Do Not Disturb

by Freida McFadden

“Nick always leaves 201 empty.” I nod. “Because of the leaky pipe, right?” “No,” she says. “Not because of that.” “Then… why?” “Because...” Greta pulls a ball of socks out of the trunk and gets back on her feet while holding onto the wall for support. “Because a couple of years ago, a woman was murdered in there.”

“I love mirrors,” Greta tells me. “Mirrors are the barrier between the conscious and unconscious mind. Everyone has an inner concept of themselves, but mirrors are reality. What you see right now—that is the truth that everyone else sees.”

“It’s a lot of food,” I comment. “Yes. You are too skinny. Eat it all.”

But even if you do not know your fortune, that does not keep it from coming true.” “If you know your fortune, are you able to stop it? Or do you just have to try to look surprised when it happens?”

Back when I was a kid, we used to have a real phone. A landline. And when you were mad at someone, you could slam it down. It’s just not the same with a cell phone.

Oh well. I answered the phone, so at least he knows I’m not dead.

I’m not dead. Did you think I was? That I’m some corpse my husband propped up in front of the second-floor window to frighten his guests? I’m not. I’m very much alive. And I’m afraid my husband is a murderer.

Have you ever just met somebody that you clicked with? That you felt was an extension of yourself? The missing piece.

Ultimately, I’m just too tired to go through with it. I’m literally too tired to kill myself.