Let us call them, for now, "Murderer" and "victim." Victim stood in the
shadows behind the giant blue ox. It was eerily silent. The only sounds
came from a few ripples gently lapping onto the shore of Lake Bemidji
and, in the distance, exhaust fumes drifted through the air from a
passing tanker on Highway 2. The fury of the thunderstorm system that
had ripped across northern Minnesota five hours earlier left hundreds of
small puddles on the tarred surface of the parking lot, which now
reflected the light from a distant street lamp. In the east, flashes of
lightning illuminated a sky indifferent to the violence that would soon
occur in this vacation paradise.