“Jesus, I really thought that would work,” he mutters, sliding back into the seat.

“If no one else will come with us,” I say, talking to Dr. Price, “at least tell us how to leave.”

“I will tell you,” Dr. Price replies, “but remember, Safe-Death gives you a ninety percent probability of survival each time you exit. That’s a one in ten chance of brain death. A one in ten chance you will not come back.”

“How many times has Molly left?” I ask, worried for my sister’s safety.

“Eleven,” Dr. Price replies. “Molly, along with Day Cho and a few others, volunteered to be our sentries. Every time one of our silent alarms is tripped, one of our volunteers is automatically released from their chamber to go and check the threat.”

“And you let them?” I ask. “You let a few take on all the danger themselves?”

“They insist,” the doctor replies. “Your sister and the other sentries are very brave young people.”

“And you take advantage of that,” I say, standing up. “Tell us how to get out of here.”

“You just walk outside,” he says, once again sipping at his drink.

“We just leave?” I ask.

“Once you leave the hotel, your cryochamber will open, and you’ll be back in the real world. Anyone can do it at any time, and yet no one does. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Yes,” I reply, “it tells me people will believe anything if they’re scared enough.”

Malachai and I walk away from Etcetera Price, weaving through the dancers.

“I’m not leaving without Molly,” I tell Malachai.

“I know,” he replies, his head nodding along to the music. “You know this band is pretty good; the music really grows on you.”

“What are you talking about?” I reply, speeding up as we reach the hotel’s lobby and cross over to the elevator.

I press the call button and wait.

“I’ll meet you on the outside,” Malachai says, glancing toward the hotel’s exit doors. “I feel weird; I need to get out of here.”

“What do you mean you feel weird?” I ask. “You can’t feel anything at all.”

“No, I mean my head, my mind feels weird.”

“Okay,” I say, “I’ll see you on the outside.”

The elevator arrives and I step inside as Malachai walks toward the exit. I see him standing at the ornate doors, looking at the patterns in the frosted glass, before the gate closes and I’m taken upward.

As I stand in the rickety old elevator and watch the numbers light up as we pass floor after floor, I feel a sense of calmness come over me, some kind of tranquil dislocation, a sense of safety.

I smile at the old elevator attendant; his perpetual grin widens minutely.

“I hope it doesn’t fall this time,” I say, and the old attendant gives an almost-imperceptible nod in reply.