went?”
The man behind the desk looked sympathetic as he shook his head.
Outside the trailer, shards of glass, plywood, and metal spread over a wide area. Though the bodies had apparently been removed, the police lines were drawn tight. Several TV vans with satellite antennas lined the curb; one marked with the logo of the sensationalist “On the Spot.”
Seeing the hallmarks of disaster, Rory wondered how many times he had ridden a hoist and felt triumph over the elements. Today, some poor souls like him had risen into the afternoon sky; only their number had been up.
A breeze off the Bay dried his sweat, making him shiver. Everything seemed at a distance, from the growl of city buses to their diesel fumes. The sunlight looked garish; a pea soup fog would be a more fitting shroud for the workers who’d lost their lives.
As Rory turned his back on the bloody ground, his sense of relief over Mariah began to evaporate. The man had implied she’d been cut. Was she at one of the hospitals getting stitched up? What if she’d been disfigured, or lost an eye?
He speeded his steps away from the site, determined to find her.
In the hours since the hoist had fallen, time had lost its meaning for Mariah. It was near midnight when she opened the front door of her apartment house. Bone weary, muscles aching from her frantic dive under the shed, all she wanted was the solace of oblivion.
Though she’d managed a shower at the company workout facility and changed into tights and a sweatshirt, she still felt dirty. Over her left eye, a throbbing cut felt stiff beneath gauze and punctures on her forearms sported Band-aids.
Yet, not all her wounds were physical. She knew she must be pale as a ghost, and her heart ached for her father. His face had borne a grayish pallor as he chaired a nightmarish after-hours management session. Saying he’d rather be alone, he had refused her offer to come home to Stonestown with him.
Now she wished she’d insisted, for Charley wasn’t upstairs watching the news or reading before going to bed. Only last night, she’d heard him stirring around, home from another of his card games. He usually told her he won, grinning and waving a sheaf of bills that might have come from his paycheck — years ago his father had perpetuated that fiction before he joined Gambler’s Anonymous — but today Charley had told her he’d lost.
She shuddered and tried not to imagine his and glazier Andrew Green’s final moments. Routine though the hoist might have been for workers who were there every day, Charley had told her he never tired of riding to the heights. Rising smoothly up the tower, he must have been as curious as she at the snap of the parting cable …
Only it marked the end of his and Andrew’s world.
How difficult it was to believe he’d never flash his trademark grin again, and even more impossible to imagine Tom Barrett and his wife Wendy already immersed the nightmare of making arrangements. Charley couldn’t be gone. He must be asleep, the way she wanted to be.
Her breath caught.
Her friend wasn’t sleeping, but lying on a slab at the mortuary. The electric essence that was Charley had departed; she’d known when it she saw his crystal blue eyes gone opaque.
Keys in hand, Mariah approached her apartment, making a note to call the manager about the burned out bulb over her entry. Though preoccupied as she reached to unlock her door, she saw a darker shadow in the hall and realized it was a man.
Her heart leaped.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” Rory pushed off the wall.
She bit back the scream rising in her throat. While thankful it wasn’t a criminal lurking in her hall, she wondered if she was up to dealing with Rory this evening.
“I heard about the accident.” His voice bore a hoarse quality, as though he’d been shouting. “Are you all right?”
She struggled with her lock. “I’m fine.”
“Like hell you are.” He placed his hand over her shaking fingers,
The man behind the desk looked sympathetic as he shook his head.
Outside the trailer, shards of glass, plywood, and metal spread over a wide area. Though the bodies had apparently been removed, the police lines were drawn tight. Several TV vans with satellite antennas lined the curb; one marked with the logo of the sensationalist “On the Spot.”
Seeing the hallmarks of disaster, Rory wondered how many times he had ridden a hoist and felt triumph over the elements. Today, some poor souls like him had risen into the afternoon sky; only their number had been up.
A breeze off the Bay dried his sweat, making him shiver. Everything seemed at a distance, from the growl of city buses to their diesel fumes. The sunlight looked garish; a pea soup fog would be a more fitting shroud for the workers who’d lost their lives.
As Rory turned his back on the bloody ground, his sense of relief over Mariah began to evaporate. The man had implied she’d been cut. Was she at one of the hospitals getting stitched up? What if she’d been disfigured, or lost an eye?
He speeded his steps away from the site, determined to find her.
In the hours since the hoist had fallen, time had lost its meaning for Mariah. It was near midnight when she opened the front door of her apartment house. Bone weary, muscles aching from her frantic dive under the shed, all she wanted was the solace of oblivion.
Though she’d managed a shower at the company workout facility and changed into tights and a sweatshirt, she still felt dirty. Over her left eye, a throbbing cut felt stiff beneath gauze and punctures on her forearms sported Band-aids.
Yet, not all her wounds were physical. She knew she must be pale as a ghost, and her heart ached for her father. His face had borne a grayish pallor as he chaired a nightmarish after-hours management session. Saying he’d rather be alone, he had refused her offer to come home to Stonestown with him.
Now she wished she’d insisted, for Charley wasn’t upstairs watching the news or reading before going to bed. Only last night, she’d heard him stirring around, home from another of his card games. He usually told her he won, grinning and waving a sheaf of bills that might have come from his paycheck — years ago his father had perpetuated that fiction before he joined Gambler’s Anonymous — but today Charley had told her he’d lost.
She shuddered and tried not to imagine his and glazier Andrew Green’s final moments. Routine though the hoist might have been for workers who were there every day, Charley had told her he never tired of riding to the heights. Rising smoothly up the tower, he must have been as curious as she at the snap of the parting cable …
Only it marked the end of his and Andrew’s world.
How difficult it was to believe he’d never flash his trademark grin again, and even more impossible to imagine Tom Barrett and his wife Wendy already immersed the nightmare of making arrangements. Charley couldn’t be gone. He must be asleep, the way she wanted to be.
Her breath caught.
Her friend wasn’t sleeping, but lying on a slab at the mortuary. The electric essence that was Charley had departed; she’d known when it she saw his crystal blue eyes gone opaque.
Keys in hand, Mariah approached her apartment, making a note to call the manager about the burned out bulb over her entry. Though preoccupied as she reached to unlock her door, she saw a darker shadow in the hall and realized it was a man.
Her heart leaped.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” Rory pushed off the wall.
She bit back the scream rising in her throat. While thankful it wasn’t a criminal lurking in her hall, she wondered if she was up to dealing with Rory this evening.
“I heard about the accident.” His voice bore a hoarse quality, as though he’d been shouting. “Are you all right?”
She struggled with her lock. “I’m fine.”
“Like hell you are.” He placed his hand over her shaking fingers,
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