Chapter 2
Later that evening Michael lay awake in bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. Many times he had tried to find sleep, turning one way and then the other to get settled enough to drift off. But the incident that afternoon was playing on his mind, leading him to all sorts of wild and terrifying conclusions. How could he hope to rest with an imagination that was working overtime?
He lifted his head from the pillow and looked at the red digits of the clock on his bedside table. 10:45. It was late, but not too late.
He padded out to the kitchen and scoured the contents of the fridge, though nothing appealed to him. Coffee, he decided, would only exacerbate his restlessness. Whiskey. There was some in the pantry. He splashed some into a glass and took a sip. Yes, that was what
