David told him he would discuss the house with his family and decide things within the week. The feeling that had overwhelmed him at first sight of the place he was unable to fully articulate, and after giving himself some more time for rational thought, he had all but dismissed it as a bad case of the nerves. The FERC meeting had been hell, and he had brought those feelings with him, that was all.

Hank’s voice came back to him: Last family here lost their little girl; they never found her. Woods run back ‘bout forty miles some places.

It was getting late now, and the wind had picked up, sweeping the snow from the drifts along the curb. David got into his car quickly, slamming the door before the snow and wind followed him in. The Corolla started up with a protesting whine.

It wasn’t snowing yet, but the visibility was almost as bad. Gusts of wind shook the little car, and now and again sheets of blowing snow came up and blinded him, causing that quick second of panic before the windshield cleared and there was the road, stretching out beyond the glow of the headlights. The last time he had been in anything like this was the big storm that hit New York the previous winter. He remembered the storm clearly because that was the night of the fight with McDougal. Over the past few months he had tried to block out the memory, but now it came flooding back at him all at once, filling his head like the sheets of blowing snow outside the Toyota; that look in the man’s eyes, and the feeling of rage that had welled up within him until he could hardly keep from swinging his fist and punching McDougal in the face.