Matt stepped backward and tipped his chair over, pulling Trinity’s limp body with him. She flopped to the floor, pulling him down in a kind of grim slapstick. Their fall jerked Amy across the table. The edge of the Frånjk caught her in the stomach and she let out a soft shocked grunt. The vanilla candles went rolling, spilling rivulets of white wax. Ruth Anne vaulted from her seat, but she was still tethered to Amy; the resistance yanked her back and she toppled a tripod.

Carl wavered where he stood, blood pulsing down his front. Then he slowly sat in his chair, face numb and glazed, mouth slack.

“Is he dead?” Matt asked. “Did he kill himself? Did we just watch this guy kill himself?”

“Stop pulling,” Ruth Anne said to Amy, crawling onto the table, kicking candles out of her way.

“What?”

“Stay still.”

Ruth Anne leaned over Carl’s body, reaching into the pocket of his polo shirt. She retrieved the handcuff key from his pocket and unlocked her right wrist. She pulled her blouse over her head, slid off the table, put one hand behind Carl’s head, and pressed her blouse to the gaping wound on his neck. Instantly, it was soaked in blood.

“Help me,” she snapped at Amy, throwing her the key. “Get his legs.”

Amy fumbled the key into her cuffs and released them. With one sweep of her arm, Ruth Anne cleared the table, sending the remaining candles and EMF reader clattering to the floor. Then she and Amy hoisted Carl’s body onto the Frånjk. Ruth Anne kept her blouse pressed to his neck, applying pressure; she grabbed Carl’s wrist and checked his pulse.

“Shit,” she hissed, and let his wrist drop. Amy had never heard Ruth Anne curse before, and she knew it could mean only one thing.

“We shouldn’t have done this,” Amy said. “I knew it was a bad idea.”

Ruth Anne lifted her blouse from the wound and spread it over Carl’s face. Amy unlocked the others, and Matt helped Trinity to her feet. Her legs were wobbly and he had to hold her up.

“What happened?” she said, her voice hoarse. “I don’t understand. Is Carl hurt?”

“What the hell is going on?” Basil asked.

He was standing in the center of the Bright and Shining Path, mouth hanging open, looking at a scene from his worst nightmare. Vanilla-scented candles had splashed wax halfway up the walls. Cameras were tipped over. Handcuffs were all over the floor. Ruth Anne was topless except for her bra. Blood was everywhere. And a dead man lay sprawled on a Frånjk dining table.

“Somebody answer me!” Basil said. “Who did this to him?”

“He did it to himself,” Matt said. “He went crazy and tried to kill himself.”

“It wasn’t Carl,” Amy said. “It was someone else. He said he was our warden. He said this place was his mill.”