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ything。 A stick。 A stray piece of wood。
A hammer。
He got up and crossed the room； stared at it for a long moment； then leaned down and picked it up。 The stout wooden handle was scuffed and streaked with dark stains。 It felt slightly warm in his hand。 The head and claw were rusted； caked with a delicate； crumbling dry brown matter like powdery fungus； like desiccated petals。 He touched his finger to it； rubbed it against his thumb。 The scrim of matter between them felt dusty； gritty。 Pale brown； like the edges of the bloodstain。 He remembered reading somewhere that any human tissue would turn to some shade of brown eventually； given time。 It was the color of all skin； the color of waste； the color of rot。
Cause of death： blunt trauma 。 。 。
Trevor had no idea what had happened to the hammer that had killed his family； but he knew it could not have stayed in the house。 It would have been taken as evidence； photographed； probably even fitted into the holes in their skulls to prove it was indeed the murder weapon。 That was how they did things。 Yet he knew too； just as surely； that this was the same hammer。
He stood for a long time turning it over and over in his hands。 He felt a few slow tears leaking from his eyes； running into his mouth or dripping off his chin。 But he had done most of his crying last night； with Kinsey。 Now he was beginning to feel as if he were being taunted。 Here's a hammer； what can you do with it？
He didn't know yet。
But when a noise came from the living room…no scrape or creak of the house； he was already starting to get used to those； but a distinct footfall…he whirled and raised the hammer before he knew what he was doing。
And when he heard a stranger's voice； Trevor moved swiftly and silently toward the door。
〃Shit！ I better get back to the store before it pours。 Tell Zach I'll see him later if he decides to hang out。〃
Terry tipped a quick salute at Kinsey； who was on his knees ripping several weeks' worth of silver duct tape off the stage； and took his leave of the Sacred Yew。 A few minutes later Zach came out of the rest room； his face and hands freshly scrubbed； his dark eyelashes still beaded with water； settling his glasses on the narrow bridge of his nose。 〃It's raining；〃 he told Kinsey。
〃I heard。 How could you tell？〃
〃The ceiling's leaking。 I put the trash can under it。〃
Kinsey sighed； pushed his feathered hat back over his stringy hair； and kept tugging at the duct tape。
〃Did Terry leave？ I was going to ask him if he knew a place I could crash。〃
〃He'll let you have his spare bedroom if R。J。 isn't camped there。 You can sleep on my couch； too； if you'll do me a favor。 I was going to do it myself； but I need to stay here and make sure the place doesn't flood。 The landlord won't fix our pipes and sometimes a heavy rain just es right in。〃
Zach had an open Natty Boho in his hand…he'd grabbed it out of the cooler and slapped two dollars on the counter before Kinsey could card him…and looked in no great hurry to go anywhere； but he agreed readily enough。 〃Sure； I'll do you a favor。〃
〃There's a young man living in an abandoned house out on the other side of town。〃 Kinsey explained briefly about Trevor； giving none of the details of why he was in the house。 〃He has no electricity or running water。 I brought in a few things for him…blankets； bottled water； some food。 Think you could take it out to him？〃
Zach looked dubious。 〃Okay。〃
〃He doesn't bite。〃
〃Oh； well then forget it。〃 Zach saw Kinsey's blank look。 〃Sorry。 What's he doing in this abandoned house？〃
〃I'll let him tell you himself； if he wants to。 You'll like Trevor。 He's lived in New York…the two of you can pare notes on that pestilent hellhole。〃
Zach followed Kinsey behind the bar to get the box of supplies。 Kinsey noticed that Zach's hands were restless； nervous； their slender spatulate fingers always manipulating something： skating over the keypad of the adding machine； toying with the phone。 Once he reached for the keys of the cash register； but drew back as if realizing that would be impolite。 The boy seemed to have a fascination for switches and buttons。 He refrained from actually pushing them； but stroked and tapped them gently as if wishing he could。
Kinsey gave him directions to the house and let him out the back door。 Zach could hardly miss the place； there were several run…down houses on Violin Road； but only one that was barely even there。 Kinsey went back into the club。 Now a thin trickle of water was seeping from under the door of the men's room。 If the rain kept up； he could spend the whole afternoon mopping and wringing； mopping and wringing。 Damn the landlord。
He wasn't sure he had done right by sending Zach out to Violin Road； but it felt right somehow。 He hated the thought of Trevor staying out there another night without food or water。 Someone should at least make sure he hadn't fallen through a rotten floor and broken his neck。
Zach was an all right sort； if a little shifty。 Kinsey didn't think he was really from New York； or anywhere near it。 There was a type of New York accent that sounded something like his voice； true。 But Kinsey had heard a distinctive one from New Orleans…a weird blend of Italian； Cajun； and deep…South…that sounded a lot closer。 And Zach had perked up visibly when Terry mentioned that the name of his band was Gumbo。
But if he wanted to be from New York； then he was from New York as far as anyone around here was concerned。 Kinsey only asked questions when he could tell a kid wanted him to。 Right now Zach； no last name offered； looked like he wanted to stay as far away from questions as possible。
Zach swerved to avoid the swollen carcass of a possum in the road； slowed； and turned into a likely…looking driveway。 It was barely more than a rutted track losing a battle to tall grasses and wildflowers； the house itself was so overgrown that it was invisible from the road unless you were looking for it。 Zach thought it looked like a wonderful place to live。
He finished his beer； got out of the car； and pulled the box of supplies out after him。 Kinsey had put a six…pack of Coke in with the bottled water； blankets； and various packaged food。 There was even a pillow in a flowered case at the bottom of the box。 Whoever this Trevor Black was； Kinsey had done him up right。
The rain had slacked off some； but it was still drizzling drearily； beading on his glasses； making his hair straggle into his face。 The day had taken on a cool； slightly eerie cast。 Zach hoisted the box and lugged it up the steps to the vine…draped porch。
The front door hung askew on its hinges； half open。 Zach knocked； waited； knocked again。 No response。 He squinted into the damp gloom of the house； then shrugged and let himself in。
For a moment he stood in the center of the living room letting his eyes adjust to the absence of light。 Gradually details resolved themselves and he saw the holes in the ceiling； the vines twisting in the windows； the rotting hulks of furniture。 A tendril of unease touched him。 He cleared his throat。 〃Hello？〃
Nothing。 The doorway to the hall was a black rect