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Until tonight, Carol had made love to only two men in her life, both of them husbands. Bill was the third and by far the most anxious. His hands trembled as he undressed her, as he helped her remove his own clothes, as he caressed her.

"I'm a virgin," he told her when they were lying skin-to-skin, and even his voice trembled. "Alive for half a century, and I'm a virgin."

"I'm not," Carol said, and drew him into her.

What he lacked in technique he more than made up for with the intensity of his passion. Their lovemaking rocked the mattress. It was hot, it was fierce, and it was over too soon for Carol, but somehow it left her as breathless as Bill. She hugged him tight against her, reveled in his being warm and wet within her.

And then she heard him sobbing softly on her shoulder.

"Bill? Are you okay?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. It's just…I keep thinking…what a waste. This is so wonderful. I've never felt so close to another human being in my entire life. I'm fifty, Carol. We can all count the rest of our days on one hand, and I'm just learning what it's like to make love. All those years—wasted! My life—wasted! What an idiot!"

"Don't you say that, Bill. Don't you ever let me hear you say that!" She shared his hurt, but she was angry at him too. "You did not waste your life. Maybe your beliefs were misplaced, but not your actions. You spent your life being a father, a real father, to hundreds of lost and abandoned boys, the first and maybe the best father they ever knew. You couldn't have done that as well if you'd had a wife and children of your own. You couldn't have been there twenty-four hours a day for them like you were. So it wasn't wasted at all. You made a difference, Bill. A big difference. A lot of grown men are walking around who still remember you, who still have a warm place in their hearts for you, who are maybe good to their own kids because you were good to them, because you showed them how it's done. That's a legacy, Bill, one that might have gone on for generations if Rasalom wasn't trying to bring all our generations to an end. So don't you dare say you've wasted your life—at least not in front of me."

After a long pause, Bill lifted his head and kissed her.

"I love you," he said. "I puppy-loved you in high school and then buried it in an unused corner like a bone. But it never went away. I think I've always loved you."

"And I think part of me always loved you, a little bit. But now all of me loves you—a lot."

"Good. Does that mean we do this again? Soon?"

"How soon?"

"Now?"

And then she realized that he was hard again inside her.

"Oh my."

3 • THE FINAL PIECE

WNEW-FM:

JO: It's 4:00 in the afternoon, ten minutes to sunset.

FREDDY: Yeah. And according to the Sapir curve, this is the next to last sunset. Let's all hope he's wrong, man.

Glaeken had settled Sylvia Nash and her son in her apartment and was on his way back to his own when Julio, the muscular little fellow who owned the bar where he and Jack had shared their first pint of Courage, ran up to him in the hall.

"Mr. Glaeken! There's a woman downstairs looking for Jack!"

"What does she want? You let her in, I hope." It was dark out now. The streets would be lethal.

"Yeah, but I've got somebody staying in the lobby with her. Thing is, I can't find Jack nowhere an' she's real crazy 'bout seeing him."

"Is it the woman he sent into hiding?"

"Gia? No way. I know Gia. This lady's dark. Says her name's Cola-body or som' like that."

Glaeken closed his eyes and steadied himself, making sure he'd really heard that last sentence. Could it be? Could it truly be her? Or could this be another of Rasalom's games?

Well, he'd know soon enough, wouldn't he?

"Bring her to the top floor. Immediately."

A few moments later, Glaeken was waiting by the door to his apartment when Julio ushered a slim, dark, raven-haired woman from the elevator. Her clothes were torn, her hands and face smudged with grime, the dark almonds of her eyes were wide, wild, exhausted. Not at all the way Glaeken had pictured her, but he sensed the years crowded beneath the smooth youth of her skin.

He could barely drag his eyes from the necklace encircling her throat. He had to get it from her. How he was going to do that, he did not know, but he could not allow her to leave here with that necklace.

"Miss Bahkti?"

She nodded. "And you're the man Jack told me about, the old one?"

The old one. He hid his smile. Is that how they speak of me? Well, it's true, isn't it? Truer than they imagine.

"Yes, that would be me. Call me Glaeken. Come in."

He nodded his thanks to Julio and ushered Kolabati into his apartment. She stumbled crossing the threshold and almost fell, but Glaeken caught her under the arm.

"Are you all right?"

She shook her head. "No. Not in the least."

He led her to the sofa. She all but fell into it. She rubbed a trembling hand over her eyes and sighed. She looked utterly exhausted.

"Jack told me what was happening to the world," she said. "I thought he was lying, trying to trick me. It couldn't be as bad as he said." She paused and looked up at Glaeken with haunted eyes. "But it's worse. Much worse."

Glaeken nodded, watching her closely. She appeared to be under extreme stress.

"And worse is yet to come."

She stared up at him. "Worse? Outside…one street over…something huge and black and slimy…so big it had to squeeze against the buildings on both sides to get down the street. It was covered with tentacles and it was reaching into the windows and pulling out anything it found. I heard people—children—screaming."

"A long dark night of the soul for the survivors," Glaeken said.

Kolabati shifted her gaze toward the fire and fingered her necklace.

"Did Jack return with the other necklace?"

"Yes."

"Is it sufficient for your needs?"

"No." Where was this leading?

"Then you still need this one?"

"Yes."

"Will it make a difference?" she said.

"It may. It may be too late now for anything to make a difference, but it is our only chance, our only hope. We must try it."

She continued to stare at the fire. Her voice was barely audible.

"All right then. You may have it."

A wave of relief struck Glaeken. The impact forced him to sit down. But before he could speak, Jack burst into the room.

"It is you!" he said, glaring at Kolabati. "Where'd you find the nerve to show up here?"

"Jack—" Her lips curved halfway to a smile but Jack was in her face before they reached it.

"You lied to me! You agree to come back here and talk to Glaeken, then you pull a vanishing act."

Glaeken wanted to stop Jack before he said anything rash, but noticed that Kolabati was unfazed by the outburst. So he kept quiet.

"That's true," she said. "And I am here. And I've been talking to Glaeken."

Jack hovered over her, his anger visibly evaporating.

"Oh. Yeah, but you said—"

"I never said I'd come back with you. I said I'd come back. And I have—but on my terms, not yours. I am no one's prisoner, Jack. Ever."

"But how'd you get back?"

"Do you really believe you're the only one who knows a pilot willing to fly here from Maui?"

Jack jammed his hands in his pockets. "Obviously not."

Glaeken studied Jack and Kolabati as they faced off. He sensed more going on between these two than met the eye, but he had no time to concern himself with that. He jumped into the momentary lull.