Outside, rain drops tick, tick, tick off the eaves and splash into growing puddles. Thunder growls and shakes the little wood-framed home while a peal of lightning splits the sky. The storm matches Singleton’s mood. Even through the roar of the storm, he hears the sound of a slamming car door. It’s too close to be the neighbors. He pushes himself out of his rocker, shuffles to the small foyer, and peeks out through the mini curtain covering the tiny window in the door. A young man in a heavy grey trench coat approaches. Rain pours from above but the man is in no hurry—he ambles from the street as if he’s taking a leisurely stroll through a park on a sunny, cloudless day. Singleton wonders if the man’s car has broken down. He has no friends and no family within four hundred miles, so he’s curious as to who this man might be. Lightning strikes in the distance, temporarily turning the approaching figure into an eclipsed silhouette—a black stain moving against a dark night. Then it hits him like a locomotive striking a cow that’s wandered too close to the tracks.
