Chapter 5
In the kitchen, I add water to the pot and start on another round of coffee. The aromatic steam seems to help. At least it doesn’t hurt.
Unsurprisingly, the kitchen door is glazed over. I’m not even tempted to try the handle or test the deadbolt. The emergency exit appears benign. Only a light dusting of frost covers the silver handle. As I stand in front of it, the urge to reach forward, to push the door open, nearly overwhelms me.
Why? I wonder. I yank my hands back before my fingertips brush the handle. The answer is staring at me from a sign in the middle of the door:
Alarm will sound.
That’s all we need: nonstop sirens, the police, the fire department.
These ghosts are devious and bent on making us as miserable as possible.
The last option—really, the only option—is t
