“I can’t. I shouldn’t have gone as far as I did. Getting you out . . .” She paused, coughing long and hard. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

I could tell she was weak and upset with herself.

“Thank you,” I said, erupting into another coughing fit.

“You’re not a very good swimmer, you know that?” Now she sounded angry.

I felt embarrassed. I told her I did the best I could, and I could tell she immediately felt bad for giving me a hard time. She might sound a little harsh at times, but she’s actually quite considerate.

“You need to practice swimming under the water,” she told me. “You don’t have that much farther to go. You can do it.”

We waded back through the water until it was shallow again, barely up to my ankles, and I saw the door appear at the end of my flashlight.

“Let’s go back up,” she said wearily. “We can try another time.”

We began the long, long walk up the stairway, to the top. I was so tired, so worn out, that eventually she had to carry me again, all the way up that long stairway, and I fell asleep in her arms. When I woke up, she was gone, and I was sitting in the dark with no flashlight at the top of the stairs. It was like waking from a dream. I turned the knob and crept into the dark house, through the long hallway, and toward the front door.

That’s when I felt a hand on my shoulder, a cold hand. It was a woman’s hand, and the nails were long, and her skin almost glowed white. That’s when I screamed. I tried to run but I fell, and I screamed again.

I crashed through the door, and you were waiting for me.

Reality

Do you still think this is harmless?” I ask Tom. We are sitting beside the small table at the far end of your room. The only light on is the lamp beside the table. The window is open a few inches, and the air has gone chilly, so I lean over and close it.

“I never said Pearl’s behavior is harmless,” Tom says in the same flat voice he had when we first crossed paths with him at the diner. There’s something in me that wants to punch him, to tackle him from his chair and wrestle him to the floor. Would that bring the old Tom back? Would that inject life into his cold eyes?

“You don’t seem to be taking her stories very seriously. Tom, she’s seeing people who aren’t there, going to places that don’t exist, for goodness’ sake!”

He glances over at you to see if my outburst has disturbed you. You have not moved.

“You know that’s why she destroyed Shirley’s rug, right? Why she cut squares into it, etched lines in the wood floor? She was searching for a door, Tom. A door! This person she sees told her there was a door under the carpet, and so she cut it to shreds. Can’t you see how serious this is?”