We climbed the steps and entered a door on the third floor labeled LONG-STAY WARD. Then I understood the heaviness in the doctor’s expression when the move was suggested—it was a sort of death sentence for poor Mary Jo. Yet with this man at the helm of that ward . . . a spark of hope. Of possibilities. Of music when necessary.

A quick series of clicks echoed in the hallway, and that distant plinking music started again, louder this time, just beyond the door. He opened it, and the sound narrowed to a single point, a withered skeleton of a once-tall woman with long, slender hands wrapped around a wooden box with an opened lid.

A music box. A real one. At least I wasn’t mad. Not yet.

“I’ll just leave the gaslights off so we don’t wake everyone,” he said.

I exhaled and nodded as Dr. Turner guided Mary Jo to the woman with the music box and made introductions. “She loves music the way you do, Anna. Perhaps you should become acquainted. Mary Jo, Anna here worries during the storms. Perhaps that’s when you should play for her.”

The older woman looked up, a lost look dulling her countenance. Something rattled in the distance, and Anna hunched forward, cranking that box, then curling over it and melting into the sound. Mary Jo approached, placed a hand on the woman’s curved back, and they shared in the music together.

Another rattle, and a bang that echoed deep within the bowels of the old place. A figure lurched up from a bed with a loud cry and bolted through the room, frantic. I jumped aside, but her body collided with me, knocking the candle from Dr. Turner’s hand, and suddenly with a clatter the dismal little room was dark. Closed in like a larder. The frantic woman clutched my gown, groaning desperately into my face like a demon. I jerked away, but she held with a vise grip. A wild screech sounded in the darkness nearby. I froze, my blood coursing in thick pumps. Moisture soaked through the front of my dress from the woman’s clammy skin as I stood there, frozen within a nightmare. Her panic seeped into my bones.

My vision adjusted and I saw her face. Two dark spots set in white eyes focused on me, imploring. Begging without words. Sharp, snapping with unspoken thoughts. I couldn’t catch my breath—long dark hair and fine, porcelain skin. Gown askew over a slender frame.

Dr. Turner pulled her away. “You’re all right, Victoria. You’re all right.”

I stared at that face as it melted into the shadows. Darkness again wrapped itself around me, tightening. Oddly chilling. I felt my aloneness.