David Pierce stood in the middle of his daughter’s room, looking down at her bed.

He hadn’t bothered to take off his hat or jacket, even though it was warmer up here where the heat tended to linger. If you hurt my little girl…

The sounds of the storm were muffled through the walls, but he knew it still raged fiercely. Wincing in sudden pain, he glanced down at his hand. He had been squeezing it tightly into a fist, the nails digging into the tender palm through the gloves. He pulled them off carefully. The center of the gauze wrapping was soaked with blood. The wound seemed to be getting worse, and he wondered if he would have to go to the hospital for it. Imagine that: Hey, Doc, I seem to have picked up a splinter here, and damn if it isn’t a nasty old slice, could be fatal…

What was he thinking about his palm for? For a moment, he fancied he heard the house itself whispering about him, the very walls engaged in a secret fingerpointing session exposing his guilt, Yes, really, Mr. Pierce, you should have seen it coming. The job was a bad idea with Jessica’s problems, you know, and we tried to warn you, didn’t we, yes we did, but you wouldn’t listen, no you wouldn’t. Money was more important than your family, you chickenshit…

The whispering voices turned into the wind, which turned into the faint growl of an approaching engine.

He realized he had been sobbing out loud, and shook off the steely grip of his conscience. It would not do to lose control, not now. As he made his way downstairs, the wind hit him through the broken window. The pile of snow in the kitchen had grown considerably while he searched the house, and the footprint had vanished completely, almost as if it had never been there. But the jagged pieces of glass that clung to the window frame above where the footprint had been would not let him forget about the hard reality of the attack. He was here. He was in my house and I was not around to help defend it.

There was only the wind, and the snowflakes skittering across the boards outside like ghosts.

A car door slammed, and David ran to the front of the house to pull back the bolt. A moment later, Hank ducked inside, followed by the blowing snowflakes.

“Thanks for coming,” David said simply, when Hank had shaken off the snow from his hat. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t answered the phone.”

“You’d do the same for me, I hope.” Hank smiled, and stuck out his hand. David took it gratefully. They stood there like that for a moment.

“We don’t have long,” he said finally. “Snow’s gettin’ worse.”

David nodded. “Listen, you don’t have to—”