The Christmas List by Richard Paul Evans

the dog by its chokecollar. “C’mon, Samson.” Even with her commands the dog strained against her. “C’mon, stupid dog.” She left Kier alone on the porch with the door open. Kier looked inside. The room was simply furnished but tidy. There was a large family picture of Grimes, his wife, and three children. On the side wall was a Catholic icon with candles and a large picture of Jesus with an exposed heart. He could hear a distant conversation.
    â€œDad, someone’s here for you.”
    â€œWho is it?”
    â€œSome man,” the girl replied.
    A moment later Eddie Grimes appeared from the darkened hallway, wearing a San Francisco 49ers T-shirt and denim jeans. At first he just stared, not recognizing Kier. It was evident when he realized who was at his door. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œEddie, I came to—”
    â€œYou came to what?” He shouted angrily. He walked up to the door. “What are you doing on my property?”
    â€œI just came to—” He didn’t get another word off. Grimes threw a punch to Kier’s face, connecting with Kier’s nose and knocking him backward off the porch and down the stairs. He landed on his back on the snow-covered walk below, smacking his head on the surface. Kier saw stars and had there not been a couple feet of snow on the ground the fall likely would have knocked him out. A flash of pain shot up his leg. He groaned as he looked up, wet, aching, and dazed. Grimes was standing above him on the porch, red-faced. “Itold you if I ever saw you again . . .” He let off a string of curses in machine-gun fashion. Kier put his hand to his nose. It was bent at a slight angle and when he drew his hand away it was covered in blood.
    â€œEddie, listen . . .”
    â€œI’ll give you five seconds to get off my property before I break you into a million pieces.”
    â€œI just wanted . . .”
    â€œI don’t care what you want. No one cares what you want.” He turned back toward the house. “Lucy! Let Samson out.”
    â€œBut Dad . . .”
    â€œI said let him out!”
    Kier struggled to his feet. “Eddie . . .”
    Grimes was made even more furious at his daughter’s refusal to release the dog. While Kier struggled to his feet, Grimes went back inside, emerging a moment later holding the dog by its choke collar. The dog strained against his grip, worked up by his master’s shouting. “Get him, Samson. Sick ’em. Tear the bum’s legs off.”
    The dog lunged wildly against Grimes’s grip. Kier staggered backward toward the gate, searing pain shooting up his leg with each step. Then the dog pulled loose. Forgetting his pain, Kier turned and ran the last few yards to the gate, slamming it shut behind him. The dog bounded through the snow and smashed against the gate, its body bouncing off the chain link. The dog was just inches from Kier, snarling and frothing at the mouth.
    Grimes stood on his porch shouting and shaking his fist. “If I ever see you on my property again, you’re dog meat, Kier. Dog meat! You stinkin’ . . .”
    Kier didn’t hear his final words as he had climbed inside his car. He wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve, then started his car and drove off.

CHAPTER
Twenty-one

As instructed, Linda arrived at Kier’s house at four o’clock that afternoon. She pushed the doorbell; Kier answered on the intercom.
    â€œWho is it?”
    â€œIt’s me, Linda.” She paused. “You sound different. Are you okay?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI brought some papers you need to sign.”
    â€œJust sign them yourself. You can forge my signature.”
    â€œYou know I don’t do that.”
    There was a long hesitation before he relented. “The door’s unlocked. Let yourself in.”
    She pushed open the door and stepped