Trinity’s head was lolling backward, as if her neck had been broken. Her eyes were closed. Her trance was still in effect. Her voice was a croak. “Who are you, spirit?”

Carl looked down at his wrists. All of his insecurity, all of his weakness, all of his kindness, all of it was gone. “You have me in restraints? That is too misguided. You are sicker in your spirits than I first believed.”

“Who are you?” Trinity asked again.

“I am your warden, your healer. I am your north star. Your dispenser of health and goodness. You shall learn to love me, like all of the penitents in my Beehive.”

Cold sweat trickled down Amy’s spine. She thought back to the graffiti in the bathroom.

“They called it my Beehive because it hummed with the sound of industry,” Carl continued, his sweat-soaked face earnest. “My partners grew fat off the labor of my penitents, but I truly cared for them. I prescribed the toil that purified their souls.”

“Enough,” Matt said, reaching across the table for the handcuff key, dragging Trinity’s limp arm behind him. But in the midst of all the confusion, the key had vanished.

“The sad young lover,” Carl said. “Sick at heart, chasing after something he can never have. I fear the cure shall be difficult for you, my lad.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Matt blustered.

“I’ll have you turn the crank,” Carl said. “It shall cauterize your sense of romantic folly. One thousand and one, one thousand and two, one thousand and three, one thousand and four … ”

“Where’s the key?” Matt said, looking around the table. “Who has the key?”

“Ten thousand turns of the crank every day,” Carl continued. “Ten thousand today, ten thousand tomorrow, ten thousand the next day after that. There is no exit until you’re cured, because the door of the Beehive only swings one way.”

He turned away from Matt to study the rest of the group. “Did any of you think you were here by accident? I’ve been watching you for so long, picking the sickest from amongst your ranks and nudging the hand of fate to guide you into my care. Providence must smile upon me, because here you all are.”

Amy wanted to say “Whatever.” Something flip. Something to undermine him. To undercut his bullying. To show him that he couldn’t talk to her this way. But she felt hollow and two-dimensional and useless.

“There’s the spinster,” Carl said, looking at Ruth Anne. “Still afraid of her Creepy Crawlies, still possessing the mind of a child. Her cure will be quite painful, I’m afraid, but pain is a sure sign of its efficacy.”

Ruth Anne recoiled, and next Carl turned to Trinity.