blows up Joe's family

The FedEx driver, a smiling little guy with mirrored sunglasses, gave us a cheery wave and a huge pleasant smile. He had one of those port-wine skin discolorations—a firemark, my grandmother called them—that was every bit as dark as my bruised mug. Junie tooted at him as he drove away. We parked and I got out, careful of my leg, which was healing but sore as hell. Ghost bounded ahead, but stopped on the bottom porch step, sniffing at something. As Junie and I approached I saw that it was a folded piece of paper.

“Dropped the delivery receipt,” I said, and picked it up. When I opened it, I saw that it wasn’t a receipt at all. Just a note written in flowing and elegant scripts.

You have taken something of mine.
Now I will take something of yours.
Merry Christmas

My blood went instantly cold. I turned to see the FedEx truck hit the blacktop and accelerate away with a scream of tires. I turned back, seeing in my mind the big box Sean had carried inside. It looked heavy. The Santa wore a beard and glasses. Not a firemark discoloring him but facial bruising. I opened my mouth to scream my brother’s name.

And the house blew up.
-Rage pg. 449