He looked over at his son, saw the smeared dirt, saw red lines that looked like scratches.

“No,” Billy was murmuring. “No. No. No. No…”

“You go,” Tritia prodded him.

The doctor bent over Billy’s body.

Doug squeezed Tritia’s hand and walked quickly out of the room. He was angry at himself and he flinched as Billy’s murmurs cut off with a sharp gasp. The door swung shut behind him, and he was in the corridor. He hurried back the way they had come in. At least the doctor seemed to know what he was doing. He had wasted no time, had reacted instantly to the situation, had cut the red tape off at its source, and had exhibited a no-nonsense attitude in his quick appraisal of what was to be done. For that Doug was grateful, and despite his initial paranoid misgivings, he was now confident that his son would receive the best medical attention possible.

There was going to be hell to pay in the psychological department, though. The damage here was not entirely, or even predominantly, physical. What had happened to Billy would probably scar him emotionally for the rest of his life. The anger burned through Doug, unwavering, undiminishing. They were going to have to really search around and make sure they found someone who could help Billy.

But now it was time for the mailman to pay.

The pinched-faced woman glared at him from behind her glass-walled room as he walked up to the pay phone in the waiting area. He ignored her and dialed the number of the police department. He closed his eyes. The phone rang once, twice, thrice.

An unfamiliar voice answered. “Willis Police Department.”

Doug cleared his throat. “I’d like to speak to Mike Trenton, please.” He sounded like a stranger to himself.

The voice on the other end of the line was cautious. “Who shall I say is calling?”

“Doug Albin.” There was a pause, then Mike came on the line. Doug gripped the receiver tightly, not bothering with pleasantries. “The mailman’s back.”

“I know.”

“He attacked my boy, Mike, and he threatened my wife. I’m going after him.”

“We’re going after him too. He killed the chief.”

It took a moment for the information to sink in. Doug felt cold, frightened. The mailman was no longer playing around. He was not hiding behind rules and regulations, not working through letters. He was coming in for the kill. But though the fear was strong within him, it paled next to the towering strength of his anger.

“We just found the chief’s body a few minutes ago,” Mike said. “How’s your son? Is he going to be okay?”

“We don’t know.”

“We’re gathering everyone together. We’ll be leaving in ten minutes.”