Weekend
by Christopher Pike 







ONE
The road was painful. Last summer's hurricanes had dug strategically placed potholes across the narrow asphalt highway. Every time their dusty Datsun hatchback hit one — every sixty seconds — Shani Tucker's head kissed the car's ceiling. She wanted an aspirin, but they upset her stomach, and it was already worse off than her head. Long drives were not her forte. She wished that there was room in the front seat with Kerry and Angie, where at least she could have tied herself down with a seat belt. But Angie was driving, and Kerry's hand was glued to the radio, searching vainly through static bands. Though the road was doing its best to slow them down, they were, nevertheless, too far south into Mexico to catch San Diego's stations. Glancing out of the window at the brittle tumbleweed, the baked orange hills, and dry, cracked ravines, Shani felt as if she had crossed into another world, rather than merely into another country.

"Can't get anything on this damn thing," Kerry Ladd said, fretting as usual.

"Turn it off," Shani said. "I have a headache as it is."

"I've got to have music," Kerry said, snapping in a cassette. Pat Benatar started wailing about precious time. Kerry wasn't the most considerate of friends. But Shani didn't complain. The grinding guitar was the lesser of two evils. Constant external distraction was necessary to keep strung-out Kerry from exploding.

"I've got to turn off the air conditioning, again," Angie Houston warned, wiping a long straight strand of blonde hair from her hazel eyes as she flipped a switch next to the radio. "We're beginning to overheat."

"I don't want to sweat," Kerry complained. With the cool air turned off, the rise in temperature was almost immediate.

"Do you want to walk?" Angie asked, turning down the song's volume. "Shani, how far do you think we have left to go?"

Shani studied the map her father had insisted she take. The trip from Santa Barbara to San Diego yesterday after school had been a breeze. They had checked into a Motel 6 and had got away early for what they had anticipated as a six-hour jaunt to Robin and Lena's vacation house located on the beach near Point Eugenia. Today was only Friday - unofficially, Senior Ditch Day - and they'd felt that they'd managed a good jump on the weekend's fun. But they were now over eight hours on the road, and making miserable time.

Odd, how they hadn't seen anyone else from their class on the road. Supposedly, Robin and Lena had invited the whole gang.

"Well," Shani said, "we passed Point Blanco over three hours ago, and going by map inches, that's only a hundred miles from where we're supposed to turn off, so we should be getting close."

"Could we have passed it?" Angie asked.

"I haven't seen anything to pass," Shani said. "But no, Lena said that we'd see a Margarita Ville Canteen - that's the name she gave me — about half an hour before the dirt road that leads to her house. She said the canteen was impossible to miss."

"What does Lena know?" Kerry grumbled. She hated Lena, and Lena hated her. If either of them died this weekend from mysterious causes, Shani would not be terribly surprised. Only the promised presence of Sol Celaya - Kerry's ex, stolen away by Lena - had given Kerry the incentive to approach her arch rival's house. At least, Sol was the reason why Shani figured Kerry had come. Despite having known her since first grade, Shani didn't altogether trust her. Kerry was too temperamental, too impulsive. But then again, she didn't trust Lena, either. God probably didn't trust Lena; she could be one shrewd terror.

"Don't start that again," Angie said.

"She had just better not hassle me," Kerry said.

"And you had just better not fight with her in front of her sister," Angie said.

"It sure was nice of Robin to organize this weekend," Shani said, wishing to change the subject.

"Yeah… it wa - was," Kerry agreed, stuttering, as she often did at odd moments. "How… how is… Robin?"

They - everyone at school - always asked her this question: How is Robin? Have you seen Robin? Is Robin better? Shani did not resent the concern, nor even the painful memories the questions always brought. After all, Robin was her best friend. It was only natural others should come to her for updates. What she did dislike was the false optimism she felt she had to project, to give them what they wanted to hear, and to salvage her own guilty conscience. But one sad day she would have to speak the truth, for then it would be too late: Robin is dead. We killed her.

"I talked to her on the phone Tuesday night," Shani said. "She sounded in good spirits, into getting everything organized. She was spending a fortune on food."

"Hope she isn't buying local," Angie chuckled. "But that's great she's feeling better."

"Yeah," Shani muttered. Didn't they understand that when your kidneys were gone, you didn't get better?

"Has she been singing much?" Kerry asked.

"I don't know. Probably," Shani lied. Lena had said Robin's voice was all but gone. Prior to the accident, Robin would have rivaled Linda Ronstadt.

"I wonder what her nurse is going to think of having all us wired teenagers sleeping on the beach outside their house," Angie said.

"The nurse won't be there," Shani said. "Lena can do the dialysis." Lena was Robin's sister. They were the same age, both of them having been adopted at infancy by Carlton Records emperor Charles Carlton. Mr. and Mrs. Carlton had no other children. They were getting to the stage in life where one had to shout at them to be heard. However, despite his wrinkles, Mr. Carlton, like so many other self-made millionaires, was intimidating. Whenever Shani talked to him, she always felt like a fool if she didn't agree with all his opinions — he had that kind of influence over people. Neither he nor his wife would be there this weekend. With their unlimited capital, they had bought Robin two dialysis machines, one for their mansion in Santa Barbara, the other for the beach house that was taking forever to get to.

When Mr. and Mrs. Carlton died, Lena and Robin would inherit a mint. At least Lena would.

"I wouldn't trust Lena to cut my nails," Kerry said.

"Ouch!" Shani said. They had hit another hole and her head had received another slap. "I understand that she's quite competent, has been trained by the doctors and all. The procedure is supposed to be simple."

"Hey!" Angie burst out suddenly. "Shani, I forgot to tell you! I called Park from the motel last night and guess who's riding down with him and Sol and Bert?"

"Who?"

"Guess!"

"David Bowie. I guessed, now tell me!"

"Flynn."

"Flynn!" Flynn Powers was the new boy in town, from England. He'd only arrived in February, at the semester break. He was a dream: curly brown hair, dark green eyes, a walk as smooth as liquified charisma; and a hypnotic, accented voice that could literally put her in a trance. He had the largest hands, beautifully formed and eloquent; they could have been stolen from a Michelangelo. Everyone said it — even the guys. Flynn had something about him, an indefinable aura of depth that spontaneously commanded respect. He was neither tall nor well-built, but he was a babe. All the girls wanted him, and Shani was trying to get in front of the pack. Trouble was, he probably didn't even know she walked the earth. He didn't seem much interested in the girls at their school. Lena - she was an exception to everything — thought he was gay.

"Do you have a plan of approach?" Kerry asked. She was neutral as far as Flynn was concerned, as she was still trying to get Sol back. ,

"Jump on him, I don't know," Shani said, the concentration of acid in her stomach abruptly doubling. Thinking about doing anything made her nervous. Sometimes she swore she was getting an ulcer. She chewed Rolaids instead of gum. "What can I do?"

"What you suggested might work," Angie said.

"If I thought there was a chance, I would do it," Shani said, not taking herself seriously. She had to be the most sexually inexperienced girl in her senior class. She hadn't even "gone all the way" through a Playgirl magazine. Getting dates had been no problem, but the guys would only kiss her cheek at the end of the night, or else shake her hand; she had that kind of reputation. Perhaps she should talk to Lena, have a filthy rumour started in connection with her name. Not that she was obsessed - she was merely very, very interested in sex. What she really wanted was what all of them wanted: a relationship. Unfortunately, she had taken physics, and had received a good grade, and had won a scholarship to the University of California at Santa Barbara, and had listed "psychiatrist" as her ambition in the yearbook and had read too many of the classics, and had the repulsive habit of sounding intelligent, all of which was enough to make any adolescent male ego insecure. But in reality she had hated physics, and had got an "A" only because she had studied hard. She was not that smart, not that secure. Often, she felt lonely. Often, she watched Flynn from the other side of the campus, and wondered if he couldn't change all this.

"Accidentally lose your bikini top while swimming beside him in the waves," Angie said. "Better yet, lose your bottoms. It'll take a lot to catch that guy's cool eye."

To her own amazement, Shani realised she was actually considering the idea. She was afraid to say hello, but accidentally stripping seemed within her reach. "Is that how you got Park?" she asked. She had known Park Jacomini since they'd been two. He pretended to be intellectual — and he was smart, their class valedictorian - but there had never been born a more natural peeping tom. He was one of the closest people to her in the world.

Angie laughed. "That's personal. But I will tell you, to keep them, you've got to come up with pretty exotic—"

"Could we please change the subject?" Kerry interrupted, extremely agitated. Angie was quick to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Kerry. I'd forgotten. That was thoughtless of me."

"You said it to… upset me… on purpose."

"I'm the one who brought it up," Shani said. "Sorry."

Kerry turned off the cassette player, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm so jittery. I'm the one who should be apologizing. I guess it still bothers me."

"That's okay. We understand," Shani said. From that point on, the conversation sort of died. The potholes thickened. Sentinel cacti and sleeping lizards bumped by while the Datsun interior warmed and they sweated. To pass the time, Shani reached for her yearbook, browsing through the pages, reading notes from her friends and from those she had not spoken to during her entire four years at Hoover High. They had only received the book on Tuesday, and there were still many she wanted to have sign it. This weekend would fill it up. She chuckled when she came to the place where Park had placed his note, across a full-page colour picture of the varsity football team.



Dearest Shani,

Of all the girls I've known these four blissful years, you have been — with only a handful of exceptions — the closest one to my soul and body. If not for you, and two or three others, I would not be where I am, king of the class, the one voted least likely to end up on welfare. I owe all my magnificent accomplishments to you, and another girl or two.

I hope that when you become a psychiatrist that you don't discover that you're nuts. You see, I understand you — your dark lusty longings — and that would mean that I'm nuts, too, along with perhaps my close female friends. However, if in the middle of analysis you uncover deep Freudian inhibitions, feel free to come to me for relief, for the sexual freedom I have given to other girls of your like predicament, a few here and there.

All my love, all that Suzy and Bunny and Clairice have not drained, I give to you. And once again, if in the lonely years to come you should ever need - or simply desire — an intimate pal, be sure to think of Pretty Park (and friends) and make an appointment to visit us.

Love you (amongst others), Park



Park had quite a wit, but, in his own way, street-tough Sol outdid him. Shani flipped to the picture of their pudgy, smiling school principal, whom Sol had practically obliterated with a thick, black cato pen.



Hi!

I hardly know you and I don't think you're that interesting a chick, but you've got something I want and you know I've got something you need. If I let you see me, we don't go nowhere fancy and I expect my money's worth right from the start. I don't want to hear about your feelings and your goals cause I have no feelings and I can tell already you ain't going nowhere. If we get together, it will be for one thing only. My number's in the book. Look it up.

Wait a sec, this isn't Debbie's book? Hell! Pay no attention to what you just read, Shani dear. It sure has been grand knowing you and I just know deep in my heart that you will go far and better the world for all of mankind. I really feel that you are an 'extra special person.' I have found our friendship profoundly satisfying, and I will treasure your memory in the many days to come. God bless you!

Hey, by the way, Shani, how's about you calling me this summer and us getting together and going to a drive-in. I'll buy you popcorn, with butter. We can rock my van's shocks.

Love your legs, Sol




She had better be careful not to let Kerry see his note. Thankfully, he hadn't written it on that page. Sol could be crude, but - once again in his own way - he was also sensitive. Though he was now seeing Lena, he was extra careful to treat Kerry kindly. However, his politeness was a mixed blessing. Kerry took it as a sign that he was still interested in her. Neither Angie nor she wanted to drive home the harsh truth, that Kerry didn't stand an outside chance, hadn't from the moment Lena had curled her little finger and let Sol know she was available, hadn't from the day of that disastrous pep rally.

It wasn't that Kerry was ugly. Though on the short side and a few pounds overweight, she had a pleasant face and a fine figure, plus a genuinely striking smile, which she - sadly - flashed all too seldom. Lost somewhere between blonde and brunette, her short shaggy hair needed styling. But with a good cut and the right clothes — which neither she nor her parents could afford — she could have competed with almost any girl at school.

Except for Lena. Except for a perversely timed rip.





It happened in November, during the week preceding the homecoming game when they were to play their cross-town rivals and crown their new queen. Yet it had happened many times before, in cheap teenage exploitation films, the thoughtless kind without a shred of realism or warmth. Perhaps that was what had made the trick seem so especially base. However, though the fundamental idea had been boringly simple, its implementation had never been so wickedly crafty.

In those days, Sol was going with Kerry. When he was not cutting classes, they could be seen laughing hand-in-hand, one of the few happy couples on campus. Now Lena already disliked Kerry from aeons past, and she began to take a fancy to Sol, and spread hints to the effect, thinking that would be sufficient. It probably would have been, but Lena wasn't used to waiting. When Sol didn't immediately come running into her arms, she apparently decided to hasten his break up with Kerry. To this day, Lena's guilt had not been definitely established. However, few believed her expressed innocence. Simply no one at school had the mind to hatch an elaborate, evil plot - other than Lena - and the facts pointed a mighty guilty finger her way.

Along with Angie and Robin, Kerry was a song leader. In honour of the homecoming festivities, they had developed a new routine to perform at the pep rally to be held at lunchtime in the gym, the day before the big game. It involved the usual bouncing through the air and spread-eagled stretching. Lena was well aware of the specifics of the routine. Though not a member of any cheering squad — she had passed such adolescent displays, so she said - she contributed, through her sister, extra twists. One of Lena's exotic suggestions was the straw that broke the camel's back, the twist that tore the panties.

Because the song leaders' uniforms were warm, and Santa Barbara was sunk in a rare heat wave, the girls wore regular clothes to the morning classes, leaving their uniforms in their gym lockers. While on her way to the locker room at the start of lunch, Kerry was stopped by Lena, who wanted to chat. Under normal circumstances, Kerry would not have had the slightest inclination to "chat" with Lena, and now that she was in a hurry to change, she was less anxious. Nevertheless, Lena succeeded in delaying her to the point where Kerry was cutting it close. To top it off, as they parted company, Lena accidentally spilt her Coke on Kerry's shorts, the soft drink soaking through to her underwear. No big problem, though Kerry was mad. She was going to change into her uniform in a minute anyway. The only difference now was that she probably wouldn't be able to wear her underwear. When Kerry reached the locker room, she rushed into her song clothes, not having a chance to take note of any irregularities.

The pep rally started like so many other boring pep rallies. The punchy football coach strutted to the microphone and mumbled a couple of slow lines about how smart - football-wise - their team was this year, and introduced a few key players that everyone already knew. Shani was sitting in the front row of the audience with Park. They cheered loudly for good-natured "Big Bert" — an unusual member of their unusual gang — but otherwise they were hardly listening. It was only when the song leaders came on that she sat up and took notice. Of course, three of her friends were in the group, but perhaps she also had a premonition of danger, for her stomach had begun to ache like it did when she was worrying deeply. Park also stirred to life. His girl friend, Robin — whom he supposedly loved very much — was the leader of the group. He had his camera primed and was clicking away the second they launched into their routine. Even then, Shani had felt that he had taken an unusually high number of pictures of Angie.

In the middle of the skit, Kerry flew spreadeagled over Robin's shoulders and Shani thought she heard a rip. But at first she decided that she must have been mistaken, for no one else appeared to have heard anything. Then a low murmur began to spread through the audience, a sound that quickly built to loud whistles and hoots. This was an example of how fast gossip could spread, for, although she was sitting in the front, and although the song leaders' dresses were short, Shani could see nothing unusual as far as Kerry was concerned. Neither could Park — Shani asked him twice what was going on. But a few people, probably only a handful in the entire crowd, had thought they had caught a flash of Kerry's bare bottom. Afterwards, of course, there were dozens of guys who swore they were one of the chosen few. The fact that they were all liars made no difference. Ironically, Kerry was probably the last one in the gym to know there was a problem. The record they performed to continued on, though it was practically drowned out in the commotion, and Kerry continued to swirl and twist and bend, not noticing any draught. Shani finally got the word through the grapevine of what was supposedly happening, and then it seemed ages to her before Kerry found out. In reality, from the moment of the rip to the instant of her bewildered halting, possibly twenty seconds had elapsed. It was Angie who finally stopped her and whispered something in her ear, probably just a line to get Kerry to leave the gym as quickly as possible. Angie even escorted her to the door. As they crossed the basketball court floor, the audience granted them a brief respite. But the second they were out of view, they flew back into ecstasy.

Shani left her place in the stands and hurried to the girls' showers. There she found Kerry slumped on the bench that ran in front of the lockers, Angie standing nearby. The place was otherwise deserted. Kerry was more confused than upset. She did not understand what the big deal was. Her dance pants had ripped and she had flashed her underwear. So what? Shani agreed with her that there was nothing to worry about. She was lying. She didn't tell Kerry that those flesh-coloured panties she'd been wearing could be mistaken for bare flesh, at a distance. That they had been mistaken for Kerry's backside, by more than one person.

As Kerry began to change into her street clothes, muttering about how she hoped the confusion would get cleared up quickly, the three of them made an interesting discovery. Someone had replaced Kerry's nylon dance pants with blue cotton paper pants of the same size. No wonder they had ripped. Normally, Kerry would have immediately spotted the switch. But she had been in a hurry before the pep rally, and hadn't detected the difference in the fabrics.

When Kerry remembered how Lena had soaked her underwear, forcing her to be late, Shani immediately put two and two together. The connection was obvious. Lena must have figured Kerry would discard the wet panties. Lena must have also been the someone who had switched the dance pants. She had undoubtedly been hoping that Kerry would be caught flashing her bottom. This fortunately hadn't happened, but it easily could have. Lena later denied the accusations, but she did so with a sly smile, and her deepest admiration for whoever had thought up the plan.

In the following days, Angie and Shani told anyone who would listen that Kerry had been wearing underwear beneath her dance pants. Few believed the truth; they apparently preferred not to. Kerry had to endure ceaseless catcalls. She also lost Sol to Lena. Shani had been disgusted with him for deserting Kerry in her hour of need, but he swore that the pep rally incident had absolutely nothing to do with their break up. He explained that Lena had simply made him an offer that he couldn't refuse.





Shani checked on Kerry in the front seat before opening the annual to page fifty-eight. As a further example of how unreal Kerry's "flash" had been, there had been at least a dozen people taking pictures at that pep rally and not one of them had caught anything even remotely x-rated. Nevertheless, tucked in one corner there was a small black and white picture that had captured all but the "highlight" of the afternoon. It had been taken from the rear of the audience, and showed the crowd on its feet laughing and pointing at an innocent smiling Kerry, whose life was about to come to an end. There was nothing for the guys to gloat over, but it clearly brought back the day. Park had been on the yearbook staff. Shani would have to speak to him about who had allowed the picture in the annual.

Was it a coincidence, Shani often asked herself, that Robin's accident had happened less than a month after Kerry's humiliation?

"Hey girls," Angie said. "Looks like we're no longer alone. Sol's van is just up ahead."

Shani tossed the annual aside and peered between Angie and Kerry. The glare of the blazing sun made seeing difficult, but it was clearly Sol's faded black Dodge. Farther down the road, perhaps a half mile, was a solitary brown clay building, probably the Margarita Ville Canteen. That meant they were almost there. But who cared? Huddling near the rear of the van, beside Sol and Park, was a guy with the smoothest walk this side of England.

"Flynn!" Shani cried.

"God, Shani, not in my ear," Angie said.

Shani grabbed her Rolaids and downed the whole roll as if it were candy. The furnace in her stomach roared on unchecked. She had been dying to see Flynn again, yet, all of a sudden, she wished that she was invisible.





TWO
"This tyre isn't getting less flat with us looking at it," Park said.

"Why didn't you go to the cantina down the road with Bert and Flynn?" Sol asked.

"I still can. Why don't you come with me?"

"I have to guard my van. No way I trust the Cholos down here."

"You're a Cholo."

"Used to be," Sol muttered, lighting a cigarette. Sol chain-smoked.

Park was tempted to split. The inside of their lame van was incredibly stuffy, and out here on the broken asphalt it was like standing on a frying pan. They had a much brighter sun down here than they did in the States. His nose would peel this weekend. It would probably rot and fall off. He sure could use a cold beer. Unfortunately, the strap on his sandals — his only available footwear — had snapped and it was a good ten-minute walk to the canteen. He should have taken Big Bert up on his offer to carry him. He knew Sol was intentionally mocking him, standing barefoot on the blistering pavement. Sol had feet like a caveman.

"Why don't we check on your spare?" Park asked for the third time.

Sol chuckled, the sound oddly frightening coming from him. Shani imagined Sol a modern Fonzie, tough outside but with a heart of gold. Park could attest to the fact that he had a heart, but it was made of a far less precious metal. Sol was tough to the core. Brought up in L.A's barrios, he'd once admitted to stabbing his first person — a member of a rival gang — at the age of twelve. He had never said it outright, but Park had the clear impression that not everyone who had got in his way was still alive. He'd been arrested twice in his fifteenth year: once for stealing a car, the other time for carrying a gun - a sawn-off shotgun. He hadn't told him these stories to impress him. Sol didn't give a damn what anyone thought. Park knew the horrors he'd related had only been the tip of the iceberg.

Once, old friends — the meanest, most wired Cholos he'd ever seen — had visited Sol while they were playing a rough game of one-on-one at the school yard on a Saturday afternoon. Both wore wads of jewelery and picked at their oily nails with shiny switchblades, talking in guttural Spanish with Sol about Satan only knew what. In the midst of the conversation, they said something that bothered Sol and he snapped at them. They paled noticeably and apologized frantically, like their lives depended on it, which may well have been the case. Afterwards, Sol explained that they had made an obscene reference to Park. The loyalty hadn't comforted Park.

Park wasn't sure how Sol's father had managed to get his two children - Sol had a ten-year-old sister of whom he was maniacally protective, the cutest little thing - out of the barrios; probably hard work. Mr. Celaya currently had a flourishing gardening business in Ventura. But apparently, he hadn't felt that Ventura was far enough north of his son's friends. He rented a house on the outskirts of Santa Barbara, and Sol ended up in laid-back Hoover High like a wolf among sheep.

Park still remembered the first day they ran into each other - literally. Sol had knocked him out of his way in the hall. Initially, no one could understand his Spanglish, and it was probably just as well, for in the first few days he seemed one angry young man. But first impressions are not always complete. The passage of a couple of weeks presented a different profile. Sol had his mean streak, and it cut pretty deep, but he could also be kind, and no one could doubt his intelligence. A month after arriving at Hoover High, after a couple of expulsion threats from the principal, he apparently made a firm personal decision to develop his positive qualities, and to only behave like an animal when he could get away with it. The most immediate demonstration of this decision was the change in the way he spoke. He would never be mistaken for an upper-middle-class white boy, but he developed a knack for using English concisely. And damn if he didn't take to spending hours in the library. He wasn't easy to fit in a category. Of course, he seldom returned a book.

At the end of his junior year, he went out for track and smashed the shot-put record. His bulging muscles and blinding reflexes made him a natural at the event. Park was also on the team - he ran a mediocre mile - but what really brought them together was Sol's sudden discovery of surfing. Before moving to Santa Barbara, he once confessed, he hadn't even seen the ocean and he'd despised, because of his upbringing, anything associated with the word surfing. Yet the sea proved an asylum to him that seemed to wash away the weight of past cares. Park had already won two minor surfing championships. Hearing of Sol's interest in the waves, he boldly loaned him a board and taught him a few tricks of the trade. Soon they were surfing together regularly. Park still wasn't sure what Sol liked about him outside of his skill on the waves. He had asked once, and Sol had said that hanging around with the school brain was good for his "tough-but-heart-of-gold-guy image". On the other hand, Park didn't fully understand what he liked about Sol. Certainly, there wasn't anyone else quite like him.

Shani didn't know anything about Sol's background. She didn't know that five days ago he'd been kicked out of his father's house and was now sleeping in the park in his van. She didn't know that he was low on money and was looking to his old ways to get some. Without explanation, while driving through Tijuana, Sol had dropped Park, Flynn, and Bert off for an hour. Afterwards, he had only allowed ever-agreeable Bert to sit in the back, with strict orders that he not touch or smell anything. Why didn't Sol want him to check on the spare? Probably because he'd dumped the tyre and jammed the space with illicit substances. Sol was reading his mind.

"What's the matter, Preppy Park?" he asked. "Don't you trust me?"

Sol had taken to putting "Preppy" before Park's name, since Harvard had written saying that one Park Christopher Jacomini looked like Ivy League material to them. Park did not resent the title. It reminded him of how Ali McGraw had annoyed Ryan O'Neal at the beginning of the movie, Love Story. He strongly identified with the character Ryan O'Neal played. He also had an annoying rich dad, and also was going to go to Harvard, and also wanted to be a lawyer and marry a girl with a body like Ali McGraw's. He even fancied that he resembled Ryan O'Neal, somewhat. Angie said that he did. Of course, she was always quick to flatter. Robin hadn't done that… hadn't needed to.

Before she'd been hurt, Robin had had a body like Ali's. And he'd always figured that he would have married her. She had been - still was - the one with the heart of gold. He glanced south down the road, in the direction where she waited to see him again. He didn't want to think about it. People his age got busted for smoking dope, they got depressed and made fools of themselves over meaningless crushes, they got lousy grades and hated their parents. But they didn't die, not in his world. They couldn't die slowly and take a piece of him with them. God, how he hated himself for having left her for Angie! But what could he do? He simply couldn't handle it. Was this the real reason he identified with Ryan O'Neal's character in Love Story? What can you say about an eighteen-year-old girl who died…

Park kicked the flat tyre. "What the hell. I don't care if we ever get there."

Sol went right on reading his mind. Blowing smoke in his face, he said, "You're such a wimp."

"Just because I won't go back across the border with you and your stash?"

"Who said I picked up anything? But don't change the subject. A real man would stand by his babe when she's in a tight spot. Robin's a great chick. She gets in trouble and you dump her." Sol spat.

"You should talk," Park snapped, throwing all caution aside. "What about Kerry and tight spots?"

"That was not the same. Kerry got humiliated, and we all felt bad for her, but it was only a joke. Dying is… it's no joke." He added quietly, "I know."

Park wondered at the change in his tone. Probably a memory of a friend stuck with a bloody knife had surfaced. Park pulled off his shirt, and wiped the sweat from his face. "I'll have a talk with her," he said.

"If that's the best you can do, then do it."

Park wanted to change the subject. Peering in the direction of the canteen, he remarked: "What are those guys doing? They've been gone awhile."

"Probably getting drunk."

"I don't think Flynn drinks."

"Bert will down enough beer to make up for him."

"Hey, Sol, what do you think of that Flynn?"

"I don't think he's a wimp."

"Give me a break, would ya?"

Sol patted his cheek lightly. Up close, Sol's features were thick and fearsome; however Park had to admit he was probably handsome. Strangely enough, he looked part Slavic — his mouth especially, which was large and sensual. Also, his dark hair had a hint of red, and fine curls that girls loved to run their fingers through. But his sharp black eyes, his calculating expressions, and swollen, tattooed biceps were clearly from the wrong side of the tracks.

"Okay, Preppy," he said. "I don't know nothing about him. He hardly talks. And besides, who cares?"

"I sometimes wonder about him. He looks — it's weird - he looks familiar."

"Yeah, now that you mention it," Sol said thoughtfully, then shrugging. "But who cares?"

"I can see that you don't. I wonder why he came to Santa Barbara."

"Probably for the climate."

"You're a hopeless degenerate. I don't know why I associate with you."

"Because hanging around me makes you look more interesting to the chicks than you really are."

Park thought that was pretty funny, if not true. "How's Lena been treating you?"

Sol groaned, but before he could elaborate, his eyes narrowed. "Someone's coming."

Park turned. Approaching from the weed-choked desolation of a nearby eastern hill was a tall Indian, clothed in a tan tunic tied at the waist with an orange sash. His long stringy hair was the same colour as his robe, bordering a deep red beardless face that disallowed an accurate age guess. He seemed to have come out of nowhere. The uneven ground and dry shrubs at his dusty, sandaled feet did little to slow his floating gait. A hundred feet directly over his head, a blackbird circled. A minute, and he would reach them.

"Who is he?" Park whispered.

"He's Indian, maybe… He has that look. Maybe he's a holy man."

"A what?"

"Not like at church. A sorcerer."

"Like Don Juan?"

"Yes. Treat him with respect. I'll do the talking."

"Good. I don't speak Spanish."

Sol threw away his cigarette. The man was fifty yards away and the next moment he was standing before them. The blackbird had vanished. Their visitor's eyes seemed to focus through them, or rather, they appeared turned inward, as though he saw them from an unusual perspective. Park felt as though he was being subjected to a thorough scrutiny. However, it was not an uncomfortable feeling.

"Puedo ayudarle, senor?" Sol said.

"Has traido ayuda y odio contigo," the man answered. Park had expected a dry rasp but the voice was smooth and melodious. A closer inspection of his face revealed lines from long years, yet his skin retained a surprisingly soft sheen. A flawlessly straight, but at ease, posture contributed to his youthful bearing.

"What's going on?" Park muttered.

"I asked if we could help him," Sol replied. He seemed unable to break away from the man's eyes. They were strangely fascinating.

"And?"

"He said something like, we've brought help and hate with us."

"Great. If only we had Carlos Castaneda with us to figure that one out." But though he spoke in jest, the man's words had sent a cold shiver through his spine; quite a feat in this heat.

"Shut up," Sol said. He spoke to the man: "Hay problema?"

The man gestured south with his covered left hand, which perhaps held something, hidden beneath the folds of his gown. "Paloma petirrojo. Culebra. Culebra. Veneno. Veneno."

Park noted Sol's right hand sliding slowly towards the pocket where he carried his switchblade. Sol had an antenna for danger more sensitive than NORAD's first strike-detection network. Nice voice or not, Park took a step back. Sol said, "No comprendemos. Explique usted!"

In answer, the man jerked free a blackbird, letting it fly in their faces. Sol had his knife in hand and open in an instant, but the bird did not attack them. It screeched loudly as it wheeled into the sky, vanishing south into the glare of the sun. Trying to settle his pounding heart, Park noticed Flynn coming up the road from the direction the bird had disappeared. For a moment he imagined Flynn had grown wings and a beak. The sun must be short-circuiting his brain. Rubbing his eyes, he snapped at Sol. "What the hell was that for?"

"Cuervo. Águila, Cuelbra veneno. Petirrojo," the man said, undisturbed by the blade pointed his way. Sol lowered it in measured steps, frowning.

"I asked him if something was wrong. And he rattles on about a dove, an eagle, a robin, and a snake. You saw what happened when I asked him to explain."

"Don't put your knife away," Park advised, the man smiling faintly at this remark. Despite his fear, he did not feel a danger from the man per se. But that damn bird could have pecked their eyes out. He asked, "What was that last thing he said?"

"More of the same: raven, eagle, snake, robin."

"Wait a second. Does he mean robin the bird, or Robin the person?"

"Robin the bird. I don't think there is a Robin name in Spanish."

"Ask him anyway."

Sol pressed a button. His blade vanished. But he kept the knife handy. "Tú conoces a Robin Carlton?"

"Hermana," he said, holding up one hand. "Hermano," he added, pointing to where the bird had disappeared.

"Sister… brother," Sol muttered. "He doesn't know her."

"Ask him if she's going to be all right."

"I said, he doesn't know her."

"Ask him if he knows where we can get our flat fixed."

But the old man was already speaking, shaking his head sadly. "Veneno. Culebra. Veneno. Culebra."

"I don't suppose those were directions to a Shell Station."

Sol was wary, puzzled. "He's going on about poison and snakes."

"I wonder why."

He probably shouldn't have asked. An unmistakable rattle started in the dry bush ten feet at his back. Park looked - and looked again - and found a snake slithering right for his foot. He knew he couldn't outrun a grizzly, but he'd never read about rattlesnakes. It didn't matter, anyway. His trusty, well-educated reflexes had him frozen on the spot. It took a hard shove from Sol to get him out of the fang's crosshairs. The snake swam in between them, divide and bite, its pointed head and tongue snapping at both of them. The old man was forgotten.

"What should we do?" Park cried.

"Don't panic."

"I'm already panicked!"

"Don't let it bite you."

Park backed up several paces, moving to his left to place the van between him and the serpent. Unfortunately, the snake seemed to like the smell of him better. It slid beneath the rim of the flat tyre with its mouth open and hungry. Park knew intellectually that he should turn and run, but his upper-class, manicured body would not cooperate. It thought that the moment it turned its back, it would get a huge chunk out of the back of its calf. And maybe it was right. The snake seemed to keep its distance - six feet - as long as he didn't move.

"Are you trying to stare it down?" Sol asked, picking up a hefty rock and creeping closer. The snake, bent on Caucasian meat, was leaving its flank unprotected, or so it seemed.

"Where's your knife?"

"You can't kill a snake like this with a knife." With both hands, Sol raised the rock over his head. Still, their assailant paid him no heed.

"Why aren't you carrying a gun when we need one?"

Sol whipped down his stone with a force sufficient to crack the miserable road. But the snake had only been baiting him. This was Mexico; it wanted a Mexican. It was not in the rock's path, but rather, incredibly, was closing its teeth on the hem of Sol's faded blue jeans. Sol made the best possible move, which was to trounce its mid-section with his free leg. This caused the snake to lose its grip, and Sol scampered back, but he did so hastily and stumbled on an ill-placed rock. He ended up flat on his back. Rearing up its slimy head and hissing with glee, the snake charged. Sol's heavy calloused feet wouldn't be armour enough. Park felt sick. Too late his friend was reaching for his knife when the snake made an unstoppable lunge at his exposed right ankle.

"Sol!" Park cried.

A gun exploded.

The snake tore into bloody halves.

Resetting the safety, Flynn slipped a small black pistol in his belt, covering it with the tail of his white silk shirt. Lying on the road, with his head twisted around, Sol asked, "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

Flynn smiled the charming smile that made the girls sigh, and Park nauseous with jealousy. But he couldn't begrudge him this time. "I usually can't hit a Coke can at five feet," Flynn said.

Park regained the use of his legs and came over and helped Sol up. "That was close. Did he catch any flesh?"

Sol brushed off his T-shirt, and shook his head, his tough, external cool somewhat ruffled. Only Flynn seemed unshaken. Park couldn't believe the guy. Sol slapped Flynn's shoulder. "Thanks, man, I owe you one."

Flynn looked at his kill with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. Already, flies buzzed about the remains. "That's okay; I just won't chip in for gas on the way home."

"Fair enough."

"And I owe you one," Park told Sol.

"Yeah. Say you fix me up with Angie for a couple of nights and we'll call it even."

Park laughed, realising he was still shaking. "Only if I get Lena."

"You don't know what you're asking," Sol said. "Lena's worse than a snake. She's got nails along with teeth."

"Do you always carry a gun?" Park asked Flynn. They knew little about him: he was from England, had his own apartment, no family, drove an old VW, played tennis, spoke seldom.

"Whenever I'm in a foreign country."

California was a foreign country to Flynn. Sol snapped, "It's none of your business."

"It's no problem," Flynn said smoothly. "I'd tell you more, but there's nothing to tell."

Park didn't believe him. His marksmanship hadn't been blind luck. He was a practiced shot. Park wondered what Flynn had practiced for.

This was weird. Here he is on a fun-and-games weekend outing, and two of his buddies are carrying deadly weapons. "I didn't mean to pry," Park said.

"No problem," Flynn repeated.

"Well, I guess the old man must have seen the snake coming and was trying—" Park paused, looked around. "Hey, where is that guy?"

"Over there." Sol pointed in the direction from which the man had come. He had already reached the bluff of the neighbouring hill, and was disappearing over the other side. He must have run. "Man, that cat can move," Sol said.

"Did you talk to him?" Flynn asked casually.

"Sol did. He only spoke Spanish."

"What did he say?" Flynn asked.

Sol shrugged. "A bunch of crap."

"I'm curious. Tell me," Flynn insisted.

But at that moment, they saw Angie's blue Datsun, weaving a path that failed miserably to miss the many potholes. Kerry and Shani were with her. Park felt dismayed at his lukewarm reaction to their rescue. Of course, having an alternative ride was no major relief. Sol had had them on the road at five in the morning, but they all knew it was only a matter of time before others from their class stumbled by. Sure he was happy to see Angie, but meeting her here so close to Robin made him feel guilty. What would the weekend be like? He also had to worry what Shani thought, though she had never so much as hinted that she thought he had stabbed Robin in the back by dumping her so soon after the accident. In fact, he was actually happier to see Shani approaching, than Angie. Often he wished that it was she he was attracted to, and vice versa.

With the possible exception of Lena, Shani was the prettiest girl in the school. She was too thin, and her breasts were nothing to grab - Sol had tried once - but her hair was as black as the old man's raven, toppling in a curling cascade to her butt, and Mother Nature had granted her facial structure every break. Her innocent, pondering profile often reminded Park of Natalie Wood's. Junk food had no part in her diet. Consequently, the glowing skin he'd appreciated even in grade school had passed, unmarred, into young womanhood. But her claim on the hearts of Hoover High's male population was due to her eyes. They were a shade of dawn's darkest, clearest blue, like large, round mountain lakes an hour before sunrise. Yet with all this, Shani saw herself as nothing more than a bag of bones with a boring personality. True, she did bore him on occasion, but then, he had known her a long, long time. Kissing her was like kissing his sister, and he didn't even have a sister. He supposed that leading her home early by the hand in kindergarten with her pants soiled - his free hand blatantly clasping his nose - had ruined the romance at the beginning. Whenever he reminded her of the incident, every other week, she would get terribly embarrassed. Despite all this, he had once tried to seduce her. Afterwards, she hadn't even realised that he had made the effort. She was a good girl.

Angie was attractive also, but in a more traditional, less exotic fashion. A bleached blonde, she had a tan in midwinter and brown legs longer than his own. He didn't know what colour her eyes were, but they were nice. Yet they never had that much to talk about. Only when she had her clothes off was she really interesting. Not that she was dumb - she had a "B" average and planned on going to college - but there was nothing in her personality that stood out. She was like a collage of her friends: a bit of Shani's charm, an ounce of Kerry's nervousness, a glimmer of Robin's sweetness, a slice of Lena's craftiness, all lumped together with no definitive result. He doubted she loved him - though she had murmured the three words — so he did not feel absolutely terrible about not loving her. He liked and respected her; that was enough. Love, he had decided, was something he was incapable of.

Laughing, the three girls drove right by them. Only when Sol jumped into the centre of the road and shouted something obscene in Spanish did they return in high-speed reverse. Park put his shirt back on, his pulse still not settled from the wrestling match with the snake. Angie was the first out of the car. She smiled and waved and hugged and kissed him. He reminded himself to tell her later not to do such things in front of Robin. He hugged her in return, briefly.

"We've got to quit meeting this way," he said.

"But it's so romantic," Shani laughed, coming up. "Mind if I butt in?" she asked Angie before planting a quick kiss on his lips. She tasted like Rolaids.

Angie shook her head, took his hand, not looking altogether pleased. "I don't mind."

Sol got Shani next, hugging her like he might eat her, while Kerry remained aloof. But then he grinned slyly at Kerry, and said, "Hey, babe, why don't you just slide on over here and give me a big… give me a little taste?"

It was an absurd line, but Kerry smiled with happiness, and Park was glad. Kerry didn't have Shani's brightness or Robin's warmth, and she was too quick to gossip, but he felt she was essentially a good kid who'd had to beat a pretty tough rap this year. He had always wished that it had been Lena's butt they had seen. Besides probably having a far more stimulating rear, she would have enjoyed having an excuse to flash her goods.

Without batting an eye, Sol tried to give Kerry a quick feel right there in front of them. "Animal!" she squealed in delight, making a halfhearted attempt to slap him.

"You know it," Sol said.

"Some things never change," Park muttered.

"Some things do," Shani whispered, standing close by. He glanced at her, surprised. For a moment she seemed sad. But then she turned away, towards Flynn, and he could feel her tremble. He knew she was wild about Flynn, but had sworn a vow not to leak the news, which he had no intention of breaking. Flynn had watched their reunion from a detached distance. Now he stepped forward, nodding slightly like an English officer. He always appeared in perfect control.

"Hi, Shani," he said.

"Hi! I didn't know you knew me - I mean — knew my name." She blushed. "How are you Flynn?"

"Fine."

"I'm happy to… ahh… that you're fine."

"I'm happy to see you," he said, the perfect gentleman.

Shani bowed her head, embarrassed. "Oh."

"You should have been here a few minutes ago," Park said. "Flynn saved Sol's life. He killed that rattlesnake over there just when it was about to bite Sol's ugly feet."

"Really!!?" the three girls cried.

"I wouldn't say that," Flynn said, winking at Sol.

"Naah, that snake was dead when we got here," Sol said.

"What?" Park said.

"I touched it with the tip of my shoe," Flynn said, feigning confusion, "but that was all."

"What are you talking about, Park?" Sol asked. "I don't have ugly feet."

"We can tell that Flynn's brave by looking at him," Angie said. "We don't need your wild tales."

"What?"

"It sure is gross-looking," Shani observed. "It looks like it was shot in two."

"Must have been someone handy with a gun," Flynn said.

"A marksman," Sol agreed.

"Looks like it's been dead awhile," Kerry said.

"What?"

"Would you stop that?" Angie said, getting annoyed. She gestured to Sol's van. "Did you get a flat?"

"No, a snake bit the tyre," Park grumbled. Sol must have wanted to abide by Flynn's obvious wish not to have to talk about his gun. Or else Sol wanted to make a fool of him. Or both.

"Do you have a spare?" Shani asked.

"Not with me," Sol said, laughing at Park.

"Before we left," Kerry said, "my father gave us one of those cans that can inflate a tube and seal any small holes. Would that help?"

"With all these dangerous snakes around here," Sol said, pulling out a cigarette, "it might end up being a lifesaver."

Everyone laughed except Park. He was not amused, but he was sure it was bad karma. He was always playing practical jokes on others. Maybe it was his turn.

Angie fetched the can from the Datsun's glove compartment. Kneeling by the flat tyre, Sol read the instructions softly to himself in Spanish. White foam squirted briefly over the tube's nipple as he secured the can's tip into place. Thirty seconds later, the tyre had regained a semblance of its former roundness.

"Will it hold?" Angie asked.

"We should be able to get to the house," Sol said, kneading his thumb into the tyre.

"Where's Bert?" Kerry asked. Bert liked Kerry. He liked everyone. Kerry used Bert. So did everyone. Bert liked being used.

"Consuming mass quantities," Park said.

"No, here he comes," Flynn said.

There were those who said that Big Bert Billings was not a genius. Those were the same people who said the Leaning Tower of Pisa was not straight and that the earth was round — typical unimaginative fools. Italy was crooked, the tower was fine, and everybody of consequence knew the astronauts' photos of Earth had been touched up. Bert was obviously a genius. Who could lead the basketball league in rebounds and not be able to jump more than three inches straight up, never mind his two hundred and fifty pounds and six-foot-five height? Who could get to only a minute left in an exam, be only half done, and guess at the remainder of the questions and end up with a high score, never mind the black market test complete with answers in his lap? Bert was simply humble. He hid his intelligence, so well in fact that he couldn't remember exactly where he had put it. Everybody loved Bert. He was awfully big.

Bert was walking reasonably straight up the swaying road, managing to keep his half-inch-long blond hair out of his wild eyes. Usually, he was rather fair, but this afternoon gallons of alcohol-saturated blood were-pumping through his cheeks. Usually when Bert saw you again, he slapped you heartily on the back. One could end up in the hospital after saying hello to Bert. He waved excitedly to them. They would have to have been heartless not to wave back.

"Boy, am I glad to see you!" he shouted, coming up. His volume dial was broken at ten. "I thought you guys might have left without me!" He went to slap Sol's back. Sol hadn't moved so fast for the snake. Sol was strong, but he wasn't built like the Statue of Liberty.

"Why would we have left you?" Sol breathed from a safe distance.

Bert noticed they had company. "Hi ya, girls!"

"Hi ya, Bert!" the three replied in unison.

Bert rubbed his massive hands together eagerly. He positively stunk of beer. "Boy, have I got a story for you folks! I'd just got out of the canteen, and was walking back here, when this snake came out of the weeds and tried to bite me!"

"Really?" Park asked, incredibly pleased. "What did you do?"

"I stomped on it, and kicked it," Bert beamed. "Tore it right in two."

"Oh, no," Park groaned, as the others broke up in laughter.





THREE
Sol's van was still in the rearview mirror, so the tyre must be holding up. Shani hadn't realised that they still had so far to go from where they had joined the guys. They had left Margarita Ville twenty miles behind and there was still no sign of the road Lena had mentioned. Lena's thirty minutes past the canteen was probably in a fifty grand Porsche in fifth gear when the road was in one piece.

Their caravan had undergone personnel rearrangements. Kerry had wanted to ride in the van with Sol, and Angie had wanted Park to ride in the Datsun with them. No one had objected. To give Angie a chance to devote all her attention to Park - who needed a lot of attention lest he get lonely — Shani had taken over the role of chauffeur. Every time she hit a pothole, Park's head would smack the ceiling. She would have laughed each time it happened, but Flynn was sitting three feet to her right, and she was having enough trouble breathing. She was trying to start a conversation, but he was terribly quiet.

"I bet the weather down here is a lot different than it is in England," she said, thinking that was probably the dumbest thing she had ever said.

"England's much cooler," Flynn said pleasantly, his accent far less noticeable than when he had first arrived at school.

"Where are you from, exactly?"

"Southern England."

"What city?"

He hesitated. Perhaps she was being nosey. "Plymouth."

"Do your parents live there?"

"My mother does."

She would not ask if they were divorced. "I've never been to England, or anywhere outside of California." That was the dumbest thing she had ever said. "I mean, except to Mexico… this place… today, that is." She took a deep breath. "Why did you come to Santa Barbara? Am I asking too many questions?"

Flynn smiled. "Not at all, Shani. I love to hear your voice."

Did he really say that? She would have to write it down later in her diary. Slightly flustered, she weaved into a pothole. Park's head got another millimetre flatter. "Watch it," he growled.

"Thank you," she said. "I mean, I'm sorry."

"Tell me about yourself," Flynn said.

"About me? There isn't much to say about me." She couldn't think of anything offhand.

"Why do you want to be a psychiatrist?"

"Oh, how did you know that?"

"I read the caption under your picture in that book — the yearbook. It said: Ambition — Psychiatrist; Favourite Subject — Psychology; Happiest Memory — Coming out of the womb; Hoover High Bulletin Editor; Homecoming Court."

"You must have an incredible memory," Shani said, awed.

"I only read a few of the captions."

"Did you read mine?" Park asked. For some mysterious reason, his senior picture - in everyone's yearbook — had been faded to a ghost outline. Indeed, nowhere else in the book was his lost little boy face to be found. Though he had an ongoing fantasy that he looked like
Ryan O'Neal, Park could not have chosen a more inaccurate model. Sturdy and wiry from hours of surfing, he was nevertheless short and pale. And with lips rosy to the point of appearing touched up, and a mop of hair as black as his coal eyes, he was closer to a member of the Vienna Boys' Choir than a movie star. He was not handsome, but a lot of girls - Shani included - thought he was a doll.

The absence of his picture in the annual was no real mystery. He had been the yearbook editor-in-chief. The thought of some jerk scribbling on his face, he had confided, had been unbearable.

"You read it to me, Park," Flynn answered. "Your happiest memory was going into the womb."

"I was speaking for my father, there," Park grinned.

"Who else's did you read?" Shani asked. She was flattered — she was in seventh heaven — that he'd taken special note of her, but already she was worrying about the competition.

Again he hesitated. "Robin Carlton's."

They had handed in the information for the captions before Robin's accident. Robin's ambition had been to become a doctor and join the Peace Corps and help poor people. The conversation went out of the window right there. Shani decided she would tell Flynn why she wanted to be a psychiatrist when he told her why he had come to Santa Barbara.

Her reasons weren't complicated, just confusing. In school, there was no specific subject that fascinated her. She did well in all of her classes, largely because her mother was strict, but biology and history or literature just couldn't compete with real, live people. She loved to study her friends, try to understand their motivations, their hopes and fears. Lunch in the crowded, talkative quad was her favourite period. This is why she wanted to study the mind. Perhaps she was trying to figure out herself through others. Maybe she relied too much upon others. Sometimes, it seemed, she had no internal anchor, nothing that couldn't be blown away by the cruelties of the world. She needed those around her, though she saw faults in all of them. Except for, perhaps, Robin, who wouldn't always be there…

Ten bumpy minutes later, they came to Lena's road which was nothing but a dirt path scarcely wide enough for Sol's van. However, it was flat. Making a right on to the road, heading west in the direction of the hidden ocean with the potholes behind her, Shani accelerated sharply.

"Don't lose sight of Sol," Park warned. "Those cans don't put out enough pressure to keep a tyre up for long."

"If he doesn't show up ten minutes after we get there," Shani said, "I can always go back for him. I want some breathing space there so I can talk to Lena, ask her to lay off Kerry."

"You'd have more of a chance of success if you prayed for rain," Park said, noting the trail of dust they were stirring up. He added absently: "If it did rain here, the Carlton Castle would be an island. No one would be able to get in and out with the mud."

They sighted the house twenty minutes later. Mr. Carlton was not one for pinching pennies, and he had spared nothing on his resort home. Shani had forgotten the number of rooms Lena had said it contained, but she remembered having laughed at the size of the number. Largely panelled on the outside with redwood, the mansion itself was a haphazard three storeys of spaciously windowed boxes bolted precariously to one another, as if the architect had been fretting over a drawer full of incomplete Rubik's cubes while designing it - very modern. In this heat, the practicality of twin chimneys at opposite ends was hard to imagine. Tall, prickly cacti guarded the long white driveway, and shady trees that couldn't have done all their growing since the house had been built, cooled the front porch and roof. Off to the left, separated from the house proper by fifty yards, was a carport and garage housing a boat and two foreign cars. However, it was the ocean beyond that was the real visual treat, six-foot green glassy waves sliding on to a white carpet of sand that would be their class mattress for the next couple of nights. Park and his surfboard must be in bliss. The waves were sufficient to rip off any bikini bottom, but Shani was having doubts.

They parked in the carport, Angie's Datsun a sorry sight next to the Ferrari and Porsche. Lena was standing next to a cactus near the front porch, holding clippers. She waved to them as they walked up.

"Did the border authorities arrest Sol?" she asked.

Lena was a bombshell, her hair a frightening red, bushy and wild and always in her face, through which peered brown cat's eyes and a heart-shaped mouth that made the guys think of nothing but sex when it smiled slyly. Kerry swore Lena'd had silicon injections, and if size was any testimony of guilt… But no, that was just sour grapes. However, Lena had fabricated her walk; it hadn't been there last year. Her butt winked with every step. The bikini she now wore flaunted her endowments to indecent advantage. There wasn't a clue of tan lines. That meant she had been sunbathing nude. Despite Angie's presence, Park was drooling. If Lena went swimming in the waves in that tissue paper when everyone arrived, Sol would have his hands full stemming the riot.

Lena was ferocious. When she wanted something, she got it — Lena's First Law. She could be subtle or overwhelming. If sweet suggestion didn't work, she would just as soon shoot a cannon off in your face. Shani had never heard her apologize or admit a mistake. A legion of female followers paid obeisance to her at school. If they had a problem, she had the solution. She would do anything for a friend, as long as she was loyal — Lena's Second Law. If you crossed Lena, your astrological chart suddenly got a black hole in it. But she was not petty. The opposite of Kerry, she never spoke ill behind your back. If you were a jerk, you weren't worth her attention. But if verbal abuse was necessary, she would blast you in your face in front of everyone. Even Sol was afraid of her.

"They dragged him out of his van and shot him," Park said.

"How many did he take with him?" Lena asked. With her clippers, she was trimming the cactus' stickers. She couldn't have been more poorly dressed for the task.

"Twenty-six," Park said. "His van's about ten minutes behind us. Hey, that's one fine bathing suit you've got there."

Angie poked him, irritated. Lena curled a corner of her lips. "I just put it on. You should have been here a few minutes ago…" She let the vision hang. Park would start panting next.

"Aren't you going to ask how our trip was?" Angie asked.

"Nope."

"Lena, you know Flynn, don't you?" Shani said. "Flynn, this is Lena, Robin's sister."

"Of course I know him," Lena said. "I've only been going to class with him since the beginning of the semester. He's been to our house a few times in Santa Barbara, haven't you Flynn?"

"Yes," Flynn said.

"Really?" Shani said, putting down a stab of jealousy. Neither Robin nor Lena had told her this before. But, then, why should they have? Funny how with a couple of compliments she was already thinking of him as hers. She was getting as bad as Kerry.

"You know how I like to break in all the new boys," Lena said. "Don't blush, Shani, you know I'm only joking. Flynn spent all his time talking to Robin."

"How is Robin?" Park asked.

"She's not well. She's just maintaining," Lena said, as straightforward as ever. Many would have considered her cold, but Lena did not baby Robin. Kerry was always quick to say it was because she didn't care. But no one really knew how Lena felt. From the beginning, when Robin had been fighting for her life, Lena had not publicly shown the slightest trace of sorrow. Lena added, "She's inside, resting. She's been looking forward to seeing you all."

Shani had not seen her in a month, since Robin had moved down here on what seemed to be a permanent basis. Was Robin withdrawing? What was here except the ocean and sand? Yet Lena had said it had been Robin's idea to have the party.

"I'd like you to do a favour for me," Shani began. "Kerry's riding in the van with Sol and—"

"And you want me to be nice to her," Lena interrupted. "Funny you should say that. And I was just collecting these needles to stuff her pillow with."

"Please, you don't want fighting at your own party."

Lena's eyes sparkled. "Oh, I don't know, it might liven things up. Look, I'll make a bargain with you, and you can pass this on to Kerry. If she leaves me alone, I'll leave her alone. Otherwise, she'll wish she had never come."

"Now that sounds like a fair deal to me," Park quipped. Shani felt far from relieved.

They were on the verge of entering the house when Robin's nurse, Ellen Porter, came out of the front door carrying a small suitcase. Miss Porter looked like a nurse even without the white uniform. Well into her sixties, she had helped take care of Robin and Lena when they had been infants, and had been with the Carlton family— off and on — ever since. She was a stern lady who believed firmly in discipline and suffering for the sake of character. Shani had once seen her slap Lena in the face for cussing. The fact that she was still alive indicated that she was as lucky as she was strict. When Robin had been taken ill, Mr. Carlton had sent her through special training for the care of critically ill kidney patients. Much of this knowledge she had passed on to Lena. Her salary was equivalent to that of most M.D.'s. She had never married.

"Hi, girls. Hi, Park," she said, setting down her suitcase on the steps of the porch. "How was the drive down?"

"Dusty," Angie said.

"And bumpy," Shani added. "How are you, Ms. Porter?"

"As well as can be expected in this heat." She turned to Lena. "I thought you were going to get dressed, young lady. Running around like that… what will the boys think?"

Lena was bored. "It's too late to worry about that."

Nurse Porter frowned and checked her watch. "Well, I must be off if I'm to catch my plane. Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

Lena shook her head. "I've done the dialysis over three dozen times with you here. It will be no different with you away. Trust me."

"We should have done Robin already today, before her friends started to arrive."

"You're right," Lena said. "But she was too busy getting things ready."

It was obvious that Nurse Porter would have been more comfortable staying. "One thing, Lena, don't touch anything inside the kidney machine. I've replaced the cellophane membrane, and the dialyzing solution is fresh. All you have to do is put the needles in her shunts and throw the switch. Call if you have a problem." She hugged Lena. "I hope the two of you have fun."

"I'll take care of her," Lena promised.

"I know you will, dear."

"Can I help you with your bag?" Park asked.

"There's a gentleman for you. Yes, Park, thank you. I'll be taking the Porsche in the garage." She came down the steps, searching for the keys in her purse. Park hopped on to the porch and grabbed her bag, following on her heels. Only as she passed him did Ms. Porter seem to become aware of Flynn. As was his habit, he had been standing back from the rest of them. Her initial reaction was, Shani was sure, one of pure amazement. But it was only a flicker, and then she was peering at him with undisguised curiosity.

"And who do we have here?" she mused.

Shani took a step towards Flynn. "This is a good friend of ours, Ms. Porter — Flynn from England. He only started at Hoover last semester break. Flynn, this is Robin's nurse. You never met her while visiting Robin?"

"I didn't have the pleasure," Flynn bowed slightly. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Porter."

"Nice to meet you. Are you a… friend of Robin's?"

"We've only spoken a few times."

"I see." Ms. Porter seemed to be thinking. "Flynn — that's a nice name. Sounds adventurous. What is your last name?"

"Powers."

"I have family in England," Ms. Porter went on. Shani had thought that she was in a hurry. "Maybe you lived near them. Are you from London, by chance?"

"No."

"Plymouth," Shani said. Flynn cast her a quick look.

"Plymouth," Ms. Porter whispered. The word seemed to go deep inside her, like a piercing needle. Yet again, the unusual reaction lasted only a second. Then she smiled. "Does your family live there?"

"Yes."

"Your mother?"

Flynn paused, and it was his turn to scrutinize Ms. Porter. "Both my parents live there," he said.

Shani was confused. Why hadn't he said the same to her? She also wondered why the nurse was so interested in Flynn. Ms. Porter continued, "I used to travel a lot. I've been to England several times. I love that country, the green you see everywhere. And their passports always make Americans ones look so dull. When you crossed into Tijuana, did they ask for yours?"

"No."

"They'll ask for it on the way back. You did bring it, didn't you?"

"No."

"How are you going to get back into California?"

"I can fake the accent."

Ms. Porter forced a laugh. "American or Mexican?"

"Whatever it takes."

It was a subtle hint to quit prying, and Ms. Porter must have caught it. She rechecked her watch. "Well, I've chatted long enough. But it's been worth it to hear such a marvellous voice. We must talk again in the future."

Flynn smiled. "If you'd like."

Toting the bag, Park accompanied her to the car. She waved as she drove away. In the distance, coming the opposite way, Sol's van could be seen, doing at best ten miles an hour; the tyre must be giving out.

"That was weird," Lena said. "Nursey was really digging into you."

"She seemed a nice lady." He scratched his side thoughtfully, near a bulge in his belt. Then he asked a peculiar question. "When we drove up, Lena, I noticed a couple of big tanks at the side of the house. They looked like they had just been installed. Are they part of Robin's dialysis machine?"

"No, you would never put any of the kidney machine outside. Those are water filtration tanks. For cosmetic reasons, we're going to have them enclosed. If you don't filter the water you drink down here, you know what hits the fan. One of the tanks is new. Before, we used to only filter the water that led into the kitchen tap. Now you can take a shower without getting amoebas and protozoas all over you."

"How gross," Angie said.


 "I was just wondering," Flynn said. Shani was surprised Flynn would ask such a silly question. Who heard of putting parts of a refined medical instrument outdoors?

Flynn offered to unpack the Datsun. Park suggested that Angie give him a hand. Judging from her expression, Angie did not appreciate the suggestion. However, she must have understood that he wanted to see Robin without a new girlfriend by his side, for she accompanied Flynn back to the carport without complaint. Park was nervous. Shani patted his hand. "She'll be glad to see you," she said. Park nodded. "I know." Lena held her tongue. The entrance hallway was brief, spilling into a sunken living room with a towering open-beam ceiling and giant windows that practically invited the ocean in. The blend of furniture, drapes, wallpaper and paintings was refreshingly old-fashioned, conveying warmth and taste. White carnations and red roses bloomed in china vases atop four separate corner tables. It seemed a sin to tramp on the divinely soft vanilla-coloured carpet beneath their dusty feet.

Robin was sitting on a burgundy sofa reading a book. As they entered, she smiled and rose to greet them. "My friends," she beamed, spreading her arms.

Robin was jaundiced - even the centres of her once emerald eyes were stained a sad yellow. The sheen and curls had fallen from her brown hair. Perhaps in concession to the spreading grey, she had it cut very short. There wasn't a spare ounce on her emaciated frame. Her pretty blue blouse and smart white skirt hung on her like old sheets. As she approached, it was as though she were treading through a thick liquid, with effort being required for every few steps. Shani told herself that this could not be her dear friend. She had deteriorated rapidly in these last four weeks.

Robin was the best of them. Since they had both been adopted, it should have been no surprise that Lena and Robin bore no similar personality traits. Nevertheless, it was hard to believe they had grown up together in the same house. Robin never asked for anything, never complained. Not that she worked at being a saint. An inborn lack of egotism had her naturally more interested in others' cares. However, she was not perfect. A follower, prey to everyone's idle influence, she seldom asserted her personality. Fortunately, Lena - a leader at heart -never tried to dominate her. But Robin's greatest fault was her laziness. Though no moron, her grades at school had never risen above a "C". What Robin could do today, she put off till next year. Yet maybe that bad habit was passing. From what Lena said, she appeared to be trying to get the most out of her time off the dialysis machine. Maybe because she might not have a next year.

Of all the people in the world, Shani loved Robin the most.

Shani hugged her, feeling Robin's ribs. "I missed you," she said, fighting to keep her voice easy.

"I missed you more."

Shani took a short step back, still holding her shoulders. "But you're so skinny. Aren't you eating?"

"I'm dieting," she joked, fingering a tiny gold eagle pendant that hung from a tiny silver chain around her neck.

"Hello, Robin," Park said at Shani's back.

Robin's lower lip quivered before she could hide it with a smile. "You look well, Park."

"I feel okay. How are you?"

"Good, great."

"Give her a kiss, you bastard," Lena said.

Robin laughed, spreading her arms. "And a hug, too. I'm not contagious."

Park took her in his arms, and only because she knew him so well was Shani able to see that he, too, wanted to weep. "It's good, real good, to see you again," he said.

"Really?" Robin sighed doubtfully. But she quickly chuckled to lighten the mood, undoing his embrace. "But I'm forgetting my duties as a hostess. You must all be thirsty. Was that Angie's voice I heard? How many have arrived?"

"Sol's coming up the road," Shani said. "Bert and Kerry're with him. Other than that… Oh, Flynn's here."

Robin brightened. "Flynn! I'm glad; he's such a sweetheart. I'll get plenty of drinks, then. Don't any of you go anywhere. I'll be right back."

"I'll help you," Shani said.

"No," Lena said firmly. "She can handle it herself."

When Robin had left, Park leaned against the wall as though suddenly weary. "She looks terrible," he said.

"She has looked better," Lena agreed.

"Why has she suddenly lost so much weight?" Shani asked.

"She's been depressed, hasn't been eating," Lena said. "Ten days ago we got a letter from Stanford Medical Centre. It was nicely phrased, but essentially it said that they had her at the bottom of their transplant-candidate list."

"But why?" Shani cried, taking the bad news hard. A transplant was Robin's only hope for a normal life. "Robin only has one kidney now, and it's ninety per cent failed. Who could be more needy?"

"More than ninety per cent failed," Lena corrected. "But you would be amazed at the number of people in her predicament. Stanford figures she had one transplant, and rejected the organ, and is therefore not a prime candidate. In other words, they feel that they gave her a chance, and now they have to give someone else a chance. Plus, she has another strike against her. You might have seen in the news, there's been a big backlash against rich people being able to buy organs and get transplants sooner than poor minorities. All those human rights fanatics are watching the Carlton name closely to make sure Robin doesn't get any special favours. Stanford's got paranoid, and Daddy's offer of a big donation hasn't eased that paranoia. It's all a bunch of b.s. Robin will probably be the last one to be given a second chance. I swear, sometimes it doesn't pay to be rich."

"Stanford isn't the only medical centre that does transplants," Park said.

"The situation would be the same elsewhere," Lena said.

"Is there no hope?" Shani asked. In a moment, she would have the nerve to make her offer, she hoped.

"If Robin had a blood sister or brother with a matching tissue type," Lena said, "who was willing to donate one of his or her kidneys, Stanford would have to take her. But since she doesn't, I would have to say there's no hope of her getting off the dialysis machine in the next couple of years."

Shani swallowed thickly. It was a thoroughly premeditated offer. "I had myself typed last week. I'm the same type as Robin. I would be willing to… I want to give her one of my kidneys."

Lena stared at her a long time before responding. "You are not blood-related. Stanford would say no."

"But I'm her age. I—"

"It was a noble gesture," Lena interrupted. "If there was a chance they would go for it, I would be on the phone now. Thank you, Shani."

"It was just an idea," she sighed.

Park squeezed her arm. "I'm proud of you."

"One thing," Lena added. "Don't tell Robin of your offer. It might give her hope, and then Stanford would just slam the door in her face again. Two nos in two weeks and she might stop eating altogether."

"I understand," Shani said.

"Knock, knock," Kerry said at the front door.

"The door's open," Lena said. "Hello, Kerry."

"Hi," Kerry mumbled, munching on a wad of gum, trying to look bored. "Where's Robin?"

"In the kitchen getting drinks," Lena said. "Where's my boy?"

Shani cringed at the word. Kerry played the fool. "Who?"

"Sol," Lena said.

"He's in the garage."

"What's he doing there?"

"How should I know? He's not my boy," Kerry said. "And I don't think he'd appreciate being called that."

"I call him that all the time," Lena said.

"So do I," Park said. "But never to his face."

Kerry scowled at Lena's bikini. That was a mistake. "Don't you think you should put on some clothes?"

"What's it to you?" Lena asked, sharpening her tone.

"You're practically naked."

"If it's Sol you're worried about, he's already seen me naked, many times."

"Him and a couple of dozen other guys," Kerry muttered, looking out of the window at the rolling ocean swells. That was a bigger mistake. Lena smiled her special smile, a red-lipped warning, to those who knew her, that she was going to stick in the blade.

"In this area, I have to bow to your vastly superior numbers," she said pleasantly. "A couple of dozen? I should be embarrassed. That must be a pittance to someone like you."

Kerry did not say anything. She gave no reaction whatsoever except to turn and leave through the same door she had entered.

"Lena," Shani moaned.

Lena shrugged, still smiling. "She started it."

"Do you think she'll leave?" Park asked.

"I'm sure she already wishes that she had never come," Shani sighed. It was going to be a long weekend.





FOUR
Night had come but none of the other kids had. Lena confessed that the printer had accidentally put June twelfth on the written invitations, which was tomorrow. Because they talked to Lena on a regular basis, neither Shani nor Park had received such an invitation. Yet, Shani was still confused. She had spoken to many of her friends about how she had planned to get to the resort house by Friday afternoon. Why had not a single one of them commented on the fact that they were not coming till Saturday?

They had a late dinner, waiting for Robin to finish with her dialysis and join them. Though monitoring her sister's blood cleansing, Lena had somehow managed to oversee the preparation of a turkey, a ham, a basketful of baked potatoes, and two huge pots of steamed vegetables. There had also been a ton of assorted junk food: ice cream, potato chips, cola, and pastries. Shani had indulged in none of the junk, but she had discovered that even good food could make you sick if you ate too much of it.

After dinner they gathered in the living room, sprawling on couches, chairs, and the floor. The light breeze through the open windows was warm and salty. When they paused in their talk, they could hear the crash of the waves and the stir of the tide. Big Bert had one quarter of the. room to himself. He was working on a bottle of wine Lena had dug up from the cellar - a bottle that probably cost more than he made pumping gas thirty hours a week at an all-night Shell Station. Bert, Park, and Sol had been next to impossible to get out of the water at dinnertime, pleading, "Just one more wave!" Already, Park was a solid shade of red. At the moment, Angie was massaging aloe vera into his bare back. Robin had given her the oil. She did not seem to mind Angie touching her ex intimately in her presence, although Park appeared ill at ease, telling Angie to hurry and be done. The late-day dialysis had done nothing to improve Robin's colour. She looked exhausted. She was nervously fingering the miniature golden eagle around her neck, as if for strength. Flynn sat beside her on the love seat, his eyes following her every gesture. Shani did not know what to think, but she knew she was jealous.

"Ahh," Sol moaned with pleasure. Park was not the only one getting a rubdown. Lena had Sol face down on the floor clad in only his swimming trunks. She was sitting on his butt. Naturally, Kerry was pretending that none of this was happening, sitting in a dim corner furthest from the centre of their group.

"We should play some games," Robin suggested. A sudden gust in the ocean breeze caused her to shiver.

"Should I close a window?" Shani asked.

"I like the wind," Robin said.

"Can I get you a blanket?" Flynn asked.

She appreciated his concern. "Thank you, I'm fine. I just need to be more active. What can we play?"

"Let's have an orgy," Sol muttered into the floor. Lena smacked him on the back of the head. "Let's play chess," he said, reconsidering.

"Let's play charades," Shani said.

"Sure," Bert said.

"I hate charades," Park said.

"We always play that," Angie complained.

"I'm terrible at charades," Robin said.

"It's a terrible game," Sol said. "Let's play Monopoly," Shani tried again. "Great," Bert said.

"I hate Monopoly," Park said, putting on his shirt. "We played that last time," Angie said. "I've never once won at Monopoly," Robin said. "It's a terrible game," Sol said, rolling over, capsizing Lena.

"Oh, brother," Shani said.

"Let's play that game where we make up names for each other," Bert said, finishing his bottle of wine, belching. "I love that game."

"Huh?" Park said.

"The one where you make up a famous personality and tape the name to someone's forehead and they try to figure out who they are by asking yes and no questions," Shani said. "Is that the one you mean, Bert?"

"I think so."

Sprawled on the floor in white micro shorts, it was Lena's turn to reconsider. "I'd rather have an orgy."

Bert's suggestion prevailed. Through quick manoeuvring, Shani got to choose Flynn's pretend name. As she taped it on his forehead, his curly brown hair got in the way. He helped her out, his large beautiful hands brushing against her clumsy fingers. "I hope you made me someone nice," he said. She had chosen Luke Skywalker, for Flynn — if anyone — seemed to have The Force with him, some kind of power. "I did," she smiled. "Is that hint enough for you?" He pulled out her pretend name, and, brushing back her hair, pressed it firmly in place. "I bet I'm an old meany," she said. "No, you're young and romantic." She, or her character? Blushing, she retreated to her chair. Sol made Park Tweety Bird. But Park - unconsciously - returned the favour, making Sol Mr. Rogers. Seeing Flynn's name, Angie gave Robin Princess Leia. Robin, in turn, gave Angie Dino the Dinosaur. Bert was a group effort. He ended up as Paul Bunyon. As fate would have it, Lena and Kerry were left to choose each other's names. To no one's surprise, Lena became Satan. And Lena gave Kerry's character a real twist. She made Kerry Kerry.

And so they went in circles, asking questions of the group, getting another turn when the answer was yes. Flynn took only three turns to guess who he was, and everyone booed Shani for being too easy. Sol was a close second. Apparently Mr. Rogers was one of his baby sister's favourite shows, and the character was fresh in his mind. Lena followed shortly afterwards, pleased at Kerry's selection. They had gone about a dozen cycles when Park figured out his name, having already made several unsuccessful stabs with the premier cowards of history. From then on, the rest of them were stuck, and the winners, getting bored, started to drop more and more flagrant hints.

"Am I important?" Angie asked, exasperated.

"Sure," everyone said.

"And I'm a cartoon character," Angie muttered to herself, having picked that up earlier. "I don't know any important cartoon people."

"You're not a person," Lena said.

"You're a pet," Sol said.

"You're a pet dinosaur," Park muttered.

"You didn't have to tell me!" Angie said, mad. "I would have got it."

"Sorry," Park said.

"So, who are you?" Lena insisted.

"I'm… I'm… Dino?"

"Perfect," Park said. "Okay, Bert, it's your turn. You've got to start narrowing down your name by asking good questions."

Bert had been guessing names randomly, three times choosing the same name. He had drunk too much wine. All he knew for sure - hopefully - was that he was not Mr. T. The weird thing was, Shani would not have been surprised if Bert did pluck the name out of the air. Luck followed him like a shadow. Pounding his head with his fist, he said, "I got it right here. I just can't say it."

"But you don't even know if you're male or female," Park said.

"I'm one of those, I know," Bert said, trying to concentrate.

"Somebody give him a mirror," Park muttered. "While he's divining the answer, why don't you go, Shani? You're—"

"Don't tell me! Don't tell me! I'll get it." She performed a quick mental review. She was: young, pretty, in love, European, a fictional character, female, dead… Inspiration struck. "Did I kill myself over my love?"

"Yes!" everyone shouted.

"Am I a Shakespearean character?"

"Yes."

"Did I stab myself with a knife?"

"Yes!"

"Did my boyfriend drink poison?"

"Yes!" Park adding, "Come on, Shani."

But she was enjoying herself. "Do I have a pet dinosaur?"

"Huh?"

"I'm Romeo!" She clapped her hands together. "I mean, Juliet. Thanks, Flynn, that's one of my favourite stories." Was he trying to tell her something?

"All right, Kerry," Park said. "Last chance."

Kerry had been keeping a low profile. "I know I must be someone rotten."

"Don't say that; it's not true," Shani said.

"I know Lena wouldn't have made me someone nice," Kerry said. Lena chuckled. Kerry went, on: "I'm not Hitler, Mussolini, Nero, Charles Manson, Genghis Khan, or Pontius Pilate. Am I a female terror?"

"You're a girl," Sol said.

"Am I pretty?"

"Ehh," Lena said.

"Yes," Robin said.

"Am I alive?"

"Ehh," Lena said.

"At times," Angie said. "Yes."

"Am I well-known?"

"Amongst a small circle of friends," Shani said.

"And amongst a larger circle of football fans," Lena said.

"Lena!" Shani said.

Kerry ripped off her name, crumbling the tape and throwing it away without a look. "Your turn, Robin," she said tonelessly.

"That was rotten," Shani said.

Lena laughed. "I can't help who she is."

"Shut up, Lena, it's my turn," Robin said pleasantly, probably averting a fight. Robin was not the marshmallow of before. She fingered her pendant, the gold eagle catching the lamp light, flickering like a star. "Could I have a minute? I'm thirsty; I want to get a drink." She started to stand. Flynn stopped her.

"I'll get you one," he said. During dinner, he had done the same, waiting on her hand and foot. Robin had eaten like a bird.

"My very own butler. Thank you," she smiled. "I just want a glass of water."

Flynn was back in a minute, but he had brought apple juice instead. "You can't trust the water down here," he explained.

"Oh, but it's filtered," Robin said.

"That's right, I'd forgotten," he said, sitting back down beside her. "Apple juice is better for you anyway."

A sharp cold, like cracking ice, pumped through Shani's heart as Robin lifted the drink to her lips. Funny how apple juice could look so much like beer…

"… one drink, it won't kill you …"

… So much like poison. Of course, Flynn had not been there that night. But he wasn't the type to forget anything.

"I'm a young and beautiful woman," Robin reiterated. "I'm a famous fictional character in a recent movie."

"Several recent movies," Park said.

"Don't tell me! I want to get it." Robin pondered. "If I'm the same character in several movies that must mean there were sequels. Hmm. I got it! Star Wars! I'm Princess Leia! And here I was sitting right next to Luke." She hugged Flynn. "I should have guessed."

"I got it!!!" Bert interrupted, leaping to his feet. "Paul Bunyon!!!" he exclaimed.

Amazing, everyone had to agree.

They hashed around the possibility of other games: Angie's Spin the Bottle, Bert's Monopoly, Sol's Russian Roulette, Park's Marco Polo in the Ocean, Lena's Strip Poker. They were nowhere near a decision when Shani, out of curiosity, asked, "Robin, where did you get that eagle pendant? It's fascinating."

Robin was suddenly wary. "It's a gift. A friend who lives around here gave it to me."

"What is it?" Park asked.

Robin shrugged, her manner —for her —very peculiar. "Nothing, an eagle. It's nothing."

"An eagle," Sol repeated, exchanging a frown with Park. Shani was sure she was missing something. Sol asked, "Does this friend of yours have long stringy hair, a tan robe tied at the waist with an orange belt, and weird eyes?"

"Is he a sorcerer?" Park asked.

"He's not a sorcerer," Robin said quickly, sharply.

"That's what I say," Lena muttered, picking at her toenails.

"You have something to say about a lot of things you know nothing about," Robin said.

Lena was not impressed. "I was only agreeing with you… this time. Why don't you make up your mind? Is this cat for real or not?"

"What are you all talking about?" Angie asked.

"What do you want, a miracle?" Robin asked her sister. "If you can't see or touch something you assume it isn't real. There's no in-between for you, only black and white."

The tone of the evening had suddenly become chilly, as had the breeze through the dark windows overlooking the sober ocean. The foam from the waves was no longer white, or even black, but Robin's in-between - grey. Shani hugged her arms across her chest. She was not sure, but a shadow, like that of a bird, seemed to have swept by their window on its way out to sea. Far away, she heard a faint cry. It could have been a bird's, but it sounded strangely human. Robin seemed to be the only other one to hear it.

"He only spoke Spanish," Sol said. "How do you talk to him?"

"Robin's fluent in Spanish," Lena said.

"I never knew that," Park said. "That's interesting. So, tell us about this guy. I take it Lena and you disagree over his magical powers."

"I said nothing about magic," Robin whispered, withdrawing. "I'd rather not talk about it." She finished her apple juice.

The topic would have been dropped right there, except that Flynn took up the prod. He spoke carefully. "I, also, am curious about him. At the canteen Bert and I visited, the owner - an extremely old lady who spoke good English - mentioned him when we told her that we were coming here. She indicated that he visited here often."

"No, not often," Robin said.

"I've always been curious about people like that," Flynn said, letting the statement hang.

"I wouldn't call him a sorcerer," Robin answered reluctantly. "That word gives a picture of someone who has powers that he uses to his own advantage. He doesn't do that. He could, if he wanted. But he has no need to. He's a desireless man."

"If he has never demonstrated unusual abilities, how do you know he has them?" Park asked.

"Because he knows me," Robin said suddenly emotional. She quieted. "I'm sorry, this is nothing I should talk about."

Flynn, however, was getting interested. "Did he give you the eagle as a protective amulet?"

"No."

"Robin," Lena said, as if accusing her sister of lying.

"Well, he didn't," Robin protested. "He gave it to me as a gift. He never said it was to protect me or to make me bet—" Robin halted, but was too late, having revealed more than she had wished. Was she staying down here to be near this peculiar man because she believed he could cure her? Perhaps that was why Lena viewed him cynically.

"What did he say about your kidneys?" Flynn asked.

Robin was defensive. "What makes you think I asked him?"

Flynn's tone was apologetic. "I was just thinking of myself. I would have asked."

"I did ask him, once," Robin admitted, sounding tired.

"I'm being nosey. I'm sorry," Flynn said. "Let's talk about something else."

Lena sighed. She was getting exasperated and bored. "This is all sounding more mysterious than it really is. Robin, just tell them the story that he told you when you asked about your health. Don't be embarrassed, wise men are always telling short parables that no one understands."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?" Lena insisted.

"Because… it doesn't have an ending."

"You brought up the subject and got everyone going," Lena said.

"I did not."

"If you won't tell them, I will."

"If it's private, Robin doesn't have to tell us," Shani said. Yet she, too, was curious.

"Okay, okay," Robin said. "I'm supposed to be the hostess. I guess I shouldn't be so rude. It won't matter to talk about it now, anyway. Lena, I'm feeling awfully tired. Could you get it for me? I wrote it down that day he told me. It's in a manila envelope in my desk, second drawer on the right. Thank you."

Lena returned in a minute with the envelope, plus a woolen blanket, which Robin accepted gratefully, wrapping it around her shoulders. The breeze coming in from the ocean had turned the room absurdly cold. Robin cleared her throat, saying, "This is what he told me when I asked him if I was going to get better. It doesn't really say yes or no and, like I said, it doesn't have an ending. Also, my Spanish is okay, but I'm not fluent. I can only give you the gist of what he told me. It reads like a parable."

"Once, not so long ago, there were two birds, Dove and Eagle. They were as one, very close, and would talk long and deep together. They made a vow to one another that they would always be together. But one terrible day, a storm came, and they were separated, and Dove flew alone, always searching for Eagle, but never finding him."

"Now it came to happen one day that Dove met Raven, and they became good friends. Raven was clever and strong, and helped Dove live. And Dove respected Raven, for she could do many things that Dove could not. But Dove could sing, whereas Raven could not. Often, Raven pleaded for Dove to sing to her, and Dove always would."

"After being many days together, Raven told Dove of a new and exciting place she had heard of. She wished to go to this place, for Raven was very inquisitive, and she persuaded Dove to come with her, though Dove did not really want to go. But coming to this place, they found nothing but desert and got lost — or so it seemed — and became very thirsty. Flying high, Raven spotted a pond, and said, 'Let us drink here,' and Dove followed."

"Now, this pond belonged to Snake, and Raven knew this. Long ago, Raven had promised to bring Snake tasty food in exchange for its rattle, for more than anything, Raven wished to be able to make music like Dove. But Raven did not intend for Dove to be killed, for Raven in truth liked Dove. Together, Raven thought they could kill Snake, and she would get its rattle. But Snake had no intention of giving up its rattle. And Snake really wanted to eat Raven, for it thought Dove was thin and frail, and wouldn't be tasty. Both intended to cheat the other."

"While Dove was drinking from the pond, Raven waited for Snake to appear. And all of a sudden Snake came sliding out with its teeth wide, and surprised Raven, and Raven was barely able to escape into the air, calling for Dove to do so, also. But Dove staggered and could not fly. What neither Raven nor Snake had realised was that the pond was poisoned from Snake having drunk of its waters. Now Snake curled its tail around sick Dove, trying to lure Raven closer. Alone, Raven did not feel she could kill Snake. And Raven was afraid that if she tried, Snake would bite Dove with its strongest poison, and Dove would die."

"Suddenly, Eagle appeared, landing between them. Eagle was very powerful and could easily kill Snake. But when he went to try, Snake tightened its grip on Dove and said, 'If you come closer, I will bite Dove. Kill Raven for me, and leave her body, and I will give you Dove."

"Eagle turned to Raven, and Raven grew frightened. She said, 'Dove and I are friends. She would not wish for you to kill me.'"

"But Snake said, 'If Raven was Dove's friend, why did she bring her here for me to eat?'"

"Raven said, 'That is not true.' But Raven feared Dove would feel that she had been betrayed, and would allow Eagle to kill her for Snake."

"Eagle thought for a moment, and said, 'I will let Dove decide if you are a friend, Raven, and whether I should buy her freedom with your death. But I have decided this: if Dove should die, both of you will die.' "

Robin stopped, resting her papers on her lap. "I've read enough," she said wearily.

"But is that it?" Park asked. "What did Dove do?"

"I… I…" Robin put her hand to her forehead, where perspiration had sprung. "I don't feel very good."

Shani bolted upright. "What's wrong? Should we call for a doctor?" Curse that Lena for having insisted that Nurse Porter leave!

"You don't want to call doctors around here," Lena said. "There isn't one within fifty miles, anyway. Robin gets like this sometimes. There's nothing you can do."

Sol was not convinced. "I could drive you to a doctor. I don't care how far he is."

"I could carry you," Bert said.

Robin smiled weakly. "Lena's right. This is just the way it goes sometimes. Rest is all I need. Having you all here has been so exciting, I've worn myself out." She slipped her story back in the manila envelope. Flynn helped her up.

"Is that all of the story the man told you?" Angie asked.

Robin caught Lena's eye. "Yes, it is," she said slowly. "He told me I was to fill in the ending."

Lena escorted Robin to her room. When they were out of view, Shani said, "I wish the nurse was here. Her skin looks awful."

"Like she has hepatitis, yeah," Park said, worried.

"She'll probably feel better in the morning," Sol said.

Park nudged Sol's outstretched leg with his foot. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I never think like Tweety Bird," Sol said. Then he got serious. "Maybe the old man only knows one story and wanted to tell it to us. Hell, if I'd been Eagle, I would have just wasted the two jerks."

"What about Dove?" Shani asked, realising that Park and Sol must have met the old man. "Then she would automatically have died."

Sol went to speak, but paused, his eyes involuntarily drawn down the hall where Robin had disappeared. "Oh, yeah," he said casually. "I had forgotten about that."

Sol was being polite. He hadn't forgotten; none of them had. From the moment she had drunk the poison, Dove had already been a goner.





Fluffing up her pillow, Shani wondered if she would have insomnia, as she often did when she didn't sleep in her own bed. The plan had been for their class to crash on the beach in sleeping bags, but since less than the square root of their class was present, Lena had offered them all individual rooms in the Carlton Castle. Bert had refused the offer, saying he'd take the sand and stars any day. Looking out of her third-storey window, Shani could see him smoothing himself a bed not far from the outstretching fingers of the remains of the largest waves. When the tide came up, Bert would have one hell of a wet dream.

Which reminded Shani: who, besides herself, would be sleeping alone tonight? Kerry and Bert, surely, though Park would probably try to slip in a quickie with Angie before hurrying back to his own room lest Harvard Admissions or his mother catch wind of the sin. On the other hand, he might make do with a cold shower with Robin resting a few doors down. Lena would not be worried about Kerry's proximity. Tomorrow, Sol would be lucky if he could stand up on his board.

And Flynn… The fantasy started in third gear as Shani turned off the light and hit the pillow, pretending he was there beside her, his left hand caressing her lower back - they already had their clothes off - her right hand stroking his silkly brown curls, their free hands absorbed in unspeakable acts. He was kissing her deeply, whispering between moist mouthfuls that what they were doing was wrong but that he couldn't help himself. And she was sighing with pleasure, crooning sweetly that she was glad that it was wrong. He began to—

The phone on the stand beside her bed rang. Shani sat up and turned on the lamp, putting Flynn on hold. It rang again. She hesitated, then picked up the receiver. The instant she did so, before she had time to raise the phone all the way up to her ear, she heard Lena say, "Hello?"

"Lena, this is Ellen."

"Hi, Nursey. Catch your plane?"

"Yes, I'm in Seattle now at my sister's house. And don't call me that."

"I am certainly sorry, Miss Porter. What may I do for you this fine evening?"

"You're impossible. I wanted to… Is there someone else on this line?"

"No. Anyone there? No one's there. Why should there be? What's up?"

Shani did not know why she had not already replaced the receiver. Since she had not done so immediately, she was, in a sense, caught. However, perhaps half-formed fears were guiding her instincts. Lena was too meticulous to have "accidentally" placed the wrong date on the party invitations. Anything she said in private might be useful.

"How did the dialysis go?" Nurse Porter asked.

"Fine."

"How is Robin feeling?"

"The same."

"Good. I spoke with your mother. She said that she had talked with you earlier."

"Your information is correct. Checking up on us?"

"Don't get paranoid. No one's threatening your independence. It's natural that I should call and ask about Robin. But that's not the main reason we're talking." Miss Porter paused. "That boyfriend Shani had with her, how well do you know him?"

"For one thing, he's not Shani's boyfriend. He's not even interested in her."

The words cut like an icy scalpel. Shani almost yelled, What the hell do you know, bitch? But Lena might very well know, that was the problem. Oh, God, how her heart hurt. And after he had read the lines under her annual picture, and everything…

"Have you spoken to him alone for any length of time?"

"I haven't slept with him, if that's what you're asking. I know he's from England, moves like James Bond, and doesn't like to talk about himself. What's all this about?"

"Does he seem especially interested in Robin?"

"Yes. He waited on her hand and foot this evening."

"Keep him away from her! Don't leave them alone together."

"Why?"

"He… might have… bad motives."

"Show me a guy that doesn't."

"That's not what I meant. Sleep with him yourself, if it helps keep him away from Robin. Listen, Lena, I would tell you more but your father has strictly forbidden me to do so. If he knew I was making this call, he would be furious. We only have suspicions, nothing concrete. He's making some checks."

Lena was shrewd. "If there was a one-in-a-million chance of Flynn being dangerous, Daddy would already have a carload of men here with guns. Are you sure you're not suffering from severe jet lag?"

Apparently Nurse Porter was used to this kind of talk. "You must take me seriously. Flynn may not be who he pretends to be. That's why I asked about his passport. I wanted to see it. You saw how he evaded me. And if he has taken a false name, his motives cannot be honest."

Lena knew how to play her cards. "Tell me your suspicions, and I will decide how seriously to take your advice. Otherwise, my man will be here in a minute and I must get a few things in place, if you know what I mean. Be concise."

"We're worried about… who has sent him. That's all I can tell you. It won't kill you to keep an eye on him, and I know you will with what I've already told you. Tomorrow we'll know more, and I'll call you then."

Suddenly, Lena sounded uneasy. "Tomorrow's no good. Tell me now."

"No."

"Yes!"

"I told you, our information's incomplete."

"But there will be a ton of kids here tomorrow. You said this was private… Look, I'll call you. Do not call me. Give me your sister's number."

Nurse Porter told her the number.

"Got it. Now you've got me curious, damn you. I think I'll have a peek at his passport. He must have brought it if he was planning on re-entering the States."

"Don't! God only knows what he'd do if he caught you fooling with his things."

"Okay," Lena said, but she wasn't convincing.

"You're sure Robin's fine?"

"If she wasn't, she would have told me. Oh… a brown, hulky babe just slid in my door. Got to go."

"Take care, dear."

After they had hung up, Shani unplugged her phone before replacing the receiver, afraid a jingle in Lena's room would betray the eavesdropping. She turned off the light, hugging the blankets to her chin. Flynn was no longer caressing her sweaty limbs, and she was no longer nibbling on his salty ears. If he had knocked on her door this instant, she wouldn't have invited him in. She would have screamed.

If she was searching for a suspect with intentions towards Robin, she would have scrutinized everyone in the house but Flynn, for he was the only one who hadn't been at the party when Robin had had her accident. At least, no one had seen him there.

Odd how the rest of them were all here, and no others. Odder still how none of them - after almost a year — ever referred to Robin's misfortune as anything but an accident.

Of course, they all knew that it had been no accident.

"One drink, it won't kill you."

Sure.

If only she could forget, or clearly remember, it could be put to rest. This "in-between" gave her no peace.

Shani closed her eyes, listening to her heartbeat. A cool breeze stirred her curtains. Far away, over the black sea, a bird cried. Even as the darkness outside merged inside, she knew she would dream of poison.





FIVE: LAST NOVEMBER
Shani wondered if she was drunk. She was pretty sure she wasn't sober. To a stomach accustomed to carrot juice and watermelon, three-and-a-half beers must be the equivalent of downing a keg. At least she did not feel like vomiting - not yet. But her bladder was another story. She wished whoever was in the bathroom would hurry up. Next time Angie threw a party, she would tell her to rent an outhouse.

Shani glanced around for someone to help her out of her chair. It was late, past midnight, and people — many, total strangers — had been coming and going for the last two hours. There weren't many left, too few to help clean up the half-eaten pizzas and spilled chip bowls. What a mess.

"Listen here," Park was saying to Sol in reference to 'Good Vibrations' spinning on the stereo. "This melody structure is one of the most sophisticated ever created by the human mind." Park shook his head in dumbfounded awe. He was plastered. "Brian Wilson was the genius of the sixties, the king of the century! Love the colourful clothes he wears…"

"Grego trash," Sol scowled, using his half-finished beer as an ash tray. Kerry tugged at his arm, trying to get him off the floor.

"Let's go home, Sol. I've got to work tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, sure, babe, just another minute," Sol said, beginning to search through Angie's albums, littering them over the already cluttered floor. Shani wondered what Kerry was talking about. She had come in her dad's car; she didn't need a ride. Poor girl, she didn't know yet that she was spoiled goods. Thankfully, Lena had taken Angie's suggestion that she not put in an appearance. Probably because her sister had not come, Robin had also bowed out; a shame. Shani had been looking forward to seeing her. Robin didn't drink either, usually.

"Beethoven incarnate," Park swore, belching loudly. Having no respect for the melody structure or the vinyl, Sol picked up the needle at a lousy angle, scratching it badly. "Hey!" Park protested.

"Surfing crap gives me a headache," Sol muttered, putting on Michael Jackson and twisting the volume dial.

"You surf!" Park said loudly.

"I've got to get up early," Kerry whined.

"I don't sing about it," Sol said. "Listen to this; it's got a beat." The booming bass vibrated the lamp on the glass table beside her. "It makes you want to move." He stood and started to dance. Half his grey matter was anaesthetized but his style, nevertheless, was as fluid as that of the artist on the record. Now if only he could find a place for his beer and cigarettes, he would really be in business. He poked Kerry in the stomach. "Shake your ass, babe. What have you got to go home to?"

Kerry went from angry to pleased in a moment. She kicked off her shoes, and joined Sol. She was clumsy as Chevy Chase, tripping over empty cans. They would have to organize a repair crew, or Angie's parents would have a fit when they came home tomorrow. Damn whoever was in the bathroom! Shani closed her eyes, concentrating on her bursting bladder. Someone walked by, brushing her leg.

"Anyone want chocolate chip cookies?" Angie shouted over the music.

"I'll take one," Park said, his slurry voice nearby. Shani was too tired to open her eyes to be sure, but he seemed to be sitting on the floor by her chair. He must have moved. Angie appeared to plop beside him.

"I baked these this afternoon," Angie said.

"Best I've ever tasted!" Park said.

Angie laughed. "Are you stoned?"

Park giggled. "I'm bouldered! What is this music that Sol's put on? It's such a loud record."

"Michael Jackson. Want another cookie?"

"Yeah! Ate my first one, I did. Give me that big one. Thank you very much. You're a fantastic hostess. You ought to have a party ever week, every blessed week."

"Park?"

"Huh?"

"Robin didn't come."

"Right! Where is she?"

"She didn't come. Did you invite her?"

"I did, but Kerry hates Lena and I hate Sol. He scratched my record, scratched it without permission… God, I'm so wasted. What time is it?"

"It's not too late. Do you want to go swimming?"

"Don't got my board."

"We can swim in the pool. It's heated; just the two of us."

"Don't like chlorine. Goes through your ears, rots your brain, pickles it, like too much beer."

"Come on, it'll be fun; just the two of us."

"Gimme another cookie."

"Take as many as you. want. Shani, do you want any? Shani?"

She was still conscious, but couldn't be bothered answering. She wondered, if she did fall asleep, if she would pee in her pants. Interesting how Angie was trying to get Park alone…

"She's bombed out," Park said. "Too much grain in her syrup." He was proud of that one, laughing his fool face off.

"You really like her, don't you?" Angie asked.

"Love Shani. We're like twin brothers. Did I tell you how in kindergarten she stunk up her pants? Wasted them! Are you wasted?"

"Sure am," Angie said. Shani had not seen her drink more than a can of beer all night. Angie continued: "I meant, Robin. How do you feel about her?"

"Wonderful! We're like mother and wife."

"She's more like a friend?"

"Good friend, great friend. Sol's face should lower down those drums, there. Hurt my ears."

"I thought so. Have you ever, you know, done it?"

Park giggled. "You mean, have we ever had sex?"

"Shhh. Yeah, have you?"

"Yeah! No… I don't know. Kind of, I think. Not really."

"It's none of my business. I was just wondering. So, let's go swimming."

"Sure! Wait! I don't have my trunks."

"So what? I won't wear my bikini. We can go skinny dipping."

"You mean, naked?"

"Sure, why not?"

"I dunno." He sounded interested. Shani was wide awake now, listening closely. Was this the real Angie, Robin's good friend? "Are you drunk, did you say?" Park asked.

"Yeah! But let's go. The others are dancing. We'll leave the pool light off. We'll have fun."

"But if you're drunk, you might say in the morning: 'I hate myself.' You might say that."

"You're not afraid of a naked girl, are you, Park?"

He giggled. He was doing a lot of that. "Noooo."

"So, let's go now. We can go out of the front door like we're going for a walk, and circle around to the back."

"Will you tell Robin?"

Angie didn't like the question. "No, but what would it matter if I did? I like you, Park. Don't you like me?"

"Oh, sure. But Robin, she…"

"What about her?"

Park couldn't remember, it seemed. "Nothing. Let's do it, yeah."

Shani kept her eyes closed while they skipped off for their erotic aqua sports. But she had to smile when they opened the front door.

"Hi! We made it!" Robin exclaimed, her voice as sweet as an angel's. Shani opened her eyes. Sol stopped the music by kicking the turntable, quickly putting distance between him and Kerry. Wearing a short dress the exact shade of red as her hair, Lena swept into the living room and claimed her man. Arm in arm with Park, Robin followed, with a frustrated Angie bringing up the rear. Quickly, Shani closed her eyes again. "Hi, Kerry," Robin said. "You look hot. Were you dancing?"

"Sol and I were," Kerry replied thinly.

"Hi, beautiful," Sol said, kissing Robin. Sol often called Robin beautiful. "You're late."

"Lena and I went to the movies. We saw Brainstorm. You just got to see it! The ending is so inspiring. Anyway, afterwards, we stuffed our faces with junk at Jo Jo's and then Lena wanted to drop by and check out the action. So here we are."

"Looks like we missed a good time," Lena said. "This place is a mess. What's Shani been smoking?"

Park giggled. "She's a lightweight. One beer and she goes into a coma." He pinched her big toe through her tennis shoes. Shani opened her eyes slowly.

"Where am I?" she asked, knowing full well; best she act like she was out cold lest Angie realise that she had been listening. The toilet flushed and the bathroom door popped open. Grabbing the arms of her chair, she pulled herself up. "Excuse me, I've passed overflow." Laughter followed her wobbly steps.

Bert was splashing cold water on his face from the bathroom sink. Between them, he and Sol had killed a quart of whisky.

"Do you feel all right?" she asked.

"Great!" He roughed a towel over his red cheeks, shaking like a horse. "I was just taking myself a little nap in here."

"Do you know how long I've been waiting to get in here?"

"Since I fell asleep?"

"Exactly. Are you done?"

"I heard music. You want to dance?"

"I can hardly stand up."

"Throw up, you'll feel better."

"I don't have to throw up. I have to pee. Hurry up!"

"Stick a finger down your throat." Bert demonstrated, not improving her condition. "Works every time."

Shani put her hand on her stomach as it lurched three inches to the left. "Get out!"

Ten minutes later, tucked back in her chair with her bladder and stomach empty, Shani felt better, though still extremely sleepy. On her left, singing to himself, Bert was flipping through the record collection. Sitting on the floor at Robin's feet, Park was eating Angie's cookies, his girlfriend all the while running her fingers through his hair, talking about the movie. Kerry and Angie were fretting together on the couch. Lena and Sol had disappeared, probably into a bedroom to discuss Euclidean geometry.

"And at the end," Robin was saying, "he got to experience the record of the woman's death. It was so beautiful! What happened was… I probably shouldn't tell you. I don't want to ruin it. All of you have got to see it. They have it on the big screen at the mall."

"Where's Lena?" Park wondered aloud, floating in the ozone. "She can go swimming with—"

"I was surprised to see Lena show up," Angie cut him off.

"It wasn't planned," Robin said. "After we ate, she insisted on coming. Sorry, Kerry, if her coming upset things for you."

"Why should I care?"

"Where's Sol?" Park asked, blowing it left and right.

Robin lightly rapped the top of his head with her knuckles. "This poor little boy can't seem to hold his medicine."

"I'm bouldered," Park nodded pleasantly.

"Anyway, for myself," Robin said, "I was hoping you'd still be here, Kerry."

"Why?"

"Nothing important, just wanted to talk."

"About what?"

"A private matter. We can discuss it later."

Kerry chuckled sarcastically. "Nothing's supposed to be private with me, any more. Say what you want. I don't give a damn."

"I had a long talk with Lena," Robin began. "I'm convinced she had nothing to do with it."

"I'm thankful for your objective opinion," Kerry said.

"I know my sister. She acts the tough cookie, but she would never intentionally try to hurt anybody."

"Her subconscious must be the culprit," Shani mumbled. The conversation was heating up, but her head was cooling down. She couldn't remember having closed her eyes, but a moment came when there were only voices to distract her dreamy thoughts.

"Come off it, Robin," Angie said. "Lena did it. She delayed Kerry; she drenched her with Coke. She set her up."

"I believe a lot of this could be explained by coincidence."

"And the paper shorts?" Angie said.

"I'm going to put on The Beach Boys!" Bert exclaimed.

"Pure, unadulterated brilliance," Park said.

Music, soft and pleasant, floated through her ears, mingled with Robin's polite defence, and Angie's and Kerry's sharp prosecution. But there were gaps, where Shani saw coloured pictures as vague as her mushy thoughts, and grey voids, where she saw and heard nothing at all. Yet she continued to surface periodically. The outside voices changed, in personnel and tone. Her name was mentioned, her foot pinched again. Doors opened and closed. The Pretenders started singing, people started dancing. The party was getting a second wind. Her bladder began to call for attention again. She opened her eyes.

Park, Bert, Robin and Angie were dancing as one big couple. Sol was stretched on his back on the couch smoking, Lena sitting on his lap drinking vodka and orange juice. There was no one in the bathroom but it was such a bother to get up. Shani assumed that Kerry had gone home until she saw her come out of the kitchen.

"My car still won't start," she said to Sol.

"Jap junk," he scowled, blowing a cloud of smoke. "I'll take you home in a minute, babe."

"When? It's one-thirty. I've got to work in the morning."

"Shani will take you home," Lena said. Shani deeply appreciated the offer of her services. She doubted she could start a car, never mind drive one.

"Shani's asleep," Sol observed, though her eyes must have been at least half open because she could see. The record Back on the Chain Gang came to an end. Angie broke from the dance floor, heading for the kitchen. Bert made for the bathroom — naptime again. Robin fell, winded, into her chair, sweating and laughing, the picture of youth and vigour. Park collapsed at her feet, forever giggling.

"Why don't you just walk?" Lena asked.

Kerry had been doing an admirable job of avoiding Lena. Her approach underwent a dramatic revision. "Why don't you just go to hell?" she blurted.

Lena sipped her drink, said casually. "When the time's right, I probably will."

But Sol sat up suddenly, causing Lena to fall on her ass on the floor and spill her drink in her face. He put out his cigarette. "I'll take you home now, Kerry."

"The hell you will!" Lena yelled, wiping at her dress. "You clumsy Cholo! Look what you've done."

Sol must have still been riding his Jack Daniels' buzz. In a normal state of consciousness, he would not have dared his next words. "Shut up, Lena."

Shani waited for the explosion. Lena's brown eyes widened. She sucked in a breath. "What did you say?" she asked very slowly, very softly.

Shani hoped that Sol actually did carry the switchblade Park accused him of keeping. "You heard me," he said.

"I guess I did," Lena whispered ominously. Everyone waited. Yet the bomb was suddenly defused, or else put on hold. Lena appeared to realise she was moving into a no-win situation. And Lena hated to lose. She smiled at Kerry. "Sol's so drunk, I know you wouldn't want him to drive. Robin and I won't be here much longer. We can give you a ride home."

What could Kerry say? She had scored the most points, but Lena had still somehow come out on top. "Fine," Kerry muttered.

With the fireworks over, Shani contemplated unconsciousness again. Angie reappeared with a tray laden with freshly tapped litre mugs of beer. Park, Sol, and Kerry each took a glass. Angie set the remainder of the drinks on the corner table next to Robin. Lena went into the kitchen, probably to clean up.

"You running for sainthood?" Angie chided Robin. "Have a drink."

"I'll pass. I have to drive."

"Come on," Park said. "I've been drinking all night and I wouldn't hesitate to climb on top of the wheel."

"You mean, behind the wheel," Robin laughed.

"Wouldn't hesitate!" Park swore, drinking deeply.

Sol put on another record. His brain cells must have been drowning. They listened to an entire side of the Carpenters' Greatest Hits before Bert came out of the bathroom and stumbled into the stereo, turning off the music. Kerry jumped up for a nature call, but ran into Lena at the bathroom door. They exchanged unheard words. Kerry ended up following Bert - who was wandering aimlessly - into the kitchen. Sol shook his head sadly and got to his feet. He did not go into the kitchen or the bathroom, but drifted out of sight down the hall.

"You look like you need a beer!" Park called at Shani.

She closed her eyes. "Don't bother me, I'm asleep." And she must have been for the next few minutes. When she opened her eyes next, everyone was back in the living room. This party would go on forever. Sol was sitting on a chair next to Robin, offering her his mug of beer. Lena was planted precariously on the arm of the chair. Angie was on the floor at their feet with Park, whispering in his ear. Bert was lying face down on the carpet. Kerry was sitting on his butt, her back to Shani.

"We've got to get Robin drunk," Park announced. "It's our duty, our God-given duty."

"How are you going to lose your virginity if you won't let a guy get you drunk?" Sol asked, nudging Robin with his half-full glass. Shani wondered if they had spiked it with whisky. It looked darker than ordinary beer.

"Yeah!" Park cheered.

Robin blushed and took the glass, weighing it in her hands. "You won't believe this, but I've never even tasted beer before."

"You haven't missed a thing," Shani muttered.

"Sleeping Beauty's awake!" Park said. "Did I ever tell you guys how she messed her pants in fifth grade?"

"In kindergarten," Shani said. It came to her then how the mood of the room had changed. They had had drunken dancing, bursting bladders, spilled food, frustrated seductions, sharp arguments, and none of that had seriously dented the upbeat feeling of the party. Yet now, even in her dull condition, she sensed a building tension, as tangible to her as if a foul stench were being pumped into the room. She studied her friends, finding no explanation.

"Finish it in a gulp," Lena advised her sister. "You'll be a new person."

"I don't know why you're badgering her," Kerry said. "If she doesn't want it, she doesn't want it."

"I'd better not. It will just put me to sleep."

"Wimp," Lena said.

"To the eternal virgin," Park toasted with his empty glass.

"I guess you're going to be the one to drive us home, then," Sol said, lighting another cigarette.

Angie whispered in Park's ear, his eyes widening. She said out loud, "One drink, it won't kill you."

Shani sat up with a start. Afterwards, she would be unable to clearly explain to the others why. She did not believe in precognition, and her foreboding did not necessarily require its existence, for her nose may simply have picked up the poison and triggered a subconscious warning. Yet if that were so, Robin, who was closest to the glass, should have smelled it also. In either case, to Shani the room seemed suddenly permeated with death. She was afraid and she didn't know why. Robin picked up the mug, took a sip. She frowned.

"This tastes awful."

"Finish it," Lena said.

Like a hardened guzzler, Robin did so, in one continuous swallow. Perhaps she thought that would impress them. But they only laughed. Bert rolled over, spilling Kerry, taking interest. Robin put the glass down, touching her stomach, staring straight ahead.

"So, what do you think?" Park asked.

Robin coughed, hard, twice. "Tastes awful," she breathed.

"Are you okay?" Shani asked, nevertheless beginning to relax. She must study about these impending-disaster sensations when she went to college. They came and went like lightning. Robin nodded, smiled weakly.

"Was that enough to get me drunk?"

"How do you feel?" Sol asked.

"Weird."

"Then it was probably enough."

Robin wiped her forehead. She was sweating like after dancing - heavier. "I think I'll stick to Coke. Does it always leave such a bad taste in your mouth?" She leaned back in her chair.

"I've never noticed," Sol said. "Kerry, you still want a ride home?"

Lena butted in. "Robin and I are giving her a ride home."

Kerry yawned. "I'm so tired. Maybe I'll just spend the night."

"You're welcome to," Angie said, "if you'll give me a hand cleaning up."

"Okay."

"How about you, Park?" Angie asked. Lena left for the kitchen. Sol had to use the toilet. Bert rooted his face back in the carpet.

"Count me in! Are we still going to go—"

"Shh," Angie said. She leaned over, spoke in his ear. Park nodded eagerly. Shani required no ESP to know what she had said. How could they swim nude with Robin present? But then she understood. Robin had gone to sleep. That was quick. Angie and Park headed for the front door. Shani stopped him.

"Park?" she called.

He spun around. "Yes, madam?"

"Robin just passed out."

"So?"

Shani stood. "She was awake a second ago."

"She drank too much."

"As if she had a choice. She only drank one glass."

Kerry moved to Robin's side and took her limp hand. Robin's head lay bowed like a puppet's whose strings had been cut. "She's out cold," Kerry said, worried.

Park knelt by his girlfriend's side, brushed aside a soft brown curl from her face, and glanced back at Angie. "That's weird," he whispered.

Angie spoke quickly. "Carry her into my parents' bedroom. Let her sleep it off."

"Good idea," Park said, slipping his arms under Robin's body, lifting her easily. She only weighed 110.

"Maybe we should wake her," Kerry said, "have her drink coffee."

"Sleep's the best thing," Angie said.

Shani held her peace. So Robin was out. They would be fools to try anything with Lena around. She hoped they did and got caught. She was suddenly angry at Angie and Park, especially at him. What a hypocrite, the care he showed carrying his girlfriend to the bedroom.

Sol finished in the bathroom. Shani took his place, washing her face and brushing her teeth. When she returned to the living room, Sol and Lena were leaving out of the front door, Kerry was fixing the bed in the guest room, and Bert was asleep on the floor. Shani turned out the nearest lamp and lay back on the couch, swearing that if the roof caved in, she wasn't getting up.

An indeterminate time went by. Behind closed eyelids, Shani noted the rest of the lights going out. Someone with alcoholic breath covered her with a blanket. Doors opened and closed. Far away, she thought she heard splashes and laughter, but she wasn't sure.

Someone was shaking her. She opened her eyes. It was dark, and a shadow loomed over her.

"What is it?" Shani mumbled. She had a headache.

"I'm sick," Kerry said anxiously.

Shani remembered Bert's advice. "Stick your finger down your throat, throw up." She rolled over. "You'll feel better."

Kerry had the bad manners to yank her into a sitting position. A yellow glow from the porch light strained through the kitchen's curtains. It was sufficient to show Kerry's tears. "I've thrown up," she coughed. "I've got cramps. I can hardly breathe."

Shani was not alarmed. Kerry often panicked. "You're going to be fine. You've just had too much beer. A hot bath will help." She took her trembling hands. "I'll run the water for you."

Suddenly Kerry doubled up in dry heaves, gasping for air.

"No! I never get sick from beer! It was bad! There was something in it! I have a strange taste in my mouth!"

Shani reversed her diagnosis. "Try to relax. Who else is still here?"

"Park's asleep in - hall - Angie - seeh! I can't take this! Help me, Shani!"

"I will." She turned on the lamp. Bert was where she had last seen him, snoring peacefully. She jumped to her feet and kicked his butt. "Wake up! Get up!" He groaned, began to stretch. Running down the hall, she stumbled over Park, who was crashed outside Angie's partially cracked door.

"Huh?" he muttered, sitting up. She turned on the hall light.

"Kerry's sick! I think there was something in the beer!"

Park was barely awake, scratching his head. "There's alcohol in beer. God, my head hurts. It makes everyone sick."

"How do you feel?"

"Terrible, how else? Why did you wake me?"

"You don't have cramps?"

He grimaced, rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "Girls get cramps, Shani, not boys. What time is it?"

"Where did you put Robin?" she demanded.

His eyes focused. He was suddenly alert. He pointed to the door at the end of the hall on the left. "In the master bedroom. Why do you say there was something in the beer?"

Shani did not answer him. She raced to the door, threw it open, snapped on the light. Robin was huddled in the fetal position in the centre of the king-sized bed. Shani jumped on the mattress and rolled her friend on her back.

"Robin! Robin!" she shook her. "Robin!!!"

Park came up at her back. "Get out of the way," he ordered. He put a finger under Robin's nose, checked her pulse. "Robin!" he shouted. She did not respond. He slapped her across the face, her head rolling like a mannequin's. He moved to her feet, pinching her Achilles tendon. Nothing.

"Is she dead?" Shani moaned, a weight beyond comprehension crushing her chest.

Park pulled the pillow from beneath Robin's head and pried open her mouth, checking for obstructions with his fingers. Taking a breath and forcing his lips against hers, he exhaled. Robin's diaphragm rose sharply, once. He listened at her chest, muttered, "Clear."

"Is she dead? Answer me, damn you!"

Park stood, pale as a winter moon, but sober, in command. "No, but she's in a shock or a coma. Use the phone in the kitchen. Call the hospital. The number is taped beside the phone. Tell them we're bringing in two poison victims." He picked Robin up, cradling her in his arms. "I'll start the car."

"Shouldn't we call for an ambulance?" There was no time to feel hurt. Yet later, she knew, there would be too much time.

"This will be faster." He kissed Robin's forehead, moving for the door. "Now do as I say."





Angie and Bert wanted to come, but since they felt fine, Park told them to contact Sol and Lena, and to wait by the phone and keep the line open. He also suggested they sniff the glasses and mugs they had used during the party for suspicious smells. Unfortunately, Angie had washed them all before going to bed. Angry, Park told them to look around, anyway.

Park held Robin and they laid Kerry in the backseat. Shani drove like a fiend and ran a red light, picking up a flashing highway patrol car. After explaining the situation to the officer, they had a police escort. At the hospital, the doctors were waiting. Kerry disappeared on a stretcher through swinging doors while the officer carried Robin inside. Park got on a pay phone to Angie. She had found a half-empty bottle of Insect Death in the refrigerator. Park copied down the insecticide's ingredients and gave the paper to a nurse, who hurried through the door where Kerry and Robin had gone. The two of them sat down to wait.

Ten minutes later — showing no adverse symptoms — Sol arrived. Ten minutes after that, Lena and her parents showed up. Lena was silent. Mrs. Carlton was heartbroken. Mr. Carlton was furious. He called the police and told them to get to Angie's house and begin a complete investigation before any of the evidence could be tampered with. Kerry's mom and dad came next. Together, the four parents comforted each other.

A nurse brought them news. Kerry's stomach had been pumped and she was feeling better. But, although Robin had been revived, her condition was critical. She was vomiting blood, and flirting with circulatory failure. Later, a young internist updated their conditions. Given her symptoms, Kerry had in all probability ingested a small amount of the insect killer. Robin, however, had definitely swallowed at least three ounces of the poison. Two ingredients in Insect Death, phosphorous and mercury, were particularly toxic to the kidneys and were therefore endangering her heart. If Robin made it through the night, there was a chance — looking back, the doctor must have known that it was more likely — that she would suffer permanent damage.

Shani took a seat far away from the others. At the end of the corridor, through glass doors, she saw an orange glow in the east. But the way she felt, the night could have been just the beginning.

Kerry made a swift recovery, though she would often afterwards complain of stomach-aches. Robin did not leave the hospital till two months later, twenty pounds lighter and a ghastly yellow with a slightly damaged liver and two all but useless kidneys. Unless she had a successful transplant, the doctors said, she would be tied to a dialysis machine the rest of her life. And that life would not be nearly as long as average.

Two pairs of fingerprints were found on the bottle of Insect Death: Angie's and Bert's. Of course, they had both studied the bottle when Park had called them from the hospital to see if they had located a source of the poison. Mr. Carlton blamed them all, even Lena. At his insistence, the police gathered them in Robin's hospital room three times and tried to re-enact the sequence of events that had led to the fateful drink. The police ended up with eight different stories, not always the same one from the same individual. All of them had gone in and out of the kitchen all night long. Who could remember when and why and with whom? Everyone agreed that Sol had given her a beer, but who had given it to him, and was it the same person who had initiated the prodding to have Robin drink the beer, and had she actually drunk his beer? For a while, Sol was on the burner, but he had made himself too obvious a suspect to be a suspect. Too much alcohol had blurred their memories, not to mention the fact that almost all of them had something to hide. And Robin herself was no help. Though anxious to catch the culprit - if there was one - the trauma of her injury had created a mental block against the night. It was finally recorded in the books as an "accident" caused by "one or more intoxicated adolescents mistaking an insecticide for a common beverage and inadvertently mixing it with a glass of beer." No lawsuits were filed, no fingers pointed. Life went on as usual. Except for Robin.

But Shani was often to ask herself, No matter how drunk you were, how could you take a bottle covered with insect sketches and labelled in bold black letters, CAUTION POISONOUS, and pour it in a glass a person was to drink out of, unless you wanted to kill that person ?





SIX
Sitting on his surfboard, Park stared down at his legs dangling in the blue-green bathtub-temperature water and started to worry about sharks. A couple of hours ago Bert had mentioned seeing a few sharks. But at the time, the waves had been rolling and the tubes curling and the information had not seemed important. Now the sets were well-spaced and he had too much time to think. He could imagine a baby shark, just breaking in its teeth, swimming by and biting off his big toe. The blood would spurt and he would scream and mother shark would hear and come to investigate what her youngster was up to. Then she would smell his blood and bite off his leg. He had read about such tragedies. He had also read that when you started to worry about losing a limb, it was time to get out of the water. He pulled up his legs, resting his feet near the nose of the board and holding the rails to maintain balance. One more wave and he would call it quits.

The beach and conditions were a surfer's dream. Unadulterated golden sand stretched north and south to the horizon. Except for a few white clouds far out at sea, the sky was a cerulean dish whose depth it was easy to believe was infinite. He could feel the warmth of the sun's rays in his blood. He was floating in twenty feet of salt water, but the bedrock was as clear as if it were simply the bottom of a swimming pool. And the waves had ruined him for life. An easy eight-foot or he was a dwarf, an off-shore breeze held their form to the last crucial instant. He was in heaven, but he was exhausted.

"One more and I'm going in!" he called to Bert, a hundred yards to his left. A strong riptide was pulling them south. Several times since sunrise, when they had started, they had had to go ashore and walk back to the house. Once again, the Carlton Castle was a mile up the beach.

"I'm with you! Where's Sol?"

"He went in half an hour ago!" Tired of shouting, Park lay down on his board and paddled towards Bert. The aroma of his coconut-waxed board filled his head, making him nostalgic for Hawaii. Last summer, Mr. and Mrs. Carlton had sent Robin and him — along with Nurse Porter as an escort — to the islands. The waves hadn't been nearly as good as today, but he had been happier then, a lot happier.

He pulled up alongside Bert. "Sol said he had a side-ache. Lena probably wore him out last night."

"Did I tell you about the sharks I saw?"

"Yes, and I don't want you to tell me again."

Bert's ears must have been plugged with water. He continued: "One of them was bigger than me. It couldn't have been a sand shark. It looked like that fish in that movie, that one — what was it called?"

"Jaws."

"What?"

"Jaws!"

"Yeah, that one. Are you sure Sol went in?"

Park again pulled up his feet. "You know you're making me pretty damn paranoid. Would you please shut your mouth?"

Bert grinned. He was impossible to offend. "You're afraid of sharks? I thought you didn't like snakes."

"I hate anything that wants to bite me — Oh!" Distracted, he hadn't noticed the approaching set. The first swell looked the killer. He pivoted his board expertly. Bert was also manoeuvring into position. "You go right, I'll go left!" he yelled.

"Gotcha!"

The wave was a monster. On his knees, Park dug hard to gain the necessary speed. A powerful force began to take hold, raising him up. One last stroke and he sprang to his feet, leaning forward to compensate for what may have been a premature stand. But he was okay, sliding down the face, when Bert suddenly crossed his path, six feet below, a perfect place to be for a decapitation. Park reacted immediately, twisting to the right. The tunnel was closing in that direction. A raging foam hammer belted him off his board. Park felt a violent tug at his left ankle, saw splintered, whirling bubbles, had his spine twisted to the other side of a chiropractor's fantasies. Yet he had hold of a good breath and was able to ride out the bad weather. When the washing machine turned off, he was a hundred yards offshore in a relatively calm region between the first and second break. His board was already on the beach. The tug on his ankle had been his leash snapping.

Bert cruised by. "I thought you meant 'right,' looking out to sea," he apologized.

"That's okay. I think I just got a free neck adjustment. Give me a ride in."

During the walk back. Bert told him how he had awakened during the night and had found himself circled by a bunch of bright-eyed birds. Tonight, he said, he was sleeping indoors.

Sol was flat on his back on a red towel blowing smoke rings towards the sky. Shani and Angie were on the north side of the carport, piling wood into a concave hole they had dug. The Carlton Castle had an antenna dish and recording studio, two spas and three computers, but no barbecue. The girls were improvising. They said they were going to roast wienies for lunch. Park wasn't hungry.

"How's your side-ache?" Park asked, setting down his board.

"It hasn't gone away," Sol said, rolling over digging in the sand and pulling out a quart of tequila. "I think I need my medicine. How about you?"


 Park shook his head. "It's too early for me." 


Bert beamed. "You got a bottle for me?"

"We'll split it," Sol said. "Hell, this is enough for anybody." Bert looked disappointed.


 "Where're the others?" Park asked. 


"Kerry's wandering all over looking for rocks for her collection. Lena's—"

"For what?" Park interrupted.

"Kerry collects unusual rocks," Sol explained. "She reshapes and polishes them. At her house, she has a closetful of pretty things. A lot of them make Lena's ten-grand jewelery look like plastic. Kerry has a knack for that kind of stuff." He shrugged. "It makes her happy."

"If Lena catches her, she'll charge her duty on the rocks," Park said.

"Lena's putting Robin through her usual torture. I don't know where Flynn is, haven't seen that cat all day." Sol uncapped the bottle, sniffed it, and took a slug. He held out the tequila. Park shook his head. Bert took a big swallow. Sol screwed the cap back on, adding, "Why don't you go talk to her?"

"I don't want to disturb her."

"She just sits there, reading. She gets bored. Go talk to her."

"I can't stand the sight of blood." 


Sol was angry. "The sight of your own blood's a lot worse."

It was an unpleasant task that would be better over with. He owed, her an explanation. Besides, Sol might kill him if he didn't. "I'll talk to her now," he said, walking towards the house. Shani waved to him, a can of lighter fluid in her hand. Angie called out something he couldn't quite catch. He waved back and went inside.

The dialysis machine was in a tiny room on the top floor. Park found it by following the mediciney smell. The door was open. He peeped inside. Robin was alone, wearing a light blue robe. Two blood-filled tubes — one leading from her left arm, the other, from beneath her robe - hooked her to the artificial kidney. The unit was largely self-contained, a shiny metallic box four feet at the edges. Two closed half-filled beakers sat atop it, connected by plastic pipes. What looked like a fire extinguisher, but probably wasn't, was bolted to the side. Robin was sitting propped up by pillows, a face-down paperback on her lap, a breeze from an adjacent window brushing her short brown hair. She used to have such beautiful hair… On the window-sill was perched a black raven. Robin was talking to it, stroking its shiny mane.

"… I don't remember, my friend. Human minds usually don't go back that far. And I could have nothing to remember. I don't know if I even got to see her. Sometimes it's done that way. And I could have been blind but for light and shadow. Still, I think about her a lot."

The bird chirped. Park thought it was alerting Robin to his presence, but she did not turn. There were many blackbirds in the neighbourhood, yet he could have sworn that this was the one the Shaman had had in his hand. Robin offered a breadcrumb. The raven took it hungrily. Robin continued: "I told them the story; Lena made me. I should probably have never mentioned the talks to her. To Lena, to have a master is to be a slave. But maybe I wanted to tell the others. Maybe…" She stopped petting the bird, touched the golden eagle at her throat. "Maybe the one… no, it couldn't be." She smiled to herself. "Of course, I didn't tell them the end. How could I do that?" She leaned over, kissing the bird on the top of the head. "Now, go, my friend. Do what you will do. Maybe soon we will fly together."

The raven shrieked, launching into the wind. Thinking of deals with the devil, he knocked lightly. Robin turned and smiled.

"Come in, Park. I was hoping you would visit me."





"The stove would have been easier," Angie said.

"Get back!" Shani called, striking the wooden match, tossing it on the lighter-fuel-drenched wood. The flames ignited in a black billow of oily smoke. "But just think of the superior taste."

"Think of the carcinogenics."

"We'll let the lighter fluid burn off before we roast the hot dogs. That won't take long. It'll be like old times."

"We've never done this before," Angie said.

"But in the future, when we do it again, we'll be able to say, gosh, this is like old times!"

Angie fished through the cooler at her feet, pulling out a packet of Farmer John's one-footers. "You're awfully chipper today. Did Flynn visit you last night?"

"Only for sex," Shani said. In reality, she did not feel well. She had tossed until the sun had risen. The label on Insect Death had hung like a billboard in her dreams. When she had awoken, for a moment, the entire party had been clear in her memory. But only for a moment. Then the flashback had clouded, leaving her doubtful and with an upset stomach, which was getting worse as the day progressed. She would probably pass on lunch.


 "How about you and Park?" she asked.


 "I never kiss and tell."

"Whoever says that, has nothing to tell."

"Look who's talking."

"Really," Shani agreed.

"When do you think the others will start arriving?"

Shani consulted her faithful Timex. "It's close to one. I would think that someone should have showed up by now. That Lena… I don't know, maybe she put down the wrong month along with the wrong day." She wiped her hands on her shorts. "I'm going to go inside."

"What? You're the one who talked me into this bonfire."

"I just want to see how Robin's doing. I'll be back in a minute." And she wanted to run into Flynn. Dangerous or not, he was still cute.

"How long should I wait before sticking these wienies in the fire?" Angie impaled a hot dog on a sharp branch.

"Wait until I get back."

On the way to the house, Shani passed the carport. Open bottle in hand, Bert and Sol were climbing into the back of the van. She waved to them but they did not see her.

Climbing up the front porch steps, she stopped and laughed, Angie was cursing venomously. A blackbird had snatched her wienie stick - hot dog and all - and was racing away, trying to get back in the air with the goods. Angie was chasing the poor bird with a fiery branch and face. Shani considered going for her camera when she saw a tan-clad figure approaching along the northern beach.

The dry air rippled with rising ground heat. He flowed in the distorted landscape like a phantom in the wind. Bright orange gleamed at his mid-section. Shani did not know why, but she was certain he was staring at her as she was at him. From Sol's description, she knew this was Robin's sorcerer.

The man stopped and sat down, staring out to sea. Shani shielded her eyes from the glare and watched him for a full five minutes. But he did not move. When she spoke with Robin, she would ask if it was appropriate to simply walk up to him and say hello.

Inside, Shani discovered that she had no idea where the dialysis was done. In this big house, it was a problem. She called but no one answered. The basement was probably the most likely place to stick a lab, she decided. She started down the stairs.

Instead of an infirmary, she found an elaborate recording studio - that made sense, as music was, after all, Mr. Carlton's business, and Robin's voice had been potential platinum. The room was a perfect circle, the top half of its walls ringed with double-glazed glass, undoubtedly separated by a soundproof vacuum. An elaborate control panel stood outside a solitary entrance door. Shani went inside, stepping onto a heavily padded floor. She was reminded of the room in the ride at Magic Mountain that spun around and around and pressed you against the walls, just before the floor dropped out. That ride had made her sick.

The ventilation must have been out of whack. It was freezing inside the studio. Opposite the door, on the floor, was sprinkled sawdust from recently drilled holes. Red, green and black wires passed through the punctured panelling to a tiny metallic box arrayed with colourless buttons. In the centre of the room was a high stool, supporting, of all things, an inexpensive cassette player. Curious about the small metal box, Shani picked it up, pressing a button. An electric motor hummed, a microphone attached to an aluminium pole descending from the ceiling towards the stool. She released the button, afraid she might break something. The microphone halted.

Inside the cassette player was a tape labelled may 30 -R.C. Robin must have recently made the recording. Shani pressed PLAY. On this tune, at least, Robin's kidneys had not hurt her voice. If anything, she sounded better. It was a Beatles song.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
 Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
 All your life, you were only waiting for this
moment to arise.





Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
 Take these sunken eyes and learn to see. 
All your life, you were only waiting for this
moment to be free.





"Blackbird fly, blackbird fly,
Into the light of a dark black night…"




"What are you doing in here?"

Shani jumped, and pushed stop. It was Lena. "Is this a restricted area?" she asked. Lena had frightened her.

Like a lion approaching its prey, Lena moved into the room. She was not smiling. "My father doesn't let anyone, outside the family, down here."

"Sorry, I didn't know."

Lena strolled by, glancing around as if checking to see if anything had been stolen. "Were you looking for something?" she asked.

"Robin."

"She's upstairs."

"I didn't know."

Lena looked at her, suspicious. "You said that already."

Shani was suddenly sick of her tone. "Do you want me to say it a third time, on my knees?"

Lena smiled. "Yeah, then kiss my feet. Then get the hell out of here."

"Lay off, would ya?"

Lena smiled. "Okay, so I was abrupt. But there's a lot of expensive equipment down here. You can play anywhere else in the house." She consulted her watch, whirled, and headed for the door. "I've got to get back to Robin. Follow me."

Lena moved like a racewalker. Shani lagged behind, not enjoying the feeling of being a dog on a leash. She allowed Lena a substantial lead, and when she came to turn the corner, no one was to be seen. Lena could have gone in one of four directions. Shani didn't care. She would find Robin in a minute. First, she decided, she would call her mother. She went looking for a phone.





"This tube in my arm leads from my radial artery," Robin was saying. "This is where the process starts. My blood is pumped from the artery to one side of a semipermeable cellophane membrane. That's inside this metal container. I'd let you open it and look, but Ellen would know and she'd throw a fit. Anyway, the other side of the membrane is continually washed with the dialyzing solution, which is in that full beaker there. The other beaker has the used solution. All blood going inside the machine is treated with an anti-coagulant. Only about half a litre of my blood is inside at a time. All the stuff — including the junk — in the blood can cross back and forth through the membrane, except, of course, the protein molecules and the blood cells. The electrolyte level is controlled—"

"I'm familiar with the process," Park interrupted.

She was surprised. "Are you?"

"I once researched the subject." Two days after her accident. "Two bad they can't compress this all inside you."

"Maybe one day they will be able to." She added, "In the year two thousand and fifty."

He was sitting on a chair three feet from her couch. Through the open window, the ocean was between sets, flat and peaceful. He studied the floor. "I wanted to talk."

"Really? No, you don't. Do you?"

He glanced up, noting the grey circles around her eyes. "Do you want to, or do you want me to leave?"

She signed, laying her head back. There was a dark red stain on her blue robe where the blood returned via her - he even remembered the name - saphenous vein. "I don't know."

"I'll leave."

She sat up quickly, reaching for his hand. "Please don't. I want to talk, I really do." She smiled. "We used to talk all the time. Remember? Especially late at night. I would turn off the light in my room and make my parents think I was asleep, and be on the phone with you until three in the morning." She chuckled. "The next day I would call in sick to school. But you never did. I used to envy your endurance. I still can't figure out what we talked about. It must have been interesting."

"Robin, I don't—"

"I'm sorry, I'm being nostalgic. You're probably not in the mood." She squeezed his hand. "Tell me; I will listen."

He stared her straight in the eye. There, it was clear that she was dying. "God, Robin, you look terrible."

Her right cheek twitched once, her eyes moistened. "I feel terrible," she said softly. "It's like someone is tightening a clamp on my head. And my back - everything aches. And I'm so tired."

"This isn't normal for you?"

She shook her head. "It's usually not this bad."

"We should call for a doctor."

"No! I… I'll be okay. I'm just… changing the subject. I know why I feel bad."

"Is it me?"

She nodded, turning away, letting go of his hand. "You and Angie."

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry."

"For what? You're young, full of energy, full of life. You should have a girlfriend that you can have fun with. And no, I'm not playing the martyr. I'm being practical, as you have chosen to be. I can't have a boyfriend. How? I'm either hooked up to this gizmo or taking a nap."

"You can still talk on the phone."

She brightened, for a moment. "I'd have nothing to talk about. I don't do anything. I read, watch TV, listen to records. Occasionally, I try to sing, but I'm even beginning to lose my voice. My life's pretty dull." She paused, searching the sea. Her left hand clenched. She whispered, "This last couple of months, I waited for you to call."

"I wanted to."

"Did you lose the number?" She grimaced. "Forgive me, I didn't mean that."

The bitterness actually helped. "I deserve it. I wish you hated me."

"I did, I think, for an hour here, a day there." She had closed her eyes, wearing a dreamy expression. "But it was never for long. You want to hear something silly, a line from a soap? I think if I had known at the beginning when I drank that poison that you would leave me, I think I would have died that night. I don't think I could have seen such a dark future, and known that there would be no outside light, and have lived." She found his hand. "That must make you feel pretty rotten, but that's not why I told you. I told you to let you know how much you meant to me, and still mean to me." She looked at him, wrinkled her nose. "Pretty silly, huh?"

"Totally irrational." He paused. "I don't love Angie."

"You should; she's a nice girl. I hate her."

"Do you really?"

"I wanted to poison her drink last night."

"Why didn't you?"

"I didn't think she would be dumb enough to swallow a glass spiked with hemlock."

"You weren't dumb. It wasn't your fault."

"Whose was it then?"

There was an edge to her question. "It was an accident."

"Lena doesn't think so."

"What do you think?"

"How could—" she began, stopping herself, shrugging. "I think beer tastes awful. But here I go again, changing the subject. I told you I would listen. What did you want to tell me?"

She asked casually, but not without hope. He wanted to give her the world. Why couldn't he give her his own self?

"I stayed away because I was afraid. What happened to you scares me. I guess I worry that it could happen to me. That's irrational, too, but that's the way I feel. But seeing you again, I'm not so scared now."

She waited. He was torturing her. "And?" she asked.

"And I was wondering if we could start talking on the phone again?"

"Are you going to call collect?"

"Of course."

"What will we talk about?"

He leaned over, kissing her lips lightly. "Right now, everything isn't clear to me. But if we talk, maybe things will get clearer. Is that enough, for now?"

She smiled, clasping his neck with her free right arm, pulling him within inches. "We can plot a way to kill Angie."

"Should it be slow and painful?"

Robin nodded. "In payment for her sins."

Park chuckled, yet such talk made him uneasy. Robin was only joking, but she had suffered grievously. He stood and walked to the south window. A flock of blackbirds was circling the house. He pinpointed the source of his disquiet. "What were you talking to that bird about?"

"I didn't know you were listening."

"Only for a moment. He seemed to like you."

"She. Her name is Rita."

"Lovely Rita."

"I was telling her about my mother." She saw his confusion. "My real mother. I think about her a lot, nowadays. Must be the little girl in me. I'm sick and I want my mommy." She took a deep breath and scratched her short hair, her melancholy returning. "I wish I could find her. She gave me my body to begin with, I guess I feel she could somehow help me with getting a part fixed." She wiped at her eyes. "What am I saying? For all I know, she's dead."

An idea, bright with unlooked-for hope, blazed in his mind. "Robin, is it possible that… ?"

He didn't finish. An explosion, powerful enough to shatter every window in the room, drowned out his voice.





Shani picked up the phone. There was no dial tone. This was the third phone she had tried, all dead. She would have to tell Lena, or Robin.

But restarting her search for the dialysis room, she was troubled. They were isolated in a foreign country. No one else from their class, not one single one of them, had arrived. And now the phones were out. Was she being paranoid, or was there a pattern to all this?

The way Robin had caught Lena's eye last night suggested there was more to the shaman's story. Shani did not feel her paranoia would be soothed by knowing the parable's ending, but she was curious as to why Robin felt secrecy necessary. Suffering only minor conscience qualms, she headed for Robin's bedroom.

The door was closed, but unlocked. She pushed it open gently. Flynn was inside, up to no good. Using a wire and metal pin, he was working on the lock of a green filing cabinet tucked in the corner beside Robin's desk. Atop the desk was the manila envelope that held the story. Robin had closed it before retiring last night. Now the envelope was open. The cabinet lock snapped. Flynn pulled out a drawer. Quickly, methodically, he began to scan the files.

Shani closed the door carefully, backed down the hall slowly, then turned and ran. She would tell Park and Sol. They would know what to do.

A second later, she changed her mind. She rationalized that his crime was insignificant; she needed more facts. But the truth was apparent to her from the start. She didn't want to get him in trouble because she liked him. His picking locks actually made him more interesting.

But she was no lovesick fool. She would continue to probe his past, starting with seeing if he was really Flynn Powers. If he could search Robin's room, she could search his.

She had been with Lena when rooms had been assigned, so she knew where his things were stowed. However, her hurried beeline was interrupted by a necessary stop at the bathroom. Ordinarily she had a nervous stomach, but this was ridiculous. She sat grimacing on the toilet, worried that she would vomit on top of her diarrhea. Fortunately, the spasm was brief. With cold water splashed in her face, she felt fine, only a bit drained. She ran for Flynn's room.

He had brought only a flight bag. However it was packed tight and she couldn't get by jammed shirts and jeans using a careful approach. Frustrated, she inverted the bag and smacked the bottom, dumping the entire contents on the bed. Sitting atop the pile was a British passport.

MICHAEL RYAN RICHARDSON. BORN: 1968. HEIGHT: 5' 11",

WEIGHT: 155. ADDRESS: 16 Clarence Drive, Plymouth, England.

Shani liked the picture, but that was all. She memorized the information and repacked the bag as best she could. On the way out, she decided she could risk a quick inspection of his desk. It would take him a while to go through all the files in Robin's cabinet.

Despite his lock-picking and false name, she was surprised to find a gun at the back of his lower left-hand drawer. It was a small black pistol, and she couldn't help noticing that it was loaded. He was a fox and he had an enchanting voice and style running out of his beautiful hands, but guns were for killing, and that was too much for Shani. She would tell—

"Can I help you?"

It was Michael Ryan Richardson. Shani jumped, dropping the pistol. There was a delay, it couldn't have gone off. The violent explosion made no sense.





Robin called after him, but Park did not wait to unhook her tubes. One look through the blown-out window at the carport and garage - what had been the carport and garage - and he was racing for the front door. An absurd idea flashed in his head: they had been hit by a meteor.

The damage was beyond comprehension. The carport and garage and everything that had been inside them were gone. A dark cloud sparking with red lightning mushroomed towards the sky, obscuring the sun and temporarily plunging the landscape into a grim twilight. Through ashen mists, a torn black crater emerged, littered with rubble. Charred, dusty debris rained down. He doubted there was now anything he could do that would make any difference. The convulsion had simultaneously ignited and extinguished its flames. Besides, there was nothing to burn.

As if awakening from a dream, he noticed that Shani, Flynn, Sol and Lena had joined him. With relief, he saw Angie and Kerry approaching from the far side of the cataclysm. The smoke began to disperse. The sun blazed down. Park wiped the sweat from his upper lip.

"Where's Bert?" Shani asked. "He was with you, wasn't he, Sol?"

"I had to go to the head," Sol said evasively. Park understood in an instant. It did not seem possible.

"But he was with you," she said, not hysterical, but getting there.

Park asked Sol, "Was Bert in your van?"

Sol studied the desolation. "He was there when I went into the house."

"Maybe he had to go to the bathroom, too," Shani said quickly. "Bert! Bert!"

"Shani…" Park began.

"Bert! Come out, Bert! Where is he? Maybe he went surfing. Maybe he went for a walk. Bert!"

Sol grabbed her by the shoulders. Her last "Bert" stuck in her open mouth. "He was in the van, Shani," Sol said. "He's dead."

She nodded slowly, relaxing in his hands. "I know," she whispered. "I saw him in there when I walked by." Sol hugged her. She began to cry softly.

"I'll go and get Robin," Lena said, as cool as when the internist had come through the swinging green doors early one morning with the bad news about her sister.

"Wait a minute," Park said.

"I don't know how it happened," Lena said. "We don't keep nuclear warheads in our garage."

"How about dynamite? A propane tank? Drums of gasoline?"

Lena shook her head. "We have a propane tank, but it's buried on the far side of the house. There was absolutely nothing in the garage that could have made an explosion one hundredth that powerful. I'm going to get my sister. I'll be back in a minute." She squeezed Shani's arm. "I'm sorry about Bert."

Kerry and Angie joined them. Kerry started to cry when told about Bert, dropping her brightly coloured rocks on the cement walkway. Angie was bleeding from her head but it was just a scratch. Of them all - except for Flynn — Angie had known Bert the least. She did not appear unduly upset.

"You were next to the carport," Park said. "How did you escape?"

"A bird was driving me nuts," Angie said. "It had already stolen one hot dog; then it came back and stole a whole packet. I was chasing it down the beach when what happened, happened."

"Did you see Bert leave, maybe?" Shani asked, having accepted the truth but unable to stop hoping. Angie shook her head.

Park wanted to question Kerry but she was in no condition to give straight answers. It would probably accomplish nothing. Shani was trying to comfort her. He spoke to the men. "Any ideas?"

"Perhaps there was a natural gas cavity beneath the garage," Flynn said, "and the barbecue fire ignited it."

Park thought the idea insightful. Robin had once told him that there was a major oil field not far southeast of their house. Indeed, Mr. Carlton owned a portion of it. However, there was a more likely possibility, at least to his own mind. Sol had picked up a lot of something in Tijuana, and had stored it in the back of his van. He had assumed that it was drugs Sol would sell for a profit in L.A. But perhaps it had only been an ingredient for a drug. PCP — Angel Dust — required ether for its production. Ether was explosive, highly unstable.

"What do you think, Sol?" Park asked.

He hesitated. "Flynn's idea sounds good."

"You don't have any of your own?"

"I'm no scientist."

"I don't suppose it matters," Park said, hoping to goad him. "The experts will figure out what blew."

Sol stared at the crater. It could easily have swallowed a house. "They'll have a hell of a time doing it."

Shani walked with Kerry to the front door, glancing nervously at Flynn, who seemed to want to speak with her. Park followed briskly, passing them on the porch steps. He had to make a call. Before he contacted the police, he would have to tell Bert's parents that their only son was dead.

But the phone in the front hall was broken, as was the one in the kitchen and the one in the second floor hallway. The explosion must have been somehow responsible.

Park put down the silent receiver. They were thirty miles of desert from nowhere. None of the other kids had come and he was beginning to believe they never would. Their transportation was destroyed. They couldn't even call the outside world. They were stranded.

And his friend was dead. He had been concerned about the girls — how they would take the shock. He hadn't even given himself a chance for his own grief. Surfing would not be the same without Big Bert. Nothing would.

Sick sorrow rocked his guts. He groped for the bathroom.





SEVEN
The hill was taller than it had appeared from a distance. Altitude couldn't be a factor. Nevertheless, the air was unsatisfying, hot and dry, burning her lungs. And the path had gone to the dogs. Tumbleweed clawed through her jeans, irritating her sunburn. Sharp pebbles slipped under and inside her Nike running shoes. The sun would set in minutes but the thermometer would have had no way of knowing. Sweat salty as sea water covered her body. She should have brought water. She should never have come. A snake would bite her next. Stumbling across a boulder, Shani sat down.

Far beneath her feet, two miles in the distance, the Carlton Castle was lit up, window by square window. On the surrounding sandy canvas, the late garage and carport were spilt black ink. The ocean was dark, but the tips of the rolling swells still caught the rays of the fading sun, crashing in orange foam on the deserted beach. Overhead, like torn cotton dipped in red dye, clouds raced to blot out the first stars. Yet, where she sat, there was no wind, no noise, only a deep silence that made her internal turbulence stand out in painful relief.

"I need some air," she had told the others, meaning, I need to get away from you all. Park had told her to be back before dark. There was small chance of that, as the blotted sun was already touching the horizon. Kerry had wanted to read prayers for Bert from the Bible. But it was too soon for her to even mourn properly. And she still hoped, in spite of all reason, that he was alive.

Robin had fainted upon hearing the news. By the time Shani had started on her hike, she had regained consciousness, but all had agreed that she should remain in bed. If only grief had been the sole cause of her collapse. Robin's pulse was unsteady, her skin had a sad colour. She had every symptom of uremia, a build up of urea and other wastes in the blood. Lena was perplexed. Kerry was dropping hints that it was Lena's fault. After all, she said, who was doing Robin's dialysis?

Shani closed her eyes, massaging her aching temples. Another reason she had gone for her walk was to have the necessary solitude to figure out who in their group was both a friend and potential murderer, an analysis she should have completed last November. For maybe they were preparing to kill again. Bert may simply have been the first.

Lena: Definitely the number one suspect. She had both the guts and motive to poison Robin. The Carlton fortune and a greedy heir was the stuff of prime-time serials. Was she filtering her sister's blood, or merely sending it in useless circles through the plastic tubes? The peculiar absence of the other kids could be easily explained by Lena having manipulated the invitations. Had she brought all of them who had been at the party here to exterminate them, lest a sudden memory on the part of one of them come back to incriminate her?

Angie: At the party, she had had the most immediate ulterior motive. Her frustration at Robin's 'dropping by' had been obvious. Was it simply chance that Park was now her boyfriend? Angie spoke seldom, but she was no dummy. She was fully capable of planning for a future romance. Also, for what it was worth, she had been closest to the garage when it blew up. She was right up there on the list.

Kerry: Humiliation was powerful motivation for revenge. If Lena truly loved her sister, what better way to hurt her than to kill Robin? However, even though Kerry had a sharp tongue, Shani did not feel she was capable of murder. Nevertheless, she had to be placed near the top of the list. Kerry was fully capable of hate.

Sol: He had a violent past. During the investigation following the party, the police had hammered on him the most. If he hadn't acted alone, he had at least been used, for he had given Robin a (poison?) beer. But he had absolutely no motive. He adored Robin. She put him at the bottom of the list.

Park: They had grown up together. It was impossible for her to be objective. Nevertheless, Angie's skinny-dipping offer wouldn't have been sufficient enticement for him to spike his girlfriend's beer. And, once he had realised her condition, he had taken the wisest possible course of action to save Robin. On the other hand, he had been plastered that night, and horny… She would not cross him off her list.

Bert: He would have been incapable of using Insect Death for its primary purpose; he couldn't have hurt a fly. In spite of what some said, he hadn't been dumb enough to accidentally pour poison in a beer mug. But maybe he had seen something at the party no one else had. Maybe that was why he was dead. She wished that she could put him on a list - for wonderful, living people.

The final two, Flynn and Robin, were difficult. He had a dozen strikes against him, yet he was the only one who couldn't have poisoned her. Still, she didn't trust him farther than she could throw a piano. She didn't know why she hadn't told Park about the gun. She would do that first thing when she got back. Flynn followed Robin closely. He wanted something from her. He deserved a list all his own.

Obviously, Robin had not poisoned herself. But she could have arranged for their present isolation. Sweetheart was her middle name, yet poison affected every organ, even the heart. Did she want revenge? She was deathly ill. Maybe she had fallen into a confused mental state where she wouldn't mind destroying the innocent if it allowed her to get to the guilty. And she had a sorcerer for a friend. A remark Angie had made about the destroyed garage and carport came to mind: "Like they had been struck by the wrath of God." The old man had been in the area. Two days ago, she hadn't been too hip on the supernatural, but now she was game for just about anything. Supposedly, sorcerers possessed powers. Wasting the carport and garage may have been merely a minor demonstration. His story could be seen as a parallel to their situation. Eagle had granted Dove the decision of who was to live, and who was to die. Had the old man granted Robin similar authority, and had she made a deal for her life?

Interesting how, by simply thinking about the old man, she could tell he was near. It was as though he was surrounded by an invisible shell that alerted both parties of impending contact. Shani stood. It was still warm but she shivered. The sun was gone, the light failing swiftly. Thickening clouds threatened a downpour. Only moments ago she had been contemplating his evilness. Now she felt impelled to climb the remainder of the hill and — she knew he was there — meet him. A flickering orange glow from a hidden fire served as a beacon. She glanced back at the house. She was being given a choice, she felt, and not being controlled. But her suspicion list was long and jotted with question marks, with not a single answer. She had to return to the house with more than she had left. Whispering a prayer for protection, she started towards the light.

He was alone, dressed in white, sitting cross-legged near a small fire, facing the twilight. He did not look up as she approached. She noticed yellow flowers — dandelions — blooming in a nearby bush. Instinctively, she plucked them.

"Hello," she said, holding forth her small bouquet. He looked at her then and smiled faintly, stretching out his hand to accept her gift. His hair was long and silver, his posture straight and firm. Energy sparkled in his clear eyes. Taking the flowers, he touched her briefly, gesturing that she should sit beside him. His hand was warm, soft. She made herself comfortable.

"I don't speak Spanish, but I wanted to talk to you. Do you understand me?"

He nodded, putting the flowers in a clay vase filled with water. He smiled for her to go on. He had a nice smile. It seemed on the verge of bursting forth into laughter, a frail cap on a well of unfathomable joy. Any thought that he was evil dissolved.

"I know you know Robin… Robin Carlton?" She took a breath. "Is she going to die?"

What was she waiting for? He couldn't speak English, even if he could somehow sense her meaning. Yet he seemed to be considering her question. He raised his head, whistled softly. A few seconds later a blackbird landed at the edge of the camp and walked purposefully towards him, hopping on to his shoulder. He whispered to the bird. The way it nodded in response, Shani could not help but believe it understood what he was saying. The bird stared at her, cocking its head quizzically, as though wondering, what's your problem, girl? She wanted to laugh, but it suddenly left its perch on the old man's shoulder and landed on hers. For a moment she was frightened, lest it peck at her eyes. But then it began to tug lightly at her hair with its beak, creating the same sensation as when she got her hair cut, a sensation she found divinely relaxing. The old man began to hum softly. The fire crackled and sparkled, the flames dancing in rhythm with the pleasing chant. She was suddenly so very sleepy that she had to close her eyes. The bird teased individual hair shafts, which she imagined were attached deep inside her brain, stimulating areas she seldom used, soothing areas she used too often. Her anxieties began to fall off. And her head began to fall…



It was dark; the man and fire were gone. Far below, the hill was slipping quickly behind as her perspective glided effortlessly over the weed-choked miles. Up ahead was the Carlton Castle, the black ocean beyond, both approaching swiftly. A warm light shone through a window on the top storey of the house. Her course focused there, and a moment later she hovered outside the closed window. Robin lay inside, asleep beneath a patchwork quilt. She wanted to speak to her, reassure herself that she was okay. Was that not why she was here? But when she tried to tap on the window, her arms were sluggish and lacked strength. Robin dreamed on. However, there were two others in the room, and they heard the knocking. One of them rose from Robin's desk and hurried to the window, pulling back the curtains.

In amazement, she stared back, staring at herself.




"Good-bye," Shani said, standing. "I'll have to come and visit you again with Robin so we can talk together." She chuckled, embarrassed. "Next time I promise I won't fall asleep. I don't, usually."

He nodded, returning her smile. Though they had been unable to converse, she felt his calming presence had relieved many of her worries. Her doubts and questions were still there, but they seemed far away, troubling someone else. Her untimely nap had been especially refreshing. She'd had the strangest dream… one she couldn't quite remember. She wondered where the bird was. Vaguely, while she had been dozing, she recalled it having launched itself into the night, plucking a beakful of hair off the crown of her head in the process. The old man took one of the flowers, gave it to her.

"Que bonita," he said.

Leaving the warmth and peace of the man, she clutched the memory of his smile as tightly as the dandelion.





Halfway between the hill and the house, in a dark no-man's-land of silhouetted cacti and starless sky, she heard a sudden rattle. It appeared far in front. No problem, she would circle around. Leaving the right side of the path, she steered a wide arc through the sharp shrubs towards the beach. Before this weekend was over, her legs would be a mass of scratches. The rattle faded behind her.

But once off the path, she could not find it again. On the way to the hill, if her memory served her correctly, the trail had followed a fairly straight course. Veering to the left should have brought her automatically back to the path. Wait a minute, maybe she hadn't been on the same trail as before! Maybe the second one had simply dead-ended, and there was nothing to veer back to.

Still, Shani was not worried. All she had to do was head in the direction of the ocean and she would be okay. As soon as she could climb out of this dry ravine she had managed to stumble into, she would be able to tell which way that was.

On what she thought was the west side, the walls of the gully were steep and slippery. Chunks of gravel broke under her clawing fingers as she tried to pull herself up. Walking fifty yards further along through a congestion of weeds and stones, she tried again. Unfortunately, on the verge of climbing free, the thumbnail on her right hand broke. Crying in pain, she lost her balance, sliding slowly back into the ditch and starting a minor avalanche. Dirt toppled down her drenched shirt, sticking to her chest. She thrust her wounded finger in her mouth, grimacing in pain, tasting blood. She wished the old man were with her now. Somewhere, she had lost her flower.

Shani was preparing for a third effort when she heard the rattle again. It was louder this time, much closer. Ploughing on all fours, she tried to scamper up the disintegrating wall. But the harder she tried, the more she slipped. Rocks disappeared in the black bushes below, angering her assailant. A shadow squirmed, breath hissed. Shani kicked off her shoes, praying for better traction. But she was only digging her own grave.

"Help!!!" she wailed. Turning, she searched for a decent stone. The direction of the rattle was impossible to ascertain, but if the thing bit her, it was going to leave with one hell of a headache. Why had she gone and taken off her shoes?

"Are you stuck, Shani?"

"Flynn!!!" She couldn't see him, but the voice was from above. "Help me up! A snake's got me cornered!"

"It won't bite you unless you corner it."

"I don't think this one knows that! Where are you!?"

He crouched into view, leaned over, binoculars hanging from his neck. "Give me your hand."

She tried, and failed. "I can't reach you!" The rattle shook to a frenzy. "Shoot it!"

"I can't see it. Calm down. You're slipping because you're in a hurry. Dig your hands and feet firmly into the dirt, climb slowly."

She did as he suggested, and a moment later he was pulling her safely to her feet. The rattling stopped, but she wasn't crazy about the neighbourhood. Flynn ended up chasing after her. "Are you running from me or the snake?" he called.

"Damn!" she cried, stepping on thorns. She had forgotten about her bare feet. Plopping down miserably in the dark and dirt, she pulled the stickers, one by one, out of her tender flesh, blood trailing from each puncture.

"What's wrong?" Flynn asked, coming up to her.

"I gave my shoes to the snake."

"I'll get them for you." He snapped on a flashlight, dazzling her eyes. In his other hand, he held his gun.

"Don't! It might bite you." But if he left, maybe she would make another dash for it. She had been running from both of them.

"I can't carry you back to the house. Don't worry, I have thick skin."

He left her, and she was more afraid. She would wait. A minute crept by… two. Suddenly the silence cracked. Shani jumped. He had used his gun. For a moment she had thought that it had been on her. A bobbing light approached. He handed her the shoes. While brushing the soles of her feet, she asked, "Am I next?"

He laughed. "Now that's no question to ask your knight in shining armour. I did, after all, just rescue you."

Her laces, her fingers, were in knots. "I could have killed the snake myself. And I wouldn't have needed a gun, Michael."

"I'm sure you could have. How're your feet?"

"Fine, thank you."

He smiled. "And I thought you liked me. Here I was worried about you, and volunteered to prowl the snake-infested wild to find you. What have I done to deserve that tone?"

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Probably."

She pulled on her shoes. "I don't trust someone who lies about who he is, breaks into people's filing cabinets, and is such a coward that he has to carry a gun."

"Well, at least you're afraid of me."

"A blackbird is more fearsome than you." He terrified her. He could put a bullet in her brain right now and chances were no one would be any wiser. However, his pistol was now out of sight. He turned away, staring up at the cloud-choked sky.

"Isn't it possible that I might have reasons for doing what I am doing? Reasons that you would approve of if you knew all the details?"

"What are your reasons?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"I can't tell you."

"Then I don't trust you."

He looked at her, his green eyes wary in the harsh shadows cast by the flashlight. "Don't tell the others who I am."

"Why shouldn't I?" She was gambling, playing the tough role, but she doubted that kissing up to him would deceive him. Her Nikes remained untied. Her stomach began to cramp. It had nothing in it. She'd thrown up on the way to the hill. He knelt by her side. His profile belonged on the big screen. He touched her arm.

"Because I'm asking you not to. Trust me, Shani. Please? Before the night's over, I think, everything will be made clear."

"I want to," she whispered, then hardened. "I'm not the only one who's on to you. Nurse Porter talked to Lena last night. She told her to watch out for you."

He frowned: "What else did she say?"

"I don't know if I should—"

"Tell me!"

She cowered. "Nothing else, just that you were probably up to no good."

"Did she use my real name?"

"No. She said they were making some checks on you, that she would talk to Lena today."

"Anything else?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"She thought you were after Robin."

"The phones…" he muttered, looking back at the house. "Who was going to call who?"

"Lena said she would call Miss Porter. I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

Flynn was distracted, deep in thought. "The lines were down before the explosion… Hmmm." He smiled, patted her back. "Thank you for the information. But it doesn't surprise me. And I don't think it will change anything, not now."

Shani wondered what she had done, all out of weakness for a beautiful face. "You're not going to hurt Robin are you?"

"Why would I hurt Robin?"

"You've been hanging around her, bringing all her food and drinks."

"I'm trying to protect her."

"From what?"

"From getting poisoned."


 "What?"

"She was poisoned once. She now has the very same people around her as last time. I would say she stands an excellent chance of having it happen to her again."

"But that was an accident."

"I don't think so." He paused. "Did you do it? The first time, I mean?"

"No! How could you think such a thing?"

"I didn't really think that you did. But the others… There is a bad apple in there somewhere. Maybe two."

"It probably wasn't an accident," she said sadly. "And Bert… You didn't seem too upset over what happened to him."

He was harsh. "What do you know about my feelings?"

It was the first time he had dropped his guard. "I'm sorry. I… it's just that I don't know anything about you. Why are you so concerned about Robin? What's she to you?"

He went to speak, but stopped. Her question seemed to hurt him. But then he shrugged and smiled. "I'm concerned about you, too."

"Don't change the subject."

"I like you, Shani."

"You're playing with me again."

"No, I'm not."

"Why?" She wished her voice hadn't trembled.

"Because you're so sweet and beautiful."

He kissed her. For a moment, she didn't respond. Then her arms went around his neck and she was pulling him closer. This was madness! But she liked it! Not breaking contact, he sat down beside her, putting pressure on one leg. His hands crept beneath her shirt, touched her lower back. She began to cough, turned away.

Laughing, he said, "I didn't know I was that bad."

"It's not you!" she breathed. Boy, she was a real winner all round. At least James Bond's ladies got a little sex before he killed them. "This air… my throat's dry."

"Is that the only problem?"

"No. I don't even know you." She was still coughing. 


His voice was suddenly grave. "Don't you?"

"No."

"But you recognize me. You and Park, you both recognize me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Yet, she was lying. His face was as familiar to her as the one in her own mirror. He nodded, reading her mind.

"You knew once, at least. Before this night is over, you will know again." He stood. He wasn't going to kiss her again. He probably wasn't going to shoot her, either. "Tie your shoes. We have to get back."

With her Nikes tied, he helped her up, brushing off her jeans. The tranquillity the wise man had bestowed was straining against this assault of fear and danger, of passion and uncertainty.

"You said you wouldn't hurt Robin," she said as they began to walk towards the house. "Are you going to hurt any of the others?"

"Only if they deserve it."

She stopped. "What if I try to stop you?"

"Don't Shani." He strode on without waiting for her. "You'd regret it."

How quick his cool could return. She had a crush on him but she honestly didn't even think she liked him. "I know who you are," she called. "You're Snake."

He turned. Without a shred of conceit in his voice, he said, "No, I'm Eagle."

On the road back, she had to stop once to be sick. Flynn — Michael — didn't even ask what was troubling her.

It began to rain.





EIGHT
Poor lighting had always irritated his eyes. The lone lamp on Robin's nightstand was little more than a night-light. Park thought of turning on the overhead lights, but he feared they might wake Robin. There was no reason for him to be sitting beside her bed, anyway. Nevertheless, he felt no inclination to move. When he closed his eyes and listened to the drowsy rhythm of her breathing, the pelting rain against the house, he could imagine they were elsewhere, in a world of enchantment and deathless bodies. However, this rain was no boon from the gods. His remark, when they had driven up in the car yesterday, had been prophetic. With the mud, the house was now an island.

Robin was covered to her chin with a colourful patchwork quilt Shani had sewn in their freshman year. Before falling asleep, she had taken a glass of grape juice and had reassured him that she was feeling better. He hadn't believed her. Only thirty minutes ago, she had showered, yet already her face was developing a crusty coat as her skin fought to do the job of her kidneys. What if she were to suddenly stop breathing? Out of fear of her death, he had stayed away from her, and now he clung to her side hoping to ward it off. He couldn't help feeling a crossroads was approaching, where every turn would lead to a dead end. But he was despairing, as she never did. When she awoke next, if he did not notice definite signs of improvement, he would take Sol up on his offer.

Sol had suggested — surrounding swamp or not — that even if it took them to sunrise, they should search on foot for a phone and get a doctor to Robin. They could even have a helicopter brought in.

Another thing, when she awoke, he would tell her that he wanted her back, one hundred per cent, not just as a phone pal. That meant he would have to give up Harvard in September, and his egotistical image of being a suave Ivy League Intellectual. That was okay; he could get as good an education locally if he applied himself. He hoped that she would have him. And Angie… she deserved someone who really cared for her. Bert's death had somehow made this decision clear.

He was not feeling well. He had fever and chills, on top of cramps that made him glad he wasn't a female. It was probably flu. The water in the house was safe and, besides, Montezuma's Revenge took several days to incubate. Angie had also mentioned feeling sick.

Too bad Robin didn't have their symptoms and they could pretend she merely had a virus.

"How is she?" Shani whispered, quietly entering the room.

Fresh from a shower, her long black hair drying in fine curls, her blue eyes bright in the poor light, his oldest and best friend was beautiful. She wore a loose purple blouse, tight white trousers, and a bandage around her right thumb where she had cracked her nail while hiking. When she had not returned an hour after sunset, he'd been worried. A minute more and he would have gone looking for her himself. The walk had been uneventful, she had said.

"She's been sleeping a while, now. She said that she was feeling a bit better."

"Good. Lena wanted me to tell you that dinner's ready."

His stomach groaned at the mention of food. "I'm not that hungry."

Shani pulled up a chair, and tucked in Robin's quilt. "Poor dear," she said softly. "I'm in no hurry to eat, myself."

"How are you feeling?"

She hesitated. "Not great. I guess I keep waiting for Bert to walk through the front door, laughing."

He felt the same way. "He won't be doing that."

"I know. I'm sorry about not being at Kerry's prayer reading. Maybe after dinner, we could read some more."

"If you want."

Shani sighed, glancing at the covered window. "It's raining hard. I usually like the rain."

"It's like a hurricane. Generally, they don't get any of those down here until late summer. Sol and I had to hustle to patch up the windows the blast kicked in. Of course, we had Lena prodding us with a whip."

Lightning flashed: one… two… three… Thunder bombed. Shani shivered, holding her right hand to her chest. "My finger hurts."

"Are you going to lose the nail?"

"I already did."

"Ouch. I'm glad Flynn went out looking for you."

"I didn't need his help."

"Do I note a trace of hostility? I thought you liked him."

"I don't know him."

He wondered what she would have thought if she knew Flynn carried a gun. "You knew him less before this weekend. And you liked him then."

"You're not my shrink."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was a touchy subject."

"Everything's touchy to me right now." She glanced over her shoulder, seemingly coming to a decision.

"Park, of all those in the house right now, who do you trust the least?"

"Myself."

"I'm serious."

"Are you referring to the party?"

"Yes."

"It was an accident."

"You don't believe that."

"I do. But then, I believe there are accidents, and there are accidents."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not quite sure. But the police looked for the guilty, and the innocent. Maybe the truth of the matter wasn't so black and white."

"Someone either put the insecticide in the glass intentionally or accidentally. Where's the in-between?"

"I remember a programme I saw on TV about Buckminster Fuller, the inventor of the geodesic dome. He drew a square on the chalkboard and asked the audience what they saw. Naturally, everyone said a square. But then he asked, "What about the space outside the square?" His point being, of course, that we are conditioned to automatically focus on the boundaries in life. So when you say Robin was either poisoned accidentally or intentionally, don't be so sure."

"Nice lecture, Professor. What do you see outside this square?"

The rest of the chalkboard, he thought, was a dark board thick with plots and fears, where all of them stumbled unknowingly against each other. "Nothing," he said. "Let's go and eat."

Shani stopped him. "Wait, I want to read the rest of Robin's story. It's in that desk."

"But she said there was no more." From having overheard her comment to the blackbird, he knew that wasn't entirely true.

"I want to see."

"Why? It may be private to her."

"Because I saw the old man while I was out." She checked to be sure Robin was still asleep. "He's not like us. He does know things."

"What did he tell you?"

"Nothing. You know I don't speak Spanish."

"Then how do you know what he knows? Did he perform a miracle for you?"

"No. But I could sense his uniqueness. He's like a holy man. I don't think his story is frivolous."

He decided it couldn't hurt. "Okay, let's give it a look."

They moved to the desk. Shani found the manila envelope in the second drawer on the right. She pulled out three notebook pages, covered with Robin's neat printing. Park leaned over her shoulder as she flipped to the last page and began to read softly:

"Suddenly, Eagle appeared, landing between them. Eagle was very powerful and could easily kill Snake. But when he went to try, Snake tightened his grip on Dove and said, 'If you come closer, I will bite Dove. Kill Raven for me, and leave her body, and I will give you Dove.'"

"Eagle turned to Raven, and Raven grew frightened. She said, 'Dove and I are friends. She would not wish for you to kill me.'"

"But Snake said, 'If Raven was Dove's friend, why did she bring her here for me to eat?'"

"Raven said, 'That is not true.' But Raven feared Dove would feel that she had been betrayed, and would allow Eagle to kill her for Snake."

"Eagle thought for a moment, and said, 'I will let Dove decide if you are a friend, Raven, and whether I should buy her freedom with your death. But I have decided this: if Dove should die, both of you will die.'"

"Raven and Snake waited, both striving for a plan of escape, both afraid. But Dove did not speak, would not choose. Hurt as she was, Dove began to sing. And Eagle smiled…"

Park plucked the papers from her hand. "Is that all?"

"That's all she wrote down here."

"Huh. You think there's more that he told her that she didn't write down?"

Shani was deep in thought. "I don't know."

"Well, for a wise man, he sure doesn't know how to end a story. Let's get to dinner."

Shani slid the papers back in the envelope, closing it carefully. "Maybe this isn't the end."

"Do you think she has another page somewhere?"

Shani's head shot up. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

She twisted her head around. "Someone's banging on the window… There it is again!"

"For goodness' sakes, we're on the third floor. It's the rain."

Shani got up, hurried across the room, flung back the curtain. "Oh, no," she gasped.

"What's wrong?"

"It's not there." She was white as a sheet.

"Shh, you'll wake Robin." He stepped to her side. "What's not there?"

"I thought I would see a bird."

"A moment ago you thought it was a person. What's wrong with you?"

She put her hand to her forehead as though she were feeling faint. "I'm having this strangest sensation of deja vu." She shook herself. "Now it's gone. That's weird. What were you asking?"

"If you think Robin has another page somewhere?"

Shani glanced at Robin sleeping, and back out at the black night. She shook her head. "No, I think the story isn't over yet."



 

The dinner table could have been under water. They all ate in slow-motion silence, without enthusiasm for the food or each other. A draught was chilling Shani's legs. A window must have been still out. The downpour continued unabated. The two drapeless windows cornering the dining room were like portals staring out on to a deep ocean bottom.

"You must have really screwed up those invitations," Sol commented, sipping ginger ale.

Without comment, Lena stood and left the room, returning a minute later and throwing a vanilla card on Sol's half-eaten plate of food. "You will note today's date on the invitation," she said, "which was the printer's fault, by the way, not mine. It should have been yesterday's date. In either case, I don't know why they're not here. Unless" — she scanned the table — "someone made a few last minute calls." 


"For whatever reasons they didn't come," Park said, "it's just as well. More may have died in the blast." He yawned. "Boy, I'm sleepy."

"So am I," Angie muttered.

"Just looking at this food is making me sick," Sol said.

"Thanks," Lena said. "I screwed up the invitations and dinner. Is there anything that I did right?"

"Give me a few minutes," Sol said. Looks couldn't kill, but Lena's could wound; they were very sharp. Sol retracted his statement. "Naah, dinner was fine. I just feel like crap. First Bert gets wasted and now my guts are on fire. How about the rest of you?"

"I vomited an hour ago," Angie said. "I should go to bed."

"I feel like vomiting now," Park said.

"I'm running from both ends," Shani said, and by now she didn't care what the others thought. She felt oddly removed, floating.

"How… gross," Kerry stuttered. "At… the table… Really, Shani."

"You should talk," Lena snapped. "Who had the gamesroom bathroom smelling like an outhouse?"

"I never… never used it!" Kerry protested. Her voice sounded weak.

"A pig must have slipped in from the barn, then. One that looked just like—"

"Come on," Park interrupted. "We all feel lousy. Let's not make it any worse."

"Not me. I feel super," Lena said. But she had scarcely touched her food.

"So your CB isn't working?" Park said.

"That's what I said," Lena said.

"I'd like to look at it."

"If I tell you it isn't working, it isn't working. My dad tried it last summer and it wasn't even working then. Satisfied?"

"Cool down," Sol said. "Preppy's a whiz at garbage like that. Maybe he can fix it."

Lena was cool. "After dinner you can have at it with a box of tools and the instruction manual for all I care." She paused, rubbing her eyes. "Hell, I feel so dizzy. What's wrong with me?"

"It's the flu," Park said, swaying slightly in his chair.

"Never had flu like this," Sol mumbled, his head nodding.

"How's Robin?" Kerry asked.

"Ask her yourself when she wakes up," Lena said slowly, staring at an empty milk glass in her frozen hand.

"We have to get her to eat," Shani said. Her hike must have taken more out of her than she had realised. The room was receding, fogging at the edges, as if she were slipping down a translucent tunnel. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open.

"Juice is better for her if she's accumulating wastes in her blood," Park said, yawning like a hibernating bear.

Angie stood abruptly. "I'm going to bed." She was halfway to the hallway when she collapsed.

"Angie!" Lena called, stumbling out of her chair, kneeling by their fallen friend. "What's wrong?" She shook her, but Angie remained out cold. Lena turned to the rest of them for help. None was forthcoming. Shani saw everything through dream glasses. The situation was desperately wrong, but she couldn't understand why.

"This can't be," Lena said in useless denial, trembling, her hand going to her throat, her eyes rolling in their sockets. She dropped beside Angie.

Like a melting Gumby, Park staggered to his feet. But his knees buckled, and his height was halved. In dumbfounded amazement, he stared at his right hand as he tried to form it into a fist. Then he toppled forward.

Sol planted his face in his plate.

Kerry rolled out of her chair like a bag of potatoes.

And at last Shani thought she understood. She turned her head slowly towards Flynn. It was all she could move. Her arms were nailed to the table. Her legs were made of cement. The lights swirled like drunken fairies with sparklers. A wave of wrath permitted her a last moment of clarity.

"You," she breathed in loathing, wishing she could spit in his face. He hadn't spoken all night. He had been waiting.

Yet he, too, was fighting to remain erect, and his incredulous expression denied his guilt. "We've been… drugged," he whispered. The Carlton Castle turned into a ferris wheel.

"Who?" she managed as she slid towards the table linen. But if he answered, she wasn't awake to hear him.





NINE
"Shani! Shani! I think she's coming round. Shani!"

Shani opened her eyes. The room was dark, quivering with candlelit shadows, hissing with the breath of serpents. It must be a nightmare. She closed her eyes. Her head throbbed with pain. She wished she could wake up-

"She's fading out again." That was Angie.

"Shake her." That was Sol.

"I can't reach her." That was Flynn. "This handcuff has me pinned."

Shani ventured another look. Their dinner-table fellowship was now equally spaced around the perimeter of the floor of the recording studio she had wandered into earlier, deep in the bowels of the Carlton Castle. The curtains outside the double-plated glass were drawn. Except for candles in red cups rimming a round Plexiglas container in the centre of the room, there were no lights. Within the clear container, their long tongues flicking with hunger in the bloody glow, were snakes. A continuous rattle filled the muffled air. She was not dreaming.

"Oh, no," she whispered.

"She's awake," Angie said.

"Try to stay calm, Shani," Park said. "We're all together."

Attached to the top of the snake bin was the aluminium pole that had lowered and raised the microphone. If the pole was raised, the covering would be removed, and the rattlers would be set free. There were at least a dozen snakes, each individually isolated by partitions of glass, equally sized servings of poisonous pie. The temperature was icy. Shani's guts were burning.

"What's going on?" she mumbled. Her right arm was stuck, handcuffed at the wrist to a ring and bolt in the panelling a foot above the floor. She was not alone in this regard. "I feel sick."

"Someone who mustn't like us drugged and dragged us down here," Lena said, pinned opposite the closed entrance door, at six o'clock. Kerry slouched an hour over, head bowed, still unconscious. Shani had Park to her immediate right, Flynn to her left.

"That Robin," Angie cursed, on the far side of the snakes, next to Sol and the door. "She's out for revenge."

"Robin couldn't have picked up a gallon of milk," Park said, "Never mind have dragged us down here."

Shani shuddered from the cold, her intestinal cramps, the snakes. One, she was sure, had its eyes on her.

"She was just pretending to be sick," Angie said bitterly.

"No one's that good an actress," Park said, shifting uncomfortably. "Man, I need to get to a toilet something awful."

"Could this be a practical joke?" Sol asked.

"Those snakes don't look like they've got much of a sense of humour," Park said. "Lena, could your dad have arranged this to get back at us for Robin's illness?"

"He doesn't have the imagination to think up this kind of scene. And even though we don't get along, he's never mentioned wanting to feed me to snakes."

Kerry began to scream. She had just woken up. She wasn't forming intelligible words, but she was making a lot of noise.

"Shut up!" Lena snapped. "This room is soundproof. Even if Robin were awake, she couldn't hear us."

"There must be someone else in the house, then," Shani said, unable to stop trembling. Deep-rooted impressions began to surface: the red light and flames, the darkness, the serpents. She knew it was not so, but she could not totally dismiss the idea that they had all died and gone to hell. She began to hyperventilate but fought for calm.

"What are those snakes for?" Kerry cried.

"For us," Lena said grimly.

"I hate snakes," Park said.

"So who are you, Harrison Ford?" Sol muttered, pulling at his handcuff, his straining muscles visible even in the poor light. "Damn, these are on tight."

"If they were all set loose," Angie wanted to know, "are we all goners?"

"If we get bitten a few times and we don't receive treatment," Park said, "we will die."

"You're doing wonders for our morale," Sol grunted, using his legs now to push against the wall, getting nowhere. "Damn!"

"How many are there?" Angie asked.

Kerry began to panic again. "Help! God, please help me!" She fought with her handcuff, probably scraping the flesh off her wrist. Her screaming was exciting the snakes.

"Someone shut her up!" Lena yelled.

"Kerry," Shani said, with her best imitation of calm, "I am as frightened as you, but we can't panic. We have to find a way to get free." She turned to Flynn, who had blood running from the side of his head. He must have banged it when he blacked out. "Are you okay?"

"I'll live," he said, as cool as ever, alert and watchful.

"Do you have your gun?"

"I'm afraid not."

"They took my knife," Sol said, leaning back against the panelling, giving up on an immediate escape.

"I wonder what they want," Park said.

"I wonder who they are," Sol said.

As if on cue, a voice answered. It was heavy and thick, slow and laden with unnatural weariness, indistinguishable as either masculine or feminine. Shani had to wonder if it was entirely human, and not from the other side of the grave.

"We must have the truth of that night," it said.

"Whoever you are, you can go to hell!" Lena shouted.

A motor hummed. The pole rose slightly. The lid of the snake bin shook. The rattlers went nuts. They were anxious to get out. Every muscle in Shani's body tightened.

"We'll cooperate!" Park said hastily. The lid was lowered back into place. He added, "I should have guessed. They want to know who poisoned Robin."

"But who are they?" Angie asked, repeating Sol's question.

"Does it matter?" Flynn asked. "I suggest that all of you tell them what you know."

"What can we say that we didn't say to the police?" Shani said, knowing there might be plenty. But even if they learned the truth, would that satisfy them?

"The police didn't give us this incentive," Park said.

"That's one hell of a way of putting it," Sol said.

"With the police, we were all trying to downplay our own parts," Park said. "At least, I was. It was your party, Angie; you start."

"Start what? We've got to get free. Whoever's doing this is psycho. They'll kill us all."

"Whoever's doing this can hear everything we're saying," Park said. Shani had to admire his cool. However, he looked desperately uncomfortable, a shade green. Was the one behind this voice also responsible for their illness? And was it indeed Robin, and had she brought in outside help?

"Angie was the one who said, 'Just one drink, it won't kill you,' " Kerry blurted, addressing their mysterious examiner.

"I did not! Liar!"

"Actually, you did," Shani said. "But—"

"I never did!" Angie said, exasperated, frightened. "You traitorous—"

"We'll get nowhere this way," Park interrupted. "We have to piece the facts together. We should start with what we know. Sol gave her the beer."

"I gave her a beer. How do you know it was the poisonous one?"

"That's the same excuse you gave to the police," Angie said.

"Robin took my beer, sure, but she set it down on the table in between us where there were several beers. Maybe she picked my beer back up, maybe it was another beer. Who knows? I sure don't."

Fear had sharpened her memory. Shani suddenly recalled a vital point. "The beer you gave her had the insecticide in it," she said reluctantly.

Sol stared at her, amazed. "How do you know?"

"I remember when you first gave her the beer, how it was darker. At the time, I thought one of you had put whisky in it."

"Why didn't you tell,the police this?" Park asked, regarding Sol suspiciously.

"I had forgotten." She banged her feet together. They were going numb, like her hands. She wondered what it would be like to die from snake venom. In movies, the victim always screamed horribly. Would the snakes just bite her, or would they chew on her afterwards? She had to stop thinking like this.

"What do you have to say about that?" Park asked Sol.

"Nothing. If Shani remembers that the beer was darker, I believe her. Look, none of this is new. The police jumped all over me on this same point. If I had wanted to poison somebody, I wouldn't have done it out loud in front of everybody."

Park was not convinced. "A subtle way to hide one's guilt is to make oneself so obviously guilty that no one would think that you were dumb enough to have committed the crime."

"That's a bunch of bullshit," Sol said angrily. "What's got into you, Park? You know me. I would never have hurt Robin."

"Yeah, I know you, sure," Park sneered. "I know you're no angel in a leather jacket. What about the drugs you push?"

"What? I get loaded - like you - but I don't deal."

"What about the junk you bought in Tijuana?"

"What about it?"

"Was it, by chance, ether for PCP?"

"What's that?"

"Yeah, you never heard of PCP," Park said sarcastically.

"I know what PCP is. What's ether?"

"A highly explosive chemical to put people asleep, and used in the manufacture of Angel Dust." Park shook his head in disgust. "It's explosive enough to have wasted the garage and Bert. Let me hear you deny that that's what you were carrying!"

"I do!"

"Wait a minute. What's going on here?" Lena asked. "What did you have in your van, Sol?"

"Nothing! Fireworks."

"Fireworks?" Park winced.

"Like sparklers and cones and things like that?" Shani asked.

"Not exactly," Sol admitted reluctantly. "I had… M80s."

"What are those?" Flynn asked.

"You don't know?" Park said. "There isn't a kid who's grown up in Southern California that hasn't lit off at least one M80. They're like a firecracker, except thicker, with dynamite inside instead of gun powder. How much did you buy, Sol?"

"A lot. I could sell them to this guy in L.A. for three times what I paid for them."

"How much?"

"I bought three hundred."

"That's a lot," Shani said.

"Three hundred pounds," Sol added.

"Three hundred pounds," Park said, pronouncing each word distinctly. "At least we know now where the garage went. Why didn't you tell us?"

Sol shrugged. "I've been to jail. I figured I couldn't help Bert by going back. And I wasn't the one who lit—"

The snake lid shook. The voice spoke. "Don't stray. We must have the truth of that night."

"Give us more time!" Park called quickly. Sol's revelation had taken him aback. Apparently the belief that Sol was a pusher had greatly prejudiced his point of view. "Sorry, Sol," he said. "I'm in such a hurry to get to the bathroom, I'll accuse anybody."

"You're going to make a crappy lawyer," Sol scowled.

"We're back where we started," Angie said.

"But we have established that the beer Sol gave Robin had the poison in it," Park said. "We've got to trace that beer back. Where did you get it, Sol?"

He was shaking his head."These are the same questions all over. I'll give you the same answer I gave the cops: I don't remember. I was so wasted that night."

"So was I," Park said.

"Why don't you try a different approach?" Flynn said. "Since you've been unable to trace the beer back, why don't you trace it forward. Start at a reasonable point during the party and reconstruct what happened from then on. It doesn't sound like you did that with the police. It might help jar a few memories, and maybe the beer will show up earlier."

"It couldn't hurt," Park said. "But it's probably going to get confusing. Where should we start?"

"After Lena and Robin arrived," Shani suggested. "I was phasing in and out all night, but I remember Kerry and Lena fighting."

A rattlesnake snapped at a candle. The impact of its nose against the Plexiglas spilt the red cup over on to the floor. Fortunately, the flame was drowned in its wax. A portion of the room darkened. Yet, it would be worse, far worse, if the snakes came at them unseen.

"Lena started the fight!" Kerry said.

"You little snot," Lena said. "You were demanding that Sol give you a ride home when he could hardly see."

"But Sol told you to shut up," Kerry protested, as if that made any difference.

Sol nodded. "I remember the three of us arguing."

"Everyone agree that this fight took place?" Park asked, taking up the role of coordinator. "Good, that is one thing we didn't tell the police. We are making progress. What happened next?"

"I offered to give Kerry a ride home when Robin and I left," Lena said. "The fight ended."

"Then we drank more," Sol said.

"Who brought out the beers?" Park said.

"Angie did," Kerry said.

"Of course I did," Angie said. "I was the hostess."

"Where did you get them?" Park asked.

"Hey, what is this? I'm not on trial."

"Yes, you are," Shani said. "We all are."

"We were out of cans," Angie said. "I broke into the keg." 


"Who started on Robin to drink?" Park asked.

"You did," Sol said.

"I encouraged her," Park said. "But I did not start.."

"Angie started it," Lena said, thoughtful.

"I asked her if she was running for sainthood, that's all," Angie said. "But she said that she had to drive. Then So! put on that Carpenters record."

"I did?" Sol asked.

"Then Bert came out of the bathroom," Kerry said, "and I had to go."

"But I got there first," Lena said. "And you went into the kitchen."

"I went with Bert," Kerry said defensively.

"This is incredible; our memories are snowballing," Park said. "I can actually remember all this happening. Kerry got up and Lena chased after her. Wait! You weren't in the living room, Lena. How did you get to the bathroom before Kerry?"

Lena hesitated. "I came out of the kitchen."

"So you had been alone in the kitchen?" Park asked.

"Yes."

"What did you do in there?" Park asked.

"Nothing. Oh, I cleaned off my dress. Sol had rolled over when I was sitting on him and I had spilled a drink on myself. I never did get that stain out."

"Sol, Sol," Park muttered. "I remember him leaving during this time, too."

"I saw him go down the hall," Shani said. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Talking helped, it gave her less time to worry. The insistent rattling had quietened. The snakes seemed to be listening.

"Here we go again," Sol sighed. "I went down the hall looking for a head. I didn't find one."

"Because we only have one bathroom in our house," Angie said.

"Then what happened?" Park asked.

Their momentum stalled. A minute went by. Shani realized she could not feel her feet. She offered what she could. "I fell asleep, then. When I woke up, everyone was back in the living room. And you were saying, Park, that it was our God-given duty to get Robin drunk."

"I did say that," Park admitted. "But you were probably only asleep a minute or two. Everyone came right back. And then…" He shook his head, frustrated. "And then Sol was giving Robin the beer. This is no good. We're skipping over the most important part. The beer came from the kitchen, and that's where the insecticide was. Who went into the kitchen is crucial."

"Give me everything we've got so far," Sol said, scratching his chin. "Something's coming back to me."

"You, Kerry and Lena fought," Park said. "Angie brought beers out of the kitchen. Bert was in the bathroom. Lena went into the kitchen. We started on Robin to drink. You put on the Carpenters. Bert came out of the bathroom and put on another record. Kerry and Lena ran into each other at the bathroom door, Kerry coming from the living room, Lena coming from the kitchen. Lena ended up using the bathroom. Kerry went into the kitchen with Bert. About this time, you were looking for another bathroom."

"I went into the kitchen!" Sol said suddenly.

"Were Kerry and Bert still there?" Park asked.

"Bert came back into the living room and went to sleep on the floor," Angie said.

Sol was straining. "Man, I'm not sure, but I think Kerry was alone."

"And what was our sweet Kerry doing?" Lena asked slowly.

Kerry stuttered. "I was… getting a… a drink."

"Sol?" Park asked.

"Yeah, that's right. Kerry was fixing drinks."

"Did she give you a beer in a mug?" Park asked.

"Yeah, or I took one. I think I just picked one."

"Very interesting," Park said. "Where were you at this point, Lena? Were you still in the bathroom?"

"I think so."

"No," Angie said, excited. "I remember seeing you come out and go into the kitchen!"

"Are you sure it was at this exact time?" Park asked. They were closing in, but whether it was on the truth was another matter. They had Kerry, Sol and Lena in the kitchen. Robin was waiting in the living room. The snakes were also waiting.

"Yes!"

"Oh, yeah, Lena came in," Sol said. "I had forgotten."

'"That's right, I did," Lena conveniently agreed. She appeared off-balance, perhaps from surprise, probably from guilt.

"What happened next?" Park asked.

"We didn't stay in the kitchen," Sol said. "We went into the living room."

"Did you take the beer with you that Kerry had prepared?" Park asked, unable to mask the emotion in his voice.

Sol didn't hesitate, "No."

"What do you mean, no?" Park asked, irritated. "A minute ago you barely remember going into the kitchen. How come you're suddenly so positive you didn't carry out a glass of beer? You must have brought it into the living room."

"If he didn't," Shani said, "we're back where we started."

"I didn't carry the beer out," Sol said. "I'm positive. I remember now going into the kitchen and telling Kerry I would give her a ride home if Lena and Robin didn't take her home soon. Then Lena came in. I wanted to get the two of them apart as quickly as possible but I suddenly started having trouble with my balance. Must have been that quart of Jack Daniels Bert and I drank that night. Anyway, Lena gave me a hand back into the living room and I sat down beside Robin. Once I was off my feet, I felt okay."

"He's right," Angie nodded. "I remember them stumbling back into the living room. Lena was practically holding him up."

"Let's get back to the glass of beer that Kerry fixed," Park said, anxious to keep them on track. Sol was wrong; Park would make an excellent lawyer - if he lived. "You said you picked it up, Sol, but you were having trouble staying on your feet. Before Lena helped you into the living room, what did you do with that beer?"

"I gave it to Lena to hold," Sol said, matter-of-factly. Then the enormity of his remark hit home, not merely in his own face, but in Lena's.

"That's right," Lena gasped. "You gave it to me. And when you were seated, I gave it back to you. Then you gave it to Robin. And then…"

It was not necessary to complete the sentence. Kerry was suddenly the centre of their attention. In the hellish light, her face was a mask of anxiety. "So I… I was alone… in the kitchen. So was… Angie. So was… Lena. Robin drank… just a little. She wanted to stop. She said, 'It tastes awful.' But Lena said, 'Finish it.' Lena made her finish it!"

"That's right!" Shani said.

"Yeah!" Angie said.

"Wait a second!" Lena snapped. "What I said or anyone else said is not important. It's where the glass came from that matters. Why would I want to poison my own sister?"

"You know very well why you might have wanted to," Park said. "For the other half of the inheritance. But I agree that—"

"That's crazy!" Lena interrupted.

"We know the liar she is," Kerry said, her voice gaining strength as the tide so swiftly turned. "She set me up in the pep rally. We all know that. But she denies it to this day."

"And I'll deny it again!"

"You spilt the Coke on me!"

"So I did! And, to tell you the truth, I did it on purpose. You were being such a jerk that day. But that's all I did! I didn't replace your dance pants with paper ones, though I wish I could take the credit."

"Liar! You didn't even care when Robin got hurt! You even tried to poison me!"

"Yeah, you were poisoned all right. The doctors pumped your stomach and didn't find a trace of insecticide. You were just prepping a martyr's alibi!"

"You made the nurse leave! Now that you're doing the dialysis, it's suddenly not working. You failed the first time, but you don't quit. You're trying to kill Robin again!"

They were like two rabid dogs. Influenced by the boiling hatred, the snakes hissed loudly, banging their heads on the trembling lid of their cage. Park and Sol tried to intervene, but they couldn't get in a word. For once, Kerry was matching Lena curse for curse, and Lena had forgotten that it was beneath her dignity to stoop to Kerry's level. Yet suddenly both choked off.

Someone was banging on the door.

"Who is that?" Park exclaimed. "Help! Yes, we are here!"

The aluminium pole began to rise, taking with it the lid. A snake's head reared above the edge of the Plexiglas container. Kerry screamed. Angie screamed. Shani did not feel the bite of her teeth into her lips or tongue, but she tasted the blood.

"Help!" they yelled.

The doorknob rattled. It was locked. They began to knock on the windows. The curtains were drawn back. A jolly face peered in.

"Bert!!!" they shouted.

"Hi ya, guys!" he called from what seemed miles away. Still inside the container, two snakes began to slash at each other over the partitions. Candles toppled and went out. A single flickering flame held off the darkness.

"Break down the door!" Sol yelled.

"Are you playing a game?" Bert wanted to know.

"Break down the door!" Park repeated, pointing and gesturing with his free hand. One snake decided to leave its cage. It was bigger than the others. It liked the way Shani looked. It slid towards her. Shani tried to back into the wall.

"Guys, oh, guys," she stammered. She wasn't wearing shoes and her jeans were paper thin. Don't hurt me. Its tongue snaked out of a mouth set with jagged teeth opening wide. An oozing brown fluid dripped from its fangs. Don't kill me. Of all the possible horrors she had ever imagined in the darkest moments of her life, none was the equal of this. Please don't.

"Be very still," Flynn whispered. The others watched and waited in silence. The snake reached the end of her foot, began to slide up the inside of her leg.

"No," she wept. "Nooo." Above all else, she knew she couldn't move. A powerful blow hit the door. It remained firm.

"It won't bite you if you don't move," Flynn said.

Shani closed her eyes. Squirming skin was near the bottom of her sweat shirt. Nice Shani. A sandpaper tongue licked her belly button. A moist snout slid around the curve of her abdomen, its contracting body encircling her like a belt. Soft Shani. Her heart shrieked. Her held lungs pleaded for release. Cute Shani.

"A second more, be still," Flynn said. "It's leaving."

A rattle shook a foot from her nose. Go. Its head crawled over her hand on the floor. She was a statue. She was made of stone. Be gone. There was no reason for it to bite her. Far away. Sleek muscles tightened against her side, then relaxed. Its tail scraped her lower vertebrae. She exhaled slowly. It glided back towards the cage, seeking more exciting game. Don't come back.

"You can relax," Flynn said.

She opened her eyes. The snakes were at war with each other. Incredibly, none of the others had left the confines of the cage. Her snake returned to the front line, hacking at its brothers.

She shook her head, went to speak, found she couldn't.

There was a deafening crack. The splintered door fell to the floor. Bert ploughed in.

"Where did you guys get all these snakes?" he asked, decked in orange swimming trunks, five inches of rain, ten pounds of red mud, and the most inappropriate grin.

"Bert, quick, put the door over the top of the bin!" Park ordered, bent in a hunchback posture lest he have an encounter similar to Shani's. Kerry was screaming again.

"You want me to hurt the snakes?" Bert asked.

"They want to hurt us!" Park said. "Just do it!"

"Don't let any of them bite you," Sol added.

It was bad advice to have given Bert. As he picked up the door, he apparently began to have second thoughts about the playfulness of the snakes, for he remained close to the entrance. From there he tried to throw the door onto the container.

"No!" Park screamed, too late.

The Plexiglas cracked in a thousand pieces and the remaining candle was extinguished. In the feeble light that filtered from upstairs, they saw the snakes that were still alive — the majority of them — go wild, snapping at anything that moved. Kerry's screams tore in her throat and she began to whimper miserably.

"Got quite a few of them, I did," Bert said proudly. "What do you want me to do now?"

"Go to the garage!" Sol said. "Get bolt cutters!"

"There is no garage!" Park said.

"What happened to the garage?" Bert asked.

"Get the pokers from the fireplace," Flynn said, in a firm voice.

"Gotcha," Bert nodded and left.

They waited and worried. If the snakes had not been their own worst enemies, every member of their dinner party would have been dying by now. Yet there was still time. Several of the snakes had decided that the recording studio was no place to be and were exiting through the door in search of more peaceful territory. They would be all over the house.

Bert was back in a minute with a thick metal prong. He went to hack at Angie's handcuff, but she stopped him.

"Do Sol before me," she said.

"That's a brave girl," Sol said.

"I just don't want him to break my wrist," Angie explained.

Sol eyed Bert's upraised poker, then glanced at the rattlers, probably trying to decide which was more dangerous. "You hit my hand, buddy, and I'll kill you."

"Okay," Bert said. That sounded fair to him. Employing all of his considerable strength, he slashed down with the bar. The ring interlocking the handcuff cracked. Sol stood and took the poker from Bert, shoving him towards the door. But the way was blocked as more snakes slithered into the hall.

"Do me!" Kerry pleaded.

"Just a second." Sol dug at Angie's bolt, prying it loose.

"You're hurting me," Angie complained.

"Do me!" Kerry whined. Angie's handcuff broke off the wall. Sol leapt to Kerry's aid. A moment later she also was free. The two girls huddled together. Due to the passing snakes, they were unable to leave. There were seven reptiles left in the room. Four of them were converging on Lena.

Sol took care of Park next. But his path to Flynn, Lena and Shani was barred. "Throw me the poker," Flynn said. Sol did so, Flynn catching it expertly in his free hand. Using his foot as a fulcrum - which must have hurt - he transformed the poker from axe to lever, and pulled his ring out of the wall. Now he was faced with a hard choice. Lena's situation was critical, but she was next to impossible to get to.

"Do her," Shani said.

"You'll get bitten," Lena told Flynn. "Get Shani loose. Any snake that bites me is going to poison himself."

Flynn wasted no time in indecision. "Pull away from the wall, Shani!" She leaned towards the shattered Plexiglas. Flynn wound up. His blow wrenched her wrist. He struck a second time, tearing into the panelling. She fell on her side, free. The last of the exiting snakes disappeared into the basement hallway. He pulled her up, hurrying to where the others had gathered, not far from the door. "Find an unoccupied room!" Flynn ordered. "Shut yourselves in."

"What about Lena?" Sol asked.

"I'll get her," Flynn said.

Sol surveyed the situation. There was a snake on Lena's right, another on her left, and two inching towards her feet. He was no coward but he was also no fool. He nodded. "You get her."

However, none of them left. Where they were was relatively safe, and to leave would be like abandoning their friend. Even Kerry was sweating over Lena's fate. Moving swiftly, Flynn seized one end of the door Bert had knocked down and toppled it through a hundred and eighty degrees. Two crushed snakes flew off the back. Two others were pinned beneath the descending board. Like a cat, he sprang onto his self-made moat and in a single, perfectly aimed swing, broke the ring pinning Lena to the wall. Taking her outstretched hand, he helped her to her feet. But because one of her feet was asleep as a result of the cold, or simply because she was in too great a hurry, Lena stumbled. Flynn lost his hold. She fell back, directly on top of two snakes. She was wearing shorts. The serpents sank their fangs deep into her left calf.

"Lena!" they screamed, as she threw her head back in pain. A third snake, half dead beneath the door under Flynn's feet, reached forth and fastened onto her left arm. Blood spurted over her skin.

"Lena!" Sol cried, rushing forward. But Flynn purposely blocked his path, frantically hewing at the snakes with the poker. Two rolled over with fatal injuries, but the third had a hard hide and liked the taste of Lena. Dropping the bar, Flynn leaned over and grabbed the snake by its rattle, hurtling it against the opposing wall, its implanted teeth ripping a gruesome gash in her leg on the way out. Sol took her in his arms, carrying her towards the door. But Flynn remained crouched, studying the spot where Lena had fallen.

"Come on!" Shani cried. "What are you waiting for?"

"Coming," Flynn nodded, glancing over his shoulder, reluctant to leave.

The hallway and stairs were clear, but the living room droned with hidden rattlers. Veering into a nearby bedroom, they turned on the light and shut the door. Park checked under the bed. Sol laid Lena on the mattress. Blood soaked through the sheets, dark and thick. Angie brought a roll of toilet paper from the nearby bathroom and began to wrap it tightly around Lena's leg and arm. Sol stopped her.

"Let her bleed the poison out," he said. "Lena! Where do you keep a snake kit?"

"Kitchen… under sink," Lena whispered, her teeth and eyes clenched.

"All of you, stay here," Flynn said firmly. "I'll get Robin and the kit."

"There must be someone else in the house," Sol said. "I'll come with you."

"No, if they come here, you'll have to protect the girls." Flynn cracked the door, peered out. "I'll be back in a minute." He left.

In the madness, Shani tried to put her illness on hold. They gathered about Lena as she lay shaking on the bed. Her toughness still intact, she refused to cry. Sol squeezed the muscle surrounding her wound, encouraging the bleeding.

"Stop that," she whispered.

"We've got to get the poison out, babe," Sol said.

"If I bleed to death, what will it matter? Stop it, I say."

A rifle in one hand, Robin in the other, Flynn reappeared. Robin hurried to her sister's side. "What's happened?" she cried, pale and confused.

"That was smart, Flynn," Park said, "getting that gun."

Flynn shut the door, moved a chair in front of it, and sat down. He had the cassette player she had noticed earlier in the recording studio. Pulling a box of shells from his pocket, he began to load the rifle.

"Did you get the kit?" Sol asked.

"No," Flynn said, methodically sliding in the bullets, his face grim.

Sol stood. "I'll get it."

"No," Flynn said.

"But we need it imme—" Sol stopped short in front of Flynn's pointed barrel.

"No," he said again, cocking his rifle.

"What's this?" Sol demanded angrily. "Lena needs—"

"Sit down," Flynn interrupted, his voice cold. Sol backed up. Kerry made a dash for the bathroom. "Stop!" Flynn shouted.

"But I'm going to be sick," she pleaded.

"Be sick on the floor."

"But I—"

"Sit down! All of you, sit down!"

They did as he wished. Lena sat up weakly, leaning against her sister, each holding the other up. Of them all, Shani was the least surprised. In a sense, she had been expecting this. "At least let us get the antidote for the snake venom," she said. "I can get it. I promise I'll come—"

"Shut up," Flynn said.

"But she'll die!" she cried.

"So what?"

Sol could contain himself no longer. Springing to his feet, he charged, sweating, "Why, you bastard, I'm going to kill—"

Flynn raised the rifle. Shani covered her eyes. The explosion was deafening. Cold wind whipped her face. Rain sprinkled her hair. Peeking through her fingers, she saw Sol sit down again, unhurt. Flynn had blown out the window at her back.

"Understand clearly," he said. "That was my last warning."

"Has my sister been poisoned?" Robin asked softly.

"Snakes bit her," Park said.

"I see," Robin whispered. She was not strong enough for this.

Flynn smiled. "You've all been poisoned. That's why you're all sick. I slipped a very special concoction in your dinner last night. It takes twenty-four hours to take effect. After forty-eight hours the damage is irreversible. Don't start crying, Kerry. I'm getting more than a little tired of your blubbering. This poison probably won't kill you. But it does have nasty side effects: bleeding ulcers, blindness, severe kidney damage — we all know how bothersome that can be. I won't tell you exactly what poison it is just yet, but I will reassure you that it has an antidote." He pulled a prescription container of orange pills from his shirt pocket. "Two of these every two hours for a day and the majority of the damage can be avoided. That is, if you take them in time. Any questions?"

Shani shivered in the damp draught. "Where's your partner, Michael?"

"Michael?" Robin winced. She had found a handkerchief and was holding it over Lena's wound.

"That's my real name." Michael pointed the cassette's microphone towards them. "And as far as my partner is concerned, I don't have one. I don't operate like that voice in the room. I don't have the time; neither do any of you." His voice was savage. "You'll be given no chance to 'piece things together.' I will ask a question and you will give an immediate response. If I'm satisfied, you'll get a pill. If not, you'll get a bullet through your brain." He pressed the RECORD button on the cassette player. "You're first, Bert. Where have you been?"

Bert went to wrap a blanket around his soaked, practically nude body, but changed his mind, probably thinking Michael wouldn't let him. He did not appear frightened, more amazed. "I was surfing and then I got lost in the dark," he said. "Are you going to kill me, Flynn Michaels?"

"Start from when you were drinking in the van," Michael said.

"Gotcha. Sol had to go to the bathroom. I dropped the tequila bottle on the garage floor and it broke. I tried to clean it up but I didn't want to cut my hands. Sol was gone a long time. I decided to go surfing again. Am I doing okay?"

"Go on."

"The rip-tide pulled me far away, far out. When I got to shore, I couldn't see the house. Then I guess I started walking the wrong way. My arm got real tired carrying my board. It got dark. I tried walking the other way. It started raining. Finally, I saw the house. I thought it was the house, but it didn't have a garage like the other one. I walked around it a lot of times before knocking on the door. No one came to let me in, and I was cold, so I just came in and found you guys playing with the snakes. What happened to the garage?"

Any other time, Shani would have laughed in joy and relief at Bert's story. But Michael would not have allowed that. Ignoring Bert's question, he pointed the rifle at Park. "Your turn."

"What do you want to know?"

"You insisted that Robin drink the beer. You knew she hated alcohol. What was your motive?"

"I was drunk."

"That's not good enough."

Park sized up the diameter of the barrel, glanced at Angie, and put his hand on Robin's shoulder. "I'm a horny teenager. Angie offered to go swimming naked with me. Then Robin showed up. I thought the beer would put her to sleep and I could slip off with Angie. Skinny-dipping with a girl has always been a fantasy of mine."

In the middle of tying the handkerchief over her sister's cut, Robin stopped. Her hurt was painfully obvious. "Why didn't you swim naked with me?" she asked.

"I didn't think that you would have wanted to."

"I would have. We had a big pool at our house. We—"

Michael interrupted. "Any other confessions, Park?"

Park was angry now. "Yeah, I have something else to tell Robin. But it's none of your business. Shoot if you want; I don't care."

Michael was amused. "Famous last words. You're next, Sol."

Sol was bitter, but more than any of them, he respected a gun. "I've already said my piece."

"So you did. Lucky for you that Bert got out of that garage when he did or you would be up for manslaughter. Carting around that dynamite was pretty irresponsible of you. But you'll end up paying, one way or the other. How about you, Angie? Tell me your piece."

"I didn't poison Robin!"

"Didn't you?" He let the question hang, shifting his gun as Angie shifted anxiously.

"This is crazy," Shani blurted. "What's happened to you, Michael? No one will confess. You'd just kill them."

Michael ignored her. She was not sure that he had even heard her. Except for a slight sneer on his mouth and a thin glaze over his eyes, his face was blank. She was right. This was crazy, for he was.

"You wanted Robin out of the way," he said. "You wanted Park. And it was your house, your poison. You had the motive and the murder weapon. How convenient."

"I didn't do it!" Angie shouted.

"But you must have done something. Why, just this afternoon, when I caught Shani going through my luggage I saw you through the window throwing a burning stick at a blackbird as it ran into the garage. That stick must have touched Bert's tequila; it started quite a fire. And what did you do? Did you try to put it out? No, you ran the other way. And then, of course, there was that awful explosion. I didn't say anything at the time because I didn't know about the M80s and I wanted to give you a chance to confess. But you never did. In fact, you lied. And to tell you the truth, Angie, I think you lie a lot." He hardened his voice. "The tape is running. I'm getting impatient."

"All right, so I wanted Park! What's wrong with that? Is that such a great sin that you're going to kill me? Why was it that only Robin was supposed to have him? She's so—" Angie stopped, horrified at her slip.

"I'm so what?" Robin asked meekly, having to take another sharp stab of pain. Angie would not look at her. She spoke to Michael instead.

"She's so sweet. So cutesy. So Miss Saintly. So virginal. She's worse than the worst jerk. If you said anything bad about her, everyone would jump on you. It made me sick."

"And you wanted to change that?" Michael said.

"I didn't put the poison in the beer!"

"Answer me!" He sweated over the trigger. "What did you do?"

"I… I…" Angie bowed her head, rain — maybe tears — rolling down her cheeks. "I planted the paper dance pants in Robin's locker. I wanted to embarrass her. But it all got messed up. I only found out afterwards that Kerry was using Robin's locker because she had lost the key to her own. When I went to sneak in the paper panties, there were two uniforms, but I thought they were both Robin's. Her family's so rich, they always buy two of everything. I swear, once the pep rally actually started, I was praying that Robin had put on her good dance pants. But Kerry had on the other ones. What can I say? I'm sorry, Robin."

"What about me?" Kerry complained.

"Shut up," Michael said. "Lena's next."

With the toilet paper and the handkerchief combined as a bandage, Lena had control of her bleeding. But her breathing was laboured and sweat poured from her flushed face. Nevertheless, she remained indomitable. "I'll answer none of your questions. I don't give a damn about your antidote pills. I'm sure they're as phoney as you."

"Please cooperate with him," Robin pleaded. Lena shook her head.

"But you've been poisoned! You need the antidote!" Robin turned to Michael. "Please, I beg of you, help her. You were my friend. I liked you. Please help her."

Michael's cruel armour cracked at the edge. Swallowing thickly, he fidgeted in his chair, relaxing the grip on the rifle. But it was a brief lapse, a brief moment of sanity. Then a ruthlessness seemed to stir inside, like the memory of a bitter vow once sworn to for good or ill, and his eyes blazed.

"Phoney!" he spat. "Who could deserve that title more than you, Lena? Look at you sitting there, basking in the sympathy of the others because of the poison in your veins. But why aren't you worried? We both know, don't we? You would never have released the snakes unless you knew that none of them could poison you!"

"What?" Park asked, for all of them. Michael jumped up, knocking over his chair and pressing the door with his back and the butt of his rifle.

"How much do non-poisonous rattlers cost each?" he shouted. "Probably a lot less than a voice synthesizer to distort your recorded voice." He mimicked the sound: " 'We must have the truth of that night.' What about the truth of tonight?"

"Go to hell," Lena said.

"Is this true?" Shani asked. Michael may have been insane, but he did have an uncanny ability to expose the facts. But Lena refused to answer.

"She had a small metal box behind where she was handcuffed," Michael went on. "It was covered with buttons."

"I saw that this afternoon!" Shani exclaimed.

"As we were running out," Michael continued, "I touched one of the buttons and the lid to the snake container began to lower." He aimed his rifle. The wild light in his eyes said he wasn't bluffing. "Pull off your shorts, Lena, and throw them over here. I want to see if by chance you have a handcuff key in your pocket."

Lena was wise enough to know when she was cornered. Reaching in her back pocket, she pulled out a small silver key and threw it at Michael's feet. No one spoke, until Robin asked, "Why?"

"To get the truth of that night," Lena said, touching her bloody leg, perhaps re-evaluating the cost she had paid.

"Oh, Lena, Lena," Robin moaned. "What have you done to yourself?"

"I did it for you!" Lena cried, her own cold wall cracking at the seams. "And it was a good plan! If Bert hadn't come back when he did, it would have worked. And as far as I'm concerned, it did work."

"What did you do?" Sol asked.

"Everything," Lena said, but she would talk only to her sister, as though Robin were the only one she was accountable to. "You know it was I who talked you into this weekend, and that I was the one who sent out the invitations. But there's a lot you didn't know, a lot I couldn't tell you because you would have tried to stop me. Late Thursday night, I called everyone and told them you weren't feeling well, and that they shouldn't come. I called everyone except those here. I didn't expect Flynn — or whatever his name is — to come, but you can't have everything. In case any of the other kids in the class called to see how you were."

"I cut the phones this morning. All this was just the set up. Tonight at dinner I laced the food with barbiturates. When everyone was unconscious, I dragged them down to the recording studio and handcuffed them to the walls. Last month when I was down in San Maritz, I bought a bunch of rattlers whose venom sacs had been removed. I was going to use these snakes to scare the truth out of everyone. I even had prerecorded messages to steer the interrogation. And it was working, better than that sham the police called an investigation. Even I started to remember things I had forgotten. But then Bert showed up. I had planned for so long, I was so pissed off, so I just let the snakes go." She winced at the sight of her injury, probably realizing her leg would be seriously scarred. She added quietly, "I did it for you."

Michael was heartless. "So what's Robin to you?"

His words cut deeper than the fangs she had so bravely suffered. And this same question had been whispered again and again behind her back this entire last school year. Apparently, unknown to any of them, its hurt had been accumulating, and had reached an intolerable level. Her reserve collapsed. Pretty, powerful Lena - it was soul-wrenching to watch. Bent with sobs, she tried to speak. "She's everything to me. I would do anything for her. If she were my sister, my real blood sister, I would give her both my kidneys." She fought for control.

Robin tried to comfort her, forcing a laugh. "Silly, you didn't have to do all this for me."

"How much did the snakes cost, Lena?" Bert asked.

Flynn reset his chair. But he did not sit down. He approached Kerry, who knelt on the floor, allowing the tip of his gun to touch her forehead. "Are you sick, Kerry?" he asked gently.

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes dilating with each light brush of the black barrel.

"Do you need to throw up?"

"Yes."

"Do you have cramps?"

"Yes."

"You're sick because I poisoned you, right?"

She nodded.

"Right?"

"Yes."

"Why is Robin sick?"

"Because she got poisoned."

"Right." Michael smiled. He was happy. "Now tell me, who poisoned her? Not last November, but this weekend. Tell me."

"You."

Michael was not happy. "You're wrong. I poisoned everyone but Robin. You must have noticed how I brought her all her food and drinks. That was to be sure she didn't swallow anything bad." He smiled again. "So how is she sick?"

"Her kidneys are bad."

"But they've been bad since November, haven't they?"

"Yes. Please don't kill—"

"Then why is she suddenly so ill?" he interrupted.

"I don't know."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Be absolutely positive. If I find out later that you've lied to me on this point, I might become angry. Have you ever seen me angry, Kerry?"

"No."

"I lose my mind. I lose all control." A snake rattled outside their door. Michael was pleased. "You don't like snakes, do you, Kerry?"

"No."

"I bet you don't." He returned to his chair, sat down, crossing his legs casually. He rechecked the cassette player. "We have plenty of tape left. You can take your time, Kerry."

"What? I don't understand!"

"Sure you do. Tell me how and why you put the insecticide in Robin's glass."

"Oh, no," she began to weep. "I didn't, no."

Michael sighed. "Kerry, I'm afraid you're beginning to anger me. Did you hear my question?"

She nodded.

"Answer me."

Even had Kerry wanted to confess, she probably couldn't. Her mouth wouldn't work. Michael raised his gun, pointed it at her head.

"Don't!" Shani cried. "I did it! It was me!"

"Nice try, Shani," Michael smiled. He pulled the trigger. The stucco wall behind Kerry's head exploded in an irregular crater, sharp chips riddling the room. A clock fell off the opposite wall and landed upright on the floor. It was exactly one o'clock. Michael reset his aim an inch to the right. "I doubt a blob of red and grey would go with this room's bright yellow, don't you, Kerry?"

She shook her head, her eyes bursting. It was a miracle, Shani thought, that none of them had fainted. A demon had possessed Michael.

"Your throat's dry, I understand," he said. "Park, would you please get Kerry a glass of water from the bathroom? That's a good man."

Kerry accepted the water gratefully, swallowing it in big gulps. Finished, she put the glass down carefully, staring at Michael, a muscle twitching in her neck. But it was Robin who asked the question.

"Did you do it, Kerry?"

Kerry nodded weakly. "I did, yes."

Tears swelled in Robin's eyes. "Do you hate me, too?"

Kerry's voice was hoarse, barely audible. "No, I love you, Robin. But I hate your sister. I hate her more than I can say." She began to cough, the spasm lasting a full minute. They waited and, finally, Kerry answered the mystery.

"My car wouldn't start. It really wouldn't. I wanted Sol to give me a ride home. He said he would. I wanted to talk to him. But Lena wouldn't let him. He even told her to shut up, but she still got her way. She always gets her way. So I just sat down. I didn't know what to do. Sometimes when I get mad like that, I can't think."

"I had to go to the bathroom, and when Bert was done, I went to go. But Lena got there when I did, and she said she would only be a minute. You see, it happened again. She was always going first."

"I followed Bert into the kitchen. We didn't really talk, and then he left, and I was alone. I was just standing there, doing nothing in particular. I was angry, sure, but I wasn't thinking of doing anything bad. Then I noticed a bottle inside the cupboard beneath the sink with the word poison on it. I picked it up and, it was weird, all of a sudden I didn't feel mad any more. I felt kind of excited. The lid came off. The smell was awful. There was an empty beer mug on the counter, and I just sort of kind of poured some of the bottle in it. For a second, I guess I did think about Lena. But I wasn't hating her at that moment. I wasn't thinking of hurting her. I wasn't really thinking at all. I set the bottle down behind the beer keg. Then Sol walked in."

Kerry closed her eyes. When she spoke next, her voice was firm, clearer than it had been in a long time. "I had the glass with the poison in it in my hand. He'd caught me. But he was drunk, and couldn't see straight. But I still had to be quick because the stuff smelled so strong. The keg was right there, so I filled the glass full of beer. I just wanted to get rid of the smell. Sol didn't notice. He picked up some chips and searched around for dip. While he was doing that, I put the insecticide bottle in the ice box. I had to put it somewhere. I wiped it off and hid it behind a milk carton. I guess I must have left the poisoned beer on the counter. When I looked back, Sol had picked it up."

"Lena came into the kitchen. Sol started stumbling all over the place. She took the beer and helped him into the living room. I didn't know what to do! I couldn't say, 'Hey, I put poison in that glass. You shouldn't drink it.' I couldn't, that would have been the end of me at school. As it was, I was barely hanging on. All I could do was follow them. I followed the glass closely. Lena had it, and when Sol sat beside Robin, she gave it back to him. And he gave it to Robin. And… she drank it."

Kerry wasn't crying, but Lena and Robin were. Kerry opened her eyes, staring down at her hands, probably wondering how they could have done such a thing. "I was never sick that night," she said. "I made up the cramp routine to get Shani worried about Robin. And that's all of it. I did it, but I didn't mean to. It was… an accident."

Beyond the shattered window, the wind had quietened and the rain had stopped. Except for the snake outside the door, all was silent. Michael took his box of shells and reloaded his two spent bullets. From his pocket he drew a switchblade - Sol's eyes widening - and pressed a tiny button, bringing a deadly point into readiness. He turned to Robin and waited.

"You watched me drink it?" Robin asked finally, lost in waves of emotion she had never felt before, never knew existed, in herself or in her friends.

"Yes."

Robin shuddered. "But how? How could you have just sat there and watched me swallow that terrible stuff?"

"I was afraid." There was no life left in Kerry. She was forsaken, she knew. She was dead.

"But I drank all of it, every drop of it," Robin shook her head, clenching her fingers. "And you just sat there… and didn't stop me." She screamed at Michael. "Why did you make me know this? I didn't want to know!"

"I did," he said, setting aside his rifle, to where Sol and Park could have grabbed it if they were quick. Yet neither moved. Michael ran a finger up the switchblade, pausing at the tip. Sighing, he got up and knelt beside Kerry on the floor. He was no longer crazy. He looked completely sane, very sad. He asked, "Did you tamper with the dialysis machine?"

Kerry nodded. "I took out the cellophane membrane. It's in my closet."

"Did you want to make Lena look bad, look like she was hurting her sister?"

"Yes. I was going to put it back tonight. I really was."

"You know, I believed you when you said the poisoning was an accident. But this… this purposely hurting Robin, I can't understand that."

"I hate Lena," Kerry whispered.

Michael nodded. "And you can't say how much. I haven't forgotten."

"She took Sol away. He was mine and she just took him. Whatever she wants, she takes. She doesn't care."

Michael put the knife to Kerry's throat, and scratched her slightly. Kerry flinched only slightly. He looked at Robin. "Well?"

"Are you going to kill her?" Robin asked.

"If you want me to."

"Do it!" Lena said.

"It's Robin's decision," Michael said.

Robin was unrecognisable. Malice in Lena or Kerry was natural. In Robin, it was horrifying.

"No, Robin," Park said. "Tell him no."

Robin exploded. "But she deserves death! She ruined my life! What have I left? Nothing!"

"You have me, if you want me," Park pleaded. "That's what I was going to tell you."

"But what am I?" she cried. "I'm half human! I need a machine to keep me alive. Every day for the rest of my life, I have to sit with needles and tubes in me to clean my dirty blood. And I hurt all the time. I'm in constant pain. I can't run. I can't dance. I can't swim. I can't eat what I want. I can't do anything! And I'm dying." She began to cry. "I don't want to die."

"Neither do I," Kerry whispered.

Michael had handled a knife before. His hand waited, motionless, narrowing the night to the blade's razor edge. With a word, Robin could pull them all - for a vengeful decision would leave none unscarred -into the nightmare her life had become. Michael was subtle and crafty, yet he had not known Robin long, and could not know that this was not the real Robin being given an opportunity to decide. In the confusion, in the plots within plots, he had lost her, and she'd become a frightened child who'd forgotten who she was. Shani recalled the old man, the calm, even perspective she had felt in his presence. Robin knew him well. Surely he had touched her a similar way.

Robin bowed her head. "I don't know what to do."

All was quiet. Even the snake had gone away.

"Sing," Shani said.

Robin raised her head. "What did you say?"

Shani sat beside her on the bed. Even as Robin took her hand, she knew the nightmare was over. "I want to hear you sing."

"I wouldn't mind some music," Bert said.

Robin began to dry her eyes, her once bright green eyes, now dimmed because of her illness. Looking into them, Shani had a second sensation of deja vu. And at last, she began to understand, seeing Michael in his true light. He lowered his knife, smiled back. His eyes were identical to Robin's.

"You read my story," Robin said.

Shani nodded. "I liked the ending. Can we have the same one?"

"Sure." Robin hugged her. The room breathed again. Park and Sol shook hands. Bert clapped. Robin laughed. "But my throat's too sore to sing," she said. "Michael, put away that knife and give me the cassette player. You're so mean and smart, but you've recorded nothing. You forgot to remove the PAUSE button. It's just as well. I recorded a song on that tape that I wanted to play at this party."

Michael relinquished his command readily, giving the switchblade to Sol and the recorder to Robin. Park picked up the rifle but he didn't know whether he was supposed to point it at anyone or not. Michael was his old charming self. It had all been an act, and it seemed as if a great burden had been lifted from him. Vaguely, Shani could guess what it had been.

Robin played her song:

"Blackbird, singing in the dead of night, 
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
 All your life, you were only waiting for
this moment to arise …"



When the song was over, everyone agreed that Robin had never sounded better. When the chatter died down, Shani said to Michael, "I know who you are." Eyebrows were raised around the room, but he was not surprised. "You're Luke Skywalker." She pointed at Robin. "And she's Princess Leia."

"You're right," Park gasped, turning from one to the other.

"Do I have to be Paul Bunyon again?" Bert asked.

"What's she talking about?" Robin asked, not having a clue.

Like a royal subject, Michael waited at her feet. "We were born together," he said. "I am your twin brother."

"It's true," Lena whispered, seeing the resemblance, which should have been clear from the beginning.

Robin did not shout or cry out. Her joy was beyond flagrant emotions. "Before I got sick and had it cut, my hair was like yours," she said, running her bony fingers once through his dark curls. "I should show you a picture of myself from last year. We looked alike, then."

"I would like to see it," Michael said.

"How did you find me?" she asked.

"Our mother always knew where you were."

Robin sucked in a breath. "She's alive! And our father?"

Michael shook his head. "He died in a car accident before we were born. That's why all this has been… the way it has been. Above all else, Robin, you have to understand that your mother loves you. She's a wonderful woman."

"Oh, I believe you! I do."

"But you want to know why she let you go?"

"I didn't want to ask. But, yeah, I'd like to know."

Michael took a deep breath, preparing himself for a speech. "She was young. When our father died, her world collapsed. This was only days before we were born. She had no money, no family, no insurance. When we came along, a local paper wrote about her tragedy, focusing upon us in particular. A wealthy and powerful man was in England at this time. His name was Samuel Carlton. Recently, his wife had come to the decision - biologically too late in life - that she wanted children. Neither of them was used to waiting for what they wanted. A year for a typical adoption was too long. Besides, they were both too old and probably wouldn't have qualified. When we were five days old, Mr. Carlton sent a man to the hospital offering our mother a huge sum in exchange for her baby girl and her signature on some papers. Our mother had not expected twins. She wasn't yet twenty. She wasn't sure how to take care of even one baby. The money was a fortune to her. Without having read them, she signed the papers."

"That would have been the end of it but for a picture of Mrs. Carlton and her recently adopted daughter printed, without her permission or knowledge, on the back pages of The Times ten days later. Our mother recognised the baby girl. As a result, she knew who had bought you."

"Years went by. When we were six, our mother married a nice, boring accountant. I call him Dad, but we don't have much in common. Mum never had any other children. But she did subscribe to a newspaper from Santa Barbara, paying a faithful monthly sum to have it delivered to Plymouth, collecting clippings of a growing girl named Robin Carlton. Later, she told me how happy she had been when she had read that you had a sister. However, during this time I never knew I had a sister. Oh, this will surprise you: 'Robin' was the name you were given at birth."

"When we were twelve, our mother's guilt must have caught up with her. She wrote to Mr. and Mrs. Carlton requesting permission to visit you. They were aghast that their identity had become known to her. Their reply was a venomous no. They threatened that if she so much as called or wrote again, they would destroy — that was the word used - her and her family. It was not an idle threat. Whether you know it or not, Mr. Carlton's reputation in the business world is one of extreme ruthlessness. Our mother backed off, though it hurt her grievously. For some not-so-mysterious reason, the Santa Barbara paper stopped coming. News of Robin Carlton's life came to a halt."

"Last November, while I was at school and my stepdad was at work, Mr. Carlton paid a personal visit to our mother. He told her of your accident and your need for a compatible kidney. He offered a million dollars for one of her - or my - kidneys, given that the tissue types were consistent. He told her the specifics of the typing, which, by the way, I reaffirmed this afternoon by going through your medical records. Our mother threw him out of the house."

"When I came home, Mum was bent over the kitchen table, crying over faded newspaper clippings of a pretty, brown-haired American girl. And so I first learned of you."

"Understand, our mother did not throw Mr. Carlton out of the house because she no longer cared about you. It was his attitude. He demanded a kidney. He wanted it right then and there. He acted like his money gave him the right. This offended our mother deeply, for, as must be clear to you by now, she had been tormented with regret since the day she had let you go. Never again would she sell her flesh. However, she was more than willing to give it away, if her own kidneys would do."

"Yet when we went to the hospital and had the necessary tests, it became clear from the information Mr. Carlton had left that I was the one, the only one, who could give a kidney."

Michael paused, apparently trying to remember back to how he felt at the time. Lena grew impatient and started to speak. Robin silenced her with an elbow in the ribs. Finally, Michael continued. "I didn't know you. To me, you were a complete stranger. And maybe it sounds selfish, but I wasn't too keen on the idea of a surgeon cutting into my lower back and removing a part that I imagined I might one day need. So what did I do? I did nothing. I postponed my decision. Mum understood. Together, we waited."

"Mr. Carlton did not give up on us completely. When your first transplant failed, he sent us a photocopy of a letter from a team of doctors at the Stanford Medical Centre that stated that a blood relative willing to donate a kidney would be necessary before they would attempt a second transplant. He raised his offer to two million dollars."

"I had been wondering what you were like. I had a picture of you as a twelve-year-old from the newspaper, but it was of poor quality and I was really more curious about your personality. It got to where I was carrying on imaginary conversations with you in my head. When I saw the doctor's letter, I decided I had to meet you. He had after all, been in our mother's house, and my picture had been on the wall. Then I would take if from there."

"I cashed in some bonds — which, by the way, had been bought by our mother with the money that had bought you - and came to California. Getting enrolled in your school under false I.D. was no problem. What did worry me was that Mr. Carlton would see me, and recognise me. You may have noticed, I never came over when either of your parents was at home. I was taking no chances. What did surprise me was that your nurse seemed to recognise me, or at least, was affected enough by my appearance to get funny ideas. Maybe because she met me with no preconceptions, she noticed my resemblance to you. It's possible that Mr. Carlton told her that you had a brother. She was awfully wary of me. Perhaps she was worried that I had come to steal you away. Later, we must ask her."

"Why did I feel I had to keep my identity a secret? For my very reason in coming, to get to know you, know you as you really were. Imagine if I had introduced myself as the one who could save you. Had you been a monster, you would still have been nice to me. Unfortunately, I was here several months and only got to meet you a handful of times. Certainly, I liked you, and I was leaning towards giving you one of my kidneys. Nevertheless, I was not one hundred per cent decided. And a second objective had caught my fancy: I wanted to know who had poisoned you."

"Because they had been at the party, I made friends with Sol and Park, and through them, with the others in this room, with the exception of Shani. Casually, in conversation, I would enquire about that night. I learned a lot, probably more than the police ever did. Indeed, I became convinced that Kerry had been the culprit. Yet, again, I was not positive. I heard talk of this weekend party. It appeared a perfect opportunity to get to know you better, and at the same time to flush out your attempted murderer. I made sure I was invited. I began to make plans."

Michael paused, studying them closely. "Here, I must apologise for making plans that used you all. Maybe with this insight into my motives, you will be able to forgive me." He chuckled. "But wasn't I surprised to wake up in the basement next to snakes and find that I also was being used? Lena never told me of her scheme - why should she have? - yet she simplified my task by allowing only the essential personnel to come here. I must congratulate you, Lena. Your plan was clever. But it was too complex. Mine was simple: corner you and literally force the truth out. Poor Shani, I had her thinking I was the reincarnation of The Ripper. By the way, my best subject back home was drama."

"You mean, no matter what Robin decided, you weren't going to kill me?" Kerry asked. Basking in the relief that her throat wasn't going to be slit, she hadn't yet reflected upon her new social status. When she did, Shani had to worry that Kerry would cut her own throat.

"Of course not."

"But you already had Kerry's confession," Shani said. "Why did you continue, putting Robin in that terrible spot?"

"Before coming here this weekend, I had never heard the old man's story. But it got me thinking how I could once and for all decide whether Robin deserved my kidney. That, after all, had been my primary reason in coming to the States. It was still more important to me than separating the innocent from the guilty." He smiled, pleased at his sister, as pleased as Eagle had been with Dove.

"You wanted to hear Robin sing," Shani said.

"I always like to hear her," Bert said. "She has a great voice."

"And only you knew that, Shani," Michael said, climbing to his feet, pulling Robin with him and hugging her tightly. "You're going to be well, sister."

Not all the tears this night were sadness. "You'll give me your kidney? You would do that for me?"

Who would have thought that Michael could laugh louder than Bert? "You get the first one free. But if you want a second one, then we'll have to negotiate."

Robin clapped her hands together. "But I have to give you something for the first one. Name it. I have a ton of charge cards."

"How about if you give me Shani's phone number?"

"Hey," Lena said, insulted, "I can make you a much better offer than Shani."

"Want to bet?" Shani said.

Sol shook Michael's hand. "You should have been born in the barrio. You're a real man. Just don't go borrowing my knife again without asking."

Lena punched Sol. "And don't go buying fireworks again."

Bert slapped Michael on the back, almost knocking him over. "I like you, Flynn Michaels! Any time you need a kidney, you just call Big Bert!"

Park kissed Robin. "I didn't know Michael was your brother," he said, "but I thought you might have one somewhere. That's what I was about to suggest when the garage blew."

"Then it was your idea," Robin laughed, "and you get all the credit." She whispered something in his ear.

"Of course I meant it!" Park said, indignant. Shani could easily guess what Robin had asked.

Angie and Kerry wished Robin all good luck with the operation and Robin accepted their sentiments graciously. Both were crushed: Angie for having lost Park, Kerry for having lost everything. Nevertheless, they were genuinely happy for Robin. Watching the celebration, Shani knew no word of what had really happened this weekend would be revealed to the outside world. Michael and Robin would not allow it. Both of them had too much class. The rest of them had too much to hide.

In the middle of pumping Michael's hand, Park suddenly grabbed his stomach. "Man, I've got to go to the bathroom again." He was on his way when he suddenly jumped as if shot. "Wait a second, Michael! You're not such a nice guy. You poisoned us! Where are those pills?"

Michael started to laugh so hard that Robin looked worried that he would burst one of his precious kidneys. He fell on the carpet, losing all control. Park was red with humiliation. He actually kicked Michael. "Damn you! This can't have been a joke! You must have poisoned us! We're all sick!"

"Yes, oh yes, all poisoned!" Michael gasped, quickly launching into a second binge. There was nothing they could do but wait. Finally, recovering, he managed to pull his orange pills out of his pocket and throw them to Park. With Sol peering over his shoulder, Park studied the prescription label.

"This is Aureomycin!" he complained. "What kind of antidote is that?"

Worn out, Michael sat up. "It's the best remedy there is for bacterial dysentery."

"Montezuma's Revenge!" Bert exclaimed, showing the knowledgeable fellow he was when it came to the important things in life.

"Impossible," Park said. "Bacterial dysentery takes several days to incubate."

"This is what I meant about you all having to forgive me. Lena's partly to blame. She pointed out the wonderful possibility to me when I first arrived."

"What did you do?" Lena asked sharply.

"I removed the filter from the water purifier. When was the last time you changed it? The thing was a mess: all slimy and green." He started to laugh again. "It had the worst smell."

Shani shook her head. "I don't want to hear this."

But Michael insisted. "I put the filter into the storage tank that feeds the kitchen tap. The bacteria didn't have to incubate. You swallowed billions of the tiny creatures!"

Lena was disgusted. "That's absolutely the grossest thing I've ever heard in my life!"

Park was mad. "That was totally uncalled for!"

Sol agreed with them both. "Yeah!"

Michael grinned at their suddenly hostile faces. They provided him with endless amusement, it seemed. "It's your own fault," he said. "Didn't any of you read that big sign when we drove across the border? It said: DON'T DRINK THE WATER!"





EPILOGUE
The Stanford University Medical Centre was not the towering thirty-storey-plus structure Shani had expected. It was, rather, only a couple of storeys tall, although the place covered almost an entire city block, and was surrounded by beautiful manicured lawns and a maze of cement walkways overrun with white-clad medical personnel and slow-moving patients. She was glad to see it. They had made the drive from Santa Barbara in one fell swoop. Park had borrowed Robin's Porsche, and the high numbers at the end of the speedometer had seemed to fascinate him. A speeding ticket one hundred miles ago hadn't dented his fascination. What had really started her worrying was the organ donor card he had had her fill out when she had got in the car.

"It's big," Shani said. The day sparkled and the sun was dazzling. A cool, salty breeze from the not-too-distant San Francisco Bay poured through the car's open windows.

"A very astute observation," Park said.

"How will we find Robin in all of this?"

"She sent me a map."

"Where is it?"

"On the back of a letter she wrote me."

"And that's at home, right?"

"It was a personal letter. But never fear, I memorized the directions." Without signalling, he made a sharp right. They rolled down a shadowed alley towards the parking lot. They had to take a ticket, and would have to pay, but who could complain when they were cruising in a car worth forty grand? While searching for a vacant spot, Park asked, "Do you feel any different?"

"I feel a lot different."

"So do I."

She let a minute go by before asking. "What do we feel different about?"

"Graduating, of course. For three weeks now we have ceased to be immature, irresponsible adolescents."

"Doing ninety on the way up here wasn't irresponsible?"

"It showed I am a man of consequence."

Shani took away his rearview mirror and began to brush her hair for the twentieth time, worrying that she had on too much make-up. Maybe Michael preferred the natural look. She hadn't worn lipstick down in Mexico and he had liked her there. And this yellow dress she and her mother had bought yesterday was way too formal for a hospital visit.

"All I remember from graduation night was being sick," she said.

"You drank too much Insecticide Lite."

"I didn't drink a thing. And you should talk. When was the last time the valedictorian had to excuse himself three times in the middle of his speech?"

"I was being given important updates," he said. For some unfathomable reason, he passed an empty parking spot. "Are you feeling better?"

"Finally. How about you?"

"I still get occasional updates."

"That's one good thing that came out of that weekend. Never again can you bother me about having messed my pants in kindergarten."

"I will never mention it to the end of my days." Park swung in between a Cadillac and a Ferrari. He had been waiting for equal status in his adjoining parking spots.

Shani got out and stretched. Butterflies were climbing out of their cocoons in her stomach. She had not seen Michael since their wild weekend at the Carlton Castle. Maybe he had found a cute nurse. Maybe he had forgotten her name. Why hadn't he written? She popped a Rolaids.

"I told you that Sol's here?" Park said, locking the doors. They started towards the hospital.

"Yes. Did he drive up in his new van?"

"Lena sent him a plane ticket. They must really have relaxed the quarantine regulations to let him in to see Robin."

"I'm glad she can have visitors now. I talked to about ten people who wanted to come up next weekend. The doctors say she's doing great."

Park nodded enthusiastically. "They say she'll be as good as new."

Shani hesitated before speaking next. She still had a warm feeling for the old man. "I wonder if the shaman came to visit."

"I can't see that."

"Maybe he visited in spirit."

"I can't see that either."

Shani resented his conceit. "I still feel that everything that happened that weekend happened because of him."

They hopped onto a sidewalk, passing an elderly couple who were yelling into each other's earphones. "He was just an ordinary man, Shani. Don't be that simple. There was nothing special about him."

She was suddenly mad. "What about his story?"

"Broad-based metaphors, easy to interpret a dozen different ways. He knew that Robin had been poisoned and that she could sing. Other than that—"

"You're being simplistic," she interrupted. "His characters obviously mirrored the people in our group. Robin was Dove, Lena was Raven, and Michael was Eagle."

"Who was Snake - Kerry?"

"Snake was a more symbolic character. He or she represented the selfish motives in all of us."

"Oh, brother. So what does any of this prove?"

"The story explained how Eagle was Dove's brother, and how he reappeared at a critical moment to give her a life and death decision. And that's what happened in real life."

"Because Michael had heard the story! Don't you remember, that's where he got the idea from?"

"That's where he got the idea to be Robin's brother?"

"No! Look, your parallel breaks down in a dozen different places. In the story, Dove had to decide whether Raven was her friend or enemy. Robin never had to decide that about Lena."

"Who said Lena was Raven?"

"You just did."

"Oh. What I meant was that all of us were debating in our minds whether Lena was to be trusted or not. She fulfilled Raven's character, but in a broad way. Don't laugh at me!"

"You're too much, Shani. If he could see the future, why didn't he have Eagle donate a kidney to Dove at the end of the story?"

"How could an eagle give a dove a compatible kidney?" She knew the question wasn't going to help her argument. But Park didn't jump all over her. They were approaching the entrance, and apparently he had decided that their argument had better conclude before they got inside.

"Okay, maybe he was an oracle and could turn himself into a bird and all kinds of weird stuff like that. But I would be a lot more convinced of his powers if he had predicted the rest of that night. Remember, the real fun didn't start until after we found out who Michael was."

Shani had to agree there. After Michael's bad-taste joke about the water, while Lena started Robin's dialysis with the replaced filter, the men had gone after the snakes with Mr. Carlton's rifle collection. Though they weren't poisonous, the rattlers hadn't forgotten how to bite. Sol almost blew his toes off, and ended up with four neat holes in his calf. Yet that damage was insignificant compared to what Bert did with his gun. He murdered a perfectly harmless TV, refrigerator, toaster and bathtub. But true to form, he compensated fully with a Big Bert Masterpiece later in the night when they were all sitting peacefully in the living room thinking that all the snakes were dead. As luck or fate would have it, there was still one alive, hiding in the chair where Kerry was sitting. At first, it must have been asleep, for it didn't stir until she kicked the chair back into the reclining position. Then the old serpent came alive with a vengeance and bit into Kerry's shoulder. And everyone had thought that Kerry couldn't dance. While she spun in a hysterical fit, the rest of them screaming for her to stand still, the entire room a blur of motion, Bert calmly picked up his rifle and, without blinking an eye, shot the snake into two equal halves. Kerry had fainted.

About an hour after that, a helicopter carrying Mr. Carlton and Nurse Porter landed on the beach. Their weary group had gone to bed, but the rotor blades woke them promptly. The instant Mr. Carlton saw Michael he turned an angry red, but Robin came up quickly and shouted the good news. Mr. Carlton was pleased, to say the least. It made explaining the missing garage so much easier. Being the hero of the hour, Michael's theory of an underground cavity of natural gas impressed Mr. Carlton. The shrewd tycoon even went so far as to say he would sink a well on the property. With his gold thumb, chances were he would strike oil. He promised Sol a new van, which Sol received inside a week. On the other hand, even Park's smooth words could not explain the shot TV, refrigerator, toaster and bathtub. Mr. Carlton told them that he wanted no more parties at his house.

Shani winced at the odour as they entered the Medical Centre. Hospitals always smelled like sickness to her — as she supposed they should — like a blend of blood, medicine and high bills. Maybe she would become a psychologist instead of a psychiatrist. Getting through medical school without spending time in a hospital would be too difficult.

"So you're definitely not going to Harvard this fall?" she asked. A whiff of paint from the warm orange walls gave the relatively deserted reception area a brand new tone. Park led them confidently past an information desk. She had to assume he knew where he was going.

"I've already written them a letter declining my acceptance."

"Are your parents mad?"

"Not at all. They haven't said a word to me about it."

"Have you told them?"

"No."

"Don't you think you'll miss being the Ivy League hotshot?"

"I look at it this way: if I stay here with Robin, then we'll probably end up getting married, and I'll have a hold of millions. Then I can buy Harvard."

"That's what I like about you, Park; you'll sacrifice anything for love. Hey!" she pointed. "There's Lena." Their red-haired tigress was sitting in a chair by the elevators browsing through a Playgirl magazine.

"I recognize the chest. Hey, lovely Lena!"

Lena closed the magazine, tossing it a couple of seats over for some innocent young girl to find and be corrupted by. She wore a white sweater, and long black trousers that hid her scars. Next month, a plastic surgeon was going to fix those blemishes.

"You made good time," she said. "How did the car run?"

"Very, very fast," Shani said. "How's Robin?"

"She has her appetite back. During the past seven days, she hasn't stopped eating. You're going to have to talk to her, Park. You don't want a pig for a girlfriend."

"Where's Sol?" Park asked.

"Here I am," Sol said, strolling up slowly. He had lost considerable weight in the last month.

"Were you at the bathroom?" Park asked with undisguised pleasure.

Sol scratched his head. "I thought I was over it, but those damn bugs came back as soon as I ran out of medicine. I tried to buy some of the pills here, but they told me I had to see a doctor. As if I had the dough to pay for one of these white coats walking around here."

"Daddy gave you insurance," Lena said. "You don't have to pay anything."

Mr. Carlton had hired Sol out of his Hollywood office as an all-purpose errand boy. He paid him peanuts and left him little time to see Lena. But one day at the Carlton residence, Shani had overheard the old capitalist remark that he saw in Sol the ruthlessness necessary to run his company. She could see it now: five years down the road Sol and Park would be in the family and would be fighting each other for control of the Carlton empire.

"The insurance doesn't take effect until I've worked for six months," Sol said. "I'll be an amoeba by then."

Lena pulled a jar of pink pills from her purse. "Take my medicine, I'm already cured. How's the rest of the gang?"

"Bert didn't get sick at all," Shani said. "He lives a charmed life. Angie said she's practically one hundred per cent. Oh! I have to tell you! I didn't even tell Park this!"

"What?" Park asked, excited.

"Naah, it's nothing. Never mind."

"What?" Park demanded.

"Bert and Angie have got together," she said.

Sol and Lena laughed. Park didn't. "Define 'have got together'," he said.

Lena reached for her Playgirl magazine. "There's a picture in here that defines it perfectly."

"Come on," Park said, impatient, his ego bruised.

"I'd check out Lena's picture if you really want to—" Shani began.

"This is ridiculous!" Park interrupted."What would Angie be doing with Bert?"

"The same things she did with you," Sol said.

"Shut up."

"I've found the picture," Lena said, spreading open a page. "See, Park, this is what Angie and Bert—"

"Shut up!"

"Who are you telling to shut up?" Lena asked.

"Yeah!" Sol said.

"Both of you!" Park pointed an angry finger at her. "You're making this up!"

"Why are you so upset?" Shani asked. "You're the one who dumped Angie, remember?"

"I didn't dump her in Bert's lap!"

"She was bound to get another boyfriend," Lena said.

"But it's only been four weeks! Whatever happened to a period of mourning?"

"You dumped her, you didn't die," Shani explained patiently.

"You've got a point there," Park admitted. "And I've got Robin. There's no reason for me to be jealous." He sighed. "But Bert - I'm not going to surf with that jerk any more."

"How's Kerry?" Sol asked, glancing at Lena.

"I'm not saying anything," Lena said, holding her magazine at various angles.

"Kerry's sick," Shani said seriously. "She's lost a lot of weight. None of the drugs are working on her. She may have to be hospitalized. Her parents are really worried."

"Mine know the feeling," Lena muttered.

Shani snatched away her magazine. "I want you to do something for me, Lena."

"What?"

"Call Kerry. She's sick because she can't stop worrying. Call her and promise her you'll never reveal her evil deed. Please?"

"They would just fight," Sol said.

"Kerry would just hang up," Park said.

"No," Lena said quietly. "We didn't fight, and she didn't hang up. I called her this morning."

"Did Robin make you?" Sol asked suspiciously.

"Robin doesn't make me do anything. It was my idea. We had a long talk, don't ask me about what. I think she'll start feeling better soon."

Shani was impressed. "I'm proud of you."

"Bert's kissing Angie and Lena's calling Kerry," Park told the ceiling. "What's this world coming to?"

"Just don't let it get around," Lena said. "I don't want to ruin my image." She stood, plucking back her magazine, folding it under her arm. "I've been waiting here to lead you to Robin. They've moved her to another room. Her mother's with her. She's an all-right lady. But I don't think Daddy and she are ever going to get along."

They followed Lena into the elevator. Park asked the question that was on all their minds. "Does this make you want to find your real mother?"

"Nope." Lena pushed button two. The door closed. They jerked upwards.

"But you must sometimes wonder about her?" Shani asked delicately.

"Nope."

"And it's none of our business," Shani added quickly.

But Lena's gaze was suddenly turned far away as she leaned against the back of the elevator and allowed them a rare glimpse into her feelings. "I think about my real father," she said softly. "I often dream about him." She chuckled, embarrassed. "It's just as well I'll never meet him. He's probably an ass, like his daughter."

They exited on to a blue-carpeted corridor that stretched forever in both directions. Leading her flock, Lena turned to the left. Shani had to work to keep up with her. Now would be as good a time as any. "Where's Michael's room?" she asked.

"The other direction." Lena didn't break stride or elaborate.

"You haven't been trying to impress him with your feminine charms, have you?" Shani asked. You could get away with a lot more with Lena these days.

"Hey," Sol said.

"Not yet."

"Hey," Sol said again.

"I heard he's being discharged today," Lena said, playing with her. A mild infection had kept Michael in longer than anticipated.

"I know." Robin had given her the news two days ago. He hadn't gone out of his way to let her know. True, he had called a couple of weeks ago, and he'd said that he was looking forward to seeing her. But he had been short on the phone, and hadn't explained whether he was returning immediately to England or what. This was her big worry. "What's his room number?" she asked.

"I thought you came to see Robin."

"Lena!"

"Two-forty-six."

Shani halted. "Tell Robin I'll be there in a few minutes." She reversed her direction, treading through a herd of nurses and orderlies, feeling like she was climbing the wrong way up an escalator.

"Knock, knock." She rapped on his open door and peered inside. He stood with his back to her folding a shirt in his suitcase. As he turned she noticed an awkwardness in his once mercurial fluidity. Probably his incision was still healing. Had he any regrets? she wondered. His warm smile said that he didn't. He spread his arms. It was the best hug of her life, though rather feeble. Michael had lost weight.

"You look great," he said, holding her at arm's length, admiring her dress. "Is that a new outfit?"

She knew she was blushing. "Just something I dug out of the closet," she lied. It came back to her right away — instant karma. She had forgotten to remove the price tag from beneath her right armpit. Michael was holding it in his hand.

"Sixty-nine, ninety-five." He nodded. "I would say it's worth every penny."

This would have to happen to her! She couldn't decide whether to laugh or weep, and ended up doing some of both. "I bought it yesterday, dammit!" she said, fighting with the tag.

He took a step back, amused at her language. "Well, now that you have my approval, you can throw out the receipt." He threw up his arms, warding off her blows. "Hey, I was only joking! Please, no kidney shots!"

She was easily pacified. She gestured at his suitcase. "I see that you're all ready to go."

"Just about." He returned to his packing. Shani wandered over to the window, from where she could see their parked Porsche, with plenty of room in the back for an extra passenger. There were questions she was afraid to ask.

"How are you feeling, Michael?"

"Great."

"Is your infection gone?"

"Completely."

"That's good." She noticed that her hands were trembling. She went to stuff them in her pockets, then realized the dress didn't have any. He was staring at her.

"What's the matter, Shani?"

"Nothing." She smiled quickly. "How does it feel to have only one kidney?"

"I feel lighter." He folded a pair of jeans. "I should have all my spare parts removed."

"I bet you're anxious to get out of here."

"I sure am."

"I bet the food's been lousy."

"So-so."

"Did you get to see Robin much?"

"Every day."

"I hear she's doing great."

"She looks like a new person."

"That must make you feel good."

"It sure does. I just wish I hadn't waited so long to decide."

"Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you going to do now?"

"Go home." He was collecting his books, preoccupied.

"Right away?" Her heart was breaking.

"Today."

"Is your mother going with you?"

"No, she will be staying with Robin. Could you hand me that notebook, Shani?"

She did so and went back to her window, not wanting him to see her cry. But his hands were on her shoulders, turning her slowly around in spite of her resistance. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"There must be something wrong."

"No, I'm just… I'm just happy." She plucked a tissue from a box next to the sink and blew her nose. "It's just such a relief that Robin's okay, that's all."

He believed her, the fool. He was not interested. He did not care. He stepped back to his suitcase, snapping it shut. "Shall we be on our way? I want to say goodbye to Robin."

"I haven't even said hello."

They were in the corridor, and she was counting the steps, trying to slow down time. During these last four weeks, she had constructed a castle in the sky, only to find out now that all that was holding it up was misdirected hope. Why was he bothering to take her hand! "Can we give you a ride to the airport?" she asked, miserable.

"Can't I get a ride back with you?"

She stopped. "Huh?"

"Oh, is the Porsche too small? Maybe I can catch a cab, then."

"But… ah . . but…" She took a breath, swallowed it. "Aren't you going back to England?"

"Eventually, but I want to attend college out here. The weather's so wretched back in Plymouth. I think I've been spoiled. I consider this my home now." He studied her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Nothing at all! "Where are you going to go to school?"

"The same one as you - if I can get in this late - U.C., Santa Barbara. I want to stay near Robin and the rest of you guys. Why do you ask? I explained this all in my letter."

"What letter?"

"I sent it three days ago."

"I didn't get it."

"It probably arrived after you left this morning. Was that the problem? You thought I was going to run off on you!"

"No! I mean, you're going to do what you're going to do." She added lamely, "What have I got to do with any of it?"

Michael put down his suitcase. Though there were many in the hallway to see them, he leaned over and kissed her. She was such a mass of nerves that she could scarcely react. When he pulled away, he was frowning.

"I've got to get you a snake, Shani."

She caught his drift. The first time they had kissed, when she had let herself go, had been immediately after her escape from the rattler in the ravine. So he thought she was cold-blooded! Tired of playing the role of the wimp, she curled her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her height. "Michael," she murmured, "I never told anyone this before, but I sleep with a snake."

For an instant — a gleeful moment — he tried to back away. But she had a firm hold of him, one that hopefully would last a while.





Robin's room was a florists' shop, her visitors lost amid rainbows of petals and fragrances. Propped in a white mountain of pillows, the celebrated patient had the best view and the healthiest complexion in the entire Medical Centre. Shani could hardly comprehend the transformation. Mother Time had swept Robin back to early November. She even had a tan.

"Shani!"

"Robin!"

And Lena had been right about her sister's appetite. Hugging Robin, Shani could feel none of the protruding ribs she'd felt during their embrace four weeks ago at the start of their weekend of fun and relaxation at the Carlton Castle.

"I'm glad you're here," Robin beamed, keeping hold of her hand. Michael remained in the background.

"I have to tell you," Shani said, "this is the last time I'm going to visit you in a hospital."

"This is the last time I'm going to be in one!"

"Is this the friend you told me about?" A handsome woman with Robin's features and Michael's hair asked the question in the sweetest English accent imaginable. She stood on the opposite side of the bed, her eyes sparkling when they looked at her daughter.

"Yes, this is Shani. Shani, meet my mum. Don't we look alike?"

Shani offered her hand. "Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Richardson." She hoped that was her name.

"The pleasure's mine. I've heard a lot about you."

"Don't believe everything Robin tells you. We have a mutual secret pact to boost each other's public image."

Mrs. Richardson glanced at Michael. "I was referring to what my son has told me about you."

Shani reddened. If his mother liked her, she was already in good shape. "What did he say?"

Michael cleared his throat. "Mum, I just found out that she sleeps with a snake."

"Michael!" Mrs. Richardson said, shocked.

"It's a small snake, very clean," Park said, always quick to catch on, the bastard.

"I was… it was just a joke," Shani stuttered.

"Don't be embarrassed, Shani," Michael said. "My mother understands."

"We all have our little quirks," Park said. "I've known Shani since kindergarten." He slapped his knee with delight. "Then she used to sleep with frogs. We used to kid her that she'd grow up with warts but, of course, we were wrong. I don't think her snake has hurt her skin any, either. Do you, Sol?"

"Her skin looks okay to me."

"But—" Shani began.

"I slept with a twelve-foot python once," Lena said.

Before Shani could recover her voice, Mrs. Richardson — regarding Lena and her with more than a hint of reservation — excused herself. "I was just on my way out to get Robin a drink," she said.

"We can ring the nurse," Robin said.

"Let's not bother her, dear. All of these kind folk here are already doing so much for us. I'll be back in a moment." Mrs. Richardson left the room in a hurry.

Shani had to fight her keep the steam out of her voice. "That wasn't very funny. She must think I'm a real nut."

"You weren't serious about the snake, were you?" Michael asked innocently.

"She told you that she sleeps with a snake?" Park asked.

"A few minutes ago."

"You say weird things like that, and you get all worked up over a little teasing?" Park said.

Feeling like she was the butt of one too many jokes, Shani sat down, grumbling, "I need a stiff drink."

Sol heard her, nodded. "I could use a beer."

Park pulled himself away from his reptile fantasies long enough to remark, "I could use a six-pack."

"Funny you should say that," Robin chuckled, glancing briefly out of the open window next to her bed. The inflowing breeze was chilly. She pointed to a small refrigerator in the far corner. "The person who had this room before me had it stocked with his own brand of medicine. Take a look, Park. You'll find a few bottles of Heineken."

There were only three bottles, not enough for each of them, but Park also found a packet of clear plastic cups in the miniature refrigerator, and with these he very carefully transformed the bottles into six equal shares, apparently including Robin as a drinking buddy. Shani did not think this was a wise move but she held her tongue when she saw how Robin's eyes brightened as she accepted the six-ounce glass of beer. The drink probably had symbolic significance, to her, and would make her feel she had indeed come the full circle, and really was healed.

"Let's have a toast!" Robin said, raising her cup. The rest of them did likewise, everyone smiling with pleasure.

"What are we toasting?" Michael asked.

"Profit," Park said.

"Pleasure," Lena said.

"Pleasure and profit," Sol said.

"But this is a special occasion," Robin murmured, blushing. "I want to toast to our long and healthy lives."

Who could argue with her? Park raised his glass high. "Hear! Hear! To our long and profitable lives!"

But before any of them could so much as take a sip, a bird, a huge black raven, swooped through the window, brushing Lena's and Sol's heads, scaring the wits out of both of them. It circled the room twice and came to rest on Robin's shoulder.

"This is Rita," Robin said casually, in response to their transfixed expressions.

"Rita," Park whispered.

Michael frowned. "Haven't I seen this bird before?"

"I have," Sol muttered.

"We all have," Lena said.

"Of course you have," Robin smiled. She put down her beer, and patted her feathered friend. "Rita goes where I go. She's like a guardian angel."

Rita hopped off Robin's shoulder on to the table where Robin had her glass. The bird stuck its beak into the cup and took a drink.

A moment later, she spat the beer back into the cup.

Everyone looked down at their glasses.

They decided to pass on the toast, and tossed the beer down the sink. They were taking no chances.