May 28, 1929 … 2:03 a.m.

Oh diary. I just had a terrible revelation.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. It all started with my dream.

I found myself in the darkness. Then I heard a match striking and the smell of sulfur. A lamp was lit, and I realized I was in the sitting room.

The lamp was adjusted, and I saw it was Mother. The light threw strange, distorting shadows against her pale, gaunt face. She blew the match out.

“He’s dying, you know.” Her voice was low and full of pain.

I tried to shield myself from the light. From the truth. “No, he’s stable.”

“He’s not stable. He’s getting worse.”

I shook my head fiercely. “He’s not.”

She sighed. The frayed ropes that were twisted into a noose shifted against her chest. “Helen, you’re not doing yourself any favors by lying to yourself.”

I wanted to protest—to scream at her. He was getting better, he was! But, I bit my lip and stared at the floor.

“Did you find it yet?”

“Find what?”

“What was stolen.”

I jerked my head up to look at her. “Nothing was stolen. That’s just Henry’s rantings. It’s nothing.”

Mother leaned forward. “Is it?” Her eyes were shrouded in darkness, but I could see her teeth gleaming in the lamp. Were they pointed? No, they couldn’t be.

“Of course it is.”

“You may want to check your diary,” Mother said. “You might discover something … interesting.”

Something cold and uncomfortable stirred inside me. I had a sudden urge to burn my diary. (Sorry, diary.)

“All right,” I said. “I’ll humor you. What was stolen?”

“Protection.”

That wasn’t helpful. “How can protection be stolen?”

“She took it.”

“Who?”

Mother sucked in her breath in a hiss, baring her teeth. I jumped back with a cry. They were pointed. Sharp and pointed and way too many of them.

“Nellie,” she snarled. Barely-contained rage vibrated off her, while her voice whispered of darkness and madness.

I jerked away and found myself in bed, sticky with sweat, my voice hoarse with suppressed screams. I put my hand on my chest to try and slow my breathing.

Nellie. The maid she stabbed to death.

Was that why she killed Nellie? Because she thought Nellie stole something from her?

But, how do you steal protection from someone?

As I pondered this, I suddenly remembered what Mother said about my diary. I stumbled out of bed to find it, quickly paging through it.

At first, I couldn’t figure out what the Mother in my dream was trying to tell me.

I paged through more slowly, reading the entries, trying to piece it together. Although maybe there wasn’t anything to piece together because there wasn’t anything to find.

And, that’s when I saw it.

My dream about Mother happened BEFORE I found Henry sleepwalking.

Henry’s rantings couldn’t have influenced my dream … because my dream had happened first.