"No. I mean—I saw a woman in the courtyard. Same coat. Same way of standing with her weight on one hip." He laughed, hollow. "I almost yelled at her. And then she turned around, and it was just a stranger."
Andy nodded. He always nodded.
"And do what?"
Andy didn't move. "We can't stay here."
The door to the apartment was still chained. The landlord's body had been gone for three days—they'd shoved it down the garbage chute in pieces, working in silent tandem like a two-headed animal. No one had come looking. No one ever did. the coffin of andy and leyley