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straightened my clothing and tried to get the courage to open the door. Sally continued to talk in that beautiful voice. “Jesus loves you, yes, he does, ’cause the Bible says he does . . .”
    I froze. The phrase was wrong. Such a simple one to know, and it was off. Demons never got it right. I flung open the door and stepped outside—wanting to confront her, wanting someone solid I could grab and demand an answer from for everything that was going on. There was no one there. Her pamphlet was stuck on the door. I ripped it off and tore through the empty pages until I got to the last one. In red crayon, scrawled like a child had written it, were the words, “Stay dead. Stay dead.”
    I knew then I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t just go back inside and be safe. So I decided to walk right into it, whatever it was.
    I turned and walked out my front gate and into a great space, enclosed in darkness. Then the lights came on, big fluorescent ones, one at a time. It was another tunnel, lined with mirrors. The light bounced everywhere, and I moved farther in, pushing on the mirrored walls with the hope of finding a door that would lead me back to my own world. Then I heard the keys.
    Jingling keys and a rolling cart. One wall of mirrors became transparent, and through it I could see a nurse with grayish-brown hair and chipped teeth as brown as wood, pushing that cart down a pitiful hallway of dingy green paint and water stains. I noticed that the cart was full of medications, and the hallway was full of locked doors. I followed her along on my side of the mirrors as she screamed at the people who must be behind those doors. She stopped and unlocked door number 7, then turned and looked in my direction.
    I was still on my side of the mirror, frozen in place. I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped the nurse couldn’t see me. I peeked, which always gets me into trouble. I should know better by now, but honestly, every time I really have no choice. When I looked, I saw that the woman stood staring at me; then she smirked and followed my gaze down to her name tag.
    â€œHa. Yeah, that’s my name. Nurse Sally to you.” Her smirk stayed in place. “Oh dear, and you thought Jesus loved you.”
    She started to laugh, but she suddenly had a man’s voice. She turned and went into room 7, her man’s voice trailing after her. “Keep going, Jackie. You came for a reason.”
    That was it. I panicked, running from mirror to mirror but seeing only tragedy and pain. I heard something coming toward me, again from the other side. It was the old wooden wheelchair, coming to collect what was left of me.
    But I wasn’t the one strapped to it this time. Another woman sat there in a ripped and filthy hospital gown. She pushed back her matted hair and shamefully pulled her torn gown together to cover her exposed breast. We stared at each other, and she slowly put her hand out as though she could touch me. I did the same. I saw a hospital ID band around her wrist. To my surprise, there was an identical one around my wrist as well.
    As our hands touched, I felt her sorrow crash through the mirror and into me. Shards of pain pierced my chest like razor-sharp teeth, plunging deep into my flesh. I closed my eyes and tried to take her agony. Her childlike whimpers became shrieking screams. They suddenly stopped, and I peeked—again. The wheelchair lay on its side, wheels spinning and covered in blood. Instead of the woman in the hospital gown’s hand, through the mirror I touched the hand of the tall man in black. He was able to grasp me fully, tightly.
    â€œYou see me, Jackie, and feel me. Can you feel my power? I am god, I am the fire in hell . . . I’m the reason little boys and girls look under their beds . . . I am seeping into you, every pore of your flesh will reek of me, for I am the Gemini. I am the Two . . .”
    I wrenched my hand away and