The first thing Ellison noticed was the sheet of water glossing over the side of the sink. That water looked so lovely, so inviting. Secretary Moreland’s thick, bent figure interrupted his view of it, though. The back of his inky suit was ripping down the center seam as he hunched forward, his hands clutching both sides of the sink while his face disappeared into the basin. Ellison heard peculiar gurgling sounds, and it occurred to him that Secretary Moreland might be drowning. Was that important? He reached to seize the inky shoulder, to haul it back, while the gray man appeared and tugged the Secretary from his other side. A crimson face burbled up from the basin and squealed, gray eyes slopping around in a way that reminded Ellison of ice cubes on a hot sidewalk. The Secretary’s dark, lumpy shape began to writhe, trying to throw them off. It looked like he was crying in frustration, though the trails of water dribbling all over his face and down his suit made it hard to tell. The bathroom was crowded with human bodies now, all of them scrabbling to get a hold on Secretary Moreland. The inky jacket tore again as they dragged him out of the bathroom and dumped him on the floor. A few of the men sat on him.

Moreland lay on the Persian carpet like some hideous primeval fish on a beach, weeping loudly. His face was blobby and scarlet, capped with twists of drenched white hair. He vomited a watery soup down his own front, still sobbing.

“Why don’t you ever let me do what I want?” Moreland whined. “Why can’t I . . .” He snuffled and stopped. “Why don’t I get to be happy?”

Ellison felt terribly sorry for him. Maybe it was unfair to keep the poor, sweet man from getting to experience true happiness, just this once.

Maybe it would have been nicer to let him drown.

10

The Beckoning Wind

“Luce? Would you do something for me?” It was two weeks later, back in the same cave in early afternoon. A Sunday, so Dorian didn’t have school. Things had been wonderful between them recently and getting constantly better as they learned to understand each other. Still, there were some subjects they’d silently agreed not to talk about anymore.

“Probably.” He’d been kissing her and stroking her hair for hours, and Luce was flushed and blissful, softly sliding her cheek against his. “What is it?”

“I want you to sing for me.” He saw the shocked look on her face. “Not, I mean, not to try to kill me or anything! But you said you can sing in other ways . . .”