Then he dragged the rug back over the hole and stood facing the window. He checked his reflection for tears, then tried to compose his face back into a Peter. A Peter he could recognize. A Peter he could stand to recognize. And it crossed his mind that if he was able to watch himself standing at the foot of his island that day the river trader had travelled to the lake seeking help, he might not even see the same boy standing there. But it was no use having those thoughts. None at all. What was gone was gone. Time and choices saw to all that.

“No joy?” said the sheriff, much quieter now that he was standing directly behind him. “But you’ve been in here longer than a couple on their wedding night.”

Peter stood with his back to the bedroom door, watching the sheriff’s reflection in the window. The sheriff leaned into the doorframe, toying with his trapper hat. Snow on the flappy ears began to thaw, making the tips of both straps drip, drip. And he was calm, unsuspecting perhaps, but his expression was indiscernible behind the constant movement of the snow outside.

“It took a while getting the back off the painting,” said Peter quietly. “Unfortunately, when I did, there was nothing there.”

“That’s too bad, son.”

“Yes,” said Peter. “It is. But I’ll double check everything in a minute.”

Snow skittered across the windowpane.

A log on the fire in the front room popped.

“It’s really picked up out there,” said the sheriff after a while.

Peter nodded. “And now the wolves have come.”

“Yeah, I could hear them from the top of the watchtower. It’s quite the place.”

“Yes,” said Peter. “Quite the place.”

“But at least you’ve found sanctuary from Teddy’s infernal pointing and naming. I don’t suppose even he would dare tell you what’s what, up here.”

Peter said nothing and the snow continued to tumble across the sheriff’s reflection. And the pair of them stood there for a while in the pocket of each other’s silence with nothing but the persistent drip of water falling from the hat, when Peter made the decision and turned to take in the sheriff with his own eyes. And it wasn’t hard at all to see how that kind worn-in face, with a moustache as endearing on a man as any he’d known, could’ve inspired millions of people to vote for him as their senator. Even now, it wasn’t hard to see how he’d achieved the kind of power that could consign a whole race of people to their deaths. Not at all.

“Why did you offer to pay my rent?” Peter asked.

“I think you know why.”