The Burning

They got out of the car, and she took his arm, grateful for the support. She didn't think of herself as some dainty little maiden who needed the protection of a big strong man, but walking into a dark haunted house all by herself wasn't exactly something she relished doing. Brian was talking easily, casually, but all of her attention was on the front of the Victorian building as they strode up the endless lawn. She thought she saw movement in the upper right window-Randy's apartment-but the window remained dark, and she didn't like that. It was probably something ordinary and innocent, but in this mood her mind turned it into something completely wrong: Randy naked and spying on her ... a murderer who had killed Randy ... a ghost.

They reached the front entrance. Angela withdrew her key, used it to unlock the door.

The entry way was pitch-black.

'Careful!' Winston's voice called from the darkness. He emerged from his apartment, shining a flashlight on the floor so they could see where they were walking. 'The power went out. Brock's checking the circuit breakers out back.'

'What happened?' Angela asked.

'We don't know. The streetlights are on and none of the other houses on the street seem to be affected, so it's probably just the old crappy wiring in this place. Maybe too many computers or microwaves were on at once.'

At that second, the lights came back on, as did televisions and stereos from the various apartments. All of a sudden, the house was filled with life, and Angela let out a deep breath, her muscles relaxing. She didn't realize how tense and anxious she'd been. Brian seemed embarrassed. Kelli was coming down the hall, Chrissie down the stairs, and Winston was still standing in the doorway of his apartment, flashlight in hand.

'Maybe I should go,' Brian said.

There'd be no privacy here tonight, so Angela nodded. 'Yeah, it's getting late.'

'I'll call you tomorrow.'

In front of the crowd, she gave him an awkward kiss good night, then waved as she watched him walk across the lawn to the street. She closed the door after he got into his car.

'How did it go?' Chrissie asked.

Angela thought for a moment, then smiled. 'Pretty good,' she said. But through the open doorway of Winston and Brock's apartment, she could see the kitchen on the other side of the living room. She recalled that alien babble and shivered.

'Come on,' she said. 'Let's go upstairs. I'll tell you all about it.'

Six

Bear Flats, California

Jolene and Skylar walked through town, checking out the small shops, dropping in at the library, getting themselves acquainted with Bear Flats. Or, in Jolene's case, reacquainted. Her mom had wanted to watch Skylar, but as long as there was alcohol in the house, Jolene was not about to leave her son alone with his grandmother. The boy'd had a tough enough time of it already without putting him through that. She'd told her mother as much, and that had led to an argument, and Jolene had no doubt that the old woman was hitting the bottle right now. By the time they returned, Skylar's nice grandma would be gone, replaced with the same nasty bitter woman Jolene had grown up with.

She really did need to find somewhere else to live.

But it was good to be back in town.

Holding Skylar's hand, she crossed the highway to Mag's Ham Bun, where her mom had told her Leslie Finch was now manager. She and Leslie had been best friends in high school, but despite a few short phone calls and promises to get together when she came back to visit, they hadn't seen each other in ... how long? Six years? Eight?

Jolene pushed open the heavy oak door of the restaurant and stood for a moment in the foyer while she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was eleven o'clock, too early for the lunch crowd, and the place was nearly empty. One old man sat at the bar, nursing a beer, and what looked like a family of tourists were looking over menus in the first booth along the wall, but other than that, the restaurant appeared to be unoccupied.

'Do you want to eat here?' Jolene asked.

Skylar shrugged. 'Sure.'

A freestanding sign announced please seat yourself, so they did, choosing a booth halfway down from the tourist family. The waitress who greeted them and passed out menus a few moments later was elderly and unfamiliar. Jolene asked her, 'Does Leslie Finch work here?'

'Leslie!' the waitress called out, nearly making her jump.

Leslie Finch emerged from the short dark hallway that led to the restrooms and the kitchen, looking not like a small-town waitress but like a successful young businesswoman. Maybe it was the dim lighting, but to Jolene's eyes, Leslie appeared to be only a few years older than she had in high school. She still had the same trim figure, and though her hair was shorter and cut more stylishly, it was the same wavy brown it had been when they were teenagers. Leslie looked a hell of a lot better than she herself did, and Jolene was at once pleased and embarrassed.

'Oh, my God!' Leslie said as she approached the table. 'Jo? Is that you?'

At least she was still recognizable. Jolene smiled. 'Yeah. It's me.'

'And is this your little guy?'

'This is Skylar.' She prodded him gently with an elbow. 'This is my friend Ms. Finch. Say hello.'

'Hi,' the boy said shyly.

'Hi, Skylar. How old are you?'

'Eight.' He turned back toward Jolene. 'Could I have a Coke?'

'You have milk or lemonade.' She smiled at Leslie. 'Are you busy? Do you have time?'

'No, I'm not, and yes, I do. Can I join you?'

'I was hoping you would. I thought we could catch up on old times.'

'Or new times.' Leslie beckoned over the waitress. 'Do you know what you guys want to order?' she asked Jolene.

'Grilled cheese sandwich and lemonade,' Skylar announced.

'Okay,' Jolene told him. She smiled at Leslie. 'Pick something for me. You know what's good here.'

The waitress returned, they gave their orders, and Leslie informed them in a voice that brooked no argument that the meal would be on the house. 'So what brings you back?' she asked as the waitress left.

Jolene did not want to go into detail, not with her son sitting here, so she looked meaningfully at Leslie, shot a sideways glance at Skylar, then looked at her friend again with an expression that she hoped the other woman would be able to read. 'I'm making a few changes,' she said simply.

Leslie nodded, let it lie, and Jolene could tell that her friend understood.

They were still in sync after all these years.

The conversation shifted to neutral topics: old acquaintances, the restaurant, the town. Leslie assured her as their food arrived that the character of Bear Flats had not changed one whit in the intervening years. 'Oh, it's the same as it always was. Everyone's stunningly uninformed, depressingly small-minded and bitterly jealous of ... well, everyone else.'

Jolene laughed.

'So why am I still here, right?' Leslie shook her head as she dipped a french fry in ketchup. 'I ask myself that every day. Part of it's just ... inertia. It's easier, more comfortable, the devil you know and all that. The coward's way out, I know, but you kind of get used to things the way they are, and it gets harder and harder to change. I often wish that I'd done what you did, just taken off for greener pastures and not looked back.'

'It's not all it's cracked up to be.'

Again, Leslie let that lie, and for that, Jolene was grateful. The two of them needed to talk later, she thought. Really talk. There was so much she wanted to say.

'You look like you're doing well, though,' Jolene offered.

Leslie smiled. 'By Bear Flats standards, yeah. And I'm not unhappy. I'm just ... restless sometimes, you know?'

'Yeah.'