By all appearances, it is, impossibly, October 25, 2007, the night his daughter was killed in a hit-and-run. She never made it to Dairy Queen to meet up with her friends, which means this tragedy will happen in the next ten minutes. And she already has a two-minute head start. He isn’t wearing shoes, but he’s wasted enough time already. Pulling the front door to the house closed, he steps down into the lawn, leaves crunching under his bare feet, and heads off into the night.
