”“Yes, Mom, Thank You. And please find out the funeral arrangements and let me know as soon as you can.”“I will. What are you going to do?”�...�I’m coming back for it.”“Are you sure that’s the right thing to do?”“It’s the only thing to do. I have to. ”----Dillon grew up in a modest, split-level house in a suburban, middle-class neighborhood. Just him, his sister Irene, who was two years younger, and his parents, Tanya and Miles. The textbook nuclear family. His parents still lived there. Dillon now. She smiled, coyly biting one fingernail, and looked up at him through her lashes. ‘Hmm. Well, let’s see. I have four of these,’ he lifted the white rope from the night before. He delved into his bag and poked through the contents. ‘And I have these.’ He pulled his hand out, dangling a set of steel handcuffs from one finger. ‘And just what do you propose to do with those?’ she asked, one eyebrow arched in mock indignation. ‘Maybe I’ll let you decide.’ His hand disappeared into the bag again.. More

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