It was late in the day; she didn’t want to tempt fate by riding at night. They descended into town. Sporadic bursts of frantic barking erupted as they passed many of the houses, and the occasional window curtain parted as the occupant noted their passage. On their arrival she stared in admiration at Richard’s house. After years of communal living, she found it hard to imagine being the sole owner of such a place. “Will the infamous Zonk be there?” she asked. “Not right now,” said Richard. “I left him at a shelter while I was gone.” When they reached the front gate it was open. “Damn,” said Richard. “I was afraid this would happen.” They sped through the gate and parked near the front door. It too had been broken open. Richard turned to her without speaking and put a finger to his lips. He held out his hand gesturing for her to stay where she was. Reluctantly, she did what he asked. He tiptoed through the door, and for a long time she didn’t hear a sound. She was about to venture in herself, imagining Richard lying in a pool of blood, his throat slit by some intruder, when he re-appeared.
