I go the other way when I get back to the last hall. It’s longer than it’s ever been, altered since yesterday. It’s the same hallway. I recognize it, but it’s longer.

I turn back once more and make another turn, left this time, before I get back to my door.

I go inside, to my bathroom. I close the door. I can’t get that pamphlet out of my mind. I wasn’t supposed to see it. Now it’s all I can see.

Over the years, the staff and residents at Six Cedars loved Penny like family.

Over the years…

Years…

How long have I been here? It’s only been four days. I don’t understand.

I’m sweating, splashing cold water over my face. I dry my face with the towel, trying to steady my hands. I move to the toilet. I hold my nightgown up off the floor. I sit to pee.

When finished, as I’m standing up, I flush. Something in the toilet catches my eye. I lean over, trying to see before the swirling water takes it away—subtle movement in the water, tiny particles. Are they alive?

Shocked, I step back, slamming the lid shut.

I scream. I don’t hear any sound from my mouth, but I’m screaming.

Where am I?

What am I doing here?

How long have I been here?

I flush the toilet for a second time and wait for the tank to fill. I do it again, and again, and again.

When I walk out into my room, she’s there. Shelley. Her hair and makeup are immaculate. She’s gorgeous. She’s in her red dress and wearing her latex gloves.

“Hi, Penny, dear,” she says. “Just getting your room cleaned up.”

She’s holding a long feather duster and is slowly moving around the room, dusting various surfaces and objects. There’s also a cleaning bucket by the bed. I walk over and tap the bucket with my foot. The dark, greasy water ripples.

“Have a seat. I’ll be done soon.”

“My room is clean,” I say, sitting down on my bed.

“But it won’t stay clean. It never does. Not when we live in it.”

“I saw…”

But I hesitate, unsure if I should say anything about the pamphlet.

She dusts the framed photo on my dresser.

“What did you see?”

“A pamphlet. An announcement about my death. I saw it.”

“I’m sorry, Penny. Jack shouldn’t have left that lying around. That must have been strange to see it.”

I feel like my blood is boiling. How dare they!

“Why would that be written already? You’re sending it to people so they think I’m dead!” I say. “So they won’t ask about me. So you can keep me here for as long as you want!”

“Who are you expecting to ask about you? Has Mike called to check in? Has he visited? We’re not sending it to anyone, Penny. I’m sorry, but there’s no one to send a pamphlet to.”

This stops me in my tracks.

“The truth is your partner wrote that before he died,” she says. “It was his way of helping and trying to make sure everything would be done to a high standard. He tried to take care of everything. He told me that’s what you would want. You were never meant to see that. That’s Jack’s fault for leaving it out.”