First Year

I'm a Whistler, and I know many things, for I walk by night. I know many flames, tales, hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadow. Here, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak.

That's right. It's the Whistler's brain. The lady of winter falls naturally into two parts, separated by exactly one year, almost to the minute. Her marriage to Elliot Larkin ended, of course, on New Year's Eve.

somewhere around this night at a place called Silver Lake Lodge. The circumstances surrounding its ending on a matter of record now in the files of the police department, homicide division. The beginning is another story, a personal one.

Just a year before, early on the years morning, as she entered her uncle's apartment after listening to the whistles ushering in the new year, and bidding Eliot good night. Now, I'm going to fill it.

Oh, shoot. You old darling, waiting up for me. It's a very good reason, Lydia. I want to talk to you. And seriously, for once. Oh? And I know just what it's about. You don't approve of Elliot Locke and do you, dear?

You think he's irresponsible, unworthy of me? And I'm so hard and thoughtless and gullible. You sure do? Good. And please understand this. I have any concern about Elliot Larkin. It's on his account and not yours.

Doctor? Exactly. The proper hand, he might grow up into a decent human being. You know, you're just like your mother was, idiot. You're not a loveless man. He's not in love with you. You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?

Of course, I'm sure. I'm gonna get to the point, Lydia. I will not approve your mad, Eliot Larkin, any other man Until you're able to look upon it as a sacred contract Instead of an adventure I see Well for your information, I've agreed to marry Elliot tomorrow in greaser whether you approve or not and there's nothing you can do about it