his heart isnt equal to the task , not with moldering rungs below that break under his weight , that slip out of his grasp above and the dangerous buckle as he rises through dead bindweed toward the open red window like a lover or a fireman , not a fireman though , forty years too late for that , and the one-way lover hadnt needed a ladder , the key is under the mat as mrs morgenstern said it would be and he gets it and inserts it and lets himself in , steals across the living room to the stairs and up the stairs to that room at the end of the corridor and at that point , taking him out of it , cars brake violently in front of the house , voices , the slamming of the car doors .