a story of a cia agent stalking a girl and writing her letters In a quiet suburban neighborhood, nestled among the trees and the soft hum of lawnmowers, there's a house. A house that stands out from the rest. Not because it's larger or more ostentatious, but because it's surrounded by a high, wrought-iron fence topped with razor wire. The front gate is locked and chained, the only indication that someone lived there was the occasional glimpse of a curtain twitching in a window. It's a house that no one talks about, and no one seems to visit. It's a house that belongs to Sally.