Even from the other side of the vast room Daniel felt the searing heat. He held his hand up as protection against the glare. It was only then, with his eyes shielded, that he could fully take in the present situation. It was only then that he could detect the figure of Michael Blake, less than forty feet from the spot the pouring metal sought as it slipped from confinement. Already the flow had struck the dirty floor, splatters of molten liquid coagulating in random splotches wherever they landed.

      Blake spun about, took two panic-driven steps, and slammed against a section of conveyor belt. He went down hard, but only for an instant, managing to drag himself back to his feet. Blood flowed from the gash in his right leg as he hung on the railing and stared behind in horror.

      Aleisha Turner sat in the darkened room, staring at the blank wall opposite her bed.

      She ached all over, her muscles cramping with even the smallest expenditure of effort, so she found it easier to just sit and do nothing, her arms hanging listless at her sides. Her mouth felt dry, her throat scratchy. She had a hard time concentrating on anything, and found the images before her eyes to be a weird kaleidoscopic mishmash, making it difficult to perform even the simplest of tasks. The light from the hallway beyond was a glaring accent to the shadows in her room, an accent that stung her eyes and forced her to turn away from the harshness of the light.

      “What did you do?” Laura's voice screamed the question, the rage in her eyes locked on his face.

      “Slow down a minute! What are you talking about?”

      “They took my kids! Because of you they took my kids!”

      She attempted to strike him yet again, but this time he was prepared. Ted caught both her fists in his left hand, effectively blocking her motions and deflecting the blow. After flicking the dying cigarette away he reached for her shoulder with his free arm.

      “Now just slow down....”

      “Don't touch me.” Laura jumped back, distancing herself from her boyfriend. She turned away, whirled around to face him again, then began rapidly pacing back and forth.

      The blast of the train's whistle cut off the last of Jason's words. The engine was slowing through the yard, in preparation for the coming stop, but momentum continued to urge the locomotive forward. It bore down on the group, relentless in its motion. Vibrations coursed through the rails, emanating from the diesel's motors. The ground shook, disturbing the ballast, sending tiny avalanches of stone cascading downward.

      Mickey still smiled, the devilish grin he reserved for use while performing his pranks, but a somber look had entered his eyes, testifying to the realization of what he had gotten himself into. He chanced a look at Tommy, expecting to see fear etched in the other boy's features, but no show of emotion was revealed.

      Dickens lunged, throwing his arms around the girl’s thin waist. She was much smaller than him, but the suddenness of her weight pulling against him caught the officer by surprise. He lost his footing, slammed against the concrete wall. His right knee took the brunt of the blow, tearing his pants and scraping a layer of skin. He gritted his teeth against the shock but managed to retain his grip on the girl.

      She was still screaming. Panic gripped her, as she flailed with her hands for any purchase she could find. Her fingernails clawed against the officer’s chest, grabbing hold of his shirt pocket. She refused to let go. Her eyes were tightly closed, shutting out the images around her, while her chest heaved up and down.

     He continues to squeeze her shoulders.

     "Brad. You're hurting me. Stop it."

     He says nothing. The pressure continues.

     "Brad! Please stop it. Please."

     Tears are in her eyes now, and her hands clench tightly to the edge of the table. She bites her lower lip, a tiny trickle of blood dripping onto her chin.

     For several moments they are locked in silence, his face towering menacingly above hers. Finally he lets go, the suddenness of the move causing her to nearly tip over.

     She catches herself in time, rising from her chair to stand facing him, her back against the wall. A trace of fear remains in her eyes.

     Russell's death five years earlier had left a gaping hole in Beverly's life. She had retired from teaching the previous year and her husband was at the time six months away from leaving his job at the Jeep plant. Their future stretched before them with unlimited possibilities. The house was paid for. The kids were grown. They could spend the rest of their lives doing whatever they wanted to do.

     The possibilities had dwindled to nothing the night of the accident.

     She tried not to think about it anymore. Of course it was always with her, a part of her life that could never be forgotten. But for months following the crash she had brooded over it, moping around the house in a daze.

     Aaron listened to the sound of his grandmother's light footsteps as she headed toward her bedroom, followed by the silent closing of the door as she entered the chamber. As usual she had stayed up late, sitting in her chair, reading her Bible.

     It comforted him, to know she was there. Just the presence of another person in the room made him feel safer.

     Things happened at night.

     Bad things.

     Most nights he lay in bed, twisting and turning, agonizing over what the nighttime hours would bring. Wondering if he would make it through the night unscathed, or if tonight would be another night to dread. Wondering if the night would again leave him with memories he would strive desperately to forget.

     Consuella Alegredo was dressed in black, hovering near the head of the casket, greeting all who approached. She was torn between glory and grief. Her son's death had hit her hard, and it was obvious how distraught she was. Her eyes were a perpetual shade of red, a testimony to the tears she had shed, her skin pale complexioned. Her hands shook as she greeted the turn-out, as though the limbs were no longer under her control and determined to embarrass her.

     Yet, at the same time, she reveled in the attention thrown her way, relishing her position as the center of activity in the room. Yes, the well-wishers were here to say goodbye to Tommy. But their primary function was to console the grieving mother.

      “Don’t go playing the holier than thou attitude on me. Mom’s no saint. It don’t take an Einstein to realize you guys had only been married for seven months when Hannah came along.”

      He never saw the slap coming.

      Alec hit him across the cheek, causing the chair to swivel from the blow.

      Bobby was startled. The blow didn’t really hurt him. Even if it had, he never would have admitted it. Not even to himself. His self-image prevented any such admission.

      He jumped from his seat and moved away from his step-father. He said nothing; just stared in wonder.

      “Don’t ever talk about your mother that way.”

     The fist lashes out, catching Daniel across the chin. His head jerks back, the unexpectedness of the blow sending him to the pavement as blood trickles from the gash in his lower lip. On hands and knees beside his car, his fingers numb from the snow and ice, Daniel shakes his head, attempting to clear his senses. The next moment two hands grab his coat collar and yank him to his feet.

     Brad slams Daniel against the car, the mirror catching him in the side. Daniel barely has time to grimace in pain before something hard and metallic jabs into his stomach.

     His eyes open wide at sight of the .45 automatic. The blue steel of the handgun looks colder than the ice on the nearby cars. Brad maintains a grip on Daniel's collar with his left hand.

     Janelle grabbed Aleisha by the arm the moment she walked into the house, herding her into the parlor. She kept her voice low, barely a whisper.

     “Tell me you didn't do it, Aleisha.”

     “Do what?”

     “My mother's fit to be tied and I don't blame her. My father's wedding band. Her grandma's necklace. I just don't understand why you would do that to us.”

     “Janelle, I don't know what you're talking about.”

     “They're gone, Aleisha. Someone took them.”

     “And you think....” Aleisha paused, realizing the significance of what her friend was saying, stunned with the accusation. “But I didn't....”

     The neighborhood was nearly light as day, illuminated from the activity at the rear of the house. Flames shot from a window on the side, from what she knew to be the kitchen. The red and orange tendrils licked greedily at the clapboard siding of the structure, as though discontented with what had been already consumed and craving new sustenance. Wisps of smoke accompanied the blaze, like the exhalation of a dying beast. She could almost hear the creature groaning as the building began to fall to pieces, burning sections of her grandparent's homestead collapsing to the ground and smoldering in the grass where they lay.

     She set Evan down at last, staring incredulously at the spectacle in front of her.

     The first two weeks had been the worst. She felt violated and abused each time a man touched her. A part of her life, a part of her spirit, died whenever she was called upon to perform a sexual act with a stranger in the cheap hotel room she now called home. She was fearful of the way they looked at her, anticipating what was to happen next. She had nightmares constantly, of men not just using her but brutally abusing her as well.

     By the third week she was beginning to be numbed by the entire process. She had seen so many naked men by then, had opened her legs to so many different strangers, that she no longer cared. How could life possibly get any worse than this?

      “What were you thinking?”

      The words hit Pamela like a physical blow. She had anticipated that Angela would take it hard. But she hadn’t expected such a feeling of recrimination in her mother’s reaction. She felt defensive on the instant and lashed back with the first words that came to mind.

      “I guess I wasn’t thinking, was I? I guess I’m still a stupid little kid who never learned to grow up.”

      “Now Pamela….”

      Whatever else Tim meant to say was drowned out by his wife’s reply.

      “You’re not stupid, Pamela. But I wonder sometimes if you have any common sense. Do you ever stop to think things through?”