Finally, my senses had gathered sufficient data to convince me that this was actually happening, and I propped myself up on my elbow. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, a dream.”

“I came to say good night,” she said, nodding at the steaming mug on the small tea tray on my nightstand. “But you were already asleep. I wouldn’t have woken you, but you seemed restless.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.”

She took a half step closer. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No, thanks.” It wasn’t just my desire not to live up to her expectations of my neediness; it was that I wouldn’t have known what to say about my dreams even if I did want to talk them over. It was embarrassing that my brain plucked inspiration from everyday life. It was disturbing that I had thought the scary veiled figure was Agatha. And it was frustrating that I still didn’t know who exactly it had been.

Absolutely zero percent of that was anything I wanted to share with Laura. Today of all days.

“Well, why don’t you have a little tea and read for a bit?” she asked. “I can bring you some toast if you’re hungry.”

Her words were so kind. Her manner was so polite. And that made it worse.

“I’m not hungry, thank you,” I said. “But I’ll drink some tea.”

“That’s good,” she said approvingly. “Calm down a little.”

I nodded, then reached for the top book in the stack next to me and scooted up to a sitting position. Laura switched on the reading light and then headed for the door.

“Good night,” she said gently.

“Good night.”

And then she left, and I sighed and leaned back against the pillows. I had no desire for tea, or for reading in bed as if nothing in my life had changed. But I was afraid to shut my eyes and find myself back in that dark room, trying to figure out whose desiccated hand I’d been looking at.

So I opened the book to the title page:

Philosophical Foundations for Personal Morality:

The Rights and Responsibilities of the Privileged Class

Okay. Well, I had gone and picked out the absolute most boring-sounding book in the whole house. But I flipped it open anyway and read some of the text:

The proof of virtue is the ability to obey in the face of inner resistance. A demand for obedience performed against the will is the ultimate test of rectitude. A child is led to righteousness by the lantern of his parents’ steadfastness and must by firm hands be molded into a creature of exemplary humility and worth. Abandoned to the darkness of parental deficiency, the child’s quality of character will assuredly be as weak as a lily grown in shade.

Inwardly, I recoiled at the words, then flipped back to see the chapter title:

Management of Children and Youth