That done, he turned, raised up a mighty fist, and brought it down on top of the phone booth, crushing the structure as easily as an aluminum can. The woman screamed as some of the pulped remains of her husband splattered outward and covered her face, and then she was in Mr. Hands’ grip and he was looking at Lucy.

Do it somewhere very, very cold, she commanded him. I trust you’ll make it appropriate.

He nodded his understanding, then—knocking the young woman unconscious by slamming her skull against the pavement once—placed her in his basket and ran off.

Later, several witnesses who’d been driving by all reported seeing the same thing: The phone booth had simply crumpled, crushing the man within, and then the young woman, screaming, had seemed to leap into the air and…vanish.

This latter incident was chalked up to shock and panic, it being far too fantastic for anyone to believe.

The mother’s naked body was discovered two days later by some teenager who’d gone out to Buckeye Lake for some ice-skating. One of them had stopped to re-tie their laces and found themselves staring into the dead, frozen face of a crushed body beneath the ice of the rink.

The child was taken into protective care by Children’s Services. Newspaper reports over the next several days confirmed Lucy’s suspicions: The couple had been investigated three times not only for Welfare fraud, but for suspected mistreatment of their baby, who was now doing very well and was happy and feeling much better and would undoubtedly be adopted soon by a more deserving and loving couple.

Lucy celebrated by buying a bottle of expensive wine and toasting Mr. Hands in front of the sculpture a few days later.

The young mound-walking couple saw her making her toast. Lucy stopped mid-sentence and waited for them to leave, which they did when they saw the writhing of something unhinged behind her gaze.

They never came back there again.

Chapter Five

At six-ten p.m. the following Friday night, Lucy was getting ready to turn off the television when a late-breaking story came in: A two-year-old girl had been killed in Cedar Hill, and her older brother had confessed to it.

She remained very still as the anchor read from the Teleprompter.

The facts were scant but spoke volumes nonetheless:

Kylie Ann Patterson—who would have turned three in less than a week—had been burned to death by her brother, Randy, 16, during a party.

“Details are sketchy at this point,” intoned the anchor, “but it appears that her older brother doused her in gasoline and then set her on fire. We have a team on the way to the scene and will update you as soon as more information becomes available.”

Lucy turned off the television and then sat in the still, sudden silence and wept for the horror and agony of Kylie Ann Patterson’s last few minutes of life.

Then she stepped outside and closed her eyes and conferred with Mr. Hands.