She chose a Mossberg handle-grip pump-action shotgun, an M19-11A Colt .45 pistol, a 9mm Python, a snub-nose .22, and—after much debate with herself—her late father-in-law’s M-16 and two hunting knives, one with a five-inch blade, the other a ten-inch with serrated edge. She slid the knives into their leathers, then loaded chambers and clips, set safeties, and carefully loaded all but two of the weapons into the duffel bag along with boxes containing extra rounds.

The .45 went into its shoulder holster (which had taken her longer to get on than she’d thought), and the five-inch knife, after some fidgeting, was strapped to the back of her belt where it would be easily concealed under her coat.

She loaded the duffel bag into the trunk of the car along with the other supplies.

She checked her watch. Almost seven-thirty. Visiting hours were over at nine.

She spent ten minutes tidying up the house and rinsing her breakfast dishes.

The last thing she did before leaving the house was blow a good-bye kiss to those faces that were still part of the Walls of Madness.

“Don’t forget me,” she whispered.

* * *

A photograph of Kylie Ann Patterson, taken at her second birthday party, had been enlarged and set on an easel near the head of the closed casket. Even from the back of the crowded room, you could see her sweet, grinning face and know how much had been lost.

There must have been at least seventy-five people there, possibly more.

Lucy looked upon the scene and released a small sigh of relief; she’d been hoping it would be just like this.

She spotted the Pattersons near the center of the room, surrounded by mourning friends and family. Randy was not with them.

Lucy spotted him sitting by himself in a chair along one of the walls. He held a Styrofoam cup of juice that he did not drink from but rather stared into. He was far too pale and thin and looked as if he didn’t want to stand because he was afraid the earth might fall away beneath his feet.

After a moment, he lifted his head and saw her looking at him. She smiled and waved.

“Do you know Randy?” said a voice beside her. She turned around and found herself facing both Pattersons.

“No, I’ve never met him.”

“Do we know you?” asked Mr. Patterson.

Lucy removed the director’s wallet and flipped it open, careful to make sure her thumb covered the face on the ID, but she knew at once she needn’t have worried; all they saw was the badge.

“I’m Rachel Wagner, director of Children’s Services.” She slipped the wallet back into her pocket. “I wanted to offer my condolences. I…I lost my own daughter about eighteen months ago and...” Surprisingly, she found there were tears forming in her eyes. “...and I just wanted to let you know that you’re not alone in your sadness.” Her voice cracked on the word ‘alone.’ “My heart goes out to both of you…and to Randy.”