I don’t know what made me look up that first night. I never had before. Every night at exactly seven-thirty I walked the same streets, music in my ears, eyes fixed straight ahead. Maybe it was a flash of movement. Maybe a subconscious tug of my attention. But I did look, glancing right at the house I was passing. It was a cute little brownstone, not much different than the others along this street packed in like anchovies...