There was a metal cabinet in the corner. Some oxygen tanks. A rolling stainless steel tray. A big metal drain down on the floor.
She put her hand on the doorknob but couldn’t make herself turn it.
It felt all wrong, this room.
The gods were mumbling low warnings to her. She couldn’t make out the words, just a slow, steady thrum that felt dangerous, like the buzz of high-voltage wires. Everything inside her was telling her to get out, to run. Her stomach was doing somersaults. Her head felt thick and heavy the way it did before she got one of her headaches. Her skin was prickly with sweat.
The air down here felt like poison in her lungs.
Run, the voices called, suddenly clear, louder than ever. Leave this place as fast as you can.
But she fought the powerful urge and pressed on, knowing that this might be her only chance to learn the truth.
The window in the third door on the left was dark. She flipped the light switch outside the door, but nothing happened. She stood on her tiptoes, cupped her hands around her eyes, and peered through the window, just barely making out shapes in the darkness: a bed and a table.
She backed away, looked at the doors with the little rectangular windows, just about at eye height.
She’d seen this before.
Iris’s drawing.
The day Vi had asked her to draw a monster, and Iris had drawn a rectangle with another dark rectangle in it, and two circles inside that.
It was one of these doors. With someone looking in from outside.
Iris had been down here. This was proof!
But who was the monster on the other side of the door?
Gran?
Vi imagined Iris strapped down to the hospital bed in the middle room. She thought of the scars on Iris’s head and chest.
Across the hall was another door, this one windowless. She tried the knob, and it turned easily.
It was some kind of break room, with a couch, a coffeepot, a small refrigerator. A can of Folgers coffee. She opened the fridge, found a carton of milk, some juice, a plate she recognized from their own kitchen at home. The plate had a liverwurst sandwich on it, Gran’s favorite, all wrapped up in plastic wrap.
There was a large glass ashtray on the coffee table. A couple of magazines: Time and Life, addressed to Dr. Hildreth.
Vi left the break room and moved on to the last door in the hallway.
Locked.
She flipped through the keys, found one marked B-OFF.
Be off with you, she thought.
And she should be off. How long had she been down here? Five minutes? More? She looked at her watch. Nearly ten minutes had passed since she’d met Patty at the back door.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
How long would it take them to put out the fire? How long before Sal hurried back and started making his rounds? How long before Gran went back into the house? Before she looked in her purse and saw the keys missing?
Hurry, hurry, hurry, a voice whispered in her ear, one of the gods, but she wasn’t sure which one.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
She tried the key. It fit. She opened the door, felt for a light switch on the wall inside, and flipped it on.
She stepped in. B-Office smelled like stale cigarette smoke.
There was an old wooden desk and chair, and a large gray metal file cabinet with four drawers.
“Bingo,” she said, heading right for the file cabinet.
She opened the top drawer. Saw file after file marked: