It wasn’t much later that day when everything seemed to go to hell in a handbasket in a big hurry.

Peering out the window at the sound of crunching tires on her driveway, Sam spotted Fed Larson’s dusty Ford Ranger. Fed was the lone constable of the Island.

Had been for over twenty years now. There were only two reasons for a visit from Fed. He was collecting money for the local firemen’s auxiliary or there was bad news. From the expression on his face as he climbed out of his truck, Sam knew he wasn’t here because of the first.

"Happy’s holed himself up in the abandoned lighthouse with a rifle." He stated bluntly at Sam’s questioning look.

Jesus H. Christ, she breathed, as she climbed into the truck beside Fed.

By the time they reached the Head, a crowd had formed. At least, a crowd by Island standards.

"Out of my way," bellowed Fed, letting his large frame shoulder it’s way through the mass, clearing an open path for himself and Sam.

"Is he drunk?" she shouted to Fed through the wind as they carefully climbed their way to the lighthouse door on the rickety, wooden steps.

"Blistered."

Sam could hear him before she reached the top, but she couldn’t quite make out the tune. It could possibly have been I’ve Got The World On A String, which was an old favorite of Happy’s. However, when it came right down to it, he was so atonal that it really didn’t matter what the song was.

A distressed Fed turned to her in mid-step, "You need to talk to him, Sam. Get him out of there before he goes and hurts himself."

"This could take some time. When he’s this drunk, Happy usually likes to sing for a while first before he feels like talking."

She was about to assure the Sheriff that she would do her level best when the window above her head banged open just enough to allow a protruding gun barrel through it.

"Who’s out there?" Happy’s voice, though belligerently loud, was seriously slurred. "Don’t try to sneak up on me, now. I’m armed, you know. Armed and goddamned dangerous."

"Hap, it’s me. Let me in." Sam had to yell in order to get herself heard above the constant blow of the wind off the Atlantic.

The lighthouse door snapped open so fast it almost came off it’s ancient hinges.

"Sammy! C’mon in here, girl. Hell, just the one I wanted to see. How’d you know where to find me?"

S am leaned against the cracked and peeling paint on the interior wall and glanced out the dirty window. Down below she could see what by now must have been most of the town milling about. She could make out Mink Ollenburg and a few of his cronies sitting in the bed of a pickup truck just like they were attending the annual Fourth of July picnic. Per could also be seen, standing alone, off to the side of the throng.

"It wasn’t too hard to track you down." She replied dryly. She walked over to Happy and slid down beside him onto the filthy floor. "Is that thing loaded, Hap?" she inquired, gesturing to the 30/30 Winchester tucked between his legs.

"Hell, yes, Sam - ‘course it’s loaded." Happy snorted at such a ridiculous question, "Not much good if it isn’t."

Surprisingly spry, Happy jumped to his feet and started dancing a lurching waltz with the shotgun nestled tightly to his right cheek.

"I’ve got the world on a string ....... sitting on a rainbow ............

wrapped around my finger......... duh, duh,duh .... what a world ..... duh, duh."

Okay, stay calm. You can handle this, Sam thought. "So what are we drinking, Hap?"

Abruptly, Happy stopped whirling and reached behind himself to the window ledge.

"Meet Jack ..... my good, old friend Jack." There were only a couple of inches left in the bottom of the bottle. Obviously, Happy had killed off most of the Jack Daniels all by himself. This was going to take even longer than she had thought.

"How about a toss for me, Happy?" Sam smiled.

"Sure thing - sure thing, where are my manners?" he grinned amicably, handing her the neck of the bottle. "Anything for one of my favorite girls."

Abruptly, Happy’s mood swung to the other extreme. "Of course, I had another favorite girl, too, but she’s gone now."

In a voice beyond sad, Happy said, "Everybody always goes away, Sammy. You’re always left alone." Morosely, he shook his head. "Mark my words, girl.

Friendship, love ...... in time it all just gives you the illusion that you’re not all alone ...... but you are, no mistake about it. In the end, you’re always alone."

Happy, with his chin resting down on his chest by now, was starting to mumble drunkenly.

Sam put the bottle aside and took Happy into her arms. "I’ll miss Wanda, too. We all will." She tried desperately to think of something of solace to say. "It was just her time, Hap, that’s all."

He exploded. "Just her time? What the hell are you talking about?

Haven’t you been paying attention? It’s EVERYBODY’S time now. Annihilation, Sammy ...... we’re standing on the fucking edge of annihilation."

Happy dramatically punctuated that dissertation by passing out cold.

"You okay, kid?" asked Martha solicitously as she wrapped Sam’s shoulders in a heavy, yellow slicker.

Sam shivered. The wind had blown up an incoming gale and the evening air was thick with clammy mist. She automatically clutched the oversized slicker to herself. Everyone and everything all around her was now banked in an opaque film of fog.

"We’re in for one hell of a squall," Martha commented unnecessarily.

Sam turned to watch Fed and two other men hauling an anesthetized Happy none too gently from the lighthouse. Everyone had dispersed now. Gone on home to their waiting wives, suppers and beers. It was a disgruntled Mink Olenberg who’d been overheard to say, "Shit, we almost had us some excitement here."

Hours later Sam knew she was losing control of herself. She had wanted desperately to talk to Martha about it, but somehow, she hadn’t been able to find the right words. Martha had seen her home and safely settled with a warming cup of tea in her lap before she had reluctantly returned to her family.

There just hadn’t seemed to be any way to say, "Guess what? Per is either an angel or an alien ......... I can’t decide which," without sounding like a complete lunatic.

So instead, Sam had smilingly insisted to Martha that all was fine and let her go home.

With Happy so out of commission for the remainder of the evening, she had brought Spike home with her - for both their sakes. "Come on, good boy, you must be famished."

There was something comforting about the sound of the solid padding of the animal’s paws as he followed her down the foyer to the kitchen. The sidelights around the front door rattled loudly in a strong gust of wind. In the brightly lit kitchen, Sam opened a can of beans and franks for Spike, pouring most of it into one of her mother’s Spode dishes before placing it on the braided rug.

Picking up a tablespoon, she sat on the counter and proceeded to dig the remaining beans out of the can, licking the spoon thoroughly after each bite.

Companionably, the two ate their cold dinners in silence for a few minutes.

The lights only had to flicker once for Sam to know they would lose the electricity at some point that night. Perfect, she muttered, getting down from the counter and going into the pantry for candles. Much to her relief, she found a good stock compiled there. Even though everyone on the Island had been enjoying electricity for fifty years now, to this day no one really counted on it always being there - especially when they needed it.

Sam had placed the last candle into the brass holder when, after a final weak wavering of the lamps, all went utterly dark.