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And why shouldn’t he? He was a senior investigator. Trained to see things others might miss.

Still, as he hunched over his keyboard, he continued to glance around. Given what had happened last time he looked, he knew this was probably not a good idea. He should call his sponsor. He should go for a walk.

He shouldn’t …

But his fingers touched the keyboard, touched the keys. Pressed down softly …

E … m … p … r …

Something woke Jean-Guy in the middle of the night. A strange noise. Though the ship was full of unfamiliar sounds, what was strange about this was that he actually recognized it. It wasn’t mechanical, it was human. A shout. Really more like a cry.

Rolling off his lower bunk in the third-class cabin, he got to his feet and stepped over to the porthole.

He opened it to get some fresh air. Looking out, all he saw was thick fog. And then, right there … just feet away …

He only had time to gasp, and take a half step back, before …

An almighty crash knocked him to the deck and threw his cabinmates out of their bunks.

There was the rending of metal, a terrible shriek as though the ship itself was crying out in pain. Then came more shouting. Unintelligible words, though the meaning could not have been clearer.

Panic.

Pushing furniture and his stunned cabinmates off him, Jean-Guy scrambled to his feet and looked out the porthole again.

What the fuck just happened? His heart was beating so hard it threatened to tear itself out of his chest.

He saw the other ship veer away and disappear into the night. Into the fog. It was possible, for a moment, to believe he’d dreamed the whole thing. If it weren’t for the mayhem in the cabin, and now … now.

Water. Pouring in through the open porthole as the ship began to tilt. The water was already up to his ankles. Shit!!

Terror set in. With shaking hands, he tried to close the porthole, but the force of the water was too great.

Someone had turned on the lights. His cabinmates were shouting now, but he barely heard them for the scream in his head.

Get out. Get out. Get out!

Eyes wide, legs and hands shaking, Jean-Guy Beauvoir sloshed through the now calf-deep water, toward the door. He slipped and skidded. Bruising his shins. Stubbing and tearing his toes.

And then the lights went out.

Gaston Comeau snuck out the back door of the B&B and into the woods.

He followed a narrow walking path already cut into the forest that ran behind the homes, keeping the village on his left. He walked as quietly as he could, and as quickly as he dared.

His goal was not to escape. He knew that here in this village he was safe. And safety for him was no small matter.

But he had to see.

If he could find it in the dark, he could find it now in daylight. Surely.

In the darkness, and in his panic, Jean-Guy became disoriented. Where was the door? The fucking door!

He pushed his cabinmates aside and felt a life jacket in the arms of one of them.

Jean-Guy ripped it from his grip. Then, hugging the preserver and ignoring the shrieks of outrage and the fists pounding his back, he felt along the walls. The ship was tilting further. It was more and more difficult to keep to his feet.

The door, the door. It’s here somewhere.