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Why does that hurt more than anything?

Because I still want to believe I’m special, that I mean something to the three of them. Not just that I’m another pussy to keep them warm and entertained over winter.

The image of the woman dressed in white, standing in the middle of the road right before I swerved, jumps into my head.

Is it possible she’s one of the women who’ve come before me?

Is she dead?

I allow that thought to sit with me. Where would they have gone after winter? Back to their normal lives? How could any woman just return to a normal life after spending the winter trapped here with those three?

Or perhaps she isn’t a ghost. She could be very real.

What if one of them never left? What if it’s been her that I’ve seen, or sensed, and she’s made herself a home somewhere in the grounds, or even in the hotel? If she lived here for months on end, then she would have known the place inside and out. She could have easily created a space for herself in one of the unused rooms, or maybe even in the basement.

But then why had she been dressed like that? Why had it felt like she’d been trying to stop me from leaving?

Does she need help?

I climb back into bed, my tea and toast forgotten, and pull the blankets up under my chin.

I have nowhere to go and nothing to do. The long days and nights of the next few months stretch ahead of me with dizzying length.

How am I going to survive?

21

ASPEN

It’s another couple of days before I strike up the courage to continue my search for the Wi-Fi box.

While Levi might have distracted me from my mission, I’m still lured by the possibility that I can contact the outside world. Just knowing I have that ability would change things. I’d feel differently about being here.

I’m also having one of those days where everything feels wrong. My clothes are all too tight—even the baggy options—and the material is too scratchy against my skin. My hair is annoying me, too, and even the slightest whisps that escape the tight ponytail I’ve yanked it into are irritating me. It’s one of those days where I’d happily crawl right out of my skin and exist as a cloud, if I was able to.

One of the things I’m struggling with is the loss of my comfortable routine.

Before the snow fell and I became trapped here, my days were already mapped out. I’d get ready, then go downstairs and eat breakfast. Then I’d help Blake on the renovations until lunch, and after spend time drawing.

Now Blake seems to have lost interest in the renovations, too. There’s still plenty of interior work that could be done, yet I haven’t seen him with a paintbrush or a sander in hand for days. In fact, he seems to have lost interest in most things, and I’m not used to him being so withdrawn.

The isolation is getting to all of us.

That I’m a little scared to pick up a pencil doesn’t help either—after my weird drawing incident, I haven’t dared—and while the hotel is big enough to stretch your legs by walking its corridors and vast rooms, it’s not the same as being outside. I keep myself as busy as possible by picking up the paintbrushes that Blake has discarded, but often I find myself just staring into space, lost in thought, having forgotten what I was doing.

Still, I’m restless and frustrated, and looking for the Wi-Fi box is one way to keep me occupied.

Dov’s room is my new focus. He has all those computer screens and equipment, so wouldn’t it make sense that he might also have access to the internet?

I’m nervous about approaching Dov’s room, though I’m unsure why. Is it because I still don’t fully understand him? I know he’s unpredictable, and while he’s never shown me any hint of violence or aggression, I’m fully aware that he has the capacity in him.

I haven’t seen either Blake or Levi this morning, which I’m glad of. Blake would probably want to know what my plans are for the day, and then what would I tell him? That I was planning on finding an internet connection somewhere in the hotel so I could make contact with the outside world?

I’m not even sure what I’m going to do if I do find an internet connection. Will I contact the police and tell them I’m being held prisoner here? Will I tell them about Tobias?

The thought of Tobias sends a sick churning through my gut. The knowledge of what happened to him exists as a constant dark shadow following me around, the sensation that all is not right, like a bad dream I can’t shake off, except in this case it’s real.

I’m anxious about logging on and finding a whole heap of articles about a missing man. He’s got to have been reported missing by now, right? If not by his friends or work colleagues, then by his parents. Has there also been a link made that I’ve vanished, too? I don’t know who he told about coming to visit me, but do they just think we’ve run off together? I’d prefer them thinking that than the alternative, but what happens when—or if—I try to return to the real world? What will I say? How will I react? People will surely know the minute they look at me that I’m guilty of something. The fact that no police had shown up at Windridge Hall before the snow fell at least tells me it’s unlikely Tobias told anyone where he was going.