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before, for the first time, I thought I understood Rose.
    â€œHow much?” I asked.
    My sister stayed quiet for a long time. At last she said, “I’m tired, Sylvie. So tired you have no idea. And I’ve been forced to answer questions over and over for that detective and all those lawyers. It’s gotten so I can’t think straight. What does any of it matter? Nothing I say will bring them back or undo my part in it all. But you know who you saw inside that church. And the police found his fingerprints and footprints all over the place. So let crazy old Lynch keep telling Rummel and the rest of them that I made the call. It’s our word against his. And all along we’ve both said the same thing: that I was here at home, nowhere near that pay phone. Now, please can we take a break from talking about it?”
    I gave her the break she wanted.
    If our parents were alive, our slothlike behavior never would have been allowed, and they would not have tolerated the endlessly blaring television. The Price Is Right. Tic-Tac-Dough. General Hospital. Phil Donahue. Cheers. Family Ties. So many shows came and went with applause and tears and dramatic music and canned laughter, while Rose and I remained immobile and numb, barely sleeping before waking and repeating the cycle. Neither of us said much else until I started asking if she heard the sounds coming from the basement.
    â€œHuh?” she responded each time, lifting her head in the fog of that room.
    Inevitably, there it would be again: something shifting beneath us, something shattering. “I said, ‘Did you hear that?’ ”
    â€œHear what?”
    â€œThat noise, Rose. Those noises . Down in the basement.”
    My sister dug out the remote, lowered the volume. I wanted her to mute it altogether so we could listen properly, but she never did. After lifting and tilting her head, she said, “Nope. I don’t hear anything. You should have that ear checked, squirt.”
    She was right. I should have had my ear checked. Foolishly, I still believed it was her responsibility to make that happen—at least that was the understanding when the hospital released me into her care. The gaggle of nurses and administrators at the discharge counter made a fuss over me: the girl with bandages on the left side of her head, a tube snaking into her ear, all because she walked inside a church on a snowy night to see what was keeping her parents. They plied Rose with forms to be signed. They plied her with papers listing doctors I needed to visit. They told her about appointments already made in my name. After we left the hospital, however, the dates came and went.
    Clatter. Clang. Crash. Another night brought no movement or sound from us, but a cacophony from below. I began pressing my ear—the good one—to the floor, picturing Penny, that toddler-sized doll with the moon face and vacant black eyes, rattling the walls of her cage. If I pressed my ear to the floor long enough, I could swear some moments I heard what sounded like something breathing. Sucking in air, blowing it back out. Lifting my head, I spoke to Rose in a quivering voice, near tears, “You’re crazy if you don’t hear those things. They’re pissed off. They’re sad. They want them back. I can tell.”
    Rose turned down the volume once more. With less enthusiasm each time, she did the lift-and-tilt motion with her head. “I’m sorry, Sylvie, but I really don’t hear anything. And why would I? There’s nothing down there except some rag doll and a bunch of dusty crap. You’re the crazy one if you believe the stuff Mom and Dad claimed to be true.”
    â€œI’m not crazy.”
    â€œWell, neither am I. And if you’re so convinced, go see for yourself.”
    We both knew I was too afraid to go down there alone.
    As the days wore on, Rose’s scoffing chipped away at me. I began to wonder if it was just a matter of