All the lights are on in all the rooms. Every room is empty except one. Dodie sits at her kitchen table. Her fingers tremble and the cigarette slips and falls to the table where she sees the gun. Turning away, she rises and walks to the window to peer through the blinds again. The silence of the night still echoes with whacks of fists, and the sounds of angry words. The gun gleams in the fluorescent light. The clip is full. She unlocks the kitchen door. She stands in the middle of the room. She knows what she must do. The doorknob turns. She pulls the trigger. The blast splits the night. The clock ticks.
