“What? No, Hilbert!” I say. “That was me. Not you.”

“We need more time,” he says. “We all do. Everyone does.”

He closes his eyes, leaning back in his chair. With his eyes still closed, he speaks meekly, more to himself.

“Pando,” he mutters. “Pando, from the puzzle.”

“What, Hilbert? What’s that?”

“Pando,” he repeats flatly, closing his eyes. “ ‘I spread.’ In Latin, Pando means ‘I spread.’ ”

I get up slowly and remove the slipper off Hilbert’s right foot. It’s hard because of the tremor in my hand. I’m horrified to see, just like mine, his toenails are long and jagged, as if they haven’t been trimmed in weeks. I replace the slipper and stand up.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To look for something,” I say. “You stay here.”

I walk into the hallway, turning right, feeling the wall beside me as I walk.

As I pass the dining room, I catch a glimpse of Jack cleaning up. I’ve stumbled across a typical moment of his workday. I watch him for a minute from the shadows. I wait until there’s no one around and head over to the side table where he was standing. There’s a pamphlet, folded in half. I pick it up. There’s a photo of… me.

In the photo, I’m so much younger. I’m smiling. It’s strange to see it. I have no recollection of it.

I open the pamphlet and start to read aloud:

In her ninety-second year, Penny passed peacefully at Six Cedars Residence surrounded by her caring staff. She leaves behind her stunning art collection and all of her friends at the residence. Over the years, the staff and residents at Six Cedars loved Penny like family. A visitation was held at the residence, followed by a celebration of her life. Penny will be dearly missed.

I feel my legs threatening to give out from under me.

I drop the paper onto the table and cover my mouth with both hands. What is this? I feel a sharp pain in my head again—a deep, throbbing ache behind my eyes. I feel like I might be sick. I lean over, but nothing comes out, only a thin trail of bile and saliva.

What is going on? What’s happening here? What are they doing to us?

She’ll send this out, and people will believe it. She’ll send it to Mike. He’ll believe I’m gone, but I won’t be. I’ll be here with her.

What has she done to me?

I need to get back to my room, to be alone, to think. I need to hide. From her.

It’s taking me longer than it should. I walk down the hallway that leads to my room, but this time, it doesn’t. It leads to another hallway, so I turn right and follow it around. It keeps going around, so at some point I stop.

I turn back.

This house is a maze. These hallways aren’t what they appear to be. They’re longer. Or shorter, depending on the day. They’re narrow at night, wider in the morning. They change, these hallways, depending on who is walking them and at what point in their life they’re in them.