Chapter 63

“It was probably just the wind,” he mumbled, but the picturesque, snow-laden front lawn seemed stiller than he’d seen it in a long time. The cruel wind that had smoothed the terrain into softly sloping mounds and glittering, polished ice figures had taken the night off, abandoning its artwork under the shine of the full moon.

From below, the furnace thumped on and heated air thrummed through the vents with a pleasant hum. For several seconds Randy drifted, telling himself he was listening for the children, but knowing full well that his exhausted body was doing its damnedest to pull him back to sleep. He would have given into it, too. The blanket was warm, the ache in his knee had died down to a dull thud, and the living room was quiet enough to hear the thoughts of the dead.