscribers: 10
In the kitchen, Danny stands with his back to the door as if his weight can shut out the reality of what we left behind us, and he stares at me with an expression of horror.
“Fuck,” he says. And I can’t think of anything to say in reply. Because what else is there to say? This is… this is bad. This is beyond bad. And I can’t make sense of it.
“Danny, what the hell is going on?”
“I have no fucking clue, mate. Did he commit suicide?”
“Maybe.” I realize how little we know about these people—any of them. After all, Elliot could have been under any kind of pressure, and Danny and I would never have known. But that’s the thing—we don’t know. We have no idea what is happening here.
I put my hands to my head as if I can forcibly keep it together with the pressure of flesh on bone. Oh God, it feels like everything is falling apart.
“He wasn’t hurt,” I say, trying to figure it out as I speak. “I mean, I couldn’t see any physical injuries, it didn’t look like anyone had attacked him. Which means… I suppose he must have taken something. Don’t you think?”
