Resembling slow motion, Calvin picked up his shotgun, walked to the door of his pickup truck, climbed behind the wheel, and turned the key to start the engine. It cranked a bit and finally turned over, and Calvin drove sluggishly away, so slowly that barely any dust rose in its tracks. The old truck glided across the driveway like a memory across a mind. Still standing in the doorframe, Tom realized that he didn’t even know what Calvin Purdy looked like; on this moonless night, he never saw the face of his late-night visitor. In many ways, Calvin was just a disquieted ghost from the past.
