“These stay closed,” he instructed. “Don’t let anyone in.” “But my window,” I said. “I have to call Fred Silbert, have him come over and fix it.” Roger dropped his hands to his hips. “You aren’t deaf. I know you heard me. No one gets in here. Not Fred, not even one of the cops from the patrol car. No one.” I gazed at the plywood sheet nailed over my front window. I dropped my eyes to the burn marks on my living room carpet. In my mind, my house had begun to look like the ramshackle hovels I saw in my vision. Soon, it would look like the falling-apart barn those masked men came out of. This wasn’t a hovel. It was my home, my sanctuary. No way would I let it stay a rundown mess. Roger must have seen my eyes roam around the room, because he muttered, “You are such a pain.” He lifted the skirt of his camelhair coat and reached into his back pocket.
