Something was not quite right. He sat up, alert and awake. The crickets were silent, he noticed. There was no sound, no noise at all.

Yes, there was a noise.

From up the road, from the direction of the Nelsons', he heard the low purr of an engine drawing closer.

He froze, unable to react, unable to do anything.

The sound approached, growing louder in the stillness. He wanted to run and hide, to get into the house and lock the door and shut the curtains, but he remained in place.

And there it was, at the far end of the drive, the red car of the mailman, pulling in front of the mailbox.

He was dead. Doug had seen him shot, had seen him fall over the edge of the ridge. He was dead.

Doug stared at the red car. The driver's window rolled partially down and a white hand emerged from the dark interior, placed a letter in the box, then waved tauntingly good-bye as the car pulled away.

It was several moments later before the crickets started up again.

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."

"Effects of the tranquilizer," the doctor explained to Doug and Tritia . He turned toward Billy. "You're not in any pain, are you?"

Billy shook his head.

"Good. Probably just the shock, then." He smiled at Billy. "I'll be wanting to do a few tests later, when you feel up to it. Right now, I'll leave you alone with your mom and dad, okay?"

Billy nodded.

The doctor smiled at Doug and Tritia , gave a surreptitious thumbs-up sign, and left the room.

Left alone, the three of them were silent for a moment.

"Do you remember what happened?" Doug asked softly.

"Doug!" Tritia glared at him.

"Do you remember?"

"Leave him alone."

Billy nodded silently, not able to look at his parents' faces.

"Did he hurt you?" Doug asked.

Billy shook his head. "He couldn't touch me," he said. His voice was a cracked whispered croak. "He wanted to, but he couldn't."

Doug's blood was racing. "What do you mean he couldn't touch you?"

"He couldn't touch me."

"Why?"

Billy turned toward his father, then looked away, ashamed, embarrassed, unable to make eye contact. "I don't know."

"Think."

"Doug," Tritia said.

"He tried to give me mail," Billy whispered. "He wanted me to read it and he got really angry when I didn't. He said it was an . . . an invitation. I thought he was going to hit me, but it was like . . . like he couldn't touch me.

Like something was stopping him. He started yelling at me and calling me names and threatening me, but I wouldn't take his invitation and he started going crazy, but he didn't touch me."

"You've been through a lot," Tritia said. "It's no wonder you think --"

"Let him talk." Doug nodded encouragingly at his son. "Go on."

"That's it."

"He couldn't touch you?"

Billy shook his head.

"What about the dress?"

Billy buried his face in the pillow. His voice was muffled. "I'm tired now," he said. "Stop asking me questions."

"What about the dress?"

"He wanted me to wear it, okay? He wanted me to put it on."

Doug patted his son's back. "Okay," he said. "All right." He stared at the headboard of the hospital bed and tried to recall whether or not he had ever seen the mailman touch anyone. He had not.

The reason the mailman could not be implicated in any of the murders, Doug realized, was because he had never performed any of them. Ronda and Bernie really had killed themselves, as had Irene.Stockley andHobie had themselves been driven to murder. Unimaginable as it was, Giselle had actually raped and killed Ellen Ronda with the baseball bat.

John Smith's only power was the mail.

What was it Howard had said? The mailman spent all day Sunday hibernating in his room? And when he came out on Monday, he was tired, like he'd been sick?

Doug remembered how pale and weak the mailman had seemed after the Fourth of July holiday.

He needed to deliver the mail to survive.

Tritia pushed Doug away and stroked Billy's hair. "What's the matter with you?" she asked angrily. "Hasn't he been through enough without his own father making him relive it?"

"I have an idea," Doug said. "I think I know how to get rid of the mailman."

Her eyes met his, and he saw in them a spark of hope. "How?" she asked.

"It's crazy and it may not work."

"If it doesn't, we can go to Phoenix and never come back." Her expression darkened. "If he doesn't follow us and find us." She held his gaze. "What is your idea?"

"We cut off his power supply. We stop the mail."

"What?"

"That's the only way he can get to us. You heard Billy. The mailman couldn't touch him. And what about you? He didn't touch you either, did he?"

Tritia recalled with sickening clarity the feel of his hardness beneath his uniform as she'd shoved her waypasfuim in the bathroom. She slowly shook her head.

"You see? All he can do is manipulate people through the mail. That's it.

If we can just stop people from reading or sending mail, we can get rid of him.

But we have to get everyone in town together. Every last damn one of them. If this is going to work, it'll require the cooperation of every person in Willis."

"I was talking to one of the nurses," Tritia offered. "I don't think that will be a problem. They all know what's going on. They're all scared. They'll do anything."

"We have to get the word out fast. I'm going to ask the police to help me, call some of the other teachers. If we can, I want to have a meeting of everyone in town tonight."

"Tonight's too soon. Word doesn't travel that fast." Dr. Maxwell stood in the doorway. He walked into the room. "I heard what you said, and I'm willing to try it."

Doug looked at him, smiled. "Thanks."

"I think you'll have to make it for tomorrow night. I can't be there, and neither can most of my staff, but you can talk to them beforehand. I think they'll go along with you on this." He looked at Billy, who was still facedown in the pillow. "We have to stop him."

"If he can be stopped," Tritia said.

"I think he can," Doug said.

Billy's voice was muffled by the pillow, but it was clear. "I think he can too," he said.

Doug grabbed Tritia 's hand and squeezed it tight.

48.

They drove to the meeting together. Tritia had wanted to stay with Billy, but Doug said he needed her for this and she agreed to go along. They would return to the hospital afterward.

They had both stayed with Billy the night before, and although he was plagued with nightmares so powerful that twice Doug had to wake him up, he was unsedated, and in the morning he was lucid and cognizant of what was going on.

He even made specific requests for breakfast, and by late afternoon he seemed almost like his normal self.

Dr. Maxwell got in touch with a friend of his in Phoenix, a psychiatrist specializing in childhood trauma, and he agreed to drive up and see Billy tomorrow.