Before the outbreak of the rash, it was a bed-and-breakfast called Heather House. There is a professionally painted sign out front with the name on it. Someone has taken white paint and hurriedly slapped “Closed” over the calligraphy. Now Heather House is a mini Safety Zone. Three stories high with a rounded turret on the north side, the entire house is painted princess pink and trimmed in white. In many ways, it resembles a giant birthday cake with a single candle attached to it. A shiny brass weathervane with a rooster on it sits atop the tower. A black, wrought iron fence, roughly three feet high, tipped with spikes, runs along the front and down the north and south sides of the yards. A highly varnished plank of pine hangs on a pair of small gauge chains above the steps to a truly magnificent veranda. The porch wraps around three sides of the house. The hanging sign that once announced, “Welcome to Heather House” has had the word “Heather” blocked out with duct tape. Someone has written “freedom”
