There was a battered, stand-alone mailbox a few blocks from Vic’s apartment. Nondescript, its dark blue faded by long days in the sun and weather, the mailbox was unremarkable in and of itself. Like any of the dozens of other mailboxes that dotted the streets of Richmond, this one stood at its post like a sentinel, an embodiment of the U.S. Postal Service’s unflagging motto. Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night…
But this mailbox was special to Vic for the sole reason that it marked the spot where, when his lover was home, the mental connection they shared started to come in loud and clear.
Matt’s psychic ability was limited—he had a small range, and could only pick up Vic’s thoughts, which suited him just fine. More than once he’d told Vic, “You’re the only person whose
