Prologue

It was colder than he expected in the morning’s dim light as he turned the key and heard the car engine groan its protest against the frost that covered the ground and windows in a thin layer. He turned up the defrost to high and rolled down the windows, letting the icy edge of the air snap him into a more present state of awareness, as he backed the reluctant car into the street and steered forward in the direction of the rising sun.

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As he drove, his mind moved rapidly through a series of thoughts and images: did he lock the basement door? Yes; the familiar cold pale lemon light of the sun’s disk seeping through its misty gray blankets; the grocery list he failed to write down that included milk, bread, cheese and toilet paper; Katy’s angry face with tear-filled eyes; the oil change he had scheduled that afternoon; the state of the economy and the possible threat of war to come; a new baseball glove he needed to buy for his son’s birthday; the face of the man he was going to kill that evening…

And as always, looming over it all, the fat, leering face of Junior — the puppet master who had destroyed his life — who glowered at him and laughed as he made his hateful demands. Someday, he would smash that face. Someday.

But not today. He had other things to think about today, as he descended from the heights and drove down the steep slant of Superior Street and into the heart of Crystal Falls.