The dream carried Devlin into the next dingy room, where Maryellen stood waiting, fragrant, happy, smiling, reaching out to him. Ask your wife! This was to be one of the perfect times, he thought gratefully, as her smooth, plump arms enfolded him. Love me good, she whispered. He still loved her smell. He was astonished at how vulnerable he remained after all this time, how much this part of him missed and wanted her. Eileen was a million miles in the future, existing only in the knowledge that this was a dream, that the arms and blue eyes and sweet-smelling, honey-colored hair were rising from the mystery inside himself, below the surface, where footsteps thumped and doorjambs rattled, shook! Devlin was trying to be rational, looking over his shoulder at Eileen behind him in that other room. Eileen loved parties And here was Maryellen again, needful again, as if twenty years had never happened, in the original sunny morning of their youth. His lips pressed on her thin, firm lips, as always. They were in her room, the hinged windows swung inward, holding the curtains apart. He had forgotten nothing. When things were perfect between them, Maryellen wanted to be held, the two of them face-to-face, their lips brushing, her deep blue eyes fixed lovingly on his. That she was so close to him again had him terribly aroused, so erect the skin of his penis felt stretched taut. When she was heavy, the weight in her hips and thighs, he made love to her with her on her back, him on his side beside her, their legs in a tangle; but what she liked better, when she was slim enough, was for him to get on top, her legs high in the air. She liked to pat his back lightly and sigh, loving the sound of herself, taking even that pleasure self-indulgently, Devlin remembered. He loved licking her, did it often, just so she would slip beneath the covers to have him thrust in her mouth. He was the best lover she’d ever had, she said when they were perfect; but even in bed, when something went wrong, her anger would flare, anger always just below the surface.…

He was running again, through garbage-strewn alleys. Cans tumbled over with a roar. He kept reaching for his gun, but it wasn’t there.…