Page 22 of Soft Erasure

The band ticked.

Adherence: 90 → 93.

“What was the watermark,” I said.

“MIRROR-3B.”

“Three-B.”

“Yes.”

“My apartment is six-B.”

“Yes.”

“What was MIRROR-3B.”

“A room at the Institute. Mirrored, on three sides. We use it for what Charles called subject baseline filming. The third B is the third practice room.”

“How many practice rooms are there.”

“Four.”

“What was MIRROR-4.”

His face moved. A small recalibration. He knew his face well enough to keep it small.

“You have a good ear, Amber.”

“I have a good count.”

He folded the page once, lengthwise, the fold you give a page you mean to keep. He slid it back in the envelope and tapped the island twice, once for the envelope, once for the phone.

“These are yours. The phone stays in the kitchen; the envelope, wherever you like. There will be more, one a week, on a seven-day cadence. The cadence is part of the program.”

He crossed to the door and paused.

“One more thing,” he said. “About the green seam in the corner of the frame.”

I didn’t move.

“You’ll see it in every clip. I want you to know that’s on purpose. I leave the hand visible. Some of the women find it grounding. They’ve told me. The hand reminds them they were not alone.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach the place the earlier one had. This one had a question folded inside it.

“Were you alone, Amber.”

I didn’t answer.

“That’s a question for Wednesday.”

He closed the door behind him.

The lunch had been exactly what I had decided it would be.

Matthew had said Caleb would check in the first weeks. Three days, and he hadn’t come. The not-coming sat low under my ribs, where no number had found me.

Dr. Irene Callow’s card was still folded in the matchbook. It gave me four to six weeks and no way to count them. She hadn’t been back, and hadn’t used the phone on the counter. The phone was the family’s; the family read what it was given.