I lay still in the dark and listened.

Footsteps came down the hall.

I heard Samuel’s voice, low, through the door: “It hit her fast tonight.” And then Raymond’s voice, calm as a man discussing the weather, answered him — a sentence that confirmed, beyond the last shred of doubt, everything the quiet voice had been trying to tell me for four months: that I had been drugged, deliberately, every time, in that house.

I will not repeat the exact words.