Chase turned his eyes from her steely gaze. If these were his last minutes on Earth, he’d be damned if he was going to spend them under silent accusation. He poured two more fingers of bourbon into his freshly emptied highball glass. The crystal decanter was thick, and the pale alien rays refracted off its hatched edges. The bottle was still half full of liquor. He imagined stuffing one of the overpriced dish towels his wife had purchased into the container. At 110-proof, the world around him could be turned to oak barrel aged flames and razor-edged shards. He wondered if the things below could burn.