Luc Racine stared at the TV. He really liked this show. It was on every night at the same time. Syndicated repeats, but each episode seemed new to him. He couldn’t remember the characters’ names, except the old guy, the father, reminded him of himself. Perhaps only because he had a Jack Russell terrier, too. Eddie—that was the dog’s name. Figures he’d remember the dog’s name.

He looked around the living room, thinking he needed to turn on a light, the TV screen the only illumination in the darkening room. When had it started to get dark? It seemed like he had just sat down for lunch. He hated the dark. Sometimes he worried that he might eventually forget how to turn on the lights. What if he honestly couldn’t figure out how they worked? It had already happened with that box in the kitchen. That thing, that box…that food-warmer thing. Shoot! See, he couldn’t even remember what the damned thing was called.

He reached over and switched on two lamps, glancing around, wishing he knew what had happened to the remote control. He was always misplacing it. Oh well, he liked this show. No need to change the channel. He sat back and watched, absently scratching Scrapple behind the ears. The dog was worn out from their day’s adventure. It was still Monday, wasn’t it?

The phone startled Luc. It always did, only because he received few phone calls. Still, for some reason it was close by, within reach.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Pops. The department sergeant told me he saw you on the evening news.”

“How did I look?”

“Pop, what the fuck’s going on?”

“Jules, you know I don’t care for that language.”

“He said you found a dead body in McCarty’s old rock quarry. Is that true?”

“Calvin Vargus was moving some rocks and a woman fell out of a barrel.”

“You’re kidding. Who the hell is she?”

“Don’t know. Sounds like something you’d have down there in D.C., huh?”

“Just be careful, Pop. I don’t like the sound of this. And I don’t like you being out in the middle of nowhere by yourself.”

Luc stared at the TV screen. “Frasier,” he said, seeing the show’s title on the screen.

“What’s that, Pop?”

He felt it this time like a flipping of a switch. He blinked several times, but it didn’t help. He looked around the room and the panic caught him off guard. Outside the windows it looked dark. He hated the dark. Inside there were shelves with books, a pile of newspapers in the corner, pictures on the walls, a jacket by the door. None of it looked familiar. Where the hell was he?

“Pop, are you okay?” Someone was yelling in his ear. “What the hell’s going on?”

Yelling, but it sounded like it had come through a wind tunnel. There was a bit of an echo. An echo with words jumbled and then interrupted by a bark. A bark followed by another and another.

Sometimes it felt like jerking awake suddenly from a deep sleep. This time it was Scrapple sitting in front of him, looking up at him and barking as if in Morse Code.

“Pop, are you there?”

“I’m here, Jules.”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, sure.”

Now there was silence on the other end. He didn’t want to worry her. What was worse was that it was embarrassing. He didn’t want her to know, to see what her father was becoming.

“Listen, Pop—” her voice was soft, reminding him of when she was a little girl, so sweet and shy “—I’m gonna try to get up there as soon as I can. Maybe in a couple of days, okay?”

“Jules, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“I’ll let you know what my schedule is as soon as I check it.”

“I don’t want you changing your schedule for me.”

“Damn! They’re paging me, Pop. I gotta go. You stay out of trouble. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“You stay out of trouble, too. I love you, Jules.” But she was already gone, a dial tone buzzing in his ear. Next time she called he’d convince her he was fine. He had to. As much as he loved seeing her, he couldn’t risk her seeing him fumble and forget. He couldn’t stand her being embarrassed of him, or worse, feeling sorry for him.

Luc glanced around the room again, comforted and calmed by the simple recognition of his things. He looked back at the TV, but as he did so he thought he saw someone move outside the window. He stopped. Had he imagined it? Had there been movement? A shadow walking right by the back window?

No, it was crazy. He hadn’t heard a car door. No one would be out walking around in the dark. It was the stress of the day. He had to have imagined it. But as he crossed the room to pull the blinds shut and make sure the door was locked, he saw that Scrapple was still watching the window. The dog’s ears were pitched, listening, and his tail was tucked between his legs. Luc had assumed the dog had barked to get him out of his daze. But had Scrapple seen someone, too?