“Because he’s not here any more. At least, not in any meaningful way. And I regret that, I do, but having brought you to me, he’s fulfilled his purpose.”

The hat slipped through the sheriff’s fingers. He started to rub his palms to soothe them now that trying to hide what he’d just done, and the pain such exertion had caused his hands, was no longer a concern.

“He was never even my son. I found him as a baby in those early days after the Dead came, and the thing is, Peter, you’d be amazed just how far a man can get when he has a child to make people trust him. Now I think about it, I can’t think of a single darned politician who hasn’t made that work.”

The sheriff sighed deeply as if all that could be done had been done, and all that could be said, had been said. He nodded once as if to draw matters to a close and all kindness and patience abandoned his face. “Give it to me.”

“I’m not taking another step in your direction.”

“I said, give it to me.”

Peter pulled the dossier from his jacket. “You thought you’d written a death warrant. Instead you’ve signed your own. Here. Come take it.”

The sheriff crossed the room in a single stride. Peter didn’t even see the decision to do so flicker across his eyes, it all happened so fast. But Peter had anticipated the move.

The rug gave way beneath the sheriff. The corners slipped across the floor, gathering quickly about his waist to hold him in place, and drew him down into the hole. The sheriff’s eyes rolled back, wild and raving like an animal which didn’t have the wherewithal to ponder its own existence but knew all too well that death was upon it. His hands flailed, clawing, clutching, scratching at the floorboards to get purchase enough to pull himself back up. But it was no use. The weight of his feet in the pocket of the rug drew him further down through the trapdoor as if he was sinking in quicksand. He sank even deeper.

“Peter,” he whimpered. “Peter.”

But Peter was quite unmoved. “Senator.”

The sheriff struck the ladder on his way down. His body buckled, legs folding backwards in unnatural ways to lie flat against his back. There came a clack. And then a thud. Then the darkness of the cave took him and made silence of his screams.

Peter collapsed over the foot of the bed, shivering. He fumbled in his jacket pocket, squeezing Rider’s silver snowflake tightly in his fist, and looked to the door. “Teddy.”