The Breach

VERSE I
AN OCTOBER NIGHT IN 1992

His footsteps are the only sound in the night, and they don't carry far.

For this time of year in Minneapolis, the day has been warm and wet, but in the past hour-the hour before midnight-a chill has moved in on the city, stirring wraiths of fog into the graveyard quiet of Cedar Street.

This deep in the neighborhood, there are no streetlights. Some of those who carve out their lives here prefer it that way. Tonight, so does Travis Chase. It is dark enough that he presents neither shadow nor silhouette, and his shoes make only faint ticks on the broken pavement. The only things in the night sharp enough to sense his presence are those things wilder than himself-even as he thinks this, a dog chain rattles softly on a porch, somewhere in the fog to his left-but his business on Cedar Street at this hour doesn't concern such things. His approach will not be detected by anyone that matters.

The.32 is in his pocket, loaded with hollowpoints.

Ahead of him the fog thins, and he sees the house. Emily Price's house. The only light comes from the big living-room window, casting its shape out into the mist. He can picture the two of them inside, maybe sitting on the couch, holding each other close and saying little or nothing. When he thinks of that, Travis's shame burns.

He has no idea what will happen when he knocks on the door.