Emily focused on the reassuring scratch of nib on paper as a picture began to take shape on the page. She tried to block out all that surrounded her, concentrating only on the one thing that stopped her from feeling so alone.

Anything. Anything at all to make the demons disappear.

Because she was so far away from what was normal, what it was she had become accustomed to, that she did not trust herself not to fall apart completely if she did anything other than sit on the cold, hard ground and block out everything other than the sound of nib scratching paper.

Emily’s vision was blurred, the lines on the page seemed to be so very far away, and she was trying not to think about what would happen if she couldn’t find the next clue. There were only five more days before everything would end.

“Emily?”

Tyler’s hand was on her shoulder, his face so close to hers, but it was as if she neither heard nor saw him. It was as if she had hidden herself inside a bubble, separating her mind from reality.

“Emily, what’s wrong?”

“No,” Emily whispered, shook her head over and over as she looked down at the picture she had begun to draw. It was of a woman sitting in a chair under the shade of an apple tree, with a child in her lap, whose head was bandaged up with scraps of fabric that wound around and around her body, stretched beyond and into the tree. Imprisoning her in the garden.

Tyler’s arms came around her waist, lifted her high, like a child being carried off to bed. She turned her face toward him, blocked out the view of the city, tried to block out the sound of his voice, telling her it would all be okay.

He carried Emily without knowing where he was headed, knowing only that he had to get her away, to do something to snap her out of whatever place she had locked herself inside of.

As they passed the end of a narrow side street, he paused, sniffed the air, then turned. He stopped in front of a glass door on which was drawn a white cartoon of a girl carrying a pizza while simultaneously balancing a book on her head. Emily wriggled free of his arms, sat down at a nearby table and opened up a menu.

Before long, Tyler and Phoebe were debating where in fact they were supposed to be or, indeed, whether they should go back and ask Antoine, or even call Tyler’s mother, see if she could help or had another clue. This last suggestion resulted in a swift “no” from Tyler as he shoved another slice of pizza into his mouth.

Emily twirled her fork, lifted it to her mouth and bit down on the sauce-laden strings of spaghetti. She chewed methodically, went through the rhythm of eating, but couldn’t actually taste what it was that fell down her gullet.