Chapter 4: Second Login

At six in the morning I sat at Marge's kitchen table with her old laptop and found out who had posted the candle.

The page had a list called Active Sessions.

Under it were the devices that were still signed in.

Mine was there.

Under mine was a phone I did not know, logged in at 11:52 p.m., from an address three blocks from the Westerly Hotel.

"Removing managers doesn't sign them out," I said. "It only takes away what they can do next time."

Marge looked at the screen over her glasses. "In English."

"Somebody got in before I did that, and the page is still holding the door open for her."

I tapped Sign out all devices.

I changed the password to something I wrote on the back of my hand.

I turned on the second lock that sends a code to my own phone.

Then I deleted the candle post, and the one line that said W.

"Now," Marge said, "you want your camera."

"How do you know about my camera?"

"Because you've been looking at the ceiling for an hour and saying it under your breath."

My camera was in the bottom drawer of my desk on the third floor of Whiting Home.

So was a stack of notebooks with my father's handwriting in them. He had labeled every one by year.

They and the camera were the only things in that building that were mine.

"The warehouse runs a Saturday shift this close to Christmas," Marge said. "Half my crew is in there. They'll want to see you walk in."

"The company sent a lawyer's letter about my laptop."