really scary."
"Hey. Want some music?"
" Yeh . We're both getting in some kind of mood, aren't we?"
"Do you know Dance of the Sylphs?" "I've never heard it. Fine. Whatever you like, Rob."
And at last, the Rockies— In the light of the full moon, most of the peaks still bearing the snows of winter, traces of snows immemorial, the Rocky Mountains command the horizon. At first it appears to Shannon that they can skim across with ease, but as they approach the mountains loom, darkly forested except for isolated gleams of villages, the plane seems to be sinking although the altimeter needle is steady: they are flying at a little over nine thousand feet. She looks up, trying to imagine forty thousand feet. A small and lonely figure falling, with the quickness of a shooting star, toward the white mountain peaks. God doesn't trust us until we trust Him. She glances at Rob, who seems different to her, rigid; he is staring straight ahead and the flesh of his face is so pale and close to the bone, could he be searching too, for his mother? And aren't the mountains getting awfully close, blotting out all of the sky? She shivers from a thrill of compassion and, faintly, alarm.
"Rob?"
He is unresponsive. Shannon rubs the back of his hand with her fingertips and that thaws him, frees him from an icy shackle of the mind.
"Are we going to fly over them?" she asks with a timid smile.
Rob's chest lifts, falls. He takes over control of the airplane.
"No. We'd have to go to fifteen thousand feet, almost, and we're not pressurized. You might get a headache, or a nosebleed."
"I used to get those all the time when I was a kid."
"I suppose we could doodlebug the passes through the Sawatch range, but that's tricky at night. I don't like taking chances. I don't like the crosswind we're getting already. Time to go back to Kansas."
On the way home Shannon falls soundly asleep, waking up on touchdown at the Emerson airport.
She smiles at Robert, embarrassed.
"I'm not very good company, am I? What time is it?"
"Four minutes after twelve."
The foyer light is on at the house when they arrive. Hearing them come in, Ernestine calls from the top of the stairs.
"It's us," Shannon says, taking Rob back to the kitchen. "We're just going to get something to eat."
"What did you see?"
"The Rocky Mountains," Shannon answers, smothering giggles.
"Oh. Goodnight. Don't stay up too long."
Shannon feeds Robert the walnut brownies she made earlier. They each have two with big glasses of milk, and when it's time for him to go back to the Holiday Inn she switches off the kitchen light and clings to him in the dark. He pulls gently at the bent lobe of her ear. There's a crumb of brownie at one corner of his mouth that she licks away.
"Tell me you're going to come back and see me," she says fiercely.
"I'll be back before you know it," Robert says. "Remember: I always keep my promises."
You came back, all right! You came back to kill them! Dab. Ernestine. Chap. Allen Ray. And—
You still don't know who I am. But it'll come to you. And then I know you'll want to draw me.
Six. There were six killed in our house! But who else? It should have been me—why wasn't I there?
You were there.
Liar! I would have seen you!
The last time we met, we had so much to talk about. But we never finished our conversation. Why don't you tear up that other picture you've drawn—that fiat old man with the beard? Everybody's literary fallen idol. He can't help you. No one else can. Not even Don. Frankly, Shannon—Donald Carnes just doesn't have what it takes. Oh, I know. You almost married him. I know all about your affair with Donald. But I'm not jealous. Now listen. Do you hear the music? The music's important. There's never been any like it. I composed the score myself—for the occasion, when we last met. You heard it then, didn't you? We heard it, no one else. Concentrate on the music, then see. And draw me. Because I'm getting tired
"Hey. Want some music?"
" Yeh . We're both getting in some kind of mood, aren't we?"
"Do you know Dance of the Sylphs?" "I've never heard it. Fine. Whatever you like, Rob."
And at last, the Rockies— In the light of the full moon, most of the peaks still bearing the snows of winter, traces of snows immemorial, the Rocky Mountains command the horizon. At first it appears to Shannon that they can skim across with ease, but as they approach the mountains loom, darkly forested except for isolated gleams of villages, the plane seems to be sinking although the altimeter needle is steady: they are flying at a little over nine thousand feet. She looks up, trying to imagine forty thousand feet. A small and lonely figure falling, with the quickness of a shooting star, toward the white mountain peaks. God doesn't trust us until we trust Him. She glances at Rob, who seems different to her, rigid; he is staring straight ahead and the flesh of his face is so pale and close to the bone, could he be searching too, for his mother? And aren't the mountains getting awfully close, blotting out all of the sky? She shivers from a thrill of compassion and, faintly, alarm.
"Rob?"
He is unresponsive. Shannon rubs the back of his hand with her fingertips and that thaws him, frees him from an icy shackle of the mind.
"Are we going to fly over them?" she asks with a timid smile.
Rob's chest lifts, falls. He takes over control of the airplane.
"No. We'd have to go to fifteen thousand feet, almost, and we're not pressurized. You might get a headache, or a nosebleed."
"I used to get those all the time when I was a kid."
"I suppose we could doodlebug the passes through the Sawatch range, but that's tricky at night. I don't like taking chances. I don't like the crosswind we're getting already. Time to go back to Kansas."
On the way home Shannon falls soundly asleep, waking up on touchdown at the Emerson airport.
She smiles at Robert, embarrassed.
"I'm not very good company, am I? What time is it?"
"Four minutes after twelve."
The foyer light is on at the house when they arrive. Hearing them come in, Ernestine calls from the top of the stairs.
"It's us," Shannon says, taking Rob back to the kitchen. "We're just going to get something to eat."
"What did you see?"
"The Rocky Mountains," Shannon answers, smothering giggles.
"Oh. Goodnight. Don't stay up too long."
Shannon feeds Robert the walnut brownies she made earlier. They each have two with big glasses of milk, and when it's time for him to go back to the Holiday Inn she switches off the kitchen light and clings to him in the dark. He pulls gently at the bent lobe of her ear. There's a crumb of brownie at one corner of his mouth that she licks away.
"Tell me you're going to come back and see me," she says fiercely.
"I'll be back before you know it," Robert says. "Remember: I always keep my promises."
You came back, all right! You came back to kill them! Dab. Ernestine. Chap. Allen Ray. And—
You still don't know who I am. But it'll come to you. And then I know you'll want to draw me.
Six. There were six killed in our house! But who else? It should have been me—why wasn't I there?
You were there.
Liar! I would have seen you!
The last time we met, we had so much to talk about. But we never finished our conversation. Why don't you tear up that other picture you've drawn—that fiat old man with the beard? Everybody's literary fallen idol. He can't help you. No one else can. Not even Don. Frankly, Shannon—Donald Carnes just doesn't have what it takes. Oh, I know. You almost married him. I know all about your affair with Donald. But I'm not jealous. Now listen. Do you hear the music? The music's important. There's never been any like it. I composed the score myself—for the occasion, when we last met. You heard it then, didn't you? We heard it, no one else. Concentrate on the music, then see. And draw me. Because I'm getting tired
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