A town library covered in cobwebs and shadow.

Sitting in the foyer of the hotel under crossbeams of wild sunlight piercing a dark place hovering in the room, I notice the plants in the corner are dying.

Two distinct scars underneath the chin were dusted for evidence, while in the next room, the hands were dusted for fingerprints pressed into the fingerprints. Downstairs in the den, which had been ravaged by fire but put out long before paramedics arrived, the whole room was swept up and oiled down and covered in glass wax, to preserve the damage.

It starts to feel so confusing, when the rain makes it dark inside the house and the power cuts out and there are no sounds but the dying hum of the box fan in the kitchen.