It was late in the evening of 1894. Nicholas II became the Czar of Russia mere days before, the Columbian Exposition smoldered in ruins in Allisport, and a dry, cold air settled around the river-stop market town of Mill Creek. Riverboats held at their moorings against the Mississippi's current, their stacks standing like the trunk of a mighty tree, soot-touched and worn with streaks of orange rust. At this late hour, few were awake, and the town's two train stations matched Mill Creek's stillness.

Two young men stood in the empty plaza just in front of one of these stations, their words before this moment short and tinted red, the same color as still-burning embers. A policeman came to speak to them; the Irishman departed a moment later. The two young men sat a distance from each other, trying to speak, but gaps in their statements and questions were filled with hurt and memories. Foul blew off the Mississippi's brown waters and weaved down the streets. Melancholia perfumed the air around them.

Over a year before, the two young men made the worst decision of their lives.