The morning, appropriately enough, was overcast, funereal. The storm season was upon them, and the weather from now until fall would be characterized by the dichotomous extremes of dry heat and cold rain. Doug said a few words over the casket, as did several other teachers, and then the nondenominational minister began his eulogy and consecration. Before the minister had finished, light drops of rain were falling, and by the time the graveside service was over it had turned into a real downpour. No one had brought umbrellas, and everyone ran through the cemetery to their cars or trucks.

Doug thought of the cars and car parts sitting in Hobie’s yard and wondered what would happen to them.

He and Trish were the last to leave the gravesite, and they walked slowly between the stones, even though the rain was coming down hard. They watched Yard Stevens’ Lincoln pull out of the parking lot, following the small line of vehicles heading down the road.

Hobie’s parents had not come, although Mike said they had been notified and were the ones who had made all the arrangements, and Doug found himself wondering if perhaps they had missed their son’s funeral due to a mixup in the mail. It was entirely possible that they had received a letter from the funeral director telling them that, due to scheduling conflicts, Hobie’s funeral had to be put back a day, and that they would arrive in Willis tomorrow to find that everything was over, their son buried, services finished.

“He killed him,” Doug said aloud. “He killed him as surely as if he put a bullet to his head.”

“I know,” Tritia said, squeezing his hand.

Doug was silent for a moment as they walked. His shoes sunk in the mud. “Let’s leave,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of this town.” He looked at her. “Let’s go.”

“Permanently or for a vacation?”

“Either.”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “It doesn’t seem right to just abandon everyone here.”

“Abandon who?”

“Everyone. Our friends.”

“The ones that are dead, the ones that are crazy, or the ones who’ve disappeared?”

She turned on him. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing’s the matter with me. I just want to get out of here so we can get our lives back together while we still have lives.”

“And who’s going to stop him?”

“Who’s going to stop him if we are here?” Doug ran a hand through his wet hair. “In case you haven’t noticed, we haven’t exactly sent him packing. Hell, we’re batting 0 for 0 here. We haven’t done a damn thing. Maybe if we leave things’ll calm down.”

“And who’ll be here to fight him?”