Eye of the Beholder

flashlight into it. He switched it on and aimed it at the ground to light their path.
    The red glow in the distance burned brighter now.
    "My God," Alexa whispered. "That's the Point."
    Trask reached the embankment above
Cliff Drive
    and dropped to the pavement. Alexa clattered down behind him. A small shower of pebbles and loose sand cascaded onto the road.
    Somewhere in the distance a siren began to wail.
    They crossed the road and started toward Avalon Point. Flames flared from the rocks below.
    "Stay back." Trask went through the gaping hole in the shattered guard rail. "There could be an explosion."
    "Trask, come back. It's too late. There's nothing you can do."
    He stood at the edge of the Point and looked down into the mouth of hell. She was right.
    A disorienting sensation swept over him.
    For an instant past and present fused in a nightmarish glare.
    This was how his father had died. This was where his father had died.
    But it was not his father's car that lay on the rocks below Avalon Point tonight. The roaring flames provided more than enough light for Trask to see the remains of a familiar white Lincoln .
    Dean Guthrie.

17

    Alexa was staring at the ceiling of her bedroom when the phone rang hours later. She reached for the receiver, hoping that Trask would be on the other end.
    "Hello?"
    "The dark vortices are in flux. The energy storm grows more powerful and more dangerous with each passing moment. Death and destruction have come to Avalon. Seek cover while you still can."
    "Screw you." Alexa slammed down the phone.
    She went back to contemplating the shadows above the bed. She knew she would not sleep tonight. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the fire and the white Lincoln .
    The night was warm but she shivered beneath the covers.

    The nightmare came an hour before dawn. Searing flames and twisted metal were prominently featured.
    The truly horrifying part was the vision of Guthrie staring calmly at him through the blackening glass of the driver's window.
    Trask awoke, cold and clammy. For a moment he could not remember where he was. He could not even recall the year.
    Then he realized that the phone beside the bed was ringing. He reached for it, profoundly grateful to whoever had interrupted the dream.
    The image of Guthrie's face was a figment of his imagination, he told himself. The fire had been too intense to make out anything or anyone inside the burning vehicle.
    Later, when the medics had removed the body, he and Alexa had mercifully been occupied giving their statements to Chief Strood .
    "This is Trask."
    "I called to see if you were getting any sleep," Alexa said.
    The dream fragments disintegrated at the sound of her voice. "Not much." He shoved aside the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "What about you?"
    "My semi-obscene caller struck again."
    "Bastard." Trask was quiet for a moment. "What did he say?"
    "Something about an energy storm and dark vortices in flux." She paused. "Death and destruction were mentioned. I got the impression he knew about what happened at the Point tonight."
    "By this time, half the town probably knows about Guthrie's crash."
    "I imagine so." She paused. "One of the medics told me Guthrie probably died instantly. At the very least, he would have been unconscious when the fire broke out."
    It was, Trask reflected, the same rough comfort the authorities had offered him after Harry's crash at Avalon Point. Something in Alexa's voice told him that a long time ago someone had given her similar assurances about her own father's death.
    He listened to the silence on the line. They both knew the truth, he thought. No one could be certain how long either of the victims had lived after disaster struck. No one knew how much awareness the men had had of their terrifying last moments.
    But Trask also knew that, for the sake of those who were left behind, it was important to preserve the fiction that neither had suffered for long.
    "I'm sure the medic was right," Alexa said. "The impact must have killed Guthrie instantly."
    "Yeah."
    Silence hummed again on the line.
    Trask looked at the faint glow in the sky. "Maybe you should stay home from work today. Get some rest."
    "I've got a shop to run. Besides, I think it would be better if I kept myself busy."
    "Sure." He understood all too well that work was a useful narcotic for dulling unpleasant memories. He'd used it to take the edge off a lot of things, including a failing marriage.
    She hesitated.