For Booker, the walk up to the second-floor apartment took a thousand lifetimes. Making sure to stay a few steps behind, he watched in silence as Tom shuffled haltingly in his bare feet along the worn linoleum floors, a light cotton blanket held securely around his hunched shoulders, shielding his body from view. When they finally reached Tom's residence, Booker turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. No light shone through the curtained windows, the week-long dereliction casting a doleful gloom around the apartment. It was Dennis’ first glimpse of Tom's home, and his first impression was it appeared cold and cheerless. But he quickly realized the uncomfortable vibe wasn't radiating from the room, it was his somber demeanor
