"I think this house does some weird things. OK? And you have this sense of the house, right? Like—what, like it's part of you, right? Or you're part of it." She nodded. "But you really didn't know where my wrecking bar was, did you?" She shook her head. "The stuff high in that cupboard over the fridge, you knew about that. It sort of washed up there. Washed to shore, so to speak." She nodded. "So why couldn't you see behind the furnace?" No answer. No movement. He'd have to try another tack. "Why didn't you ever get to that job in Rhode Island? Why didn't you go? You were so close." Still no answer. "And you never got your degree. After working on it for so many years." "Some of us don't suffer from completion anxiety." Good. She was talking. She was joking a little. "What held you here, Sylvie? There were other people living in this house that last year before the landlord closed it down.
