The Messenger (2011 reformat) by Edward Lee Read Free Book Online

she
supposed. A police officer would come to the house, grim-faced, and say
something like I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but to this, Jane could
relate quite well, forced to recall the time not so long ago when a state
trooper had come to her door. To notify her that her husband was dead.
    "Have you
already notified her husband and son?" she asked.
    Another pause
from Steve, and a discomfited look on his face. "That's what makes all
this even worse-no notification will be necessary. It appears that Marlene Troy
stabbed both her husband and son to death this morning before she left for
work. Both were mutilated." Steve closed his eyes for a moment. "It
looked like she'd painted the walls with their blood."
    Jane felt numb
for the rest of the day; the shock was wearing off, replaced by a cold
disillusionment.
    Details of the
case haunted her, the murders of Marlene's husband and, even more particularly,
the son, Jeff, who knew Jane's own children. A mass murder of adults was awful
enough, but the murder of a kid? It just made the worst thing seem that much
more insane.
    When she
locked her office at the west branch, the rest of the building was grimly silent,
even though the crew in back was still working. She pulled out of her parking
spot and switched on the radio, hoping for some cheerful music but instead
got:"... the latest on today's horrific murders in a Danelleton, Florida,
post office, where an employee in good standing opened fire on a crowd of
customers with an automatic weapon, and then proceeded to kill everyone else in
the building-"
    Jane changed
stations:"... thirty-six-year-old Marlene Troy, known to coworkers as a
friendly, diligent, and level-headed postal carrier, carried out the most
tragic one-day killing spree in Florida history... "
    Jesus! Jane
punched another button:"... stabbed and mutilated her husband and young
son in their beds before killing twenty-six people with a machine gun..."
    Jane snapped
the radio off, grinding her teeth.
    She drove
through downtown, hoping it would clear her mind, but the peaceful city, and
its appearance of sheer normalcy, only reinforced the horror of the day. Things
were never as they seemed. People were never as they seemed. Danelleton seemed
like the most tranquil-and sane-town anyone could imagine. But look what
happened, she thought. Insanity could be the only explanation-and insanity was
undetectable in most cases.
    In this case.
    The street
along the pier, faced by its row of shops, looked abandoned. Only few passersby
could be seen strolling, but they were all sullen, hunched. This town is a
mask, Jane thought, just like any town could be.  Normal on the outside, but
who knew what was really on the inside? Anyone, any of these normal-looking
people, could snap, could go out of their minds the same way Marlene did.
    She shoved the
thought away. Ordinarily she would've driven straight home to see her children,
who'd be home from the recreation center by now, but something unbidden steered
her away from the main road out. She was driving around the block, pulling in
and parking at the main branch post office ...
    The EMTs were
gone, all the bodies had been carried off. Several police cars remained, along
with an evidence van. The long brick building looked monotonous, cold, even in
the blaze of sun, nothing like Jane's cheerful, brightly painted west branch
facility. Again, it was appearances that miffed her: true. The main post office
looked like a lot of federal facilities-rather somber-but it didn't look like
the site of a mass murder. Jane couldn't come to terms with what had happened here
this morning.
    A uniformed
police officer stopped her, noticing her postal uniform. "Sorry, ma'am.
This is a restricted crime scene."
    For a reason
she couldn't place, Jane felt that she needed to go inside. She'd worked at
this building for years but now, after what had happened, she felt she had to
go back inside. "I'm Jane Ryan," she said, distracted. "I'm