Carol came in from her morning walk, noting the smell of firecrackers and exhaust in the air as she took off her coat and boots. The dog immediately ran to the head of the basement stairs and let out a half-whine, half-bark. Carol called out to Ted, who she thought must be up and about by now certainly, but there was no answer. "What in the name of God is that smell?" she yelled, loud enough to wake the dead. Still, silence. She hesitatingly made her way to the basement, calling out to him as she went. It was years before she could accept what she saw there—the noose, the rafter, the blood seeped into the Berber, Ted oozing, eyes rolled back, sprawled. Even after she shook him, tried to revive him, called 911, she could not stop from asking, over and over, "What have you done? Ted, what have you done?" June didn't have to see it to not believe it.