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

the
postmaster at the west branch."
    She showed the
cop her ID. "I knew a lot of the people who were killed. Could you let me
go in for just a minute, please?"
    The cop
contemplated her request. "Sure, Ms. Ryan. But there are still a few
evidence people inside, so try to keep out of the way. And try to make it
quick, too. When they're done, they're going to seal the building."
    "Thank
you."
    He let her
pass the cordons, and then she was wandering into the lobby.
    Dead silence
stared back at her when the doors swooshed closed. It was very cold; Jane
shivered as she walked disconcertedly past the stamp machines and the PO. box
coves. Then she heard voices.
    The glass door
to the customer service area had been propped open. Jane began to smell
something that reminded her of disinfectant. Two men in blue utilities
meandered within, one holding a large plastic evidence bag heavy with spent
bullet cartridges, the other holding something that looked like a tackle box.
    "Guess
that's it," one of the technicians said. "The cleanup crew did a hell
of a job with this place, huh? They should get a fuckin' trophy!"
    "Shit,
all that blood?" the one with the cartridge bag replied. "I hope they
wore hip-waders."
    A detached
laugh. "Better them than us."
    "You got
that right. And it's hard to believe there was a pile of dead bodies in here
just a few hours ago. I've been working CES for ten years, six of 'em in Miami,
and I've never seen that many bodies in one place. They'll be working overtime
at the county morgue tonight, you can bet your ass."
    "You see
the one chick they were hauling out of here-one of the last ones? It was one of
the employees working in back."
    A grim dip in
the response. "Oh, the pregnant one..."
    "Man, I
could shit my pants when I think about what this world is coming to. And this
one was a woman. How many times you see that-a chick on a shooting spree?"
    "Never.
Chalk up another one to PMS."
    "It's
getting so you can't tell the crazies from the normal people. Christ, my house
was on this woman's route."
    "Makes ya
wonder, you know? She carves up her hubbie and kid like lunch meat, then comes
here and rip-stitches the place like it's the fuckin' Valentine's Day Massacre.
Shit, man."
    "And you
gotta wonder ..."
    "What?"
    "This
sort of shit can happen any place, any time."
    A laugh broke
the profane solemnity, but it was a strained laugh. "Next time it could be
me. Could be you."
    "Could be
anyone."
    A pause, for a
last look around, then: "Come on, man. Let's get out of this fuckin'
slaughterhouse."
    Jane's
distracted daze snapped when the morose banter ended. She didn't want to be
seen by them, and she didn't want to be here anymore. In fact, she still wasn't
sure why she'd come in at all.
    She grabbed her
car keys and rushed out of the building, hoping to never have to enter it
again. Even though all the bodies had been transported out hours ago, it felt
to Jane as though she were fleeing a mass grave.
     

Chapter
Three
     
    I
     
    The two
children would've otherwise been a perfect picture. Standing quietly,
respectfully, hands folded before them. The eight-year-old boy-his name was
Kevin-dressed neatly in a navy blue blazer with gold buttons, gray slacks, a
blue-and-gold-striped tie. His almond-brown bangs were combed just right, not a
hair out of place. Kevin was a well behaved boy (at least most of the time) and
even though he didn't fully understand what was going on here-or what had
happened-he knew that it was important for him to be good today. Not a peep was
heard from him.
    Standing next
to him, just as tidily, was his eleven year-old sister, Jennifer. Tall and
slim, with the same eyes as her brother, she looked like a perfect young lady
in her navy skirt with a gold butterfly-chain belt and flowered slate-blue
sleeveless top. A coffee-colored ponytail hung down to her belt line, held with
a pretty hair band. But Jennifer was old enough to know the importance of
remaining quiet and being good at this