The Burning

dust, he could make out the headlight on the front of the locomotive, the slanting grille that protruded through the hole in their wall. Only ...

Only it wasn't a train. Not really. It was ...

Something else.

But he didn't have time to think about that. The house was collapsing around his ears, and Arlene had been pinned to the bed by a fallen beam. The end of the rabbeted board lay embedded in her back, and blood gushed from her mouth onto the pillow-his pillow-each time she tried to cry out. He knew he should try to help her, but he turned without pause and attempted to run out of the room, away from the big black form that looked like a train but was not a train. The wall in front of him dropped, the doorway disappearing in a hail of plaster and wood as structural support gave way, and he staggered backward only to be slammed from behind by something that was at once hard and soft, something sticky and mushy but backed by a substance as hard as steel. He was knocked sideways to the floor as the bed fell atop him, Arlene's crushed and bloody body mashing hard against his own, her lifeless lips dripping into his ear. For a brief second, behind her, above her, in back of the broken bed, he could see the massive object that looked like a locomotive.

There was a noise, a roar, as of a hundred people screaming in unbearable agony.

And then there was death.

Ten

Flagstaff, Arizona

Angela had high hopes for date number four.

The third date had gone well. The jazz concert had been pretty nice, even though the music was more her parents' speed than hers. Brian had obviously felt the same way, because he suggested they skip out at intermission, and they ended up walking along the sidewalks of the campus at night, talking about their pasts, their futures, their visions of the world. The evening was chill, fall beginning to creep in after sunset even though summer still ruled the day, but that only made them pull closer and gave a pleasant edge to the otherwise tranquil stroll. They'd ended up at his dorm, doing what people usually did at the conclusion of a successful date.

This time they decided to try a rock concert.

The auditorium was packed. They arrived early, but still the parking lot was jammed, the lines were long, and inside there was standing room only. The buzz was all about the band, none of the usual small talk by friends and couples, and Angela eavesdropped on the closest conversation, a gaggle of high school girls who couldn't seem to decide who was cuter: the guys in Hoobastank or the members of Lightyear, the band playing here tonight. Ordinarily, that would have been ( the death knell for Angela's interest in the group, but : on the other side of her, two older male music majors were speaking admiringly in measured tones about the band as well.

'This should be interesting,' she shouted. The preconcert music had suddenly cranked up several decibels.

'What?' Brian shouted back.

i said, 'This should be interesting'!'

He nodded. 'They're really good!'

The lights dimmed.

Even though Lightyear was from the Phoenix area, what locals referred to as 'the Valley,' the band members were still Arizonans, and the crowd treated them like conquering hometown heroes. A huge roar greeted the musicians as they took to the stage, and though Angela had gone to a lot of concerts and a lot of clubs back in Los Angeles, she had never experienced a reaction like this. She, too, got caught up in '· the excitement, and as the band slammed into its first song, she felt the way she had the first time she'd seen Pearl Jam: as if she were in the presence of greatness.

The concert was amazing. She was an old hand at this stuff, jaded as only an L.A. native could be, but after the show she wanted to hit the table at the back of the hall and buy the group's CD. These guys were definitely going places. The lines were too big, though, and she wasn't sure she had enough money with her, so she decided to pick one up tomorrow at Hastings. If they didn't have any CDs in stock, she'd order one.

Brian was silent on the way back home. She expected him to stop off somewhere-a coffeehouse so they could talk, even a lovers' lane so they could make out-but he drove her directly back to Babbitt House. Despite the good vibes left over from the concert, and even before he said a word, she had a queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach, a bad feeling.

'I don't think this is working.'

The car was pulling to a stop in front of the lawn, and his eyes were still on the road, not on her.

Where was this coming from? She thought things were going great. Not just tonight but overall. They had fun together, they never seemed to run out of conversation, and physically ... well, they were both obviously into each other. She'd even e-mailed her friends in L.A. about him because it looked like this was going to last awhile.

And now it wasn't 'working'?

When had this happened?

She looked at him and found that although she was surprised, she was not surprised. That bad feeling had been trying to tell her something and on some level she'd understood.

Angela cleared her throat. 'Why?' she asked, not trusting herself to say more. There was a sudden distance between them, they were no longer a we or an us but two separate people, and she was now asking the question of a stranger.

The car had stopped, but he remained looking out the front window, would still not turn to face her. 'I just ... I don't know. Sometimes you can tell, you know, if things are working out or not. ...'

Why hadn't he said anything about this before? He'd obviously been thinking about it for a while because nothing had happened tonight that could have possibly resulted in a change of heart. She grew angry as she recalled their light conversation at dinner, the easy good time they'd had before the start of the concert. He'd been lying the whole time, putting on an act, and she hated him for it. Why had he gone out with her tonight? Why hadn't he canceled? Because he already had the tickets, wanted to see the show and thought it was too late to line up anyone else? She was suddenly sure that was the case.

She said nothing, let him hang there.

'I don't know,' he said. 'I haven't met someone else, if that's what you're thinking. It's just that I thought ... well, maybe I should meet someone else. I mean, I like you and all, and we had some fun, but neither of us thought there was any real future in this relationship, did we?'

She had. She stupidly had, and it was all she could do right now not to cry like a baby.

He looked at her, finally, and the expression on his face implored her to agree with him, begged her not to cause a scene.

'Fine,' she said. It was all she could say, and though she wished she had some witty rejoinder or were mature enough to behave as though none of this bothered her, she was not that composed or sophisticated, and she was just grateful that she didn't trip over the curb or slam her skirt in the car door as she exited the vehicle.

'Do you want me to-' he began.

'No,' she said without turning around, not knowing what she was turning down and not caring. She didn't want anything from him at this point. She continued walking toward the house, willing him to leave, waiting to hear the sound of his car, and was grateful when she finally heard him pull away and head up the street.

She stopped walking, breathed.

What the hell had just happened?

It wasn't any big deal. She knew that intellectually. She'd gone on a couple of dates, and it hadn't worked out. It had happened before and would no doubt happen again. The thing was, she'd invested herself this time; she'd really liked this guy, and she'd thought it had a serious chance of working out.

No. That wasn't it.

What really bothered her, what left her feeling emotionally beaten up, was the fact that she hadn't seen this coming. Before, she'd always had a good bead on the romantic reality of every relationship or potential relationship in which she'd been involved. She'd been able to read the emotional truth of any situation, and the fact that she'd been so tone-deaf this time shook her to the core.

And, bottom line, it always hurt to be rejected.