"Where do you want to go?" she asks.

"Let's just sit for a minute."

"Do you think it's safe here? Your mom told me about the note."

Instead of answering her question, I lift the Fiat's cell phone, call Information, and ask for the number of Ray Presley. Livy takes her hand from my knee and watches me with apprehension. Presley's phone rings twenty times. No one answers.

"Is he there?" she asks in a quiet voice.

"No."

Her face is strangely slack. "Penn, why did you call Ray Presley?"

"There's no time to go into it now."

"Penn? Where are you, son? "

It's my father. "Over here, Dad!"

Livy looks back over the trunk of the convertible. "He's seen us. He's coming."

"Olivia!" Dad cries, rushing up to the car. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, it's Penn and Annie who need help. I'm so sorry about this, Dr. Cage. It's just unbelievable."

Dad leans over the passenger door and hugs Annie and me. Annie keeps her head buried in my neck.

"Is she all right?"

"I think so. Considering what just happened. Somebody-"

"I already heard. The story's spreading like-" He laughs bitterly. "Like wildfire. Where's your mother?"

"I told her to go across the street and put the note in a Ziploc. There might be fingerprints." I reach up and take his hand. "I should have listened to you. You told me they'd stoop this low."

He squeezes my hand hard. "It's just a house. We'll build another one."

"I was crazy to get involved in this case."

He shakes his head, his eyes on the great column of smoke rising into the sky. "Gutless sons of bitches… laid hands on my granddaughter. If I find the man who did this, I'll flay him alive."

"Do you know anything about Ruby's condition?"

He sighs heavily. "They carried her to St. Catherine's Hospital. Peter Carelli's in the ER with her now. It doesn't look good. Massive third-degree burns, a broken hip. The helicopter's on its way from Jackson. I'm about to go over there."

"We'll follow you as soon as Mom gets back."

He nods absently, watching the water pour onto the ruin that sheltered our family for thirty-five years.

"Dad, the library-"

"I know. No point thinking about it now. Right now we worry about the living." He looks down at me, his eyes flinty and cold. "This is the crossroads, son. We back off or we go forward. It's your call. I'll back you either way."

Go forward? After this? "Let's just find Mom and get to the hospital."

He nods. "I'll see you there."

The treatment room in the ER is crowded but quiet. The muted beeps of monitors punctuate the hushed voices like metronomes. Ruby lies at the center of the room, a technological still life surrounded by doctors, nurses, a respiratory therapist, and my father. I move closer, straightening the scrub shirt a nurse brought me to replace the shirt I lost in the fire. Two large-bore IV lines are pouring fluids into Ruby's arms, and oxygen is being pumped into her lungs through a mask. Her mostly nude body is exposed to the air, the parts ravaged by fire-her right arm, shoulder, trunk, and both legs-bathed in Silvadene ointment. She was apparently wearing some sort of synthetic dress that caught fire and melted into her skin. The helicopter ambulance summoned from Jackson is under orders to whisk her to the burn center in Greenville as soon as it arrives, but my father doubts she'll survive to make the flight.

"Let my son in here," Dad says, and the white coats part for me.

My first reaction is horror. Ruby's dentures have been removed and this makes her face look like a sunken death mask. Her black wig is also gone, leaving a thin snowy frizz atop her head. Her eyes are closed, her respiration labored. She looks like a dying woman photographed in some plague-stricken African village.

"Is she conscious?"

"She was until a minute ago," Dad replies. "She's in and out now. Mostly out. In her condition, it's a blessing."

One of Ruby's hands is undamaged, and I move around the table and take it, squeezing softly. "Did Mom talk to her?"

"A little. Ruby had a panic attack, and Peggy calmed her down."

The thought of Ruby in terror makes it difficult for me to breathe. As I look down at her, her lips tremble, then move with purpose. She's trying to speak. But what comes from behind the mask is only a ragged passage of air. I lean closer and speak into her ear.

"Ruby? It's Penn, Ruby. I hear you."

At last the rasps forms words. "…fine blessing. You… give a fine blessing, Dr. Cage. You go on… go on, now."

A chill races over my neck and arms. "Dad? I think she wants you to say something religious."

"She's obtunded, son. She doesn't really know what she's saying."

"She knows. She wants you to say something over her."

My father looks around at the ring of expectant faces. "Jesus. I don't remember much."

"Anything. It doesn't matter."

He takes Ruby's hand and leans over her.

"Ruby, this is Dr. Cage. Tom, by God, though you refused to call me that for thirty-five years." He chuckles softly. "You're the only one in the world who could get me reciting from the Bible. Haven't done it since I was a boy."

Ruby's lips move again, but no sound emerges.

"The Lord is my shepherd," Dad says quietly. "I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me… he-" Dad stops and picks up further on. "Yea, though I walk through the shadow of… through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thy…" He looks over at me. "Damn it, what's the rest of it?"

I lean down beside Ruby's ear and continue for him. "Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil. My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

Ruby has stopped trying to speak. Her face is placid.

Dad lays a hand on my shoulder. "Well, between us we managed it. She's got two atheists praying over her. Pretty pathetic, I guess."

"It was good enough."

Looking around, I notice expressions of shock and awe on the faces of the assembled doctors and nurses. "What's the matter?"

"They've never seen me do anything like that before."

"She's trying to speak," says a nurse.

Ruby's jaw is quivering with effort, her wrinkled, toothless mouth opening and closing behind the mask like that of a landed fish. Dad and I lean over her and strain to hear. At first there is only a lisping sound. Then three words coalesce from the shapeless sounds.

"Thank you… Tom."

Ruby's eyes flutter open, revealing big brown irises full of awareness. She seems to see not only us but beyond us. I suppose this is the look of faith.

"Lord Jesus," she says, as clearly as if she were talking to me across the breakfast table. "Ruby going home today. Home to glory."

Seconds later her eyes close, and the monitors that were so muted before begin clanging alarms.

"She's coding," Dad says.

"Crash cart!" cries one of the other doctors.

A hurricane of activity erupts around us, everyone rushing to his appointed task.

"Cardiac arrest," Dad says in a calm voice.

"Tom?" says Dr. Carelli, a lean dark man in his late forties. "Clear, Tom."

Dad holds up his right hand. "Everyone listen to me. This case is DNR."

The alarms go on ringing with relentless insistence.

"Do you know that for a fact?" asks Carelli, standing anxiously over the cart with a laryngoscope in his hand. "Tom, you know the rules."

"This woman is eighty years old, she's got third-degree burns over sixty percent of her body, and a broken hip."

"Tom, for a DNR we need it on paper."