He seemed to be a nice man. Not very tall. Thinning hair that was probably gray underneath whatever black compound he layered over it. He wore clothes...that once would have simulated an agent in the entertainment industry but had since worn thin and were clearly outdated.He drove to a pleasant neighborhood with older cars and streets lined with tall trees. “This is my place,” he commented as he unlocked the front door and led us in. And then . . .right there . . . right before me . . . rising. Everything came back to the incident at the game three nights ago. It hadn’t been something he’d done. It hadn’t even been because of someone on the other team coming after him. He’d gone after the puck along the boards and turned to follow as the small black disc had shot out along the ice. Whatever he did, something in his move had twisted his ankle and the second he’d put weight on it, he’d gone down. The team was supportive and assured him that they wouldn’t be the same without him. He. More

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