Grace's Heart - Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

      Grace stirred, and opened her eyes.  For a moment, the arm splayed across her didn’t register, but then, as she watched the hairs on Robert’s arm dance in the dim firelight, she remembered.  They were spooned in front of the fireplace, and the fire had died down, in more ways than one, she thought, smiling.

      She loved the way his skin smelled, clean, but with its own scent.  And now that scent was inextricably joined with the love they had made, lying on the old futon, listening to an Alanis Morrissette tape that had long since played itself out. 

      They had managed to wait until the fire was crackling and two glasses of wine were poured, but not much longer.  And although the fire seemed like overkill for June, perhaps they both knew that they would lie like this, together, with no blanket, until it got dark and the inevitable chill hit the cabin. There was a breeze blowing off the ocean that had cooled things down considerably.

      The futon was the type that could simply unfold, soft and spongy.  Considering their state of mind when they pulled it hastily to the hardwood floor, it was a wonder they managed to get anything under them at all.

      Grace couldn’t remember wanting anything so much in her life.  Her first time, with Matthew, was so gentle that she felt like a porcelain doll.  It had always been that way with Matthew, and then it stopped altogether.  There had been a few others, and then Greg for three years, but Grace’s general impression was that men were pretty consumed with their own performance, and not so much concerned with hers.  She wanted to believe that there was something else out there.

      She closed her eyes and felt the delicious chills that came with the memory.  This was definitely something else.

      Robert’s hand went from its place cupping her breast up to her face, trailing across her cheek, gently.

      “Hey.”  His voice was husky, slow, full of sleep and contentment, as he reached up to move her curls away from his face.  “You have some serious hair, Gracie, you know that?”

      She smiled and closed her eyes as he stroked it.  “You like it?”

      Nuzzling closer to her, he murmured, “I love it.  I love you.”

      Grace reached her arm around behind her and cupped his backside.  “And you have a great ass.  I don’t know why I never noticed that before.”

      Laughing into her hair, he said, “You like it?”

      She turned to face him and said softly, “I love it.  I love you.”

      Robert folded her completely into his arms and they lay that way, every inch of their bodies warm where they touched.  But the cabin was getting colder by the minute, and they knew they would have to get dressed, or get up to either stoke the fire or turn on the furnace.

      Reading each other’s thoughts, Robert held Grace closer.  “I don’t want to let go of you.”

      Grace laughed.  “Well, if you don’t, they’ll find the two of us frozen like this, with popsicle toes.”

      He still didn’t let go.  “It might be worth it.”

      Grace moved her lips along his neck toward his ear. “We could warm up another way.”

      Robert groaned and leaned back to look at her in wonder.  “What are you, a machine?  Three times, if I didn’t lose count.  I’m an old man, in case you haven’t noticed.  I need to regenerate.”

      Grace smiled at him.  “OK, that’s it then.  On three.  One.  Two.  Three!”  She jumped up and grabbed for her tee shirt while Robert did the same.  “You get logs, and I’ll start dinner.  I’m starved.”  They both dressed quickly in the dim light and pulled the futon off the floor and back on to the frame.

      Luckily, they had stopped at the General Store on their way from Andrew’s tree and gotten some chicken, broccoli, wine and a small container of mint chip ice cream.  As Robert built a blazing fire to warm the rooms, Grace put the chicken in the oven with what she could find in the cupboards and fridge, some olive oil, onions, parsley and some slightly suspicious-looking, but still great-smelling garlic cloves.  She put water on to steam the broccoli and brought the wine out to refill their glasses.

      Robert was putting the finishing touches on a perfect fire when she knelt down behind him and put her arms around his waist.  “Thank you.”

      Turning around, he kissed her quickly.  “For what?  That toe-tingling, out-of-body sex you were talking about earlier?”

      Grace laughed.  “Well, yes, that.  But also for coming into my life at a time that could have been very depressing.  I just can’t seem to hold on to a decent depressing thought right now.  Everything seems pretty rosy, all in all.”

      Robert took Grace’s hand, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “You’re welcome.  I was thinking about that, lying next to you.  I wouldn’t have believed that a simple surveillance job could change my life, but it has.  In every way.”  He reached over to pour the wine.  “And if you’d told me a month ago that I would meet an amazing woman, fall in love and move to Idaho, I would have found you a rubber room.”

      Grace held up her glass.  “To us.  And to the New World.  May we treat her better than we did the old one.”

      “To us.”  They clinked glasses and each took a long swallow.  The fire was warming their skin, while the wine warmed their insides. 

      Robert gazed at Grace.  “I’m smiling like a damn idiot.  What have you done to me?”

      Grace kissed him as she got up to check the water for the broccoli.  “It looks good on you.  I have a feeling you were way too serious before you met me.”

      “Hey.  I’m a very fun guy.  Ask anyone.”

      “I don’t need to.  I get all my information from your daughter.”  Grace gave him a sly smile over her shoulder as she went into the kitchen.

      “Whoa. Wait a minute.”  Getting up, Robert grabbed his wine glass and leaned over the pass-through as Grace pulled the chicken out of the oven.  “God, that smells good.  What did my traitorous daughter tell you?”

      “Now, that wouldn’t be right, would it?  To violate confidentiality that way?  Besides, it was just girl talk.  You wouldn’t be interested.”  Grace turned to pull the steamer off the top of the pot.

      Robert tilted his head, and looked at her suspiciously.  “Sure I would.”

      “Well, I know she won’t mind, since she said she tells you this all the time anyway.  Cassie  basically said it was good that I came into your life, because you were probably going to end up a lonely, shriveled old man, watching the Weather Channel and eating Chinese out of the carton.”  Grace ducked just in time to miss a wine cork to the head.

      Robert laughed. “Well, what’s scary is how true that is.  I must admit I was having trouble finding a woman who could stand me.  You must have very low standards.”  Robert took the platter with the chicken and broccoli from the pass-through and put it on the table.

      Grace gave him a peck on the cheek as she moved around him to sit down. “No, you were just with the wrong women.”

      They finished dinner by candlelight, talking about the drive they would start on Sunday, making their way up to St. Maries.  After finishing every bite of food on the platter, they didn't even bother putting the ice cream in bowls, but shared the carton with two spoons. 

      Robert was so quiet during dessert that Grace finally had to say something.

      "Robert."

      "Hmmm?"

      "Is this all OK with you?"

      He looked up and saw the concern in her eyes. "Is what all OK, honey?"  It dawned on him what she was asking. "This? Oh, God, yes."  He took her hand across the table and kissed her knuckles and repeated, softly.  "Oh, God, yes." 

      "Then what's wrong?"

      Robert frowned and got another spoonful of ice cream.  He seemed to be having trouble looking Grace in the eyes.

      "I have something to tell you, and I'm not looking forward to it."

      Now Grace was getting worried.  "What?  How bad can it be?"

      "Not really bad.  Just awkward."

      In the pause that followed, Grace’s mind raced.  Finally, she spoke.  "Look, I can promise you that what's going through my head is much worse than whatever it is.  Are you still married?  Wanted in three states?  Gay? No, that's definitely not it.  What?"

      Robert swallowed his bite of ice cream and looked up at her.  "My ex-wife wants to move up to Idaho with us."

      Grace stared at him for a moment, her eyebrows raised.  "Oh."

      "Cass just told me this morning.  She's been trying to convince them to come with us.  I guess Marcia is on Walt's mailing list, and is now a believer.  Cass is ecstatic, but she wanted to be sure it was OK with you."

      Grace smiled and dug out another spoonful.  "That's sweet."

      Robert licked the last bit off his spoon and put it down on his plate.  "So is it OK with you?"

      "The only reason it wouldn't be is if I have something to worry about.” She put her spoon down and took his hands across the table, looking him in the eyes.   “Do I have something to worry about?"

      He shook his head.  "It was over a long time ago.  We were completely incompatible.  Now she's just my daughter's mother."

      Grace squeezed his hands before letting them go and standing up to clear the table.  "Then she needs to be with her daughter.  I'm glad for Cassie that she's decided to come.  You said she was married?  Both of them are coming?"

      "Yes, and four dogs."

      Grace moved around to the sink and ran the water to get it hot.  "I'll add them to the list."

      Robert followed her into the kitchen and came around behind her, kissing her on the neck.  "I love you, Gracie."

      She leaned back into him. “And I love you, and your daughter.  How could I wish for a daughter not to have her mother around when I lost mine so young?”  She let her hands warm in the water as she filled the sink.  “I still miss her.”

      “If everything Ellen says is true, she’s right here with you all the time.”  Robert walked back around to get his plate.

      Her eyes wide, Grace gave him a brilliant smile.  “Well, if she was in this room this afternoon, she got quite an eyeful of her little girl.”

      Robert laughed and passed his dish through to Grace.  “If she was here, I’m sure she’s very proud.”

      Grace laughed softly, and looked down at the water. “I know she’s happy for me.”  She looked up at Robert.  “That’s all she ever really wanted, for Jamie and me to be happy.  That’s all I really want for Alex.  It sounds like such a cliché, but it’s true.”

      Picking up the last of the silverware, Robert handed it to Grace. “That’s all I want for Cass, too.”

      Grace thought for a moment, and then said, “So when you say Marcia and, uh, what’s her husband’s name?”

      “Leonard.  Lenny.”

      “When you say that Marcia and Lenny are coming with us, do you mean they’ll live there, in the dorms?”

      “For the time being.  Until they get their bearings.  Lenny’s a doctor, cardiologist, I think.  They have some money.  If they can get up there and find something nearby that they can buy, they will.  Cass wasn’t sure when they were going to be able to get packed up and go.”  Robert smiled thinly. “Knowing Marcia, packing could take some time.  She will absolutely believe she needs all her little Lladro crystal figures, and all the good china, and about 200 pairs of shoes in the middle of the world turning upside down.”

      Grace pointed a soapy finger at him.  “I guess I’d better come clean then, and tell you that I have a snow globe and glass paperweight collection that I love dearly, and will go into the fires with me if need be.  And they are on their way to Idaho as we speak.”

      Robert looked sideways at her.  “How many pairs of shoes?”

      Grace counted in her head. “Maybe 10 that I wear.  Tops.”

      “OK.  I can live with that.”

      Grace finished up the dishes and wiped her hands on a towel.  “Well, my hands are clean, but the rest of me could use a hot shower.”  She looked at Robert out of the corner of her eye.  “How about you?” Grace started moving down the hall. 

      “Why don’t you go warm up the water, and I’ll spread the fire and lock up.  And in order to prepare for our new lifestyle, I really think we should take just one shower.  It would be irresponsible of us to waste water, wouldn’t it?”  Grace could see his eyes sparkling from across the room.

       “I agree completely.”  She walked back and put her arms around Robert’s neck and whispered into his ear, “How’s the regeneration going?”

      Robert closed his eyes, thinking.  “Hmmm.  I think I may be fully functional.”

      Grace kissed his neck and started down the hall again.

      “Oh, that is such good news.”

---

      Alex closed his eyes and let the sound of the drums wash over him.  In the way that a song can take you back to a particular memory, he felt himself transported back to this same place, but to a different time.  The memory of the ride down to Aquatic Park on the cable car brought back the face of a young girl a few years ago, vacationing in San Francisco with her parents, who asked him, incredulously, wonder dancing in her wide eyes, “You live here?”  He had felt suddenly as if he were the luckiest boy on Earth, as if he lived at Disneyland, the envy of everyone.

      And, today, as they always had, the drums moved him up and away from the cement seat.  The hardness he’d felt just a moment ago disappeared.  It had frightened him a little bit when he was younger, the feeling as if the seat were dropping away and he might go with it.  He would grab hard at his mother’s hand, just to make sure, and she would always squeeze back.  That was the other memory that took hold of Alex now, as he turned and opened his eyes to find Grace looking back at him.

      There was a strange mix of sadness and joy in his mother’s eyes today.  The sadness was easy to understand, because they all knew this was the last they would see of San Francisco.  Right after this, they would get into the Angel’s Grace van and begin the drive up to Idaho.  At first they thought they would fly, but then his mother changed her mind and decided to drive.  She said she wanted to take in every inch of the country between here and there, making memories.  Since they had no set time to get there, they were going to stop for the night wherever it suited them, but they had definitely planned to spend a night in Seattle.  Grace, Alex, Ellen and Cassie had never been to the Space Needle.

      The joy in his mother’s eyes was also easy to understand, as he looked slightly past her and saw Robert, eyes closed, chin up, and head tilted a little.  Growing up, he hadn’t thought a lot about his mother’s love life.  Alex hadn’t much liked Greg, the guy she dated for a couple of years.  Greg always seemed like he was trying too hard to get Alex to like him, and at the same time, Alex felt like Greg didn’t much like having a kid around. 

      But Robert was different.  Alex got the feeling that Robert thought of him as almost an adult, which was cool, because that’s how Alex felt.  Like an adult.  Alex liked Robert more than he wanted to admit, and a part of him felt a space opening up for a father again.  That space had shut down when he finally realized that Matthew was never going to answer his letters, and Alex still couldn’t quite touch how much that hurt him.  In a funny way, Robert helped him to do that by filling the space a little.

      Alex closed his eyes and felt the beat run through him again.  He was fully immersed, except that he slowly realized that the length of his right thigh was up against another thigh, which happened to belong to Cassie.  Probably going to be my sister, he thought with a sigh.

      Alex hadn’t said to it anyone, but he occasionally had some decidedly un-brotherly thoughts about Cassie, and one of them was quickly forming right now.  Pushing it away, he told himself for the hundredth time that she was almost eighteen and he had just turned fifteen.  I’m just a kid to her.  The other day, he’d said something serious to her, and she’d actually ruffled his hair, like I was freaking five years old.  The memory brought a sudden blush to his cheeks, and Alex opened his eyes again, focusing all his attention on the drummers in front of him.

      There were over 50 here today, all ages, mostly men, but more women than Alex remembered.  As always, it looked like the United Nations, all colors, some wearing traditional dress, African, Native American, Eastern Indian, and the ever-present San Francisco tie-dye, a bright canvas that vibrated with the motion of hands, sticks and bobbing heads.

      Turning his head slightly, Alex could see Ellen behind Grace in the grandstand seating, smiling, her eyes wide. Next to her, Walt was laughing, although his booming laugh could hardly be heard over the drums.  On the other side of Ellen were Elizabeth and Tim, who Alex had just met a couple of days ago. Jamie was on the end, next to Tim.

      A month ago, the only familiar faces would have been his mother’s and Jamie’s.  And now, we’re kind of a big family, Alex thought.  I like it.  Alex had always felt very loved, of course, but his family of three left him wondering sometimes, what would it be like to have Thanksgiving with aunts and cousins, sisters, brothers and grandparents, a father?  As he took in the group around him, all those places were filled, and Alex’s heart jumped a little as he let a sigh out to join with the drums.

      He felt a nudge from the side, and looked over to see Cassie smiling at him, radiant.  He suddenly got the feeling that she could read his thoughts, or maybe that she was feeling the same thing.  To his amazement, she reached over and took his hand, clasping it firmly in hers, with  impossibly soft fingertips just touching his knuckles.  And Alex thought, OK, this is probably the best moment of my whole life.

      And then, he would think later, it took its place as one of the worst.

      Alex pulled his eyes away from Cassie because of a sound behind him, just a rustle at first, but it must have been loud to be heard over the drums.  As he would tell the police in his deposition, it was just a flash of metal, a glint in the sunshine that snaked between Ellen and Walt, moving in slow motion toward the back of his mother’s head.

      Walt was the first to react, and he would say later that he was back in Korea for a moment, as he grabbed the wrist that held the gun and twisted sharply, somehow finding the strength of a much younger man.  Ellen, sitting next to him, reacted in her own way, instinctively turning to protect Elizabeth from the danger of the pointed gun, and putting herself in line with the barrel.

      Daniel’s shock and pain at his newly snapped wrist caused a reflex reaction, and his index finger pulled forward, sending a bullet clear through Ellen’s left side just under her heart and into Elizabeth’s forearm, where it finally came to rest against the bone.

      Alex watched in horror as Ellen’s white blouse, suddenly saturated with bright red, began to drip on the cement floor, and all he could think was, They don’t make it on TV when they look like that.  They die.

      Then, all hell broke loose.  In one second, Robert had leapt over the seats and had Daniel pinned, and the gun’s safety on. Daniel’s barely healed stump was caught excruciatingly under his body, and he moaned loudly under Robert’s weight.  Jamie joined him after determining that Grace was unharmed, and was already talking on his cell phone with 911.  Tim stood quickly and took off his thin belt, which he used as a tourniquet for Elizabeth’s arm.

      But Elizabeth seemed not even to know she had been hit, as she cradled her mother’s head in her lap, stroking her hair and dropping large tears onto the cotton of her blouse. She rocked Ellen slowly back and forth, saying, “Mom? Mom?” as Ellen inexplicably murmured, “It’s alright, baby, it’s going to be alright.”

      And now, even through the throbbing noise around them, people were taking notice.  The pop of the gun began to register with them as a sound entirely different from the beat of the drums, and those close enough to see Ellen’s blood began to shout and scream for help. 

      Now people were talking about the dark-haired, bearded man with one leg, the one who painstakingly made his way to the middle of the amphitheatre, although it would have been much easier for him to sit on the aisle.  He had quietly scooted himself along the cement seats, asking for others to move, until he had reached the spot he wanted.  Right behind the man who looked a little like that lawyer on TV, what was his name?

      Alex saw all this and knew on some level that he was in shock.  He watched the tears streak down Grace’s flushed cheeks, saw Walt holding Ellen’s hand, patting it, his face creased with age and pain.

      And suddenly Alex felt his hand still in Cassie’s, and he turned to her.  Her glazed eyes looked back at him, and they both looked down at their entwined hands.  As they slowly relaxed their grip, each hand showed the deep red half-moons of the other’s fingernails, pressed sharply into the skin on the back of their hands.  Then Cassie’s eyes spilled over, and she moved her arms around Alex’s waist and laid her head on his shoulder.         

      A path was made for the paramedics and the police, who, blessedly, arrived quickly.  And it was only as he and Cassie walked behind them down the long aisle that Alex realized the drums had stopped.

---

      Finally, after two hours of waiting, they were able to move slowly into a small alcove of seats in the Emergency Waiting Room.  It wasn't private, by any means, but at least it was away from the noise, crying and desperation of the large room.

      Grace looked around her with eyes that couldn't cry anymore, and remembered the few times she had been in rooms like this, with Alex's broken nose, and once with a broken finger. In those times, she had seen the acute cases come in, silently grateful for the superficial, non-life-threatening nature of their own visits. 

      This time, the gurney surrounded by paramedics, the disbelief, the terror, the gunshot wound, was her experience instead of one she watched.  This time, it was someone she loved.  This time, she felt the loss, and with that loss came the understanding of all the others she'd seen.  But Grace still couldn't cry anymore.

      Grace had one moment with Ellen, when she turned around in the stands just before Ellen lost consciousness.  Grace leaned close and whispered frantically, "You said you can fix things, can you fix this?" 

      Ellen looked back at her with  peaceful, glazed eyes, and said, “I don't know.  But it's OK, Grace.  It's OK.  I’ve done what I needed to do." 

      Grace looked deeply into Ellen’s eyes.  “Did you know this was going to happen?”

      Ellen smiled faintly, and simply said, “Free will, Gracie.  It’s always a surprise.  But it’s going to be OK.” Her eyes fluttered as she said, so softly, in Grace’s ear. “You know what to do. Do it without me.”

      Taking Ellen’s face gently in her hands, Grace said urgently, “No! It's not OK with me.  Don't go, Ellen, please.  Fight!  Fix it!"   Ellen’s eyes had closed then, but Grace held her as long as possible until she was put on the gurney, then until just their fingertips touched, and finally she had to let go. 

      From that point, it had been a blurred picture through Grace's tears, filled with sirens and taxis, and the frightened faces of those she loved.  She was flanked now in the hard plastic chair by Robert on one side and Alex on the other.  She could feel their strong arms locked with hers, so close that they were like one solid unit.

      The surgeon had come out quickly on his way to the operating room to say that Ellen was alive, but in very critical condition.  They knew the bullet had nicked her heart, but he wouldn't know until he got into surgery whether the damage to her internal organs was too severe to save her life.  He had also said that the will to live was very strong in some people and he had learned never to predict the outcome.

      Now, almost three hours into the surgery, they had heard nothing.  Grace kept telling herself that was a good thing, because it meant Ellen was still alive.

      Grace shuddered, and Robert took his arm from hers and put it around her shoulder, leaning her head into him.  He stroked her hair, and for one blissful moment, she was back at the cabin, Ellen was fine, and none of this had happened. 

      A Code Blue call from the speaker above their heads broke into her consciousness.  Grace opened her eyes, and she was back. 

      She pulled back and looked at Robert.  For the tenth time, she asked him, "He's in jail?  They have him?"

      As he stroked her head, he said softly, "Yes, honey, I saw to it myself.  He's not getting out.  There's no possibility of bail.  Too many witnesses. He'll be in there for a long time."

      Grace looked down and saw a spot of blood on her jeans.  She covered it with her hand. "Did he say why? Why he did this?"

      "Like I said, the only thing I heard him say, over and over, was something from the Bible. "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord."  Over and over.  No matter what they asked him."

      Grace sighed, feeling suddenly very tired. "They'll plead insanity for him.  He'll get out."

      Robert spoke softly, but with intensity, his anger just barely under the surface.  "Honey, he won’t get out fast enough."  Robert took a pause before he continued. "The wheels of justice turn very slowly.  They’ll hold him in County Jail until the trial, which will never come.  He'll be in a basement room with bars and locks when the water starts rising.  What more could we, or the courts, do to him?”  Then, more harshly, Robert finally let his anger take hold, and said with venomous irony, “He'll see his Lord very soon, and whatever justice there is will happen there."

      For a moment, they just looked at each other, and neither could keep from imagining what Robert just described.  Grace closed her eyes with a sigh.  “I’d like to say I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”  She shook her head.  “Right now I don’t know.  I just can’t think straight.”

      She curled into a ball on his shoulder. "This is taking so long.  I have to do something."

      Robert stood up and took her hands.  "Let's take a walk, honey. "  He turned to Alex, holding up his cell phone.  “Call me if anything happens, OK?  We'll be nearby."  Turning back to Grace, he said, "Come get some fresh air with me." 

      Grace stood slowly and turned, looking at the circle they had created in the room.  Alex, Cassie, Walt, and Jamie sat in one bank of chairs, while Teresa, Philip, Gerald and Cheryl sat in another.  Every one of them knew that Ellen was the reason they were now a true family, a family of choice rather than birth, perhaps, but a family nonetheless.  They had all thrown their futures together into the great unknown, and Ellen was the maternal center.

      And Grace knew that in a room above, Tim was sitting with Elizabeth, still under anesthetic from the successful removal of the bullet from her arm.  The wound wasn’t serious, but Elizabeth was so distraught about Ellen, the doctors thought it was a good idea to put her out for awhile.  At least until they knew something. 

      Ellen never gave up on Elizabeth, and everyone else did so quickly. Grace felt tears coming again, and shook them off.  She linked her arm with Robert’s and looked at him.  “Fresh air is a good idea.”

      It wasn’t until they were on the sidewalk outside that Grace realized how the sounds of the Emergency Room had become a dull drone over the last three hours.  Suddenly her ears were assaulted by the sounds of the city all around her.  The breeze blew across her face and caused her to breathe deeply for the first time in a while, and the oxygen flooded her system and cleared her head somewhat.

      They stopped only briefly at a newspaper stand, both looking mutely at an article in the left column of page one of the Chronicle.  “Bonertz Predicts Disaster” was the bold title.  Under it, “Hoax or Warning? Letter Printed in Entirety, Page 12.”  Again, without speaking, they looked around at the life that surrounded them, unabated.  Women in business suits even on a Sunday, men on cell phones, families shopping, buses honking as they squeezed through narrow spaces between cars.  They looked again at each other, blinking, before moving on.

      They walked for a time without talking, just feeling the pulse of life around them.  Since the first time Ellen had told Grace what was to come, she’d had trouble seeing the city without imagining its future.  In Grace’s current state of mind, every person that walked by, oblivious, was a victim.  She squinted her eyes almost closed and held tighter to Robert as the early-June sunshine gave way to the light chill of the evening.

      From his shoulder, Robert heard,  “She has powers that we don’t understand, you know.  She told me that she can cure disease in a body when she moves into it.  She can fix this.” Grace was speaking so softly, almost to herself, that Robert had to hold her close to him so that he could hear her.

      Robert took some steps in silence before he answered.  His work on the Force had exposed him to more gunshot wounds than he cared to count.  This was a bad one, and all his instincts told him it couldn’t turn out well. 

      “I hope so, honey.  No question, Ellen is special.  If anyone can pull through this, she can.”

      He was glad to be in the noise of the city, because his words sounded hollow to him.  He was already feeling the coldness creep into his spine, the occupational hazard of steeling his body from the grief he would need to deal with in those around him.  But this time, he was one of the family members, and for the last three hours his head had been filled with memories of his own moments with Ellen.

      When Robert turned again, Grace was looking at him intently, and he knew that she had read his thoughts, as surely as if he had said them out loud.

      “She can’t die.  She just got here.”  Grace stopped in her tracks and started to shake perceptibly. “We need her.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I need her.”

      The sun was just beginning to set, and the gold and orange glowed in the wet streak that lined Grace’s face.  Robert encircled her with his arms, holding her tightly as she began to sob softly.  He spoke the words, not knowing if they were true or not, “It’s going to be all right, don’t cry, honey.  She’s strong.”

      Between them, in the folds of his coat, Robert’s cell phone rang.  Still holding Grace, he reached his hand in and pulled it out, flipping it open in one move.  Grace kept her head on his shoulder, holding her breath.

      “Yeah. OK. OK. Thanks.”

      Grace pulled away and looked at him, desperation in her eyes.

      “She’s gone, honey. Oh, I’m so sorry. She’s gone.”

---

      Grace clutched the backpack in her lap as if it were a life raft, feeling the hard corners of the two boxes it held inside.  In her logical mind, she knew their souls were free and floating and probably close by, but in her extreme grief, she felt she must keep the boxes safe.  It was her duty to make sure that Andrew and Ellen found a home in their new home, making the long journey with the small band of travelers that followed, on faith, what had been so important to Ellen, and had its seeds in Andrew.

      It was early, but the sun was already bright in the East, rising over the Berkeley hills and creating long shadows as the van made its way up the coast.  Robert drove in silence, casting glances every now and then at Grace, who kept her eyes firmly on the road in front of them.  When she felt his gaze on her, she would turn and give him a thin smile, with a sadness that broke his heart each time.

      “I’ve lost my mother all over again,” she had whispered into his neck last night.  Her tears, warm at first, then cooling as they spread on his skin, seemed to come from a place so deep from inside her and her history, that it left him feeling unable to help her.  She tried to describe how she felt, but it was in a language he couldn’t completely understand.

      So he held her, and stroked her hair, and loved her more than he thought possible.

      Cass and Alex, still sleepy from the early morning start, were stretched out in the back of the van, their heads muffled in pillows on their separate windows.  The far-back of the van held what the four of them would need for the long drive up to St. Maries. 

      Grace had refused to change the plan, or the route, except for the three-day delay that was necessary to scatter a small part of Ellen’s ashes in the Bay, after a short service at Vista Point.  Elizabeth left the hospital on Tuesday morning, and went straight to the service, which had waited for her release.  She was still on some very strong drugs, though not for the pain in her arm.  Tim was her constant companion, refusing to leave her side.

      This was never expected to be a joyful trip, but there had been a certain level of excitement and adventure about it until Ellen’s death.  Now it was hard to look each other in the eyes, because those eyes would suddenly fill with tears.  In a short time, each had been touched by Ellen’s spirit, and each found a capacity for grief that was startling in its intensity.

      It had been no one’s fault, except Daniel’s.  But the guilt and regret that shadowed the travelers was palpable.  Robert told himself he should have been able to prevent it.  Jamie had seen the man with one leg as he moved behind him, but didn’t question it.  Walt relived the moments over and over and wished he had twisted up and not sideways.  Grace had planned the trip to Aquatic Park. Elizabeth knew her mother died protecting her.  The “what ifs” and “if onlys” hung around each like a heavy cloak, almost preventing speech, much less the processing it would take to move on in peace.

      But the path was laid out, even though the guide was absent.  The travelers had to find their own way alone. 

      Grace had regrets that were a constant sharp pain residing somewhere in her chest. She wished she had listened more, asked more questions, been more attentive to everything Ellen had said.  If only she had asked, just once, for the name of another walk-in, so that the group could have access to the sea of consciousness again, to that reservoir of knowledge that Ellen tapped into.

      Grace’s head hurt from all the bargaining she had done, trying to find Ellen in meditation, dreams, fitful searchings behind her eyes, shouting her name silently, Where are you? I need you!  until now, as the drive began, she was exhausted, spent, and emotionally drained.  The only voice that had come back to her was Ellen’s calm tone, saying, You know what to do, you don’t need me, follow your heart, Grace.  Grace would rail back at the voice,  No, I don’t.  I don’t know anything.  You were the center.  We’re lost.  Last night, in her sleep, she had spoken the words aloud, and Robert had pulled her close, so sweet, trying to console her inconsolable spirit.

      For the last three days, the sadness in the group had dominated everything they’d done. People hugged a lot, feeling the uncertainty of a world that suddenly snatched loved ones away,  and all this on the shifting sands of what the future held.  Each in their own way experienced the warring feelings of denial and acceptance, but through it all, there was a task to be accomplished.  It was Ellen’s task, and everyone pulled together to be sure her death had meaning.  She meant to save them all, and saved they would be, to honor her.

      Jamie drove behind the van in the Mustang, with Charles in the front, and Tim and Elizabeth in the back seat.  The ragtop over their heads shielded them from the morning chill, although they planned to take it down later in the day.  Everyone was so tired that there was little conversation. 

      Elizabeth slumped on Tim’s shoulder, partially due to the sedatives she was taking, but mostly because it just felt good to be held.  Elizabeth was much more aware than anyone thought, but she knew she needed to stay quiet because any attempt at speech resulted in a confusing muddle of guilt and tears.  Even in her state, she was aware of how much she had lost in a short time, and knew she needed to be gentle with herself until she could face it all head-on.  Her arm throbbed slightly, serving to remind her nearly every second how Ellen had died.

      Elizabeth had heard the phrase “taking a bullet” often enough in the movies.  Usually it referred to a Secret Service agent being willing to die to save the President, or buddies in war, or the more frivolous description of a co-worker taking the blame for something to protect another.  It always seemed to be shown from the view of the one taking the bullet, but Elizabeth now was painfully aware of how it felt to be the one sacrificed for.

      And all she could feel running through every cell of her body was, I wasn’t worth it.  She had heard the whisperings, “What will we do without her?” “Are we still going?” “What do we do now?” and, in contrast, Elizabeth knew that her own absence would have been marginally felt, except maybe by the man who held her now, and of course, her mother.

      Her mother.  Or the woman who was sharing her mother’s body.  Whatever.

      In the last three days, Elizabeth had relived, over and over, her conversation in the garden with Ellen as they calmly sat over tea and talked about souls popping in and out of bodies.  All Elizabeth knew as she tried to make sense of it all through her sappy and soggy state these days, was that the woman she knew as Ellen warmed her heart.

      The woman she had avoided, been embarrassed by, sought to commit to an institution, rejected at every turn.  That was the woman who, ultimately, offered her unconditional love and made Elizabeth feel as if she had a future as a part of the human race.

      And now she was gone.  And Elizabeth felt, unrelentingly, the crushing responsibility to take her place.  To be as good, as kind, as loving, as warm, as intuitive, as motherly, as Ellen had to this group of lost chicks.  And Elizabeth knew, just as unrelentingly, that she would fail.

      So Elizabeth crawled further into the black hole that was her home now, and she wished she could just turn herself inside out and disappear.  Except that I don’t have the will to do even that.

      Tim pulled the blanket around her shoulders as she shivered, and said, “You OK?  You want my coat?”

      “Mmm. No, fine,” was all she could manage to mutter, but she snuggled closer and squeezed her eyes tighter.  This is why people jump off of buildings.  I never understood it, but I do now.  And as this thought flowed through her, she knew, from some strong part deep inside of her, that she would never do that, and that she would come out of this. 

      She would, because she couldn’t bear the thought, in this world or the next, that Ellen had wasted her courage on someone who would just give up.

      Behind the Mustang, Philip drove the 4-Runner with Gerald, towing a flatbed with the 1963 Porsche that Gerald jokingly called his “trophy wife” for all the energy, love and money it took to maintain.  After a somber silence that lasted for miles, Philip decided they couldn’t make the whole drive feeling this way, so he began a playful argument about why Gerald felt a need to drag the car behind them.

      “And what in the world are you going to do with that in Idaho without gas?” Philip asked with exasperation. “Make it into a planter?”

      Gerald had his eyes fixed on the road ahead and his foot pressing the imaginary brake on his side of the car. “Are you able to talk without using your hands? Do we need to be silent all the way there so that you can drive?”

      “I just don’t understand what possible purpose that relic will serve.” Philip had completely ignored Gerald’s request that he keep his hands on the wheel.

      “It’s a piece of history, Philip.  We’ll put it in a museum so that the little post-Apocalyptic children can know what a great car looks like.”

      Philip turned and snorted, “It’s an internal combustion engine, for Chrissakes!  It’s what got us into this mess!  We should bury it!”

      Gerald laughed at this, finally. “Well, you have a point there.” Smiling, he leaned over to admire the reflection in his side mirror, “But she is a beauty, isn’t she?”

      Philip shook his head, chuckling. “You’re a sick individual, my friend.”

      The word “sick” suddenly struck Philip as a thoughtless choice, considering Gerald’s HIV status. He turned, contrite, and said, “Sorry.”

      Gerald shrugged, and said, “Don’t be.  It is what it is.”

      “You don’t have to answer this, but,” Philip paused. “How do you feel about all this?  I mean, about how it will affect you?”

      Gerald raised his eyebrows in question. “Oh, you mean about the end of the world as we know it, the destruction of the pharmaceutical companies, and me on a regular cocktail of drugs to control this thing?”

      “Well, yeah.”

      Gerald leaned back and exhaled, closing his eyes. “I’m taking my chances.”  He turned and looked out the window at the landscape flying by. “I told a lot of people about this.  My support group, friends, ex-lovers.  I think most of them will stay, because they’re too afraid to leave their therapies.”

      Philip always felt the direct way was the best, and he sensed that Gerald wanted to talk about this. “Are you afraid you’ll get sick?”

      “When the pills run out? Yes.”  Gerald smiled. “Everyone I know gave me theirs to take with me.  There was a sudden epidemic of lost prescription bottles in San Francisco, and I won’t frighten you by telling you how much weed there is in the trunk of that car behind us.”

      Philip laughed. “Probably just as well.”

      Gerald moved Philip’s hand back on the wheel. “Just don’t get pulled over, Mario Andretti.”

      Philip put his hands in the proper position on the wheel, smiling. “Ten and two, all the way to Idaho.”

      Gerald continued. “You know, it’s funny, you’re all reacting to this possible death sentence you’ve heard, about the Earth swallowing us up, but I’ve had a death sentence hanging over me for 6 years.”

      “How do you deal with that?”

      “It was exhausting at first, and then, believe it or not, it became liberating.”  Gerald took a sip from his coffee mug. “I’ve stayed healthy, thank God, and you just can’t be scared all the time.”

      Philip looked over for a split second, and then returned his eyes to the road. “I’ve been scared pretty much since Memorial Day weekend.  How do you move past that?”

      Gerald put his hand on Philip’s shoulder. “You realize that what you’re most scared of is losing your life, but in your fear, you’re actually giving your life away.  You spend all your time worrying, and waiting for the ax to drop.  It compromises everything. Joy, relationships, hopes, dreams, laughter.  Everything that is your life.”

      He took another sip before putting the cup back in the holder, and continued. “Then, if you’re lucky enough to find joy again, you find it with a freedom that you didn’t have before.  Everything takes on a kind of sharp outline, you know?  That old cliché about every day being a gift?  It’s true.”

      Philip nodded, wondering when that would start for him.  They drove in silence for a time, watching as the towns north of San Francisco flew by.

      Gerald spoke softly then, almost to himself. “I got to talk to Ellen about it.”

      Philip looked quickly to him. “About AIDS?”

      “Uh-huh.  She had some pretty crazy ideas, but she told me that I had the choice about whether to have this or not.”

      “Why would anyone choose to have it?” Philip asked.

      Gerald stabbed a finger in the air. “My question exactly.  To which she said all illness is a learning experience, and once we’ve learned, we can be done with it.”

      “Did she happen to tell you what you needed to learn?” Philip asked skeptically.

      “Well, that would have been way too easy, wouldn’t it?” Gerald smiled at the memory.  “No, and after she told me why, I mentioned something about the non-interference directive from Star Trek and she laughed and said, ‘Yes, just like that.’”

      Philip shook his head slightly.  “She was an original, wasn’t she?”

      Gerald chuckled, sipping the last of his coffee.  After a pause, he said, “Maybe I’ll get better.  I’d like to think that’s possible.  Maybe the pills will run out, and I’ll find I didn’t need them.  Maybe what I needed to learn was the joy thing, you think?”

      Philip smiled back at him. “Yeah, maybe.”  Breaking his promise to keep both hands on the wheel, he reached over and put his hand over Gerald’s. “Maybe.”

---

      Grace loved it when Alex just came up and put his arm around her shoulders.  He was so strong and tall at 15, and it was at once a very grown-up thing to do, but it was also an acknowledgement of their bond as mother and son.  He had started doing that in the last year or so, and it made her feel even more connected to him, if that was possible.

      Today, he made the gesture as they looked out over the city of Seattle.  They had walked completely around the observation deck of the Space Needle, after watching a huge cruise ship as it made its way out of the harbor for a 7-day trip to Juneau, Alaska by way of the inland passage.

      “Ellen would have loved this,” he said matter-of-factly.  It didn’t really require an answer, and Grace wasn’t sure she could offer one, anyway.  Her emotions were still so raw that she had been having trouble even hearing Ellen’s name.

      Tomorrow will be a week since we went to Aquatic Park to hear the drums.  They had been driving at a leisurely pace, using cell phones to talk among the three vehicles.  With ten people in this small democratic society, the stops happened often.  Vista points overlooking the ocean, a small café in Arcata, the Shakespeare Festival site in Ashland, Oregon, the Conger Street Clock Museum in Eugene, dinner at the best steak restaurant in Portland, and finally last night, Seattle.

      After finding a hotel in the St. Anne’s district, they had slept late before walking to the Space Needle.  After, of course, getting the requisite coffee at the very first Starbucks at Pike’s Market, moving past countless Japanese tourists to get through the door.

      And though Grace was the one who was so adamant that Alex and Cassie see these things that they had never seen and never would be able to see again, she had walked through it all as if she were in a trance.  She found she wanted to stop every person she saw and tell them to come to Idaho, to save them.  Every person in every gas station, every restaurant, every person waving from the cruise ship, every mother taking pictures of her children, every Japanese tourist outside Starbucks.  Every one.

      Robert helped her by listening, and holding her every night, and making love to her.  She could forget for a time in his arms, forget about Ellen’s blood on her jeans, forget about the wall of water she saw covering everything, forget how many smiling, laughing children would never see another birthday.  In his arms, for those precious fiery moments, there was only him, only their bodies and the love they felt for each other.

      Then the truth would sneak in, quietly coming through the back door, and one tear would slip out, then another.  She would apologize, and he would hold her and tell her he loved her, and the pain eased a little more with each day.  He would tell her what Ellen had told her, that what she was doing was enough.  That she couldn’t save everyone.

      And now she looked at Alex and felt his arm around her.  On her other side, she saw Robert’s strong profile, and the wind blowing gently through his warm brown hair as he looked out across the city.  And she healed just a little bit more.

      “She’s here, honey.  Ellen’s here with us,” she said softly to Alex.  Robert turned to look at her, hearing the firm, confident way she said Ellen’s name.  He raised his eyebrows as if to say, Good girl, you must be feeling better, and she smiled back at him.

      Just then, Philip and Gerald, inseparable even out of the car, came up and flanked them on both sides.

      “Anybody hungry?”

      Gerald snorted, “We ate two hours ago!  You’re hungry again?”

      Philip ignored him. “There’s a monorail that goes downtown.  Let’s go find a restaurant and a drink.  What do you say?”

      Grace smiled. “I say yes.  Where’s everybody else?”

      “In the Gift Shop, shopping,” Philip said.  As Grace, Alex and Robert followed him through the door on the way to the elevator, they heard him talking to Gerald, “Did you see those great vests that the elevator operators wear?  All covered with stars and planets?  I want one!”

      Five days until the Solstice. Until June 21^st.  Grace had been counting down the days, not knowing what would happen by then, if anything.  She had always been able to turn to Ellen, but now they were flying blind.  They would be in St. Maries by the 21st, definitely, no matter how many stops they made.  It was only a six-hour drive from here to there.

      She almost felt as if she were stepping off a precipice.  Off the ledge she had just been looking over.  The farmhouse.  The beginning of our new life.

---

A week before he was scheduled to leave for Idaho, Walt Bonertz made a call to the Office of the President of the United States.  He expected that it would take some time to schedule a meeting, but was pleasantly surprised when an hour of the President’s time was immediately set for the next day.

They had worked together on environmental issues for a number of years, starting when President Gates was a junior Senator from Illinois.  The two men had common goals and a similarity of temperament and expectations.  And they were friends.

“Mr. President.”  Walt made the almost imperceptible bow with his head that he still found impossible to suppress toward the younger man when he was in the Oval Office.  Not anointed as royalty, but suffused with a quiet power, Thomas Gates was a good President, a good man, and Walt liked him immensely.

“Walt.  Good to see you.”  Gates took Walt’s hand with real warmth, and motioned him to the couches in the center of the room.

After some pleasantries asking after families and their health, Walt came directly to the point of the meeting.

“I know you’re busy, Mr. President, so I’ll cut to the chase.”

The President smiled. “I was wondering if I would hear from you.  You and your green envelopes have been in the news quite a bit lately.”

Walt colored just a bit. “Well, yes, I have been making quite a name for myself.   I’m glad you didn’t throw me out on my ear, frankly.  It’s quite a yarn I have to tell you.”  He gave a short chuckle.  Gates’ face remained open, but impassive.

Walt launched into the story, from beginning to end, that Ellen had relayed to all of them.  He added the results of his research so far, and said that although there had been no unusual stirrings of the planet, the temperature climb was progressing to a point that seemed to pose a reasonable threat.

The President waited until Walt had finished, and, leaning back, calmly folded his hands, and said, “I know.”

Walt let a low laugh escape and leaned back, too. He should have thought of it, since Ellen had told him there were many walk-ins doing what she was doing.  Gates imparted that Senator Fuller of the great state of Arkansas had been approached by a man who had the same story as Ellen’s, and the Senator had been wise enough, with the urging of his very spiritual wife, to believe it. 

Senator Fuller was a particular friend of the President, and the rest had followed naturally.  As Walt listened, he learned that the wheels had already started turning.  Options had been weighed, probabilities discussed, and many closed-door, need-to-know meetings had been held. 

The upshot was that the government of the United States was on a wait-and-see, yellow alert status until after the 21^st.

“Actually, Walt, we were very glad you sent out that mailing.  It gave us some time to decide what we wanted to do.”  He reached down to the table and poured a cup of coffee, offering one to Walt. “It’s decaf, but I can get you the real stuff if you want some.” Walt shook his head.

The President continued.  “Since your letter came from your organization, and was entirely separate from the government of this country, we knew the news could come out without a widespread panic, which is what we would have certainly caused.”  He leaned back and took a sip of the hot coffee.  “We thank you for buying us that time.”

“I trust you, Walt, and clearly you’re as much in the middle of this as we are.  I’d like to talk with Mrs. Preston, have some of my people talk with her, to see if there’s anything new we can learn.”

Walt’s eyes clouded. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mr. President.” 

Gates listened to the rest of Walt’s story, and then said, solemnly, almost under his breath, “What people do in the name of their God.  I hear about it every day, all over the world.”  He shook his head slightly, and then looked up, clear-eyed, taking a deep breath.

“So that’s everything you know?”

“Well, Mr. President, I did have a chance to talk with Mrs. Preston at length, and asked her some pretty specific questions.  I was especially concerned about nuclear devices, and whether the Earth could survive all those monsters going into the waters and the soil.”

“And what did she say?”

“That those would be the first to be pulled in, every one of them.  Power plants, missiles, silos, production facilities, everything.  Pulled way down, where they could do no harm is what she said.  Do no harm.”  Walt trailed off slightly, remembering Ellen’s eyes as she spoke. “And the military complexes, bases, weapons caches, those too. I thought you might want to get those people out of there before it happens, clear out the bases.”

“We’ve heard that, too, Walt.  Our source has been thoroughly debriefed, and we have those same specifics.”  Gates leaned forward, raising his eyebrows.  “You can imagine our dilemma.  We can’t very well abandon every missile silo and military base.  What we have done is let our people know that there may be imminent danger, and we’ve given them the power to decide.”  He sighed. “Such good men and women.  We’ve had no shortage of volunteers.”

Walt smiled and nodded, feeling the weight on his friend’s shoulders. “Sir, may I speak freely?”

“Absolutely, Walt.  I would welcome it.”

Walt took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I just can’t shake a huge sense of relief that I’m feeling.  How many times have we talked about how we could clean up this planet, and get rid of the threat of war, and bury the poisons we’ve created?”

Gates smiled. “Too many hours to count, Walt.”  He was getting the drift of where Walt was going with this.

Walt leaned back and put his long arms over the back of the couch. “Well, here we are!  She’s doing it!  All at once.  Not years of legislation, years of talks, treaties, global warming seminars, blasted diplomacy.  All at once. Shhhhhuuuuup!” Walt made a sucking noise that caused Gates to laugh, in spite of himself.

“Am I crazy to be relieved?  All these folks are going to die, all our years of technology and advancement down the tubes, so many structures, so much art, so much beauty, gone!  And I’m relieved.  What the hell do you make of that, Tom?”

Gates smiled, with sadness in his eyes.  “I’d be lying if I told you, a good and old friend, that I didn’t have some relief mixed in with the horror of what all this could mean.  I’ve done everything I can to try and solve these problems, but I’ve wondered sometimes if I’m going forwards or back.”  He shook his head slightly.  “If this all comes to pass, there will surely be a new set of challenges.  But, as my lovely and wise Shelley says, ‘Once you’ve been through the Apocalypse, what else is there to fear?’”

Walt tilted his head in agreement. “Did your source happen to tell you anything about what comes after this life?”

“Ah, yes.  Those were some very entertaining sessions to watch.  I don’t know how much of it I believe, but I would sure like to believe it.”  He looked distantly at the walls and their paintings. “This job makes you wonder sometimes about the concepts of Heaven and Hell.  I like the idea that we judge ourselves, because I do that every day, Walt.  And I like to believe I do it honestly.”

He met Walt’s eyes again. “In any case, if you believe the truth of one part of the story, you have to consider that all of it may be true.  We’ll know soon, won’t we?”

“And you, Mr. President?  Will you be safe?”

Gates smiled. “Undisclosed location.  On American soil, or rather under it.  Shelley and the kids are going there tomorrow. We trust it will be untouched.  Where will you go?”

“Northern Idaho.  A group of us are meeting up there.” Walt puffed up his chest and smiled broadly.  “I may become a gentleman farmer.”

Laughing softly, Thomas Gates stood up and outstretched a hand to his friend.  “Go with God, Walt.  I hope we can meet again to discuss how we move forward.  And if this is all a grand mistake, we’ll do that anyway.”

“Thank you Mr. President.  Tom.”  And with a decided lack of protocol, Walt Bonertz enclosed his friend in a bear hug, which was warmly returned.

---

      Ronald Banks had awakened early, very early this morning.  He had been waiting for this day ever since he first connected the dots on his primitive spreadsheet back at his Weather Channel desk in Atlanta.  Now he sat at another desk, in Dallas, Texas, with state-of-the-art hardware and software at his disposal, and he was terrified.

      Knowing something in theory is one thing.  Seeing it happen, seeing its inevitability, is quite another.  Ronald had watched the numbers rise in such a perfect arc that it was as if a cosmic computer program was controlling them.  Nothing in nature was this controlled, so it looked, ironically, wholly unnatural.

      He wasn’t scheduled to make the trip up to Idaho until July 1st, nine days from today.  But Ronald’s terror was escalating on the same path as the temperature, and he wondered how he could rise each morning to the alarm, calmly drive to work, pour his coffee, and spend his days strategizing with his co-workers in Walt Bonertz’ offices about how to calm the public and assist them in saving themselves.

      Nine days.  When every cell in his body was screaming, Save Yourself! Go Now!

      Every morning, Ronald searched the faces of Jennifer, and Jeremy, and Sarah, and Tyler, and all the others in the office.  He searched for signs of fear, for cracks in the altruism, for limits to their compassion.  They wondered about what was going to happen, yes, but they never seemed even close to bolting from the building, screaming, which is what Ronald thought he might do any one of the 28,000 seconds of his workday.

      As he booted up his computer, Jennifer walked in, wishing him a good morning and giving him his schedule for the day.  They were geared up for an avalanche of phone calls to the hotline, because those paying attention to the predictions Walt had made would see that, in fact, the temperatures were exactly 10 degrees higher than the average in every world capital on this day.

      Ronald had known this would be true for quite some time.  His mounting panic made it harder and harder for him to keep himself calm, but there were graphs to be formulated and placed on the website, there were press releases to write in layman’s language, there were maps to be distributed, There is a whole fucking world to save, but What about me? Who saves me? was all he could keep saying to himself.

      He knew that the plan was in place for all of them, all the extraordinary, perfect people around him who thought nothing of themselves.  He knew that the helicopters would come to the roof of the Bank of America building on July 1st at 5:00 p.m., that each of them had a number to a seat on one of those helicopters, that they would be taken directly to the airport to get on a plane to Spokane, Washington, and that vans would then drive them to St. Maries.

      Ronald knew that the families of those workers were already packing their things to be taken in trucks up to the dormitories, and that the family members would be waiting at the airport for the helicopters to arrive. Walt had spared no expense for his selfless, compassionate people.  Ronald knew all this.

      But Ronald also knew that the world was falling apart.  He knew that the gophers were waiting, that the flawless plans could have bumps that no one would anticipate.  There were always gophers, always bumps.  So, in Ronald’s mind came visions of the water sucking down the Bank of America building on June 30^th, and the helicopters never coming, and someone saying, “Oops.”

      Jennifer was speaking. “At 10:00 you and the team have a conference call with Mr. Bonertz, to update the script for the hotline.  I believe he wants to add something about travel safety, since there seem to be some indications of anxiety from some callers about the mood on the road.  So, Jeremy has asked everyone to be thinking of ways to address this.  Then at 11:00…”

      Travel safety.  Go now!  That would be really safe.

      But Ronald had a dilemma.  How to do the cowardly thing and run, and still expect to have a place reserved for him in the dormitory in St. Maries.  He knew there were other places he could go, but he would be taking his chances alone in those places.  How could he show his face there when the rest of the team showed up on the 1st, having done their duty and bravely risked their lives in the service of others?

      “…the temp graph needs a tweak for the site, we expect…”

      This dilemma had Ronald paralyzed.  To those around him, he was doing his job just as they were, but inside of his head, the screaming inner monologue was sending him slowly around the bend. Oops. Sorry. We miscalculated.

      “…Mr. Banks?”

      Ronald looked up. “Yes?”

      “Is there anything else you need?”

      “No, thank you, Jennifer.”  Ronald adjusted the pencils on his desk to right angles as Jennifer walked toward the door. “Uh, Jennifer?”

      She turned. “Yes, Mr. Banks?”

      He struggled for a moment, not quite knowing how to phrase his question. “Do you…do you ever…uh…are you…um…” He attempted to look dignified as he asked the question, as if it were a philosophical question rather than a terrified scream from inside his head, “worried at all?”

      Jennifer looked slightly perplexed. “About the meeting? Or the website? Is that what you mean?”

      “Well, no…this is quite an undertaking, isn’t it?  All this organization, and travel, and planning?  Do you ever think that, I don’t know, that maybe we forgot something?” Ronald was beginning to get his footing now. “That everything might not go according to plan?  Does that worry you at all?”

      Jennifer turned around and sat in the chair facing Ronald’s desk.  She let out a huge sigh.

      “I’m worried to death.  I didn’t think anyone else was.  You always seem so brave, you never complain, so I was trying to be more like you.  I can hardly stand it I’m so scared.”

      “Really?’ Ronald was still maintaining his composure, as if he were just asking as a courtesy to her.  “Well, that’s interesting, because I’ve had some of those feelings as well.”

      Her eyebrows went up into her blonde bangs, “You have?  Gosh, I would never have known, Mr. Banks.  You’re so calm always.”

      “Well, it doesn’t help anyone to be in a panic, now does it?  And, Jennifer, I think you should call me Ronald.  We’re in extraordinary circumstances, and I think we should be friends.”  He smiled genuinely at her, very grateful for the calm he was truly feeling for the first time in a long while.  Then he added, shyly, “Actually, I could use a friend.”

      Jennifer’s eyes widened. “Sometimes I wish I could just leave.”

      “You do?”

      “Um-hmm.  Just get in my car and start driving north, just like all those people on the hotline.  Do you ever think of that?”

      He didn’t answer the question, but he did move closer across his desk and say, conspiratorially, “What do you think would happen?”

      Jennifer shrugged. “I worry that people won’t think I’m a very good person.  But then, I think, haven’t I done enough already?”  She smiled at Ronald.  “The only thing that’s really kept me here is you.  You’re being so brave, I figure I can make it one more day, and then one more, and then one more.” 

      Ronald’s heart was beating faster now. “What if I weren’t so brave? What would you think then?”

      Jennifer blinked once and then fixed him with an intense stare.  “Mr. Banks…” to his tilted head, she amended, “Ronald.  Would you like to go together?”  She blinked again. “Now?”

      Ronald took a deep breath. “Oh, God, yes.”  His eyes softened. “I don’t think I can spend another minute in this building.”

      Her head still hadn’t moved, just about a foot away from his across the desk.  Their eyes were still locked.  “What’ll we tell everyone?”

      That stopped him.  His mind raced.  Then it came to him.  He didn’t have any family, but Jennifer did.  A mother in Minneapolis.  She had mentioned once how worried she was about her, and how she refused to leave her home of 45 years.

      The only way to convince people who only think of others was to make them think you are only concerned with someone else.  And, it was sort of the truth.   Ronald had felt something when Jennifer first mentioned her mother, thinking that if his mother were still alive he would be worried about her not wanting to move.  He had thought it.  So it wasn’t a lie.

      Now the words spilled out, riding on the fears that he had kept locked up for so many days, rushing out, as he stood up and started to go through his desk for anything he might need.

      “OK, you’re very worried about your mother. You are, right?”  Jennifer nodded vigorously. “She refuses to leave her home, and you don’t want to drive up there all by yourself with, with…” Ronald paused, and then, “with travel so dangerous.”  She nodded again.

      “You’ve asked me to drive you and try to help you convince your mother, and we’ve become friends, haven’t we?” Another vigorous nod. “So, how could I say no?”

      Suddenly Jennifer’s eyes filled with tears. “You’ll help me get my mom to Idaho?  Really?”

      Ronald stopped what he was doing and walked around to the chair next to Jennifer.  He sat down, and for a moment he was speechless.  He really could help her.  She really did need him.  It wasn’t an excuse.  The relief he felt surprised him.  He wanted to be a good man, and now he felt like he was.

      “Yes, I’ll help you.  I’m sorry I didn’t see how worried you were.”

      Jennifer put her head on his shoulder and let the tears fall.  “Thank you.  I didn’t know what to do.  Thank you.”

      He stroked her hair awkwardly, “Well, you’re welcome, Jennifer.  I’m glad to help.”  When she looked up, he said, “Let’s dry those eyes, and we’ll go see Jeremy.  We have a trip to plan.”

---

      “Please think about it. Night, honey, sleep well.  I love you.”

      “You too, baby.”

      Ron closed his cell phone and placed it back on the charger.  Between his two large socked feet, he resumed watching the tape of the Nationwide NASCAR race he had TIVOed earlier in the day.  The sound was still muted, and as he watched the colorful cars go around, his mind wandered back to Teresa’s voice.

      So sad.  She had sounded like she might cry, and had told him, what, five times that she loved him?  Unusual for her.  The kids sounded happy, like they were having a great adventure, and clearly Pooch was loving the great open spaces.  But Terri, she sounded so sad.

      He still thought it was a load of crap, this whole crazy idea of Grace’s.  The fact that she had convinced so many people to go with her to godforsaken Idaho continued to amaze him, and had given him a newfound respect for her abilities.  That girl should be in sales.

      Ron got up, without turning off the race.  He wasn’t quite sure where he was going, but he thought better on his feet.  Looking around, he realized he would be glad to see Jeannie tomorrow with her cheerful efficiency.  Merry Maids was a good idea, because Ron just couldn’t seem to keep the house organized when he was there alone.  A week didn’t seem that long, and the house was big, but he managed between Jeannie’s visits to clutter up practically every room in it.

      He wandered over into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Restless, Ron felt like he did when he drank too much coffee.  He’d only had one cup this morning after sleeping in late, but had puttered around the house all day without even getting dressed.  Not even a shower.  That’s it, I just need to get it together.  He closed the refrigerator door, clicked off the TV and made his way upstairs.

      Forty-five minutes later, he was dressed in a polo and khakis, and wondered why.  He hadn’t planned to go out, and was thinking all day he would have pizza delivered for dinner.  As he looked out over the flawlessly landscaped yard from the bedroom porch, he sighed, watching the sun as it made its way down toward sunset.

      It was hotter than usual, and everyone was talking about it.  Of course, the tabloids had been running their usual hysterical full page headlines about the world coming to an end, complete with alien interviews.  There were even some mainstream news organizations that were beginning to lend some credence to the craziness, but Ron’s head was way too level to buy into that shit.  All I know is that the commute is a breeze these days, and there’s no line at the coffee stand.

      But Teresa, she was another story.  She still didn’t completely believe it the way Grace did, but Ron felt an uneasiness from her that was disturbing.  At first on the phone, she sounded like it was just a lark, a fun summer for the kids, but now, well, now Ron didn’t know.

      I miss them.  The thought came suddenly and it surprised him. 

      He’d spent the weeks at work proudly talking about his new life as a single man for the summer.  The whole house to himself, no one to answer to, no kids, no dinner time, no fighting about work.  Sure, he loved them, and would probably be glad when they came home at the end of August, but, hell, this was great!

      Was it only three weeks ago they’d all waved goodbye at the Southwest curb? 

      Ron mentally shook himself.  Get hold of yourself.

      He straightened up from his position leaning on the railing and thought what a beautiful night this was for a drive.  Making up his mind to take the top down on the Mercedes and feel the warm wind in his hair, he turned to pick up his wallet, his glasses and his cell phone.  A quick grab of his leather jacket from the closet, and he was opening the garage door.

      His decision to go south on the freeway was driven by a desire to get to the Golden Gate Bridge by sunset.  Practically every Bay Area resident, no matter how hardened, took in that sight with wonder at some time or other.  Most of the time, the bridge was simply a way to get from point A to point B, but sooner or later, they found themselves stopping in wonder at the perfect juxtaposition of the red towers reaching into the sky as the sun disappeared into the vast blue ocean beyond it.

      For some reason, Ron felt he wanted to be there. If he were really honest with himself, which he generally wasn’t, he wanted to remember the last time he was there with Terri and the kids.  As he exited the tunnel just north of the Golden Gate, he breathed deeply of the salt air as the towers came into view.

      But when the turn came to go to Vista Point, Ron drove right past it.  It’s too great to be driving, he thought, it feels too good to stop.  So he drove across the span, looking up through the steel and feeling the wind on his face.

      When he got to the San Francisco side of the bridge, Ron thought, Shit, I’m already here, how about dinner in the Sunset District? That’s what’ll cheer me up.  Ron thought of a great Italian place where he and Terri had gone when they were dating, and wondered if it was still there.  Right on 19^th Street, the main road that went through and down to South San Francisco and Daly City.

      While he drove the stop and go of 19^th Street looking for the restaurant sign, he remembered his conversation with Teresa.  What a nightmare it must be up there, although Terri had sounded cheerful enough about that part of it.  All those strangers living in, what had she called them, dormitories?  Jesus, was he glad he was here and not there living with all those people, every one of them probably as hysterical as the friggin’ National Enquirer.  Where is that restaurant?  I thought it was closer than this.

      As he exited the City going South, Ron wasn’t quite sure what to do.  He was hungry now, and had his stomach set on Italian.  He sure wasn’t going to go home and have pizza delivered now.  That boat has sailed.  Now I need good Italian.

      Isn’t there a great Italian restaurant down by the airport?  He thought hard about the name.  All he knew is that you could sit and watch the planes come in and out of SFO while you ate phenomenal pasta and sipped a passable red wine.  I’ll know it when I see it.

      God, it’s great to live in a city like this, he thought.  What kind of Italian could they have in St. friggin’ Maries, Idaho?  Good decision to stay behind.  Great decision.

     

---

      Teresa hung up the phone, feeling a sense of dread that simply would not go away.  Much as Ron made her angry and tested her patience, she loved that man.  Always had, always would.

      Pooch pushed his way through the screen door for the hundredth time, slamming it, as usual, and running right up to her outstretched hand.  Now this is one happy dog, she thought as she teased him behind the ears affectionately.  The kids too.  And, she had to reluctantly admit, me.

      St. Maries had been a delightful surprise to Teresa.  Expecting nothing but broken down buildings and ignorant hayseeds, she had been charmed by the people she had met and the sophistication of many living here.  She was especially fond of the Cramers next door, and had spent many lovely afternoons with Marjorie, learning to put up the fruit and vegetables from the garden, talking about children and the hope of long, full lives.

      Everyone was good to her, with the exception of Maggie, who drank and smoked constantly and was not nice to anyone.  Teresa had even made an attempt to reach out to her, but soon realized that Maggie was probably the unhappiest person she had ever met.  Drunk from before breakfast until bedtime, everyone simply moved around Maggie, as if she were a part of the furniture that simply zigzagged through the old farmhouse.  Most of her time was spent in her room upstairs anyway.

      There were so many preparations going on around Teresa, she was certainly never bored.  Everyone had a job to do, and no one knew how long they had to do it, so there was a controlled urgency to everyone.  Teresa continued to think of herself as simply a visitor, not a resident of this New World, and that set her apart somewhat.  Marjorie managed to be urgent and peaceful at the same time, which astonished Teresa, and gave her a place to be that was comfortable in all the chaos.

      Teresa, Aaron and Pauley were actually staying in the room upstairs that had been Tony’s when he was growing up.  Talking with Marjorie about the loss of her sons touched Teresa deeply, and made her hold her own boys even closer.

      Right now, the boys were happily helping to put the finishing touches on the second huge barn that had been built out back.  Jamie had taken down the old weathered letters above the door, the ones that spelled out “Delaney” back in 1905, and placed there by Jamie’s grandfather.  The “e,” the “l,” and the “y” were still intact, and Jamie and the kids had fashioned new letters to spell the name again.  They were nailing them up in a semicircle above the double doors as Teresa watched from Marjorie’s kitchen.

      Grace stood just a little ways away, giving them advice on how to straighten a letter here or there, pointing and laughing.

      New people arrived every day.  Teresa estimated that there must be over a hundred by now.  The one dormitory had quickly been filled, and two more had been built.  A fourth was under way now.  The fields were large and open, so there was plenty of room.

      None of the power systems would be set up until after the shift, or whatever was going to happen, to minimize the possibility of damage to the sensitive solar panels and wind blades.  Everything was packed away in miles of bubble wrap and swaddling, in such a way that it would almost float if the earth moved.  Since no one knew what that would feel like, every precaution had been taken.  But really, no one had any answers.

      So, for now, everyone was camping.  The electrical and septic on the two farms were pushed beyond their limits already, so Gerald had set up some transition systems.  Teresa was proud of her brother, and was surprised to see him looking better than he had in years.  There was a brightness to his eyes that had been missing for a long time.

      The core group from the weekend at the Inverness cabin were all here, as were Walt and his family and those who had worked in his offices.  Elizabeth Preston, although very fragile still, was improving daily, becoming more a part of her surroundings, and helping with organizing the new people into living quarters, which came very naturally to her.  Tim was less her constant companion lately, and was spending more time helping Jamie with the large tasks, and managing groups of workers.

      There was a group monitoring what changes they could see happening, hoping to get a better idea of when things would actually begin to shift.  Ronald Banks had set up a room in the farmhouse with as many wireless systems as could fit, using the internet for as long as possible.  They assumed most servers around the world would be destroyed, but held out hope that many would survive beyond the ones in the room, and communication would be possible between pockets of survivors.

      Teresa heard such ideas with a shake of her head.  The whole thing was still surreal to her, but after clicking off her cell from the conversation with Ron, she felt a strong need to hedge her bets and get him up here.  But how?

      “Marjorie, have you ever been able to get John to do something he really didn’t want to do?”

      “Honey, John doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.”  She looked over at Teresa with a wink.  “ The key is to show him the wisdom of wanting to do it.”

      Teresa laughed.  Yes, definitely the key.

---

      She is the “blue marble” in photos brought back by the men on the moon, so small, so alone in space.  For the first time in those pictures, we saw her whole.

      There is her silicate solid crust, on which we live. Then her viscous mantles, her liquid outer core, and solid inner core.  Her crust has been extensively explored, but we only know about her inner properties because of samples that have traveled to the surface through volcanic activity, or by analyzing the seismic waves passing through her. 

      Except for her crust, most of what we think we know, we have assumed.  We calculate her density and mass by studying how she orbits, how she affects other masses in the universe. 

      We estimate, we suppose, we speculate.

      Yet, she’s where we live, how we’re able to survive in the vastness of space.  And today, she’s ready to give up some of her secrets to those who would watch and listen.

      Lokesh Dhanukar stepped gingerly off of the small curb, always aware that he was taking his life in his hands.  Lokesh knew that his first name had the meaning “king of the world,”  but he wanted to live long enough to fulfill that destiny.  Living in Mumbai, the financial capital of India, along with approximately 13 million others, was exciting but also dangerous.  At 603 square kilometers, Mumbai housed about 22,000 people per square kilometer, or just about 1 person per 1.75 inches.  That meant one had to be vigilantly conscious of those around one, Lokesh knew.

      Lokesh hopped up to catch an overcrowded train, even though there was no space inside and he was forced to hang tightly out of the doorless opening.  He felt fortunate to have found a spot to hang on. The 8-car train carried nearly 4,000 people, about 500 per car, all rushing to work in the downtown financial district.

      He stifled a small cough after his exertions.  Looking up, the haze hung between the tall buildings as if someone had lit a monstrous campfire nearby.  Sunlight filtered weakly through it, peeking in and out where it was allowed by the skyscrapers.

      His relatives in the country often asked why he did this every day.  Lokesh had a one-word answer: “Success.”  This is where success lived for Lokesh, and he was determined that one day he would own a large house, and his wife and children would be served by others.  He was bright, he knew numbers, and he had calculated that he need do this for only 6,428 more days in order to retire to the life he chose.

      Lokesh jumped from the train at his stop, and entered the Abhyudaya Cooperative Bank through the main lobby.  Hanging off of a packed train was possible, Lokesh knew, but a crowded elevator was another story entirely, and one could wait for many precious minutes to find a space.  So Lokesh followed the few others who had discovered that the basement service elevators often had room for stray passengers, and he smiled to himself as he “traveled down to travel up” as he called it.

      The large metal door slammed closed behind him, and Lokesh thanked his lucky stars that only about six others had joined him as he waited in front of the elevator doors.  It was warm today, very warm in the basement, and he was tempted to loosen his tie.  He contented himself instead with simply wiping his brow with the back of his hand carrying his briefcase, and thus, the case was in front of his eyes when the elevator door opened.

      In the final second of his life, Lokesh saw only the light of what seemed to be a thousand stars as it danced around the briefcase before the case itself vaporized, along with Lokesh and the six others who stood with him.  The sinkhole below the elevator shaft, if he had been able to see it in that fraction of a second before it closed, yawned almost beyond time itself, from her crust, through her mantle, to her core.

      She was beginning to take back what belonged to her.  The hole into which Lokesh Dhanukar disappeared was but a microscopic pin prick, but it was only the first of many.

---

      “Yes, thanks.”  Ron lifted his glass slightly as the waiter filled it again with the dark crimson Merlot.  He was feeling pleasantly fuzzy, and watched as another 747 lumbered down the runway, the heat of its twin jets curling the air and making the tarmac shimmer in the bright lights.  It rose, impossibly, and began to climb, looking from this angle as if it were almost perpendicular to the ground.  He watched it until it disappeared into the light clouds over the airport.

      Turning again to his linguini, he spun his fork lightly and dipped it into the sauce before putting another exquisite bite into his mouth.  What a great idea this was.  This is the kind of thing I can’t just get up and do when I want to.  Ron thought about the production number it would take to get the whole family moving and out of the house to come here, and then wondering how long the boys would sit still before they longed for cell phones, or texting, or games, or anything but sitting in a quiet restaurant being civilized.

      But as he imagined Terri and the boys at the table with him, he felt a pang, just a little one, at the fact that he was alone.  Another plane was just lifting into the sky, and he saw them again, this time in the seats, on their way to Seattle.  Aaron would want to sit alone, away from Pauley and Teresa, but not too far.  Terri would be adjusting Pauley’s belt, putting her bag under the seat…

      Jesus.  What is the issue here?  Three weeks.  And the rest of the summer still to come.  Ron took half of the glass in a long swallow and motioned for the waiter, who poured him another.  I’ll just sip this one.  Still have to drive home.  He held the glass up and looked at the runway lights through all the reds contained there.  Well, actually, I don’t have to drive home.  There’s always the Hilton.  Five minutes away.  Get a room, take a bath, order breakfast, and then drive home in the morning.  He drank deeply again.  No clothes.  Another sip.  So what?  Nobody ever walked out of a hotel in the same clothes they walked in with?  He chuckled softly to himself.  Not alone. 

      Ron looked around the restaurant and wondered if he would ever have the nerve to have an affair.  He saw a very leggy, attractive woman at the bar, and tried to imagine taking her to the Hilton.  He shook his head, ruefully.  Nope.  Godammit if I don’t love my wife.  Ron looked at his watch.  8:23.  She’s probably putting Pauley to bed.  The ends of his hair wet from his bath, she sits on the side of the bed and kisses him on his forehead, the wet hairs just brushing her lips…

      “Check.”  Ron nodded to the waiter, who pulled the leather holder out of his apron.  Ron cut him off without looking at the bill, and just handed him the VISA card.  The waiter bowed slightly and moved toward the register at the bar.  Ron finished the wine and stood, a little wobbly, signing the check at the bar and retrieving his card.  He shrugged on his leather jacket and reached for the valet stub.

      Moments later, sliding behind the wheel of the Mercedes, he thought how surprised she would be when she saw him.  He knew he could find it.  Christ, how many farmhouses with three, or was it four, dormitories can there be in St. Maries?  She’d given him the address, which was tucked away in his wallet.  He could call her, but he just loved the idea of standing in the doorway in Bumfuck, Idaho and saying, “Surprise!”

      He’d stay a day or so and then come home.  On his way to the Southwest terminal, he called and left a message on his boss’ voicemail.  Family emergency, he said.  Yes, it’s an emergency.  I need to make love to my wife.

---

      8 feet wide, 8 feet high, 12 feet long.  Daniel had measured the cell using first his one remaining foot, and then his hands, knowing the exact size of each.  The sagging bed against the wall, the small sink and the open toilet lessened the dimensions still further.  He had taken to sitting in the middle of the room, rocking rhythmically, to alleviate the feeling that the walls and ceiling were actually shrinking. 

      Each morning, he measured again with trembling hands, making his way, hobbling slowly. They had taken even his crutch.  He worked his way across the cool cement of the walls to be certain the measurements were the same, but the claustrophobia that had morphed from a nagging dread to something bordering on hysteria compelled him to be sure. 

      But the worst was, God had stopped talking to Daniel.

      At night, Daniel only knew the time when the guard arrived with food.  No windows, no sound, no contact with the outside.  He used all his powers to keep track, and right now, as he rocked, he assumed it was beyond 10 o’clock at night, but not yet midnight.  Close, but not yet.  He always asked the guard to look at his watch when he brought dinner, and from that point, literally to pass the time, Daniel tapped out the seconds until he lost track.

      He cursed himself when that happened, the moment his mind wandered and he realized that now he was lost in time until breakfast.  He filled the hours with prayer when he had the nerve to talk to a God who no longer spoke to him, and slept little.

      The orange jumpsuit hurt his eyes with its garishness, so he took it off and sat in underwear and sock, just one, What did they do with the other one? Is there another one-legged man who uses it? Does the odd number confound the laundry workers, wondering where the socks go?  He would rather have sat naked, but the cold of the floor required something between his skin and it.  He had used the bedding at first, but the floor was not clean, and God knew Daniel kept himself clean.

      In fact, he had scrubbed himself nearly raw until the soap was taken from him.  And now, even without soap, he moved from floor to basin every 15 minutes or so (or 900 taps to Daniel) to splash water all over his body, to be clean for his meeting with Jesus.  Although he knew Jesus no longer thought of him, he would be clean nonetheless.

      People did come and go besides the guard; lawyers, social workers, psychiatrists, Marla, those who wished to help.  But it was clear that Daniel was in a special place in the County Jail until his trial, one reserved for a cold-blooded murderer with more witnesses than there are seats in a courtroom.  A murderer who not only confessed, but exulted in his crime and called on the heavens to reward him in its completion. But the reward never came. 

      Insanity was most certainly an option, he had heard, and Marla begged him to agree, but he promised still to convince anyone that he knew exactly what he had done.

      So, they had heard him, and blessedly, were gone.  The priest was harder to convince, and he still visited regularly asking at least for contrition.  Since Daniel had been deserted by his God, and Jesus had turned his head, the priest held no sway with him. 

      Whatever God had to say to Daniel would have to wait for a face-to-face meeting, but in God’s silence, Daniel was beginning to entertain some piercing doubts that he had misunderstood the voices in his head.  He had started to suspect, as he thought back, that the voice sounded suspiciously like the one that told him to hold on just those few seconds longer to Brenda Caldwell’s breast under the bleachers when he was 12, and he knew who that was. 

      So, as Daniel sat, rocking, tapping out the long hours of the deep night, he began to suspect that he had been in service of the Dark One, and not the God that he so loved.

      He thought of all he heard that witch, Ellen, say.  About the Earth’s spirit, and the waters rising, and as hard as he pushed the thoughts away, he began to wonder if what she said was true.  And this was Daniel’s dilemma.  The one that kept him from sleep, and peace, and sanity.  How do we know what is true?  When God stops speaking, all we are left with is our own thoughts, and are those thoughts coming from somewhere else, or from us?  And what is the truth?

      And then close on the heels of this thought, the one that always followed.  What if God’s silence is the test to know if my heart is pure?  As Job wandered through the wilderness in silence, is this my test?  And just as surely as that question came, came the answer, If it is, I am failing it.  Because I doubt.

      And so, Daniel feared the life which brought this torture of unrelenting questions, and he feared the death which brought judgment at the hands of his Lord.  Daniel was as miserable, lost, broken and soulless as a human being could be, but strangely, he found his only glimmer of  hope lay in the words of the woman whose human life he had taken: The waters will rise.

      At this thought, a pinprick of light had moved into his black vision. If it is true, I may be cleansed.  Daniel rocked still harder as he imagined the water.  Its coolness, its purity, its clarity.  And once again, he pulled himself across the floor to the basin, put his hands on the stainless steel sides and pulled himself up, balancing on one leg.  He pushed the long bar across the front and heard in the dark the splash of salvation, felt the sweet drops across his thighs at the same time he gasped at the chill they brought.

      Over and over, he moved his hands through the water, wetting his hair, his face, his shoulders, letting the rivulets flow over his goose bumped flesh until he stood in a pool, slippery and smooth under his foot.  He stood still for a moment, again asking, pleading for God to answer him.  In fact, he spoke aloud in a desperate whisper, Please, God, please, tell me I did Your service.  I am as low as I can be, please, please lift me up to You.

      Daniel waited in tormented silence, desperate in the darkness as, again, no answer came.  Slowly, he let himself slide to the floor, leaning against the dripping wall next to the sink.  He raised his arms up and let out a long, agonized wail, one not of this world, that reverberated in the closeness of the space.

      Daniel’s breath was gone, and his voice quieted, but still he heard the wail continue.  He sat up, wondering if it was simply an echo through the long halls of the jail, but realized it was nothing like that.  This sound was entirely unique, low and high at the same time, and coming from below, not above.  Suddenly Daniel realized he could see, just faintly, in the dark room.  His foot, splayed out on the floor in front of him, was dimly visible. 

      And it was growing warmer.  The cold floor was definitely growing warmer.  No, not just warm, hot.  Very hot.

      Daniel hopped up quickly, sliding in the water on the cement floor.  He reached the bed and clambered up onto it,  realizing that now the room had an almost orange glow to it, and things were becoming clearer.  The water on the cement surface steamed and then boiled until it disappeared, the water in the toilet began to gurgle and boil, and finally erupted out of the bowl like a geyser, only to boil again on the floor.  The noise was now a deafening roar from below him, as if some huge beast were ready to break through into his cell.

      The sheets that were grazing the floor past the metal frame of the bed flickered and burst into flame, and Daniel moved aside so that he could throw them on the floor completely, where they burned steadily until nothing was left, leaving acrid smoke hanging in the heated air.  He stood on the mattress, and felt the room growing hotter, and hotter still.

      The mattress began to singe, and Daniel moved it, too, quickly to the floor, where it charred and smoked.  The metal of the bed was unbearably hot, and the wet sock on his foot began to steam and sizzle as he cowered, standing, in the corner.

      Now, his senses beginning to return, Daniel realized with horror what he was seeing.  Hell.  This is the Fire of Hell reaching up to take me.  The room was now an oven, and Daniel gasped for breath, knowing that he alone was all that was left in it to burn.

      Terrified, and in agony, he put his hand out in front of him and watched as the hairs singed and curled and the sweat bubbled.  His skin reddened and began to blister.  His chest felt as if a weight pressed there, making it nearly impossible to draw breath.  Daniel’s eyes glazed as they were pulled to a spot in the cement that was now dancing in the heat, more red and orange than anything else in the room, and out of the center burst a pillar of fire, majestic and beautiful. 

      In the final split second of his life on this Earth, Daniel saw clearly in the licks of white and crimson the face of the one he had feared for so long, and in his heart he finally felt peace.  This was his Master, he knew it now.

      What Daniel didn’t see was what followed the fire.  Water.  Water that quenched the fire and filled the small chamber until it burst, breaking the walls that held him.  Daniel’s body, scorched, lifeless and battered, finally felt the coolness, the purity, and the clarity of the water as his spirit made its way home.

~~~~~