EpilogueDean Bartow perched on the end of his bed, alone but for the chirping of bluebirds outside. He stared at the smeared glass of the window, not seeing the empty house beyond, not truly. Instead he imagined a time when people lived there. The woman, her brother. Even the cat. His father, on the rare occasion he had happened by, always fixated on the family that had lived there. They shared a common bond, one that excluded him from the rest of his family. He had rescued his father from Worcester Hospital, his hero a broken man. And then she had ended it, stabbing him in the dark. Dean stared at the window, hatred infusing his entire being; his only thought was one of vengeance. He had watched as men had loaded up a truck with everything from the house. He had wandered through the barre
