I’d only flouted the rules with Roger, and look where that had gotten me: a cheating husband who couldn’t wait for me to die so he could have all my money. Yaya was right. He was an asshat. Even if I never said the word out loud, it was true.

Dignity, that was all I wanted now: to die with dignity. But how could I do that when I was trapped in this tiny hospital room with nurses who acted like I was already dead?

Then there was Roger. He deserved a special place in hell for not standing by me. Even if he’d just waited till I was dead. He could have pretended that he cared a little longer.

“Pig-brained clodhopper.” I pushed myself into a sitting position, my arms trembling with the effort. Even if I could move, I was tied to the catheter that allowed me to not have to use the bathroom. I checked the bag that hung off the edge of my bed. It was maybe a quarter full.

A thought formed, slowly at first, then faster as I latched onto it, a final plan put together with a definite goal in mind. The rooftop was only a floor above me. We were in the middle of January. The icy-wet cold would do me in faster than if I lay in my bed and continued to waste away.

“It’ll be like going to sleep,” I whispered to myself. I’d be breaking a big rule, a major belief. Suicide was a big no-no in the Church of the Firsts. But . . . I wanted to see the city lights before I died. The hospital was west of Seattle; maybe I could even see the Space Needle one last time. The best way to do that was to get to the roof. I’d sit awhile, and if I fell asleep, that wasn’t my fault. Right?

I pressed the call button, and a nurse, not Nurse Polli but one I didn’t recognize, poked her head in. “What’s up, darling?” Her southern accent was soft and soothing. I liked her immediately.

“My catheter is bothering me, itching like mad. Could we take it out? Maybe just for a few hours even?”

Her deep-violet eyes softened as she stepped into the room. With her willowy height and light-brown hair she was probably elfin in background. “For a little while, I suppose. Might be hard to get it back in, you know.”

“Not like I’m going much anyway.” I pointed at the bag. She nodded, and within minutes the catheter was out.

I gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Thank you so much. I think I’m just going to snooze a bit.”

She patted my shoulder. “You do that, darling. Just relax.”

I closed my eyes most of the way, peering at her as she slipped out of the room. This was it. I sat up and swung—painfully slowly, mind you—my legs off the edge of the bed. Clutching the metal bed railing for support, I put weight on my legs, waiting for my knees to buckle.

But they never did. “Dang, I guess there is an upside to all that weight loss.”

With a shuffling walk, I moved from the bed to the bathroom door, and from there to the main door. The muscles I had left trembled but kept me upright. I put a hand on the cold metal door handle. Here was going to be the real test. The door was heavy so it would shut behind people going in and out, lowering the chance of infection to the outside world. Good for them, not so much for me.

I pushed down on the lever handle and threw my body weight backward. The door creaked up as I scrabbled and panted for oxygen, my feet slipping on the floor as I fought to get a hand around and into the small opening. The door was open only a foot at the most and already sliding shut, taking me with it.

My breath came in a gulping draw as I slipped my right arm and leg around the edge so I ended up hugging the door. It continued its slow arc, coming to rest finally, trapping me in the doorframe.

“Well thought out, twit,” I muttered. “Dang it all.” I was stuck, pinned at the sternum on one side, spine on the other. Pursing my lips, I looked, or tried to anyway, down the hall toward the nursing desk. So much for my grand plan. “Um. Can someone help me?”

No one answered. In fact, it was rather quiet, even for the middle of the night. Where was the soft-spoken nurse who’d just checked on me? I took a breath, and as I breathed out, the door closed more, trapping my chest even tighter.

“Oh no,” I gasped. The struggle to breathe became a real and terrifying thing. Yet the only thought in my mind was that I was going to die, not on the rooftop breathing in the cold, clean winter air. No, Alena Budrene was going to die in an escape attempt gone terribly wrong when she couldn’t outwrestle the door to her own room.

I put both hands on the edge of the door and shoved with everything I had left. Two fingernails popped off as I slipped from my self-made trap and fell to the floor with a resounding slap of bare skin on cheap linoleum tile. I sucked wind hard, grateful I could breathe again, and surprised I hadn’t broken any bones in the process.

I forced myself to my knees. “Keep moving. Someone will come and find you if you don’t. They’ll know what you’re doing, and you can’t have that.”

“And just what is it that you’re doing, exactly?”

I snapped my head up and was sure I gave myself whiplash. Merlin stood in front of me, his hands on his hips and one leg cocked to the side. He wore the same clothes as when he’d come to talk to Dahlia, with the exception of one thing. He’d added a bright-red tie. His dark-brown hair was still slicked back to his skull, and his eyes still looked at me with an equal amount of humor and curiosity. He ran a hand down his tie.

“What are you doing on the floor, Alena?”

“Exploring my local environment. What are you doing here?” I tucked my gown around me so my backside was covered. I might be dying, but I was going to do so with dignity. Right. That was my thought as I crawled on hands and knees, moving toward the door that would take me to the stairwell.