“Billy likes his mail delivered upstairs and at the back door.”

That gave her the strength that had been eluding her. White-hot anger coursed through her veins. “You son of a bitch!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare touch him!”

From outside the house, from the rear, she heard Doug’s voice. “Trish!” Again: “Trish!” He was running; the amplification of his words came at a pace much faster than it would have had he been moving more slowly. Something had happened. She could hear the fear in his voice, and the burning anger. Something had happened.

But she was just thankful to hear his voice at all. She was saved. Whatever else had happened, he was here to save her. “In here!” she yelled as loud as she could. “I’m in the bedroom!”

She had not heard the mailman leave, but from the silence on the other side of the door she knew he was gone.

There were heavy running steps on the porch. “Trish!” Doug called frantically. The screen door slammed shut.

“I’m in here!” She fumblingly opened the bedroom door and flew out of the room, sobbing. “I—”

Her sobs stopped when she saw that Doug was carrying Billy into the living room. She stopped breathing. Time stood still. The boy’s unmoving body was draped limply over his father’s outstretched arms, and for one sick second she was reminded of a scene from Frankenstein. She had to will herself into action. She snapped out of her trance and ran forward, putting an ear to her son’s chest. “What happened?” she demanded.

“I found him in The Fort.” Doug’s voice was a shocked emotionless monotone. “The mailman found him first.”

Tritia noticed for the first time that Billy was wearing no pants.

Doug placed his son carefully on the couch. Billy’s skin was grayish, pale. His lips moved silently in unbroken fever sentences. Tritia could not make out what he was saying.

“When we get to the hospital, I’m calling the police,” Doug said in the same flat tone. “And if they won’t go after him, I’ll kill him myself.”

Tritia felt Billy’s forehead with a trembling hand. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. He was lying in The Fort like this. His pants were off and his underwear was bloody and there was a… a wedding dress next to him.”

Tritia put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God.”

Doug felt the hot tears spilling onto his cheeks. His voice cracked. “I think he was raped.”

“We have to get him to the hospital. I’ll call the ambulance.”

“Fuck the ambulance. There’s not enough time.”

Tritia cradled her son’s head in her arms.

“No,” he murmured. “No I won’t. No. No. No. No…”

“Let’s go,” she said.