Greta reaches deep into the pocket of her long black wool coat. She pulls out a rectangular sign with the familiar words “DO NOT DISTURB” stenciled on it. She holds it out to me. “I took this off the door of Room 201,” she says. “It’s time to open the room up again to guests. Let the past be the past.” I take the sign from her, but it drops from my fingers and flutters to the floor, the letters of “DO NOT DISTURB” staring up at me, looming before my eyes. I lean forward as my head spins. I get that cramping sensation one more time. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Greta killed a woman. I
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