A stack of medical power of attorney documents slammed onto the hood of the white transport van, sending cold rainwater splashing across the gravel. Dark storm clouds rolled over the Iowa farmland, but the fake charity director stood unaffected, not a single wrinkle ruining the line of his expensive rain jacket.

Across from him, Winston blocked the van door. His old postal jacket was soaked completely through, and rain ran in steady streams from the brim of his cap. His weathered hands gripped the windshield wiper bar with iron resolve, as if letting go would hand Margaret's future over to this stranger.

The man in the expensive jacket laughed, dismissing him as a paranoid retired mailman. If Winston refused to step aside and let Margaret leave for "treatment," the man warned, her son and an angry biker club would flatten this farmhouse before sunrise for kidnapping.

Winston did not argue. He did not raise his voice.

Instead, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped the rain from a tarnished brass letter opener. Closing his hand firmly around it, he pulled the van door open, helped Margaret step down onto the wet gravel, and calmly guided her toward his house. Behind them, the fake charity director shouted venomous threats into the wind, but Winston never looked back.

Margaret's hands trembled violently as they crossed the yard. The storm was still miles away, but the air carried that heavy, electric pressure every Iowa farmer recognized. Winston opened his front door, ushered her inside, and locked it behind them. The smell of cold rain was instantly replaced by the comforting scent of old wood and black coffee. He closed the curtains and pointed toward a plush chair beside the window.

"You are safe here," Winston said.

Margaret lowered herself into the chair, staring at the floor. Her purse rested on her lap, gripped so tightly her knuckles were white. She kept checking the front door, half-expecting someone to walk in and dictate where she was allowed to go. That lingering fear bothered Winston more than the threats waiting outside.

Winston placed a steaming mug of tea on the table beside her, setting the brass letter opener near the edge of the wood.

Margaret finally looked up. "They're going to tell Hudson I disappeared," she said quietly.