Some stories begin with a scream. Others, with a whisper. This one begins with a silence—an empty seat on a train hurtling through the night. Five years ago, on this very line, a man named Arthur Fincher simply ceased to be. He was there one moment, a weary traveler staring out at the blurred landscape, and gone the next. The carriage was searched, the tracks were scoured for miles. All that wa...
