Within his car, Thorn groaned with exertion, pushing the accelerator into the floor. The hearse was gaining on him, the face of the driver gazing coldly, directly ahead. Thorn's speedometer registered ninety, then rose to a hundred and ten, but the hearse kept coming, moving doggedly ahead. Thorn was panting now and he knew his reasoning had left him, but he was powerless to stop. He could not be overtaken. The machinery of his car screamed beneath him, but the hearse kept coming, moving up alongside. "No . . ." Thorn moaned, "no . . . !" And then they flew neck and neck, the hearse continuing to gain. Thorn pounded his wheel, demanding his car move faster, but the hearse was overtaking him, a coffin in the back moving slowly by.

In the Thorn house, Damien accelerated faster, his toy car careening wildly as it hurtled about the room, while outside in the hallway Katherine reached up tentatively from her perch on the stool.

On the highway, the hearse suddenly pulled farther ahead, as Thorn let out a bloodcurdling cry. And in that instant Damien shot out of his room, his toy car colliding with Katherine, sending her flying from her stool, clawing air as she toppled into space. Hurtling backward, she cried out, desperately grabbing for the balcony railing, taking with her a circular goldfish bowl that tumbled down beside her. Her scream ended with a sudden impact, the goldfish bowl hitting a second later and exploding into glistening shards.

Katherine lay silent now, and still; a delicate goldfish flopped on the cold tile next to her.

By the time Thorn got to the hospital, the reporters were already there, shouting questions and popping flashbulbs in his eyes as he desperately pushed his way through to a door marked intensive care. He'd arrived home to find Mrs. Baylock in a state of hysterics; she told him only that Katherine had had a fall and was taken by ambulance to City Hospital.

"Any word on her condition, Mr. Thorn?" shouted a reporter.

"Get out of my way."

"They say she had a fall."

"Let me through."

"Is she all right?"

He made his way through a double door, the reporters' voices fading behind as he ran down the hall.

"Ambassador Thorn?"

"Yes."

A doctor appeared, quickly walking toward him.

"My name is Becker," he said.

"Is she all right?" Thorn asked desperately.

"She'll recover. She hit pretty hard. She has a concussion, a broken collarbone, and some internal bleeding."

"She's pregnant."

"I'm afraid not."

"She lost it?" he gasped.

"On the floor where she hit. I was going to make an examination, but apparently your maid cleaned everything up by the time we got there."

Thorn shuddered and sagged against the wall.

"Naturally," continued the doctor, "we'll keep the details of how it happened quiet. The less people know the better."

Thorn stared at him, and the doctor saw he was confused.

"You do know she jumped," he said.

". . . Jumped?"