Oakwood Haven, a sanctuary of nature barely touched by human hands, was shattered by a sudden gunshot one evening. A tall figure in black, hearing the shot, stood still, letting the cool autumn breeze revive him. He then resumed his stride along the winding forest path. As the chill air heightened his senses, the subtle scent of wood smoke caught his attention, guiding him toward a timber cabin at the hilltop.

  He approached the cabin, knocked gently, and stepped inside without waiting for a reply.

  The scent of pine and cedar greeted him as he opened the door. In the center of the room sat a handcrafted hickory table, its surface worn but sturdy. At the far end, a river-stone chimney stood tall, its fire crackling softly, casting flickering light on the walls.

  It felt cozy except for the shattered vase, the blood smeared on the floor, and the woman sprawled on the fur carpet.

  Near the hearth, a trembling man pressed a gun to his temple, his pupils blown wide as he stared at something beyond the wall.

  “This is a nice place, Joseph.” The tall man looked around casually.

  Joseph’s heartbeat quickened as he turned to face the stranger. He lowered the gun and, blinking hard, asked, “Who are you?” He sank into the chair only to rise again moments later after his gun slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.

  The tall man stopped in front of the table, eyed a bottle of bourbon beside an empty one lying on its side, and asked, “Do you mind?” as he poured himself a glass before Joseph could reply. He inhaled the sweet, complex aroma of the drink before savoring the subtle flavors hidden in it. “The door was open. I thought you wouldn’t mind some company.” He took another sip. “I’m here to help.”

  Joseph grabbed the gun from the floor and pointed it at the stranger while backing away. “Don’t make me ask again. Tell me your name!” The gun fell as he tripped over the bloody body. He rose, eyes darting, breathing raggedly.

  “You may call me Sam.” He swirled the bourbon, his eyes locked on Joseph. “This is some fine whiskey.” He took another sip, and knelt next to the woman lying on the floor. Her hand clutched a delicate pair of blue knitted newborn baby socks. Pointing at the pair of socks, he asked “Was she expecting?” He lifted the gun, inspected the chamber, and put it where he found it. “Guns and alcohol don’t mix well. If she could speak, she’d agree with me.” His voice was laced with contempt; his sneer felt like a threat.

  Joseph's face fell. “Sam, or whatever your real name is, you better leave,” he retorted.

  “Why don’t you call the cops and report that an intruder has broken into your home? I’ll wait outside.” He grabbed the phone, offering it to Joseph, who remained frozen. He set the phone down and continued inspecting the cabin.

  “Married?” He looked at the picture of Joseph with his family on the wall. He then pointed at the woman on the floor, his eyes flicking between her and the photo. “I don’t see much resemblance between her and your wife,” he remarked, his eyes still on the photo. “What have you been up to?”

  Joseph remained silent, staring in disbelief.

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  Sam nodded toward the empty bottle on the table. “From the looks of it, you’ve had quite a bit. When the time comes, you might want to have a good story to tell.” He leaned forward. “And then there’s the matter of her being pregnant. Explaining that to your wife, your kids, and eventually the judge will be challenging. Did you tell your wife you were on a business trip this weekend?”

  Joseph clenched his jaw. With a low and menacing voice, he stepped closer, “You better leave. Now!”

  He stood up, giving Joseph a polite nod. “Seems like you prefer to handle this mess yourself.” He swept his hand toward the floor. “Good luck! You’ll definitely need it. Are you aware that involuntary manslaughter carries a penalty of ten years in prison?”

  With a face devoid of wrinkles and a mouth set in a subtle neutral line, he began to walk away. Joseph grabbed the revolver, pointed it at his head, and pulled the trigger. The gun only made a clicking sound. In frustration, Joseph threw the gun to the floor.

  Sam walked back to the table and grabbed the bullets. “If you are going to play that game, the gun should have at least one bullet. Allow me to demonstrate.” He picked up the gun from the floor and inserted five bullets into it, leaving only one empty chamber. He proceeded to spin the cylinder, pointing at his temple. Joseph lunged forward with outstretched arms, crying, “Don’t!”

  He smiled and pulled the trigger. He repeated the spin and click process ten more times. “Can you beat that?” He grinned wider. “As you can see, it’s possible to beat the odds with a little faith.” Joseph stared, wide-eyed and mouth agape, questioning what he’d just witnessed.

  Regretting his earlier outburst, he attempted to speak. “I …” But Sam ignored him, striding toward the door. “Wait …” he pleaded.

  Sam stopped on his way to the door. “I’ll ask only once. Do you want my help?”

  He could only utter one word. “Yes.”

  Sam smiled, sat down again, and picked up the nearly full bottle of bourbon. “Here, let’s share this.” He poured himself another glass and filled Joseph’s, who drank it in one gulp.

  Joseph’s expression softened. “What brought you to this cabin?”

  “The echo of a gunshot travels far in these quiet woods. I was enjoying my evening walk. This cabin is in a quiet corner of the world. Everything here inspires calm and tranquility except for…” He pointed to the floor.

  Joseph followed Sam’s gaze, his eyes suddenly locked on the bleeding body of his secretary, Ruth. He recalled her smile earlier that morning, her touch. Guilt and desperation crept in, stirring his anxiety. His hands shook, tears welled up, and his palms grew clammy. He trembled and cried uncontrollably.

  Sam was no stranger to this type of reaction. The self-pity, the denial, and the sorrow were all too familiar. “Look at me.” He waited for Joseph to calm down. “You’ve made some bad choices recently.” He studied Joseph’s face, noting the lack of response. “The whiskey was not one of them.” He gestured toward the bottle, then to the floor. “The gun, on the other hand…”

  Finally, Joseph’s blank stare dissolved, giving Sam his full attention. Sam’s voice was steady but urgent. “Tell the cops that you were cleaning the gun, and it misfired.”

  “Oh, dear! I haven’t thought about the cops. They will wonder why I didn’t call earlier.” Joseph’s voice trembled, the reality of his situation sinking in.

  Sam, with a hint of exasperation, grabbed the phone. “Then call them now. Tell them what I said.”

  “She’s been lying there so long,” Joseph whispered, his voice barely audible.

  “For Heaven’s sake!” Sam dialed the number, his tone now laced with impatience. “Hello, Sheriff!” His voice perfectly matched Joseph’s. “I’m at Abramovich's cabin in Oakwood Haven. Yes, the very same one! There’s been an accident.” He paused, listening intently. “Call me Joseph.” Joseph gave Sam a perplexed look. Sam added a tone of concern to his voice. “I was cleaning my gun, and it misfired. I had a guest who was shot by accident, and she’s on the floor. Please, hurry up!” Another pause, then, “Are those sirens I hear? Thank goodness!” Sam slammed the receiver down without waiting for the operator to respond.