As soon as I opened the door, I could tell something was different, Grampy. The air was humid, like on a cool summer day when a storm is coming. I stood there holding the doorknob, and it was slick in my hand, and smooth. I was staring down a dark hallway, but it was more like a narrow cave with a low ceiling—the passage was cut through rock, and hidden in the rough places were veins of something shiny. The floor was like smooth glass, but when I took a few steps forward I saw it wasn’t glass. It was water.

I started walking, and the farther I went, the deeper the water got. It was very gradual, so at first I didn’t feel it getting deeper, but it was. And the ceiling was getting lower. I walked all the way into that cold water until it was up to my waist. I started to get nervous that my flashlight would get wet, so by the time the water was up to my chest and the ceiling was down to my head, I found a kind of rocky shelf in the wall to place the flashlight.

Straight ahead and not that far in front of me, the ceiling came down low and met the water.

The only way forward was by going under.

I stood there for a while, so long that I started shivering.

When you arrive at the end, keep going.

Grampy, I was so scared. But I took a deep breath, and I went under.

It’s True

Tom knocks lightly on the door and peeks his head in. “Everyone okay?” he asks.

You nod. You already seem so much more clear-eyed than at any other point today.

Tom eases into the room, carrying a mug in each hand. “For the lady,” he murmurs, handing you a steaming mug of tea. “In case you’ve changed your mind. And for you, sir.”

I breathe in the mint smell rising. “Thanks, Tom.”

“I’m going to grab mine and come back. You don’t mind, do you? I think I’d like some company tonight.”

I can’t tell if he’s asking me or you, but I know what you’ll say. Your face is so white, framed as it is by your dark hair. Your kind eyes smile.

“Sure,” I say, trying not to let a lack of enthusiasm infiltrate my voice. “Join us.”

He leaves, pulling the door closed behind him. I can’t even bring myself to ask you what happened next in your story. Your skin is so pale it’s almost blue, so I reach over and tuck the blanket tighter around you. You take a sip of tea.

Pearl, your imagination has clearly gotten the best of you. I can’t even begin to imagine where all of these things have come from, all of these . . . I can’t call them lies, because you so clearly believe what you’re telling me. Untruths? Misrepresentations? I don’t know. Confusion? I feel a deep weariness setting in.