After a moment, it did, and Charlie realized the wall she was staring at was a door. Doors. The thought made her light-headed again, but she kept a firm hand on the couch and made her way around to the front, then sat down on it carefully. She glanced around the room—so far all she had seen was the corner behind the sofa. The shades were pulled down, and she could see that the front door was bolted. Charlie lost interest in the rest of it, her eyes drawn back to the other door. It was scarcely ajar, the room behind it dark, and Charlie shivered, echoes of her dream reverberating in her head. Doors. Someone was on the other side, behind the door, somewhere small and dark; I was drawing them, doors; I had to find the door. Then … She closed her eyes, remembering. They were running, desperate to get away as the building thundered around them, already falling to pieces, when she saw the door. The door called to me; it was hidden in the wall, but I went to it, I knew exactly where it was. As I walked toward it, it was like I was on both sides—walking to it, and trapped behind it. Separated from myself. When I touched it, I could feel the beating of your heart, and then … Charlie’s eyes snapped open. “John pulled me away,” she said, the memory solidifying as she let herself dwell on it. “I didn’t want to go because …” She heard it, suddenly: the hiss and the cracks appearing in the wall. “… because the door had started to open.”

Charlie stood, her eyes glued to the door in John’s living room. She approached it as if propelled by the same instinctive force, her heart picking up its pace. “It’s just the bedroom, right?” she murmured, but still she edged toward it slowly. She stopped in front of the door and reached out tentatively, vaguely surprised when her fingers touched real wood. She pushed it gently and it swung open easily, revealing a girl identical to Charlie.

A mirror.

She looked the same. Her face was pale and strained, but it was her face, and she smiled instinctively. In the haze of the last few … days? Weeks? She had been utterly disoriented, fading in and out of consciousness, pain finding her even in dreams. Charlie had not felt like herself, but there she was. She reached out to touch the mirror girl’s hand. “You, are you,” she said quietly.

Behind her came the unmistakable sound of a lock being turned, and she whirled around in sudden panic, losing her balance and catching herself on John’s dresser. The front door opened and she shrank back, kneeling to let the dresser shield her. A clamor of voices burst in, all talking at once—there were too many to make out the words, until a familiar voice called, “Charlie?”