Every other door was closed because that was how her parents had preferred it. Only this room—the room last entered by paramedics when the bodies were removed—was left exposed.

A cold dread dampened Margot’s skin and stuck her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She tried to focus on the things Kant had told her: her mother, the hard worker, the problem solver; her father, always delighted by a joke. They were warm thoughts. Not quite a balm on this crossroad between hesitant grief and confusion, but something.

Other images cut across those pleasant thoughts—the torn photographs, the caskets in the mortuary’s viewing room, and the sights contained inside. She remembered the mortuary owner’s soft words. “We did the best we could…”

She blinked furiously. The corners of her vision had turned hazy, and Margot realized she wasn’t breathing right. Too fast and too shallow, like bellows desperately trying to keep a fire alive.

She pressed one hand to her mouth as she tried to reel herself back to some safer, central place. An unseen window frame rattled as the gale beat at it. Her legs felt weak, her stomach queasy.

You came for closure. And you came for answers, if there were any to be had.

Her shoes scraped across the dull wood floor as she forced her feet to move her forward. A faint, tinny ringing noise had taken up residence in her ears. The door creaked as the wind pulled on it, and Margot reached out a hand to keep it from hitting her. It rolled back under her touch, revealing the room beyond.

Her parents’ room. The place where they had breathed their last.

7

A queen-size bed took up the room’s center. Its frame was made of heavy, old wood, much like the rest of the furniture.

Opposite it was a chest of drawers. Beside that, double doors that most likely opened into a closet. A standing mirror was propped in the rear corner. It reflected a glimpse of Margot back to her, the heavy black dress and thick coat. Her dark, curling hair, going frizzy at the ends in response to the humidity. And her face, pinched and sunken and vacant, as though some part of the soul had already faded away, leaving a hollow vessel in its place.

She didn’t like seeing herself like that and frowned as she turned away.

The window on the back wall was flanked by curtains. Thick brocade formed dense lines of muddy green to the floor. Behind those and pulled across the glass panes were thin white curtains, designed to let filtered light through. They rippled in the wind, billowing toward Margot like waves.