Only now did the significance of Fletcher's last remark sink in. Nothingfor me "Oh God no," Erwin said, and started to pull on the door. It was locked, of course, and the key gone.

I have everything I need here.

He threw himself against the door and beat on it, unleashing a yell. As it died in his throat for want of wind he heard a motion behind him, and glanced over his shoulder to see Fletcher-still seated on the last Colonial chair-moving towards him. He turned to face his devourer, back hard against the door.

"You promised you were going to save me," he said.

"And is your life not banality?" Fletcher said. "And will ath not save you from it?"

Erwin opened his mouth to say: No, my life isn't banal. I've got a secret, such a secret.

But before he could utter a word Fletcher reached out and caught hold of his hands@old flesh on cold flesh-and he felt the last of his life rushing out of him, as if eager to be gone into a body that would use it more wisely.

He started to sob, as much in rage at its desertion as in fear, and he went on sobbing as the substance of him was sucked away and sucked away, until there was not enough of him left even to sob.

It had not been Joe's intention to venture far up the mountain. He'd intended to stay among the trees on the lower slope until the last of the late-night traffic had died away in the streets below. Then he'd descend and make his way to Phoebe's house. That had been the plan. But sometime in the middle of the evening-he'd no way of telling exactly when-he'd decided to walk a little way to relieve the boredom, and once he'd started, his dreamy thoughts had counseled him to keep on climbing until he was clear of the trees. It was a fine night. There would be such a view from the Heights: The city, the valley, and more important than either, a glimpse of the world beyond, the world where he and Phoebe would be headed after tonight. So he'd climbed and climbed, but the trees, instead of thinning, grew so dense for a time he could barely see the stars between their branches. And still he climbed, the narcotic side-effects of the drug leaving him indifferent to the fact that its painkilling properties were steadily wearing off. It almost added to the pleasure of the ascent that some part of his mind and body was suffering: a touch of bitterness to sharpen his bliss.

And after a time out of time, the trees did indeed begin to thin, and repeated backward glances as he cleared the canopy confirmed that the journey had been worth taking. The city looked like a little box of jewels nestling below, and finding himself a rocky promontory, he sat down to enjoy the sight a while. His eyes had always been sharp and even at this distance he could see people walking on Main Street. Tourists, he supposed, out to taste the charms of Everville by night.

As he studied them he felt something tugging at his floating thoughts. Without quite knowing why, he looked back towards the mountaintop. Then he got to his feet and studied it. Were his eyes deceiving him, or was there a light up there, brightening and diminishing in waves? He watched it for fully a minute, and then, seduced by its gentle fluctuations, started up the Mountainside again, keeping his eyes fixed upon it as he went.

He could not make out its source-it was hidden behind rocks-but he had no doubt now that the phenomenon was real. Nor was the light its only manifestation. There was a sound, albeit so remote he felt it rather than heard it: a rhythmical boom, as of some vast drum being beaten in another state. And, almost as subtle, a tang in the air that made his mouth water.

He was within fifty yards of the twin rocks now, his eyes fixed on the cleft between them. His cock and balls were aching furiously, their throbs matched to booms of the drum; his sinuses, pricked by the air, were stinging; his eyes were wet, his throat running with spittle.

And now, with every step he took, the sensations grew. The throbbing spread from his groin, up to his scalp and down to his soles, until it seemed every nerve in his body was twitching to the rhythm of the boom. His eyes ran with tears; his nose with mucus. Spittle spilled from his gaping mouth. But he stumbled on, determined to know what mystery this was, and as he came so close to the rocks he would have touched them had he fallen, he saw that he was not the first to have done so. There was a body lying in the gap between the rocks, washed by the waves of light. Though it was the size of an adult, its proportions were more like those of a fetus: its head overlarge, its limbs, which it had wrapped around it in extremis, wasted; almost vestigial.

The sight distressed Joe, and had there been another route to the light available he would have gladly taken it. But the rocks were too smooth to climb, and he was too impatient for answers to try and find his way around them, so he simply strode up to the cleft and stepped past the body.

As he did so, one of those frail, dead limbs reached out d caught hold of his leg.

Joe let out a yelp and fell back against the rock. The creature did not let him go, however. Raising its unwieldy head off the hard ground, it opened its eyes, and even through the haze of tears, Joe could see that its gaze was not that of a dying soul. It was crystalline, as was the voice that issued from the lipless mouth.

"I am Noah," it said. "Have you come to carry me home?"

Phoebe had stayed at the hospital until after midnight, going through all the paperwork that came with Morton's passing. Gilholly had reappeared, as she knew he would once he got the news.

"This makes things a lot more serious for you and loverboy," he told Phoebe. "You realize that?"

"Morton had a heart attack," Phoebe pointed out.

"We'll wait for the autopsy reports on that. In the meantime, I want you to holler the moment you get word from Flicker, you understand me?" He wagged his finger at Phoebe, which under normal circumstances would have earned him a choice retort. But she kept her temper under control, and did her best to play the grieving wife.

"I understand," she said quietly.

The show seemed to convince Gilholly. He softened a little. "Why'd you do it, Phoebe?" he said. "I mean, you know me, I'm no racist, but if you were going to spread a little love around, why'd you go with him?"

"Why do any of us do anything?" she replied, unable to look him in his sorty face for fear she'd lose control and slap him.

He apparently read her downcast gaze as further proof of contrition, because he laid his hand on her shoulder and murmured, "I know it's hard to believe right now, but there's always a light at the end of the tunnel."

"Is there?" she said.

"Trust me," he replied. "Now you go home and try to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

I won't be here in the morning, bozo, she thought as she padded away. I'll be someplace you'll neverfind me, with the "an I love.

She couldn't sleep, of course, even though she was aching to her bones, and the rest would have been welcome. There was packing to do, for one thing, which she interspersed with trips to the refrigerator for a slice of pie or a frankfurteryellow mustard dripping on her underwear as she sorted through the stuff she wanted Joe to see her in, and the stuff she would leave in the garbage-and then, with the clothes packed, a quick trip through the photograph albums, in search of a few memories to take with her. A picture of this house, when she and Morton had first moved in, all shiny with hope. A couple of pictures from childhood. Ma, Pa, Murray, and herself; her looking pudgy, even at the age of six.

She'd always hated the wedding photographs@ven the ones without Morton in them-but she took the group photograph, for sentiment's sake, along with a couple of shots of the 1988 Festival Parade, when the doctor had decided to pay for a float of his own and she'd made a witty costume for herself as a human pill bottle, which had proved quite a hit. By the time she'd finished her packing, her photo selection, her pie, and her frankfurters, it was almost three o'clock in the morning, and she began to wonder if maybe Gilholly hadn't caught up with Joe already. She dismissed the thought. If he had, he'd have called her to crow about it. Either that, or Joe would have used his call to tell her he wouldn't be coming for her and she should get him a lawyer.