If he’d awoken in the middle of the night and stumbled across the scene it might have seemed peaceful, but there was something unnerving at the lack of lit windows beyond the railroad tracks. The glass panes now seemed to stare him down, sockets without eyes.

The rum was doing an excellent job of warming her against the chill of the lake breeze. Somewhere in the darkness, down where the lapping water worked at an embankment overrun with grasses, a bullfrog began to croon a long and low note.