No sooner had the excised tissue been blown away than new flesh began to form. It flowed into the wound channels like pale water until they were completely filled, until the face was as unblemished as before. “Do you see, Stiles?” he laughed. “You’ve waited too long. I’m too powerful now. For you. For anyone.”

He looked down at the bodies in front of him and with one hand lifted Dutch Larson’s corpse by the back of the neck until the heavy set marshal’s feet dangled above the walk. He stripped away Larson’s shredded T-shirt and exposed the mangled flesh beneath. And with his free hand Danner began to dig into that fleshy chest, burrowing with his fingers until he found something, and then withdrawing it. His fingertips smoked as he held up the knot of silver for their inspection, and he refused to show any pain it caused him. His jaws were clenched as he methodically dug each piece from the marshal’s chest, and in all that time the damning smile never left his face. When the last piece came out, Larson’s eyes blinked open and he began to fidget in his master’s grasp. Danner dropped him and turned to the parlor window as if to bow for his performance. “Come out, Stiles,” he said. “We have unfinished business.”

The four of them backed away from the window. All looked to Stiles for support, but they did not get it. It was the first time they had seen him visibly shaken. “What do we do now?” Hubert asked again.

Ida answered softly from her recliner, where she fingered the arms of her small cross. “We wait,” she said. “And pray.”

The voices were getting worse. Bart had turned up the radio three times already, but it still wouldn’t drown them out. Mad, cackling laughter segued into pitiful moans and outright pleading. First a child’s frightened voice, plaintive, cutting to the heart of all who listened. “Please, let me in,” the girl said, “I can’t find my mommy and there are bad men out here, please, let me in!” The occupants of the basement had looked from one to another, wondering how long they could hold out against such a pitiful plea. But then the child’s wailing became a tantrum, the voice deepened, and whatever it was out there began spewing obscenities and hammering at the steel-reinforced door. “Let me in, you fucking maggots, you pukes, let me in, you’re dead anyway, all dead!” But after a few minutes their assailant gave up, and the tirade stopped. Temporarily.