It is a drizzling cold evening as the rain comes down like spitting mist. The moon and the stars are obscured by cloud cover. Off in the distance an owl hoots in the tree. Even at night, it is a remarkably dark evening. A street light flickers slowly, going out... and back on ... and out... and back on.
Before you stands a the derelict building called Moore House. The paint on the brick exterior is peeling away, flitting into the overgrown un-weeded lawn. Given the state of the exterior, it is remarkable that the windows are still intact. The front door of the building also remains, but where once was a ringed knocker sits a hole. It is safe to assume that the knocker was yanked free of its mooring.
Jacque stands in front of the building in a leather trench coat, waiting for his guest to arrive.