They're watching me. I can't believe it. I pick up the phone: it's tapped. I pull back the curtains: there's a face in the window across the street. I open the drawer and pull out my gun. Nobody's going to watch me.
The photograph curled and withered in the consuming mouth of the flames, the still image of six saluting firefighters forever obliterated by the hand of fate. Somewhere, an alarm sounded, but no one answered it.