“Sara. . .” Jeremy sighed. “All right, maybe I do think you’re crazy, a bit. But that’s not important right now. What’s important is that you’re hurt, and you need a doctor. Please, Sara. Put down the knife, and let me call you an ambulance.”

“The ambulance won’t arrive in time,” Sara said. “And if they do, then they’ll need to be a hearse.” She dipped her finger in the pool of blood dripping from her arm, used it to draw a jagged line from one of her stab marks to the next, then again and again, until she had formed a seven-pointed star on the wall. “Jeremy, please,” she whispered. “Go back to your room, lock the door, and don’t come out. The others will be fine, they’re not involved. You got yourself involved when you gave me those cookies. Please, don’t get in any deeper.”

“Sara, wait.” Jeremy took a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe I can help you. Please. Trust me.”

It had the desired effect. Sara hesitated a moment, and that was when Jeremy grabbed her and pulled the knife away.