"It's not a big deal," Lisa argued. "I just don't think we ought to do it. I think we ought to go home."

"Well, I think we ought to go swimming," Alex crowed. He stripped off his pants and shirt. "I didn't think we ought to come here, but I came, didn't I? Well, now I think we ought to go skinny-dipping, and I think you ought to go along with it." Peeling off his Jockey shorts, he plunged into the water. A moment later he came to the surface and turned around to grin at Lisa.

She was gone.

The effects of the two fast beers suddenly neutralized by the cold water, Alex scanned the crowd, sure that Lisa must be among the kids still on the pool deck. Then he was equally sure she was not. If she'd made up her mind not to come into the pool, she wouldn't change it.

And Alex suddenly felt like a fool.

He hadn't wanted to come to the party, he hadn't really wanted the two beers he'd drunk, and he certainly didn't want Lisa mad at him. He scrambled out of the water, grabbed a towel, then dried himself off and dressed as fast as he could. As he started into the house, he asked Bob Carey if he'd seen Lisa anywhere. Bob hadn't.

Nor had anyone else.

Ten minutes later, Alex left the house, praying that his car wasn't blocked in.

A quarter of a mile down Hacienda Drive, Lisa Cochran's quick pace slowed, and she wondered if maybe she shouldn't turn around and go back to the party. What, after all, was so horrible about skinny-dipping? And who was she to be so prissy about it? In a way, Alex was right-it had had been her idea that they go to the party. He'd even argued with her, but she'd insisted. Still, he been her idea that they go to the party. He'd even argued with her, but she'd insisted. Still, he had had drunk a couple of beers, and by now he might be working on a third. And if he was, she certainly didn't want to drive home with him. drunk a couple of beers, and by now he might be working on a third. And if he was, she certainly didn't want to drive home with him.

She stopped walking entirely, and wondered what to do. Perhaps she should walk all the way into the village and wait for Alex at home.

Except that her parents would be up and would want to know what had happened.

Maybe the best thing to do was go back to the party, find Alex, and convince him that it was time for them to go home. She would do the driving.

But that would be giving in, and she wouldn't give in. She had been right, and Alex had been wrong, and it served him right that she'd walked out on him.

She made up her mind, and continued down the road.

Alex jockeyed the Mustang around Bob Carey's Porsche, then put it in drive and gunned the engine. The rear wheels spun on the loose gravel for a moment, then caught, and the car shot forward, down the Evanses' driveway and into Hacienda Drive.

Alex wasn't sure how long Lisa had been walking-it seemed as though it had taken him forever to get dressed and search the house. She could be almost home by now.

He pressed the accelerator, and the car picked up speed. He hugged the wall of the ravine on the first curve, but the car fishtailed slightly, and he had to steer into the skid to regain control. Then he hit a straight stretch and pushed his speed up to seventy. Coming up fast was an S curve that was posted at thirty miles an hour, but he knew they always left a big margin for safety. He slowed to sixty as he started into the first turn.

And then he saw her.

She was standing on the side of the road, her green dress glowing brightly in his headlights, staring at him with terrified eyes.

Or did he just imagine that? Was he already that close to her?

Time suddenly slowed down, and he slammed his foot on the brake.

Too late. He was going to hit her.

It would have been all right if she'd been on the inside of the curve. He'd have swept around her, and she'd have been safe. But now he was skidding right toward her...

Turn into it. He had to turn into it!

Taking his foot off the brake, he steered to the right, and suddenly felt the tires grab the pavement.

Lisa was only a few yards away.

And beyond Lisa, almost lost in the darkness, something else.

A face, old and wrinkled, framed with white hair. And the eyes in the face were glaring at him with an intensity he could almost feel.

It was the face that finally made him lose all control of the car.

An ancient, weathered face, a face filled with an unspeakable loathing, looming in the darkness.

At the last possible moment, he wrenched the wheel to the left, and the Mustang responded, slewing around Lisa, charging across the pavement, heading for the ditch and the wall of the ravine beyond.

Straighten it out!

He spun the wheel the other way.

Too far.

The car burst through the guardrail and hurtled over the edge of the ravine.

"Lisaaaa..."

CHAPTER THREE.

It was nearly two A.M. A.M. when Ellen Lonsdale heard the first faint wailing of a siren. She hadn't been asleep-indeed she'd been sitting in the living room ever since the Cochrans had left an hour earlier, growing increasingly restless as the minutes ticked by. It wasn't like Alex to be late, and for the last half-hour she'd been fighting a growing feeling that something had happened to him. The siren grew louder. A few seconds later it was joined by another, then a third. As she listened, the mournful wailings grew into shrill screams that tore the last vestiges of calmness from her mind. when Ellen Lonsdale heard the first faint wailing of a siren. She hadn't been asleep-indeed she'd been sitting in the living room ever since the Cochrans had left an hour earlier, growing increasingly restless as the minutes ticked by. It wasn't like Alex to be late, and for the last half-hour she'd been fighting a growing feeling that something had happened to him. The siren grew louder. A few seconds later it was joined by another, then a third. As she listened, the mournful wailings grew into shrill screams that tore the last vestiges of calmness from her mind.

It was Alex. Deep in her soul, she knew that the sirens were for her son.

Then, inside the house, the phone began to ring.

That's it, she thought. They're calling to tell me he's dead. Her feet leaden, she forced herself to go to the phone, hesitated a moment, then picked it up.

"H-h.e.l.lo?"

"Ellen?"

"Yes."

"This is Barbara, at the Center?"

The hesitancy in Barbara Fannon's voice told Ellen that something had gone wrong. "What is it? What's happened?"

Barbara's voice remained professionally neutral. "May I speak to Dr. Lonsdale please?"

"What's happened?" Ellen demanded again. Then, hearing the note of hysteria in her voice, she took a deep breath and reminded herself that Marsh was on call that night. "I'm sorry," she said. "Just a moment, Barbara."

Her hand shaking in spite of herself, she laid the receiver on the table next to the phone and turned toward the hall. Marsh, his eyes still bleary with sleep, stood in the doorway. "What's happening? Something woke me up."

"Sirens," Ellen breathed. "Something's happened, and the hospital wants to talk to you."

His eyes immediately clearing, Marsh strode into the room and picked up the phone. "This is Dr. Lonsdale."

"Marsh? It's Barbara. I'm in the emergency room. I hate to call you in this late, but there's been some kind of an accident, and we don't know how bad it is yet. Since you're on call..." Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

"You did right. I'll be right there. Does anybody have any details at all?"

"Not really. Apparently at least one car went off the road, and we don't know how many people were in it-"

"Maybe I'd better go up there."

There was a hesitation; then: "The EMT's are with the ambulance, Doctor...."

Now it was Marsh who hesitated, then grimaced slightly. Even after five years, he found it hard to accept that the emergency medical technicians were, indeed, better trained to handle such situations than he himself was. "I get the picture, Barb. Say no more. See you in a few minutes." He hung up the phone, then turned to Ellen, who stood behind a chair, both hands gripping its back.

"It's Alex, isn't it?" she breathed.

"Alex?" Marsh repeated. What could have put that idea into Ellen's head? "Why on earth should it have anything to do with Alex?"

Ellen did her best to steady herself. "I just have a feeling, that's all. I've had it for about half an hour. It is is Alex, isn't it?" Alex, isn't it?"

"No one knows who it is yet," Marsh replied. "It's an automobile accident, but that doesn't mean it's Alex." His words, though, did nothing to dissipate the fear in her eyes, and despite the tension that still hung between them, he took her in his arms. "Honey, don't do this to yourself." When Ellen made no reply, he reluctantly released her and started toward their bedroom, but Ellen held onto his arm, and when she spoke, her eyes, as well as her words, were pleading.

"If it isn't Alex, why did they call you? There's an intern on duty, isn't there?"

Marsh nodded. "But they don't know how many people might have been hurt. They might need me, and I am am on call." He gently disengaged her hand, but Ellen followed him into the bedroom. on call." He gently disengaged her hand, but Ellen followed him into the bedroom.

"I want to go with you," she said while he began dressing.

Marsh shook his head. "Ellen, there's no reason-"

"There is is a reason," Ellen protested, struggling to keep her voice level, but not succeeding. "I have a feeling, and-" a reason," Ellen protested, struggling to keep her voice level, but not succeeding. "I have a feeling, and-"

"And it's only a feeling," Marsh insisted, and Ellen flinched at the dismissive tone of his words. He relented, and once more put his arms around his wife. "Honey, please. Think about it. Automobile accidents happen all the time. The odds of this one involving Alex are next to nothing. And I can't deal with whatever's happening if I have to take care of you too."

His words hurt her, but Ellen knew he was right. Deliberately she made herself stop shaking and stepped away from him. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that...Oh, never mind. Go."

Marsh offered her a smile. "Now, that's my girl."

Though her husband's smile did nothing to alleviate her pain, Ellen picked up his wallet and keys from the dresser and handed them to him. "Marsh?" she asked, then waited until he met her eyes before going on. "As soon as you know what's happened, have someone call me. I don't need details-I just need to know it's not Alex."

"By the time I know what's happened, Alex will probably be home," Marsh replied. Then he relented. "But I'll have someone call. With any luck, I'll be back in an hour myself."

Then he was gone, and Ellen sank slowly onto the sofa to wait.

"Jesus Christ," Sergeant Roscoe Finnerty whispered as the spotlight on his patrol car illuminated the wreckage at the bottom of the ravine. "Why the f.u.c.k didn't it burn?" Grabbing his flashlight, he got out of the car and started clambering down the slope, with his partner, Thomas Jefferson Jackson, right behind him. A few yards away, Finnerty saw a shape move, and trained his light on the frightened face of a teenage boy.

"Far enough, son," Finnerty said quietly. "Whatever's happened, we'll take care of it."

"But-" the boy began.

"You heard him," Jackson broke in. "Get back up on the road, and stay out of the way." He flashed his light on the knot of teenagers who were cl.u.s.tered together. Most of them had wet hair, and their clothes were in disarray. "Those your friends?"

The boy nodded.

"Musta been some party. Now, get up there with them, and we'll talk to you later."

Silently the boy turned and started back up the hill, and Jackson followed Finnerty down toward the wreckage. Behind him, he heard car doors slamming, and the sound of voices issuing orders. Vaguely he became aware of other people beginning to move down the slope of the ravine.

The car lay on its side, so battered its make was no longer recognizable. It appeared to have turned end for end at least twice, then rolled until it came to rest against a large boulder.

"The driver's still in it," Jackson heard Finnerty say, and his stomach lurched the way it always did when he had to deal with the victims of automobile accidents. Stoically he moved forward.

"Still alive?"

"Dunno," Finnerty grunted. "Don't hardly see how he can be, though." He paused then, well aware of his partner's weak stomach. "You okay?"

"I'll throw up later," Jackson muttered. "Anybody else in the car?"

"Nope. But if someone wasn't wearing a seat belt, they'd have gone out on the first flip." He shone his light briefly on Jackson's sweating face. "You wanna help out here, or look around for another victim?"

"I'll help. 'Least till the medics get here." He approached the car and stared in at the body that was pitched forward against the steering wheel. The head was covered with blood, and it looked to Jackson as if Finnerty was right-if the smashup itself hadn't killed the driver, he must have bled to death by now. Still, he had his job to do, and clenching his teeth, Jackson began helping his partner cut through the seat belt that held the inert body into what was left of the car.

"Don't move him," one of the emergency technicians warned a moment later. He and his partner began unfolding a stretcher as the two cops finished cutting away the seat belt.

"You think we haven't done this before?" Finnerty rasped. "Anyway, I don't think it'll make much difference with this one."

"We'll decide that," the EMT replied, moving forward and edging Jackson aside. "Anybody know who he is?"

"Not yet," Jackson told him. "We'll run a make on the plate as soon as we get him up to the road."

The two EMT's slowly and carefully began working Alex's body out of the wreckage, and, what seemed to Jackson to be an eternity later, eased him onto the stretcher.

"He's not dead yet," one of the EMT's muttered. "But he will be if we don't get him out of here fast. Come on."

With a man at each corner of the stretcher, the two EMT's and the two cops began making their way up the hill.

The crowd of teenagers on the road stood silently watching as the stretcher was borne upward. In the midst of them, Lisa Cochran leaned heavily on Kate Lewis, who did her best to keep Lisa from looking at the bloodied shape of Alex Lonsdale.

"He must still be alive," Bob Carey whispered. "They've got something wrapped around his head, but his face isn't covered."

Then the medics were on the road, sliding the stretcher into the ambulance. A second later, its lights flashing and its siren screaming, it roared off into the night.