Esther closed the door behind her and reached for the lock. But there was none. She froze, struck with a sudden awareness of hinges and handles, of in here, and out there, and how little stood between the two.

Foolishness, she told herself. No one in this house means you harm.

She undressed and stepped over the side of the bath, plunging one foot in, gasping at the heat. Then the other, then lowering herself, inching in, letting the water creep like vines over her body. Slowly, slowly, until she was able to sit and rest her back against the enamel. She inhaled, felt the steam fill her lungs, cleansing her inside and out. The overflow drain gurgled as she sank further down, the water rising.

Esther lay there, quite still, until she lost track of time. As if she were floating in an exotic ocean on the other side of the world, far away from everything. Her mind drifted on the sea, leaving strange images in its wake. Faces and hands, old friends, playmates, teachers, her father. All of them whispering to her as she drifted, untethered from—

The knock on the door startled her into a jangling alertness. A soft knock, as if whoever stood on the other side of the door didn’t fully intend it to be heard. The water splashed around her as she sat upright, masking all other sound. She listened hard as the water settled.

Another knock, as gentle as the first.

“Yes?” Esther said, her voice wavering.

“It’s Godfrey,” he said.

His Christian name sounded strange through the closed door. In her mind, he had always been Reverend Clarke. She had always known his name, of course, but hearing it spoken aloud felt wrong. It felt too intimate.

“Yes?” she said again.

“Do you have everything you need? Towels? Soap? Shampoo?”

“Yes, everything,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Good,” he said.

Quiet for a time, and Esther wondered if he had gone. Then he spoke once more.

“Can I come in?”

Esther turned her head to see the door with no lock.

“No,” she said.

Silence again, then, “I’d like to come in.”

“I don’t want you to,” she said.

“Esther,” he said, “this is my house. It’s my bathroom. I don’t think you—”

His words were lost in the sound of churning water as she hauled herself out of the bath, almost falling over the side. The handle turned as she found her feet, and she threw herself at the door, pushing it back into its frame. The handle turned again, and she felt pressure from the other side. She pushed back, forcing the door closed.

A shove from the other side, and her bare wet feet slid on the polished wooden floorboards. She put her shoulder against the door, put her weight behind her shoulder, and it slammed closed. Silence from the other side. She pressed her ear to the wood, listened, heard short, cutting breaths.