I am secretly pleased with myself that I can manage to hold the cup of coffee without worrying that the tremble in my hands is going to spill it everywhere. It's progress, and I suppose I have to see the positive in something, given how dire the rest of the situation is.

"I've been better," I say after reading Nick's note and turning to face him. "I've also been worse, much worse," I add after considering things. All told, I think being framed for murders and incarcerated is much higher on some sort of scale of awful than just being stuck in a mysterious hotel and/or an extended delusion.

I smile wryly and cast a glance down to my clothing. "The monkeys, I could do without, but they don't sell much other than pajamas here, and I can't seem to leave." That's something that makes this place more fascinating, that some of us appear to be stuck here while others can come and go at will, and it's a fatal flaw in my grand plan to prove my innocence back home.