“We’re just going to beat the weather,” I said, keeping my voice calm for her sake.

I helped her sit up, her thin legs swinging slowly over the edge of the high mattress.

She was wearing a faded hospital gown that hung loosely off her collarbones.

I grabbed a thick wool blanket from the closet and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Can you walk a few steps to the door?” I asked.

“I can try,” she said. “My knees are very stiff today.”

I supported her weight, her arm resting heavily over my shoulder.

She was incredibly light, like a bundle of dry kindling.

We moved toward the exit, taking small, halting steps.

As we reached the doorframe, the elevator bell at the far end of the hall dinged.

The heavy metal doors slid open with a metallic scrape.

The sound of leather shoes echoed on the polished floor.

It was a slow, heavy stride, moving closer to our section of the wing.

I pulled Margaret back into the shadow of the doorway, holding my breath.

The shadow of a man stretched across the linoleum, approaching Room 104.