Remembering that wrecked my sunny, contented mindset.

I looked around at the small, enclosed walls of my bedroom, and then wandered out to the nursery. I felt so alone without Agatha here. And I was worried about her.

I went as far as the hall, where the light from the window illuminated the wallpaper and made me think of skeletons reaching their skinny bones out of their graves.

This house was the worst. Honestly. Who could live here?

I should leave, I thought.

And then, after swaying precariously at the top of the stairs, I thought:

I can leave. I could leave now—go outside and sneak into the graveyard and call someone on my fancy new phone. I could call Barrett. He’d help me. Or Kiley. She seemed nice.

It didn’t matter who I called—the important thing was to leave.

This decision gave my thoughts a sudden clarity. My body still felt dreamy and drifty, but my mind felt briskly efficient.

I can’t let Laura know I’m leaving, I thought. I was going to have to sneak past her bedroom, which shouldn’t be a big deal.

Laura and John’s bedroom, which I’d never been inside of, was at the very far end of the downstairs hallway, past their offices and at least one more parlor. Their room had a large set of wooden double doors that were never open.

But tonight they were.

I crept closer and saw a gap of about three inches. Peeking inside, I could make out blue light on one of the walls.

I knocked.

“Laura?” I called.

No answer. She was out somewhere, roaming around.

I knocked again. And then, when there was no reply, I gently pushed the door open and slipped inside.

The bedroom was as grand as you could have hoped in a house like this, with a massive four-poster bed canopied in a heavy silver-blue fabric dominating the room’s center. Off to the side were wooden armoires in a long row, and another door leading to a darkened space—a closet or a bathroom.

But what really got my attention was the laptop. It sat open on a desk, the screen a bright rectangle of light.

I walked closer, keeping an ear open and an eye on the door in case I needed to jump away. I was well aware that just being in here was disastrous, but if I was near the door, I could at least claim that I’d only stuck my head in to look for her. Sitting at the computer, surfing the internet? Not so convincing.

If you’d asked me, I would have said I was detoxed from screens. That my time at Copeland Hall had broken through the addiction to the images and content that used to enthrall me. But that clearly wasn’t the case, because I was drawn to the glowing rectangle like a zombie to a nice fresh bowl of brains.