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twenty-three, using some of the money from a trust fund established by his parents before the car accident. A drunk driver had slammed into Ruth and Mark Little’s car when Kevin was only one—their deaths had reportedly been immediate. Their only son, Kevin, had been with a baby-sitter. The insurance settlement went to Ruth’s sister, Balinda Parson, who received full custody of Kevin and subsequently adopted him. With a few strokes of a judge’s pen, Kevin ceased being a Little and became instead a Parson. He had no memories of his real parents, no brothers or sisters, no possessions that he knew of. Only a trust account beyond anyone’s reach until he turned eighteen, much to Aunt Balinda’s chagrin.
    As it turned out, he had no need to touch the money until he turned twenty-three, and by that time it had grown into a sum in excess of three hundred thousand dollars—a small gift to help him build a new life once he got around to discovering he needed one. He’d called Balinda “Mother” until then. Now he called her his aunt. That’s all she was, thank God. Aunt Balinda.
    Kevin pulled into the garage and stepped out of the Taurus. He waved as the cop drove by, then closed the garage door. The timed light slowly faded. He stepped into the laundry room, glanced at a full hamper, and made a mental note to finish his laundry before he went to bed. If there was one thing he hated, it was disorder. Disorder was the enemy of understanding, and he’d lived long enough without understanding. How meticulous and organized did a chemist have to be in order to understand DNA? How organized had NASA been in reaching out to understand the moon? One mistake and boom .
    Mounds of dirty clothes reeked of disorder.
    Kevin walked into the kitchen and set the keys on the counter. Someone just blew up your car and you’re thinking about doing laundry . Well, what was he supposed to do? Crawl into the corner and hide? He’d just escaped death—he should be throwing a party. Let’s toast life, comrades. We have faced the enemy and we have survived the bomb blast down by the Wal-Mart.
    Please, get a grip. You’re babbling like a fool here. Still, in light of the past several hours, it was a blessing to be alive, and gratefulness was warranted. Great is thy faithfulness. Yes indeed, what a blessing we have received. Long live Kevin.
    He stared past the breakfast nook with its round oak dinette, through the picture window that overlooked the front yard. An oil pump sat dormant on a dirt hill beyond the street. This was his view. It’s what two hundred thousand dollars bought you these days.
    On the other hand, there was that hill. Kevin blinked. With a pair of binoculars, anyone with a mind to could park himself at the base of that oil pump and watch Kevin Parson organize his laundry in complete anonymity.
    The trembles were suddenly back. Kevin rushed over to the window and quickly lowered the miniblinds. He spun around and scanned the main floor. Besides the kitchen and laundry room, there was the living room, the bathroom, and sliding glass doors, which led to a small lawn encircled by a white picket fence. The bedrooms were upstairs. From this angle he could see right through the living room into the backyard. For all he knew, Slater could have been watching him for months!
    No. That was stupid. Slater knew of him, maybe something from his past—a demented motorist he’d hacked off on the highway. Maybe even—
    No, it couldn’t be that. He was just a kid then.
    Kevin wiped his forehead with his arm and stepped into the living room. A large leather sofa and a recliner faced a forty-two-inch flat-screen television. What if Slater had actually been in here?
    He scanned the room. Everything was in its place, the coffee table dusted, the carpet vacuumed, the magazines in their rack beside the recliner. Order. His Introduction to Philosophy text sat on the dinette beside him. Large two-by-three-foot travel posters covered the