Jesse sat on his porch, a glass of scotch in his hand, the bottle on the table beside him. The evening breeze was chilling, but he didn’t feel it. The cascading waters of the bay provided background accompaniment that he didn’t hear.

Although present, Mildred sensed that it might not be the right time for her to be on his lap. She sat on the adjacent chair, her eyes glued to him.

He had never fully realized how much he had come to care for Clarice. She faded from life as she looked in his eyes. He saw it happen.

He poured himself more scotch.

He hadn’t been drunk in a while. Sobriety had sneaked up on him when he wasn’t watching. Days went by without him ever taking a drink. Or even wanting one.

Tonight was different.

Tonight he wanted one.

More than one.

He hoped that the scotch would accomplish what he was unable to achieve himself. Annie Carmine, he thought. He wanted it to erase the haunting look in her dying eyes from his mind and his heart.

Before it could happen, however, he passed out where he sat.