’ I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Rhonda’s number. She answered on the fourth ring.“‘Lo?” She must have been sound asleep.“Rhonda, she�...�s gone. Dead.”“What? Your mother?”“No. I’m sorry. Joanne. Turn on your TV.”“It’s only six-thirty here. What will be on? What station?”“It doesn’t make a difference. It will be on everywhere.” I heard the television come on and a few mumbled complaints.“What’s going on, Brian?” Rose demanded. She’d apparently taken the phone from Rhonda. I could hear the. Minutes later, Allison walked out of her room, wearing the silk nightie and robe tied closed at the waist. She checked and adjusted the towel that encased her hair like a turban as she padded down the hall. She reached an open common area, and now was less surprised at the trappings of means she saw displayed; the paintings and sculptures, the grand piano in the corner, a large screen—presumably a television—covering much of one of the walls. In the midst of the scene, she saw the man from last. More

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