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Agnes pauses by the window and puts down her cleaning rag. For just a moment, she could have sworn that a house stood in the vacant lot outside. If she stared into the window that faced hers, she could watch the lives inside that house play out, from one minute to the next, like an episode of… She frowns, unable to remember the last TV show that she saw.
For just a moment, the woman who might have lived in that house is real – she’s begging and sobbing – she’s alive with power as she floats above Westview with arms outstretched. Agnes can almost reach out and touch her, feel all of that energy crackling beneath her skin, draw it out through their joined mouths and intertwined fingers.
She blinks, and the memories slide away, like the eyes of the townspeople when they pass her on the street, like the image of the house that never stood in the vacant lot. Agnes turns away from the window and resumes her cleaning.