Laurie's voice came out of the darkness. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." He slammed the window shut. It suddenly felt too quiet in the room.

"You were moaning," she said.

He lay on the bed and ran his hand down his stomach. It was moist from sweat. "Must have been dreaming," he said. Lightning flashed in the room, and he counted seconds until he heard the thunder again. He figured the storm center was four miles to the east.

"Who's Jeanne?" Laurie said.

"What?"

"You called out her name."

He reached for Laurie but she stiffened at his touch. What had he said in his sleep? He wanted their last night in this room to be special. Tomorrow the dormitory annexed to his apartment would be filled with freshman boys. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"Is Jeanne someone real?

"She was." The rain drove heavier now. It drummed against the window. "God. Listen to that," he said.

"You mean she's dead?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell me about her?"

"Why is this so important?"

"Oh, Will. Just tell me, please."

He waited a moment and let his hand rest on her arm. He tried to piece together the dream. He had been rock climbing, leading Jeanne up White Horse Ledge. As he tied in and called down to her, he could see the rope slip slowly from her harness like a snake uncoiling. "Jeanne was Jonathan Tyler's wife," he said quickly, trying to jolt himself back to this bedroom, this storm.

Laurie sat up. "The singer? You know Jonathan Tyler?"

"Yes." In his mind's eye he could still see Jeanne falling, her mouth open in a grotesque silent scream.

"Does he know you moan over his dead wife?"

Will swallowed hard. "I can't help what I dream."

Laurie rolled away from him.

He stared at the dark outline of the ceiling fixture. He could feel Laurie slipping away from him, and he knew he had to tell her something. But where to begin? He couldn't explain to himself why he hadn't been able to forget about Jeanne. "Two months ago she fell from a balcony."

Laurie stirred, suddenly animated, and turned back to face Will. "I remember reading about it."

"I guess she was on my mind because their daughter is coming with the new students tomorrow."

"God. The kid just lost her mother and Jonathan's sending her away?"

"She's been having trouble adjusting."

"I can imagine."

"Jonathan wrote me a letter and thought a year at the school might be good for her. He talked about how she needed structure in her life ..." Will closed his eyes and envisioned Jonathan's crimped handwriting, the terse phrases he used to describe his daughter's problems.

"And that's all you have to tell me?"

"I m trying to give you a reason why I dreamt about Jeanne. Isn't that what you want?" He reached for her hand but she pulled it away. "You don't want me to touch you?" he said.

"I want to hear the story."

"This isn't the easiest thing to talk about, you know."

Laurie sighed. "Never mind then."

It had been a lot of years since he shared anything with anyone. He was still getting used to having someone in bed with him on a regular basis. His hand felt empty lying open, palm-up. All right. He would tell her ... something. "The night Jeanne died, Chicago had a bad thunderstorm. I guess my brain was making connections."

"Were you there when it happened?"

"I was in town, yes."

"They thought she jumped, right?"

"That's what they said."

"But you don't believe it?"

Will hesitated. "It was a tragic fall, plain and simple. An accident."

"And they ruled out homicide?"

"God, Laurie. Why do you always suspect the worse?"

"Because I'm a cop. Was there a suicide note?"

He sat up. "If you want to grill me, why don't you switch on the lamp and shine it in my eyes?"

"Just tell me if there was a note."

"No. There wasn't a note."

They grew quiet together. The thunder grumbled distantly, like an old man clearing his throat. The storm had rolled over them.

"Will ..."

"What is it now?"

"Did you hear that? It sounded like it came from the bathroom."

"I didn't hear anything." He lay back on the bed and listened for night sounds. "Probably the rain," he said.

"No. I definitely heard something."

He went to the bathroom and switched on the light. His eye caught the open window. The floor was wet. He checked the cat bed and Butch was missing. He had closed that window himself before turning in, and Butch had been tucked away, puffed up like a dustball in his bed.

When he came back to the bedroom, he found the light on. Laurie was dressing. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

He watched her look for her clothes, not knowing what to say to her. "Butch is gone," he managed, finally. "The window's open."

"Maybe he got tired of living here."

"It's the middle of the night, Laurie."

"I'm following Butch's lead."

"But it's still raining."

"I won't melt."

He approached her and she backed away. "You're upset because I had that dream." It was a statement, not a question.

She pulled on her jeans and struggled with the buttons. "Will, how long have we been seeing each other?"

He thought a moment. "Six months?"

She shook her head. "God. You don't even know how long we've been sleeping together."

"Seven? Eight? I don't know. I haven't been counting."

"It's been long enough for you to at least drop the guy's name. I mean, Jonathan Tyler, for crying out loud."

"Maybe I didn't think it was important. What's he got to do with us, anyway?" She reached for her bra. He grabbed it from her. "This isn't fair," he said.

"The point is I don't know you." She snatched her bra back. "It's been eight months, seventeen days, by the way." She glanced at the digital clock. "And eleven hours. But who's counting?"

"Come on. Let's go back to bed."

"That's not going to solve our problem." She reached for her holster, but Will got there first.

He pulled out he pistol, a stainless steel Smith & Wesson 659. "Why do you always carry this thing, anyway? Worried about drug runners in Saxton Mills?" He was sorry he said it as soon as the words came out.

"Give me the pistol, Will." She waited.

He put the piece back into the holster. He handed it to her and watched as she hooked it on her belt. "Don't you think you re over-reacting a bit?"

She tucked in her shirt. "I don't think so." She slipped on her Bïrkenstocks and walked into the hallway.

Will darted in front of her and blocked her exit out the door. "I don't want you to leave."

"Get out of my way, Will."

"I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Laurie folded her arms in front of her. "Are you going to let me go?"

"I used to be in a band with Jonathan."

Laurie let her arms fall to her side. "What?"

"You wanted to know everything."

"You don' t mean Waggoner's Lad ?"

"I played bass."

She shook her head. "You played bass with Jonathan? I didn't even know you were a musician."

"I'm not. I mean, I'm not any more."

A trace of a smile played on Laurie s mouth. "Wait a minute. You are kidding."

He raised three fingers. "Scout's honor."

"It was a trio, right?"

"Jonathan and I and a girl named Grace Diccico. We had one hit."

"A Childe Ballad." Laurie said. "It began, Hard is the fortune of all womankind ... "

"How do you know that?"

She paused. "I think I still have the album."

"Then check it out. You won't recognize me, though. I'm the skinny guy with the Abe Lincoln beard smiling maniacally on the back cover. My protest days."

She made a rolling motion with her arms. "Keep going," she said. "What does this have to do with Jeanne?"

"Can't we at least sit down?" He led her to the sofa in the living room. He felt a chill, suddenly aware of his nakedness. "You sure we can't go back to bed?" he said.

She didn't say anything.

He thought about putting some clothes on but didn't want to chance her leaving while he was in the bedroom. He grabbed an afghan off the sofa and wrapped it around himself. He sat down on the sofa, she in the chair opposite. "Jeanne and I were lovers," he said. "It was a long time ago." He waited for a reaction but there was none. He leaned forward and continued. "I had been going out with Jeanne for a few months when the record hit big. This was the summer of sixty-five."

"Sixty-five? I was ten years old."

"Great. I needed to hear that."

"Sorry. I won't interrupt anymore."

"We were flying high. It's funny. That song launched Jonathan's career, but as you probably recall it was Grace who sang it. Even though Jonathan was the leader, she was the driving force behind the band. He thought the song was too depressing, that no one would like it."

"And Jeanne?"

"Like I said. We had been going out. One night I introduced her to Jonathan." Will got up from the sofa and began to pace. "We were at this bar. I can remember the look on his face when he saw her." He started to say something more, but the memory stirred his anger even though a lot of years had passed. "You can guess the rest."

"She ditched you for Jonathan?"

"I wanted to kill him. She had been the best thing for me."

"So what did you do?"

"I quit."

"And that's when the group broke up?"

"One album, one hit. Jonathan went on his own then, and you know the rest of his story." Will stopped his pacing. He looked at Laurie. "That's how I know Jonathan."

"What happened to Grace?"

"I don't know. Rumor had it she'd become born again joined some fanatic religious order."

Laurie got up from her chair. "You still love Jeanne, don't you?"

Will hesitated. "I had gotten over her. It took a long time. Then, last year Jonathan called me out of the blue. We got together. When I saw her again I wasn't prepared for the hurt to return. It's stupid, I know. Then, while I was in town she died. She fell ..."

Laurie reached out to him. He shook her hand and held it awkwardly, like it was something that might break. "I want to be with you," he said. "I don't talk about things much. I don't try to hurt you on purpose."

"I know," she said, and squeezed his hand. She got up to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"My shift starts at eight a.m."

"I've told you everything."

She walked toward the door.

He threw off the afghan, grabbed an umbrella and raincoat from the closet, and followed her. He held the umbrella over her head as she got in the car. She slammed the door. He knocked on her window, and she opened it a crack. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, hearing desperation in his voice.

She smiled up at him. "I think it's time we had a little break, Will. Things are happening too fast for me."

"I thought we were getting along okay."

"You keep things too much inside. You won't let me in."

"I'm trying, Laurie."

"Don't call me for awhile, okay?" She cranked the window closed. He rapped on it again. "Will, come on. Let me go."

"This is about Jeanne, isn't it?"

She just looked at him. "That's what I like about you, Will. You have such command of the obvious."

"But she's dead."

"Not to you she isn't." Laurie turned the ignition, gunned the engine and drove off.

He stood in the rain and watched the tail lights of her Bronco disappear. Laurie's words came back to him. It was true, he held things inside, but he couldn't help dreaming, damn it! He lifted his head and the rain patted his face. No wonder he lived alone. He had better luck talking to his cat.

On his way back to the apartment he heard something behind him. "Here, Butch," he called. "Come on, you stupid cat."

A light went on in the house across the street at Miss Cora Roberts, who lived alone. He ducked behind a tree. All he needed was Ray Carson, Laurie's deputy, to show up. Ray loved to scatter-gun raccoons off garbage can lids. He snugged closer to the tree and listened to the water drubbing his feet. He waited ten minutes before the light went out.

Back inside his apartment, he heard a meowing coming from the bathroom. He opened the bathroom door and Butch raced out. The cat was riled about something; he never moved that fast.

Will caught up to him in the living room. "Butch. Come here!"

Butch hunched in the corner by the sliding glass door.

Will switched on the overhead light. Butch was wearing something around his body that glittered. A closer look revealed some sort of cat raincoat with Velcro tabs holding the thing together. "Where did you get this?" he said.

Butch meowed.

Will stooped and stroked his head. "Here, let's get it off."

Butch wasn't in any mood to be touched and Will had to struggle with him. He finally got the coat off Butch and examined it. The coat was shiny red, rigged with sequins and metal buttons. In white spangled letters across the back were the words: "Jesus Saves."

"Been out making a fashion statement, Butch?" He tried to smooth the cat's fur, check to see if he was hurt, but Butch would have none of it.

In the kitchen, still in his raincoat, Will poured himself a shot of Laphroig neat and sipped it, savoring the musty bite of single malt on his tongue. He sat on a stool and arranged the cat coat on the kitchen counter as Butch hopped up on it. His tail flicked at Will's arm, and he got his motor going. Will got another shot glass from the cupboard and poured a small amount of the Scotch into it. He set it out for Butch and refilled his own. "Who put this froofie thing on you Butch?"

Butch busied himself with tongue laps.

"You're just supposed to sip the stuff." Will moved closer to him until his face was opposite the cat's. "Come on, Butch. Who's playing tricks on us?"

The cat coat was the latest of some practical jokes. Last week Will had found two pink flamingoes on his lawn; two days ago, his garden hose had been split down the middle and uncoiled all over the front lawn.

There had to be only one explanation: someone had been in the house while he and Laurie were in bed. They opened the bathroom window, took Butch out and returned him, dandified, while he was seeing Laurie to her car.