The bus idled for a time, releasing a cloud of exhaust, as if to provide a misted backdrop for a melodrama. The two principals walked from it, through the creaking gate and past the cherry tree in the front garden. They paused by the front door and seemed to reflect for a moment before the more lumbersome of them moved to the small half-gate to the left of it, past the garage. One hand reached over, a latch clicked back and they both walked through and out of sight. Then the bus drew off on the last run of its shift, leaving an even denser cloud of exhaust, which took its time to disperse in the still night air.
There was a long interval of silence. Then the sound of a circular saw, one of the small table-top kinds, used for home carpentry. A symphony of extended, agonising screams then, which gradually changed to a diminuendo of whimpers and groans and eventually reverted to silence once more.
And the last wisps of exhaust fumes dispersed then, as if exhausted themselves.