After pressing the door shut, I lift the glass of water from the floor and dump its contents down the sink. The merlot bottle chimes against the rim as I pour wine into it. Chimes again. My hands are trembling.

I drink deep, think deep. I feel exhausted, exhilarated. I ventured outside—walked outside—and survived. I wonder what Dr. Fielding will say. I wonder what I should tell him. Maybe nothing. I frown.

I know more now, too. The woman is panicking. Ethan is frightened. Jane is . . . well. I don’t know about Jane. But it’s more than I knew before. I feel as though I’ve captured a pawn. I’m the Thinking Machine.

I drink deeper still. I’m the Drinking Machine.

I drink until my nerves stop twitching—an hour, by the grandfather clock. I watch the minute hand sweep its face, imagine my veins filling with wine, bold and thick, cooling me, strengthening me. Then I float upstairs. I spy the cat on the landing; he notices me, slinks into the study. I follow him.

On the desk, my phone lights up. I don’t recognize the number. I set the glass down on the desk. After the third ring, I swipe the screen.

“Dr. Fox.” The voice is trench-deep. “Detective Little here. We met on Friday, if you remember.”

I pause, then sit at the desk. Push the glass out of reach. “Yes, I remember.”

“Good, good.” He sounds pleased; I imagine him stretching back in his seat, folding one arm behind his head. “How is the good doctor?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“I was wondering if I’d hear from you before now.”

I say nothing.

“Got your number from Morningside and wanted to check in. You doing okay?”

I just told him I was. “Fine, thanks.”

“Good, good. Family okay?”

“Fine. All fine.”

“Good, good.” Where is this going?

Then his voice shifts gears. “Here’s the thing: We had a call from your neighbor a little while ago.”

Of course. Bitch. Well, she warned me. Reliable bitch. I extend my arm, grasp the glass of wine.

“She says that you followed her to a coffee place down the block.” He waits for me to respond. I don’t. “Now, I’m assuming you didn’t choose today to go get yourself a flat white. I’m assuming you didn’t run into her there by coincidence.”

In spite of myself, I nearly grin.

“I know it’s been a tough time for you. You’ve had a bad week.” I find myself nodding. He’s very agreeable. Would make a good shrink. “But doing stuff like this isn’t going to help anybody, including you.”

He hasn’t said her name yet. Will he? “What you said on Friday really upset some people. Just between you and me, Mrs. Russell”—there it is—“seems pretty high-strung.”

I bet she’s high-strung, I think. She’s impersonating a dead woman.

“And I don’t think her kid was too happy about it, either.”

I open my mouth. “I spoke—”

“So I—” He stops. “What was that?”

I purse my lips. “Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

He grunts. “I wanted to ask you to just take it easy for a while. Good to hear you’re getting outside.” Is that a joke? “How’s that cat? He still got an attitude?”

I don’t respond. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“And your tenant?”

I chew my lip. Downstairs, there’s that stepladder braced against the basement door; belowground, I saw a dead woman’s earring at David’s bedside.

“Detective.” I grip the phone. I need to hear it once more. “You really don’t believe me?”

A long silence, then he sighs, deep and rumbly. “I’m sorry, Dr. Fox. I think you believe what you say you saw. I just— I don’t.”

I wasn’t expecting otherwise. Fine. All fine.

“You know, if you want to talk to someone ever, we’ve got good counselors here who can help you out. Or just listen.”

“Thank you, Detective.” I sound stiff.

Another silence. “Just—take it easy, okay? I’ll let Mrs. Russell know that we’ve talked.”

I wince. And hang up before he can.