The evening partying ended, as usual. The ice melted and empty bottles floated in the cold water. Local favorite, Medalla. Pizza boxes stacked on the table. No slices left just crumpled napkins and pieces of crust with perfectly formed bite marks. Porch light left on. Door unlocked. “Go in” she said, “They are waiting for you.” “This is strange,” I said. “Where are they if they are waiting for me?” “They fell asleep waiting,” she said, “go inside.” One suitcase in each hand I opened the door. Looked around. Kitchen. Living room. Three rooms with shut doors. One open door.