The house was old colonial. Exquisite wood floors, rugs from Persia, soft brown wallpaper, a few nice antiques. The grandfather clock in the living room kept time like a pulse. No air-conditioning, though—they could have baked cookies on the coffee table.

Kelly took a chair by the front window and felt the outside darkness deepen. Michael brought her a glass of Sprite with plenty of ice. From where she sat, she could keep an eye on the long driveway that led up to the property. Her gun felt tight in her shoulder holster and she took it out and laid it on her lap. She apologized to Michael and Julie.

“I’m not trying to be dramatic,” she said.

“It must be a pain to wear that thing,” Michael said.

“You get used to it. Where’s Robert?”

“Playing video games in the den,” Julie said.

“My daughter loves them. Her favorite is Raven.”

“Robert has that,” Julie said, nursing a tall iced tea. She had changed into a casual red dress.

“How’s your drink?” Michael asked.

“Fine.” Kelly sipped. She wasn’t that thirsty, after all.

They talked. Julie surprised her by chatting freely, at least making a pretense of being sociable. They discussed academic politics and space flight and the deciphering of the human DNA. The grandfather clock tick-tocked and time went by. Julie went to check on her son and found him passed out on the floor. Julie said he had been playing all day in the sun. Kelly was still surprised. At that age, she could not have gone to bed without seeing fireworks. But perhaps she was the one who had ruined their plans. In the distance she heard the boom of explosive powder. There was still a faint glow in the west. The real fireworks would start soon.

At one point there was a lull in the conversation. Michael turned on the TV and watched the news. Julie reached for a magazine and yawned. Kelly was left to stare out the window. The ice in her drink had disappeared. So had the last year of her life. She tried to remember how she had felt the morning before Slate had introduced her to the Acid Man. It was like trying to recall a past life. The thought reminded her of that story, “The Tears of Rati.”

“It was said the karma of the three was so entwined that they would have to take another hundred births together to resolve it.”

Triangles were tricky. She need look no further than the couple in front of her. She wondered what it would be like to be them—a part of such pain and despair. True, she was a vital element in the drama as well, but she had come later. She had not been a cause, merely a victim, and a savior.

It still annoyed Kelly that Julie had never thanked her for saving her life.