Paul and Vivian are lying side by side on the empty floor in the empty room off Vivian’s kitchen. They are not touching. They lie there, looking up at the ceiling. The carpet has been removed, the furniture is gone. The room is bare.
“This is the first time I’ve been in this room again since that morning,” Vivian says.
Paul doesn’t move.
“Oh God, Richard. Imagine. Just imagine. What a horrible way to die.” Vivian sobs.
Paul rolls over onto his side, away from Vivian. Lying on his back made him think too much of Richard, of how he was taped – his legs, his arms – to the bedposts. Paul is suddenly so glad that his bed is a Japanese design, low to the ground, and has no bedposts. It’s all solid wood angles. Nowhere to tie anyone up.
“I don’t know if this is working,” Paul says to the wa
