Excerpt: The House of Dreams

And so life returned to something resembling normal, after the second body. His supervisor stopped by his cubicle and took him aside for a meeting that afternoon. In hushed and somber tones, he revealed that a Sergeant A. Brom had called and inquired about him, asking innocuous questions about his job, his behavior, his social life. His supervisor asked if Marcus needed to take some time off to deal with any personal matters, and then he awkwardly handed him a piece of paper with the number of the company's resident counselor, muttering something about, "doors always being open." A phone call from the company that ran his apartment complex inquired as to whether he had any specials needs, or perhaps needed to move to a different location, something they would be willing to waive the usual fees for; he called them back to assure them that he was fine where he was, thank you. He received a call from a detective, thanking him for his cooperation. Someone sent a bouquet of flowers, mostly daisies and other unfeminine florals, although Marcus could not for the life of him figure out who had sent them. With all of that business behind him, he quickly settled back into his usual routine. The presence of police lamps and crime scene investigators was a small bit of disruption to his normally quiet home life, but it was easy enough to schedule around them, and a few evenings out at coffee shops or book stores ensured that his apartment building had been abandoned by the time he returned home to walk the dogs and eat his dinner. After three days, the police lamps were gone, the crime scene tape had all disappeared, and the door to Tim's apartment again had a doorknob and was latched closed. He received no notice about a funeral, which was fine. And that was that, it seemed, when it came to the life and death of Tim Roberts, 36 year old hockey lover, HVAC technician, owner of two gerbils, and father of one daughter (from a previously unsuccessful marriage).