Rose’s scrolling finger is cramped into a claw.

“Out,” she says, and levers her body from the chair. After sitting still so long, she feels every blow her body suffered in the takedown of the big nurse.

“Now you get out,” Marion says.

“Half a sec.” Rose goes into the activities room. Karen is still unconscious. Or dead.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Rose apologizes as she unclips the keycard from Karen’s lanyard. She pats the nurse on the head. “Nothing personal.”

“Are you out? Who are you talking to?”

“Almost. Nobody.”

“Don’t forget the camera. I’m hanging up. My head is about to explode. Call me when you’re home. Wherever that is.” And Marion is gone from Rose’s ear. She feels both abandoned and free.

Rose walks down the hall to Chuck’s room. At the door, she peeks in. He is asleep. She moves quietly to his bedside. Taking his hand, she says, “Thanks, Chuck. I owe you.”

“My good wife loved roses,” he murmurs.

Tissue box clamped under her arm, Rose presses the cola nurse’s keycard to the pad. The door whooshes open. She’s in the deserted reception area when she remembers she’s left the beachy tote and clipboard behind the ficus tree. As she stops and turns there is a yip, like that of an overexcited Chihuahua.

The candy striper is standing in the wide doorway to the nonsecure area of the Memory Care Unit. Stark terror freezes Rose in her tracks; otherwise she would scream and jump into the air. As it is, her eyes go so wide, they hurt. Deer in the headlights. Automatically, her hand flies to secure the earpiece. Plastic touches her palm.

The wig is still on the floor behind her, forgotten in all the excitement.

The girl’s hand shoots out and smacks into a flat round button the size of a woman’s palm set into the doorframe. Long thin red lights start flashing near the ceiling. A silent alarm, so as not to frighten the patients.

The beachy tote with the clipboard, flashlight, and water bottle remains unretrieved behind the ficus tree. The girl turns and runs. Rose turns and runs. Her feet fly out from under her, and she falls hard, hip and elbow slamming into the floor. Fear overwhelms pain; she is on her feet in seconds. The tissue box tumbles nearly to the reception desk, blessedly empty at this hour.

Rose snatches up the box, then slams Karen’s keycard onto the black plastic. The doors start to slide open. Then stop.

The doors begin to close.