I was in a small vestibule, one I’d seen a few times before. It was located directly next to the back service door.

The heavy hatch door closed with a resounding clang.

As the sound echoed through the house, I knew the time for slow, silent movements was over.

I hurried for the kitchen door but lost my balance and fell, then struggled back to my feet. It was like trying to run through water—the willingness was there, the movements seemed like they should be so easy—but my legs couldn’t obey.

At this rate Laura would catch me without even trying.

But I still went. I moved as fast as I could toward the garden. The sky was growing brighter as the sun began to rise. When I threw a searching glance up over my shoulder, I happened to catch Laura’s shocked face at the upstairs window. Then she disappeared.

I felt as hopeless as a snail running from a hawk . . . but I kept going.

I turned into the garden.

What I saw stunned me—

In every planter bed, like splashes of blood on the other plants, were red lilies. Everywhere.

I headed for the graveyard.

As I ran, I pulled Kiley’s phone out of my pocket and held it up. No bars. No bars. No bars.

I came to the Adam and Eve gate and realized suddenly that I had left my key behind. I was filled with despair—to make it this far and then fail?

But the door swung open in front of me.

I rushed through. My ankle tweaked and I had to limp along the path, holding the phone up to keep an eye on the screen.

Finally, fifty feet in, a single bar appeared in the upper corner of the screen. It wavered, went away, and then came back when I kept going. Another fifty feet, and a second bar appeared.

Holding my breath, I pressed the phone icon and dialed 9-1-1.

It was ringing. Then, suddenly, the service dropped out, and the call was lost.

I dialed again, moving farther back. There was motion through the trees, and I saw Laura rushing along the narrow walk. She scanned the area, saw me, and began to run straight toward me.

As she approached, I slipped the phone into my pocket. Without looking, I reached down and tapped the screen. I’d been on the contacts page. Maybe I’d managed to call an actual person.

It was my only hope.

Then I ran until I was backed into a corner, with no way out, and she came loping out of the thick tree cover. She stood like a hound treeing a raccoon. Behind me and to the right was a wall. And to my left was the dark, lazy pond, its surface broken by groupings of lily pads.

“Come on, Margot,” she said. “Be reasonable. Come back inside.”