The lights flickered as the sound of thunder rattled the windows before going out, casting Edmund into darkness. The sound of wind and torrential rain lashed against the window as he fumbled for a lighter. He cursed the decision to quit smoking, a decision forced on him by his wife. He cursed his inability to stand up to his wife. He cursed his own weakness.

He was momentarily illuminated by a bolt of lightning. He needed to get moving. He made his way blindly to the kitchen, fumbled through the drawers, knowing that Kit kept a book of matches. It wasn’t much, but at least he could light a candle and finish his task by candlelight. He wanted to see the terror in their faces.

He found the matches and tore one out before closing the book. He struck the match and it caught fire. He had picked up a…