Something was odd. I didn’t see smoke or flashing lights, yet police and firemen were standing in the parking lot talking quietly. I noticed a woman shifting the weight of her shopping bags and asking questions. The blue shirts gave bureaucratic shrugs, and she left. I went over and asked them who had died, not knowing where questions like that come from. “The woman in number 10,” one of them said, without looking up. A few minutes later I walked past Audrey’s house. The windows and doors were open wide as though someone had fled with no intention of returning.