The leaves were quivering, shadows danced beneath the lights, the water in the ornamental pond rippled, and the red carp swam restlessly to and fro—it looked like a storm was brewing. It seemed as if the entire world was gathering momentum, a crack split the pitch-dark sky with lightning, and a black plastic bag was swept into the high air, taking on various twisted shapes in the fissure of light.
The night before the thunderstorm was oppressive and violent, with a sense of tragic destruction, yet also a satisfying feeling of devastation.
Rae Bennett loved this sensation because it was sufficiently profound.
Her phone rang just as she pushed open the greenhouse's glass door.
"Are you home yet?" Wyatt Wright knew Rae had attended an auction that evening.
"I'm at Imperial Residence." Rae walked into the greenhouse and turned on the light, "It's going to rain, so I'll go back tomorrow."
