A knock at the door, seven-thirty in the morning. Howard, had he returned early? Clive danced around his feet and tried to topple him while he greeted his guest.

Five feet five of man stood in front of him, sunglasses for a sunless day, and dressed like he was at a cocktail party that was for determining the nuclear launch codes.

“Hoyle?” Clive came out to meet the guest, to even intimidate him with her guttural purring. He seemed unaffected.

“Hello, sir.” Hoyle nodded. The third stranger to knock on his door this week – the third stranger to ever knock on his door. “How can help?”

“Hoyle. I’m Renald from the FFCO. May I ask you a few questions?” Renald said. His mouth muscles almost segregated from the rest of his face when he talked.

“FFCO?” Hoyle asked.

“Mhm, FFCO, Forceful Force Coordination Organization. May I come in?” Renald presented a badge and search warrant like Hoyle was the bouncer to club and it was seven in the evening.

“Please, sure, right this way.” Hoyle lead his guest down the main hall. “My office is a mess so we can sit in the kitchen if that’s alright with you.” Hoyle noticed dishes from last night still lay in the sink, and from five nights prior. “Never mind, let’s go to my office.”

Hoyle brushed all his papers, full of diagrams and childish scrawlings, into stacks and tried to pretend he was sorting. “Please – was it Renald? Please, have a seat.” He gestured to a plaid armchair. Hoyle was now under a coffee table pawing out more stacks, Clive overseeing the work.

“So,” Hoyle said, pleased with his arrangements and sitting in the other armchair across from Renald, this one a cotton gray. “How can I help?”

“I’ll need to see some identification. Hoyle, may I have your passport?” Hoyle got up and shuffled piles around until he found his passport. Renald took it, leafed through to Hoyle’s face, nodded, then laid it on the coffee table.

“Howard, Hoyle. How do you know him?” Renald opened.

“He’s my neighbour.” Hoyle replied, who was this man? Shape up, Hoyle, he’s walked into your house and you’ve let him walk like he owns the damn thing. Hoyle decided on a conservative approach.

“How long have you two been neighbours?” Renald followed up.

“Oh, maybe a few years. I moved in six years ago and, if I remember, I met Howard a few months into that first year.” said Hoyle.

“Mmhm.” Renald was taking notes, but the lengths of the flicks of the pen didn’t match the length of Hoyle’s replies. “Five-and-a-half years then. How’d you two meet?”

“My wife. Her key card broke and Howard happened to be coming home.” said Hoyle.

“And?” prompted Renald.

And? thought Hoyle. Who is this Renald and what in the hell is the Forceful Force Coordination Organization. “And… she invited him round for super that week and that’s how I met him?” Hoyle said it as if he was in an oral exam and Renald knew all the answers, had them all on the sheet in front of him.

“Hoyle. Had Howard ever talked to you about his job?”

Inside, Hoyle froze. Had. Was Howard okay? Renald said had. “You said had. What do you mean, had? Had! Is Howard okay?” Hoyle stood up and shouted at Renald, “What did you do to him?”

Renald also stood up, but to show Hoyle the Kimber Stainless Raptor II in his hand. “Hoyle. You said you’ve known Howard at least five years. Curious, considering he moved in two months ago.”

Yesterday was one of those muggy, humid days that squeeze like a pool full of sap. Hoyle found that weather unbearable, he hated to sweat. Hoyle was sweating now, but today was cool.

“What.” Hoyle had already lost the composure game. He sat down. Renald returned to his armchair, the Raptor II vanished.

“Hoyle, I’ll ask again. How long have you two been neighbours?” Renald took off his sunglasses and cleaned them with a cloth from his pocket, each circle was a tick on a clock.

“Five years. Look let me get me wife and my mortgage statements. I have written proof.” Hoyle stood up, it at least gave the creased parts of his body some air to breath.

“I’d prefer, Hoyle, if you stayed right here while we finish our discussion.” Renald put his sunglasses back on, blotted out his eyes from Hoyle.

“I’ll just be a minute, they’re right in the lounge I – “ Hoyle started.

“ – Hoyle, you’re making this more difficult than I’d prefer it to be.” Renald was also standing, but Hoyle was already at the office door. “Hoyle! Don’t try it.” Renald wasn’t advancing further, but Hoyle also saw that he wasn’t to the point of showing off his firearm again.

Hoyle grabbed the door handle, flung the office door open, and stopped. “What,” he whispered below his breath. He turned his head to look at Renald, the sunglasses figure would have been passed over as furniture in the room he was standing so still. Renald flickered.

“What in the bloody hell.” is all Hoyle found inside him.

“Hoyle, please have a seat.” like a waiter at a fine establishment, Renald tried to coax Hoyle back.

Hoyle didn’t hear the request. He was lost in his own mutterings, trying to piece together what he was looking at. Trying to find where the rest of his house had gone.

“Hoyle…”

The hallway, coat hangar and shoe rack, the walnut polished floor with the Ethiopian carpet that Janice had brought back for him, six pairs of shoes between him, his wife, and his daughter, the cat tree – all of it, replaced. Instead where his hallway would stretch left to the kitchen or meander back to the front door where he’d greeted Renald, was a void. A space that hung, with nothing inside but a buzzing texture like a retrofitted television set in a world without signal. Nothing, there was nothing there, no one thing for his eyes to make a symbol out of, to carry him into a realm of identification. There was his office, then the void. That was all.

But what was that? To his eyes, the void was nothing, but to his ears, yes, through his ears the void was not empty. It was faint, but it was something. A soft meow coming from somewhere knee-height in grey hole before him. Yes, he could still hear his home.

“Clive?”