“Mom, do we really have to keep all this shit?”

“Watch your language. And no. Maybe the furniture. But we’ll take the rest to Goodwill or something. In a few weeks, once things have calmed down. We’ll get curtains, too, as soon as it’s safe to go out.”

Warren held up a vaguely phallic ashtray. “No one wants this old guy’s shit. Not even his kids did.”

“Watch your language! His kids all died before he did. And we’ll throw that one away.”

If the sun hadn’t been so bright, we might have turned on the overhead light then, and that’s probably when it would have started to flash.

***

“That old guy must have really liked windows,” Warren said, mac ‘n cheese pushed into his cheeks. He was still wearing sunglasses.

“It’s a nice view, though,” I said. My eyes drifted from the bowl of electric orange noodles to the ridge of pines past the yard. “Safe and hidden. They won’t think to look for us here.” I smiled.

The sun dipped below the tree line, granting us relief from the glare.

I flicked on the light switch. It fluttered, weak, then grew brighter, blinked out, then swelled.

Warren buried his face in his elbow. “This place is awful.”

My throat constricted. I felt our fresh start turning sour. “It’ll be good. We just have to make it home, that’s all.”

“Dad bought a condo in San Diego,” Warren said. “You can see the ocean. Walk to all the shops.”

“Yeah, well, Dad can go fuck himself. We can’t go to a city—there are too many people. Too many cops.”

“Watch your language.” Warren cracked a smile.

“Drag that chair over, and I’ll change the bulb.”

Warren slid the chair under the blinking fixture. I flicked the switch off. The light continued to flash.

“Well. Maybe we just shouldn’t use this one,” I said. “How about you go get some sleep?”

I dragged the chair back to the table as Warren trudged down the hall to the room he had picked. For all his complaints about windows, he’d chosen the best view.

***

“Mom! MOM!”

Adrenaline surged as I fought off my blankets, trying to think through the stupor of panic—Where am I? Where is Warren?

I chased his screams to his room. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s someone walking around the house—past the windows!” He was curled up at the head of the bed, pillow clutched to his chest.

“Was it the police?” I cupped my shaking hands against the glass and peered out toward the line of trees. “I don’t see anyone, sweetie. Are you sure? Were you dreaming?”

“No—it was a person, walking.”

“Maybe it was a neighbor.” I thought back to the map of the property. Isolated. Nothing for miles. Perfect. “Stay here. I’ll check it out.”