Doug’s heart slowed, but he remained on the porch, unmoving. The mailman could not be killed. He could not die. There was nothing they could do. Doug prayed to a God he had not talked to in decades, but there was silence on the other end of the line. He sat there, unmoving.

He was still awake five hours later when dawn arose in the east.

47

He called the hospital before he went over, but Billy was still asleep. Good. That would give him time to get there. He wanted to be at his son’s side when he awoke.

Tritia was seated, bleary-eyed, on her bed next to Billy’s. She was dressed, her clothes wrinkled from having been slept in, her hair mussed and tangled. He hugged her tightly.

“You look like hell,” she said.

“You don’t look much better.”

They both looked at Billy. Asleep, his features seemed restful, normal, as though nothing had happened to him and he was going to awaken the same as always. But he would not be the same. He would never be the same again.

“He’s back,” Doug said. “The mailman. I saw him last night. He delivered our mail.” He had told her the mailman had been shot and killed, leaving out the part about his disappearing body, hoping against hope that they had merely not seen him in the night, that the flashlights had not illuminated the contents of an overlooked shadow or that he had crawled off somewhere to die.

Tritia paled. “He died and came back?”

“Or he didn’t die at all.”

Her expression collapsed, bravery fleeing in the face of overwhelming despair. “That’s it, then.”

Billy stretched, yawned, groaned in his sleep. Doug sat down on the edge of the bed and put a hand on his son’s forehead. He found himself wondering why the mailman had not actually harmed Billy or Tritia. The mailman had been after him and his family from the beginning, but when he had finally caught Billy and Tritia, when he had had them in his power, he had done virtually nothing to them.

Maybe he couldn’t do anything to them.

Billy sat upright in bed. “No!” he screamed. “No!”

Doug grabbed Billy’s shoulders, guiding him down. “It’s okay, Billy,” he said gently. “You’re safe now. You’re in the hospital. It’s over now. You’re safe.”

The boy looked around with wild-rabbit eyes.

“We’re here. It’s okay.”

Tritia moved over to the bed and hugged Billy. She was crying. “We’re here,” she said. “We’re with you. Everything’s going to be all right.”

Doug felt the tears in his own eyes as he held his son’s hand.

“Mom?” Billy said tentatively. “Dad?”

“Is everything okay?” The doctor hurried into the room. He saw that Billy was awake and moved over to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

The boy looked at him dully. “Tired.”