He thought he heard footsteps behind him, heard a shotgun explode in the dark.

Gran was facing him, and Colin had no doubt at all that the old man was dead. His body was shriveled, and there was sand and seaweed clinging to his skin. His mouth was closed.

Jesus, Colin, you are stupid tonight. And his eyes were wide open. Look around, Colin, and see what my Lilla give me tonight.

He heard the steps clearly now, and despite a silent command he looked over his shoulder.

A small boy in the doorway, with a huge rock in his hand.

The shotgun.

Peg shouting, Lee screaming. The boy. My favorite.

Colin felt it all leave-the hope, the rage, the compulsion to fight back. It slipped out of him and stained the floor; it burned his stomach and loosened his bowels; it made his fingers stiff, and he dropped the can at his feet.

The boy raised his arm.

I think, Colin, he wants you to stay here with me. I told you I had tricks. You never listen. Too bad.

"Matthew?" Colin whispered, unable to move. "Matt?"

The rock struck his shoulder and spun him around, spiraled him to the floor.

The boy lifted his other arm.

"Pal," Colin said.

Jesus damn, Colin. Jesus damn.