The deadbolt clicked from the hallway.

I jammed the phone under my sweater and kicked the safe shut a half-second before Christopher stepped back into the dim garage, Beatrice behind him with the blue folder in one hand and a glass of tap water in the other, both of them clearly assuming that twenty minutes on cold concrete had made me obedient.

“Are you ready,” Beatrice said, looking down at me, “to stop being so difficult and sign these?”

“I need my medication,” I whispered, resting my head against the wooden shelf.

She held up the pill bottle and swirled it, dramatically.

“You’ll get your dose the second your signature is on these lines.”