Chesterville

Let's get into it.

On a rain-soaked Saturday morning in May, paramedics move quietly behind a low ranch house at the edge of Chesterville, Ohio.

The clouds hang so low they almost touch the clusters of old sycamore trees, their trunks harsh shrouded in misted rain and the push of river wind.

Everything smells faintly of wet dirt and cold coffee.

The voice on the other end is apologetic but firm.

Ma'am, I'm sorry, there's no record of a call from your number after 8 p.m. Angela hangs up and stares at the phone's black screen.

Somewhere in Chesterville, a train whistles.

On most days, no one in Chesterville thought of the Allen house as different.