The day passes slow and heavy, but it is fall, which means the sun is creeping down the western sky by late afternoon. This house seems built for dusk, when the dim light gathers around the heavy curtains and cold, hard floors stretch out under my feet. Everything feels like a quiet daydream. I find my way back to the kitchen, where Tom is gathering a few things for dinner.

“Have you seen Pearl?” he asks.

“No. You?”

He shakes his head. I don’t make eye contact with him. I know what he’s thinking. You’ve run off again.

But when I arrive in your room, you are not missing. You’re asleep in your bed. Light from the dusk comes in at a soft angle, and the books with golden lettering on their spines glow in the radiance of it. There isn’t a cloud in the nearly night sky, and stars have begun peeking through.

I reach down to wake you and can feel a strange heat emanating from your body. “Pearl?” I cup my palm over your forehead, and it’s like a fire has taken residence inside your skin. “Pearl.”

You moan.

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper.

I leave you to go find Tom, but when I’m in the hall, the floor buckles under my feet, and when I reach out, the walls melt under my hands. A red curtain drops slowly over my vision. Everything goes black.

When I open my eyes, it takes me a moment to recognize where I am. The books give it away—I’m back in your room, lying on the floor beside your bed. A soft pillow is under my head, and I’m lying on one of those roll-out mats that can serve as a mattress when you’re camping. I push my way out from under the warm blanket and sit up, looking over at you in your bed, where you’re still sleeping. I reach over and touch your forehead. You don’t feel quite as hot.

“I gave her some Tylenol.”

Tom is sitting at the small table at the other end of the room. Behind him, through the window, I can see that night has fallen.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod. “I don’t know what happened.”

He waits a second, as if giving me a chance to tell the truth. “I found you in the hall, passed out.”

I take a deep breath. “Thanks.”

“You’re deteriorating quickly, Paul. Want to talk about it?”

I shake my head. I do not want to talk about it.

When he doesn’t say anything more, I lie back down. My head is still reeling, aching, and there is a pulsing throb going from the area of the knot throughout my entire body. I cannot go on like this for much longer. Soon I will have to ask Tom to take me to the hospital. I will die there. I will have to ask him to watch over you. It’s not that I like this new Tom or what Nysa has become. There are a thousand things I’d choose about who to give you to after I’m gone, and few of those things are here, in Tom or in this house, but the thing is, I don’t have much choice.