On the seat in back. Leaves began to hum softly. Then, "You are unhappy about something?" she asked.
"Perhaps. I don't know. What makes you ask?"
"I have been observing your heartbeat, your metabolism, your blood pressure, your breathing. Everything seems elevated. That's all."
"Then I can't hide much from you, can I? I was
thinking how the passions of a Crusade—or a broken love affair—are but moments in geological time."
"True. But since you are not a rock or a glacier, what difference does that make?" Then, "You have terminated such a relationship recently?"
"I guess that's one way of putting it, yes."
"Sad, perhaps. Or not, as the case may be. You—"
"Not," he said. "Not really. It was something not meant to go on. Yet there is a feeling of loss... Why am I telling you this?"
"Everyone finds someone to tell things to. At a time like this you must be careful. Following a loss, one often seeks to fill that place with something new. One chooses in haste, rather than wisely. One—"
"Here comes Leila now," Randy said.
"Oh."
There was silence.
Randy drew on the cigar. He considered the clouds reflected in the hood. He regarded the bewildering array of vehicles drawn up about him, like some display in a museum of transportation.
"I do not detect her approach," Leaves said after a time.
"Sorry. I was mistaken."
There came a burst of static. Then, "Sorry, Randy. I wasn't trying to intrude."
"That's all right."
"It's just that I wanted to—"
"She is coming now."
"Okay. I just— Never mind."
Leila jerked the door open, climbed in and slammed it. She reached over and removed the cigar from between his fingers. She took a long drag on it and slumped in the seat.
"I take it you didn't—" he began.
"Shh! We're practically bumper to bumper now. Only there was no forwarding address. I have to look again."
He watched as her gaze drifted through the smoke. Her face grew expressionless for a time, then emotions flickered across it too rapidly for him to classify.
"Start the engine! Drive!" she ordered.
"Where?"
"Down the Road. I'll know the turnoff when it happens. Let's go!"
He backed out of the parking place, swung toward the exit.
"I'm beginning to understand ..."
"What?" he asked.
"What we are," she said, passing him the cigar.
He pressed the accelerator and sped.
One
Red rolled out of bed, grabbed for his vest.
"Hey! Hell of a smoke-detector you are!"
"That part of me mutht have been damaged altho."
He withdrew a small, flat flashlight from the garment's pocket as he slipped it on. He sent its beam about the room, but there was no smoke. Rising, he moved to the door. He halted there and sniffed.
"Maybe you'd better not..."
Opening the door, he stepped out into the hall, sniffed again and moved to his left.
There! The next room!
He ran to the door, pounded on it, tried the knob. It was locked.
"Wake up!"
Stepping back, he kicked hard, next to the lock. The door flew open. Smoke rolled by him. He rushed in to behold a burning bed, a smiling woman still apparently asleep within it.
Stooping, he raised her from the flames and bore her across the room. He dumped her onto the floor, her clothing still smoldering, and returned to beat at the bed with a rug.
"Hey!" the woman called out.
"Shut up" he said. "I'm busy."
The woman rose to her feet, her clothing still afire. She ignored this for the better part of a minute and watched him assail the flames. Then, as the front of her garment flared, she glanced down at it. With a casual movement, she unfastened a tie behind her neck and let it fall to the floor. Stepping out of its circle of fire, she advanced.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.