Her fingers tightened on his arms. “Let it go, john.”
A stubborn determination infused him. “I don’t want to let it go. Who had the duty tonight? Who?”
She lifted her head slightly and he could see the angry welts and bruises on her face. “Simon makes up the list, John. Ask him.”
“I’m asking you. Who had the duty?”
She blinked back the tears that suddenly filled her eyes.. “You did. But when you went home sick, Ray offered to fill in.”“
He stared at her in disbelief. He had the duty? He couldn’t remember it. Why hadn’t he known? Even before he was sick, why hadn’t he known? It should have been posted. It must have been. He was certain he had looked at the list. So why didn’t he remember seeing his name?
He felt worn and defeated. He stood in the dark holding Stef and looking into her eyes, and for the first time in a long time he was uncertain about everything. “Did you see my name?”
“John . . “
“Did you, Stef?”
She nodded. “Yes’ She touched his face. “This isn’t your fault, John. Just because you weren’t there and Ray was doesn’t mean its your fault.”
He nodded because that was what she expected him to do, but he was thinking that it felt like it was his fault, just as it had felt like it was his fault at San Sobel. Any failure of responsibility or neglect of duty belonged to him, and nothing could change that. He closed his eyes against what he was feeling. Ray Hapgood had been his friend, his good friend, and he had let him die.
“John, listen to me.” Stef was speaking again, her face close to his, her body pressing against him in the darkness. “I don’t know why this happened. I don’t know how it happened. No one does. Not yet. So don’t go jumping to conclusions. Don’t be shouldering the blame until you know the face. I’m sorry Ray is dead. But you didn’t kill him. And if it had to be someone, I would rather it ryas him than you.”
He opened his eyes, surprised by her vehemence. “Stef.”
She shook her head emphatically. “I’m sorry, but that’s how I feel.”
She kissed him hard, and he kissed her back and held her tightly against him. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.” He whispered, his hand stroking her slender back.
“I know.”
They held each other for a long moment, and then she led him to the bedroom. They undressed in the dark and crawled into the bed and held each other again in the cool of the sheets, The streets beyond their window were silent and empty. All the fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, and bystanders were gone. The rain lad faded away, and the air was damp and cold in the wake of its passing. Ross hugged Stef’s smooth body against his own and listened to the soft, velvet sound of her breathing.
“I could have lost you tonight,” he whispered.
She nodded. “But you didn’t.”
“I was scared I had.” He took a long, slow breath and let it out. “When you were inside, bringing out the last of those children, and I saw the flames climbing the walls, I thought for sure I had.”
“No, John,” she whispered, kissing him gently, over and over, “you won’t lose me ever. I promise. No matter what, you won’t lose me.”
The dream comes swiftly, a familiar acquaintance he wishes now he had never made. He stands once more on the hillside south of Seattle, watching as the city burns, as the hordes of the hold swarm through the collapsed defences and begin their ritual of killing and destruction. He sees the battle taking place on the high bridge where a last, futile defence has been mounted. He sees the steel and glass towers swallowed inflames. He sees the bright waters of the bay and sound turn red in the reflected glare.
He finds he is cold and indifferent to what he witnesses. He is detached in a way he cannot explain, but seems perfectly normal in his dream, as if he has been this way a long time. He is himself and at the same time he is someone else entirely.