As soon as I was alone I eased myself out, stretching aching legs. I hesitated at the top of the stairs, listening, but the house was silent. Returning to my cabin was out of the question. Greg would be waiting for me. I needed to get rid of the pictures. All of the pictures.

I ran to the photography classroom, unlocked the door and went into the small storage space at the back. I had found a new hiding place, one no-one would discover. I pushed a filing cabinet sideways, knelt and slipped a finger into a knot in the wood floor and tugged. The plank came out with a squeal and I reached in, pulled out a thick package. All the other photographs Cherri and I had taken of Jeff and Chrissy, Jeff and Chrissy and Greg and Sara. All the pictures I had taken of Cherri. The ones she had taken of me. The ones of Jack, of Brian, of us all. The guilty secrets of summer, all wrapped in black plastic. Dear god, what had I been thinking of?

I slipped the floorboard back into place and left, ran along the lakeshore watching for Greg or Sara. By now Jeff would be back, and he and Chrissy might take up the hunt as well. Only one place I could think to go. North through the woods to my place of refuge.

The barn door was pushed to one side when I came along the old track. Inside I called out, "Cherri, are you here?"

I heard movement, a thump on the boards above. Cherri's head and shoulders appeared at the top of the ladder. As far as I could tell she wore no top.

"What are you doing here, Dan?"

"This is where I come." Anger flared. This was my place, always had been, all summer long. I had discovered the barn. I had made it special.

"Brian's with me." Cherri stared down, her face showing no emotion, then something sparked in her eyes and her mouth lifted on one side. "You wanna come up?"

"I'm in trouble."

Cherri laughed. "No. Not trouble. Not if you don't want."

That Cherri. "I got the pictures, but Chrissy and Jeff know I've got them. So does Greg. He..." I shook my head. This was so fucked up.

"Wait up." Cherri disappeared. More muffled sounds then Cherri returned and descended the ladder, straw caught in her hair. A moment later Brian appeared above her and followed.

"I need to destroy these." I held the thick plastic-wrapped bundle out. "I need to burn them."

"You can't. Not our pictures, Dan."

"What pictures? Those you took that day we were all here?" Brian didn't know about our secret liaisons, the afternoons in the barn, evenings in the forest with late sunlight angling through the trees, dusted beams highlighting a naked Cherri. And... when on occasion Cherri took the camera and I acted as a model for her... those pictures of me. I didn't want any of them becoming public. Everything, all the beautiful, erotic, wonderful pictures held in my hand had to be destroyed. The magic of summer had evaporated in those moments I crouched in the back of Jeff's closet, realizing what I'd done.

"I've got to burn them!"

"No..." Cherri shook her head, stepping closer, the smell of sex from her reaching me. Brian stood to one side, a spectator, as he had been a spectator all summer, he and Jack, good guys, great guys, but the summer had always been about me and Cherri. For me, anyway. Maybe not for Cherri. Even through my panic and fear jealousy flared, because Cherri had come to our place with Brian, not with me.

"I have to, Cherri," I said, my voice softening because I knew what she was experiencing. I wanted to keep these memories too, wanted to carry them away with me, take them out and remind myself of what the summer had really been about. I needed these, but couldn't have them. "Help me, Brian. If Cherri won't, you have to help me."

Cherri took another pace, almost touching me.

"Is this what you want, Dan?"

"It's not what I want. It's what I have to do."

Cherri turned away, held out her hand. "Matches."

Brian burrowed into his jeans pocket. I noticed in his hurry the brass buttons were still loose down the front, white shorts showing through the gap. He pulled out a small plastic bag of resin, reached back in and tossed a box of matches to Cherri. Cherri piled a handful of dry straw in the center of the floor, away from any bales or wood. She went to the front of the barn and tugged at a loose board. She wasn't strong enough and Brian walked across to help, his muscles bunching as he tore the plank free. He laid it across the side of a rusted plow blade and stamped down, splintering the wood, stamping again and again until the wood broke into tiny strips. Cherri piled them onto the straw. I tore the plastic open, pulled out black and white photographs.

"We need more wood," Cherri said to Brian.

He began to pull more planks from the wall.

Cherri struck a match and pushed it into the dry dusty straw. The bone dry straw flared immediately, billowing white smoke to the ceiling. The wood caught fast, crackling, flames rising and I tossed the first half dozen pictures onto the flame. They curled, blackening, but photographic paper doesn't burn well and they smoldered along the edges without flaring.

"More wood," I said. I glanced down at the next bundle of pictures. Cherri partially clothed, sitting on the edge of a pool, light reflecting from the water catching her hair and eyes. These were good pictures. No, I told myself, forget any false modesty, these were great pictures. I tossed them onto the flames.

We added more wood, dust dry, sucking greedily the fire into themselves and finally the photographs began to burn. I added more. Cherri took some, looked at them before throwing them into the flames. Brian knelt with us, joining in, the three of us kneeling around the fire as though we were praying. A mixture of surprise and arousal showed on Brian's face as he glanced at the pictures before adding them to the curling pile.

I pulled out strips of negatives and added them, these catching fast, flaring brightly, instantly obliterated. Sweat trickled along my cheeks. Smoke drifted across me, acrid where the chemicals in the paper burned. I must look terrible, because both Cherri and Jack were streaked with grime, eyes red and watering, clothes stinking of fire. Finally the last of the prints were burned, the last of the negatives destroyed. I had two undeveloped rolls of film in my vest and I tore them from the canisters and tossed them on, opened the back of the Nikon and pulled the film free and added that to the flames. Gone. All gone. Our summer secrets consumed in flame.

I was the first to move. I pushed back on my heels and stood, climbed the ladder to the upper floor, walked across and stood on the platform over the lake. Smoke from our fire billowed out through the holes in the barn walls and drifted across the rippled surface. I heard footsteps. Arms snaked around my waist and Cherri pulled herself against my back.

shook my head. All gone. Everything destroyed.

"I feel like shit."

Cherri laughed softly. "That's okay then. You look like shit too."

Good old Cherri. Making me smile.

Brian joined us, putting his strong arms around us both and I leaned into him, needing his strength, missing Jack. We stayed on the platform a long while, watching smoke roll across the water, holding onto each other silently.

Cherri kissed me first. Reaching on tiptoe her lips touched my cheek and without thinking I turned to find her mouth. Her hand touched my breast and I gasped, lust exploding through me without warning. I kissed Cherri hard, dropped my hand to her ass and lifted her skirt, caressing the roundness beneath. Brian grew hard against my side and I turned and kissed him too, my life destroyed, my summer ended, one last opportunity for us to be together, the three of us, and I wanted them both so badly I could hardly stand, my legs turning weak, head spinning. I turned to Brian and reached inside his open fly, pushing hard until I found his stiffening cock.

Somehow we shuffled across the floor, found the bed we had formed from bales. I lay on my back, Cherri on one side, Brian on the other. Cherri unbuttoned him completely, freeing his cock and I reached for him, stroking as he thrust against my side. Cherri sat up and removed her top, lay back against me, unbuttoning me, freeing my breasts and stomach to her touch. This was our final performance, a farewell to each other, a farewell to summer and I wanted it as much as I'd wanted everything else. I regretted nothing. Not a single moment. I wouldn't have changed anything.

Only slowly, through a haze of arousal, did we become aware we were not alone in the barn. I don't know which of us stopped first, but within moments each of us stilled, listening.

Footsteps below. A scuffling sound. A billow of smoke rose through the opening above the ladder.

"Nothing left." Greg's voice.

"I wanted to see them." Sara, her voice whiny, weak, and I wondered how I'd ever thought her beautiful.

"Not now you won't."

"Jack took some of those," Sara said. "I liked Jack."

"More than me?"

"He was nice."

I heard the slap, loud, and Sara's cry.

"As nice as me, bitch?"

"Fuck you!"

"Okay, if that's what you want."

"Get off me!"

It was happening again. Greg didn't understand the word No. He may have been fucking Sara all summer, but a big difference existed between willingness and rape. I'd pretended for years that what he he'd done to me wasn't rape, that somehow everything had been my fault, I must have led him on, must have in some way wanted him to take me. But that was all wrong, all self-justification. Greg was evil. Simple as that. And I wasn't going to let him get away with it again.

I rolled off the hay and moved fast to the ladder, stood over the hole, my shirt open all along the front, breasts bared. Greg pushed Sara backward toward one of the stalls. They passed almost directly beneath me, and without thinking what I was doing I leapt through the gap and landed on his shoulders. As he collapsed beneath me I punched and scratched and bit. I was a wild animal, beyond all restraint, my nails drawing red trails down Greg's face.

He spun beneath me, legs kicking, catching in the remains of the fire and scattering ashes and sparks madly. He grabbed my hands, pushing me away. I squirmed, kicked, brought my head down hard against his nose and his grip loosened. Suddenly fingers curled into my hair, pulling me back. It was Sara. The girl I was meant to be saving now helping Greg. I should have known. Should have let him rape her. I twisted, kicking out, caught her on the shin and she staggered away, taking fistfuls of my hair with her. Behind me a whoosh as bales caught, a sudden heat baking my back. Greg grabbed me, toppling me to the ground. Sara came at me again and I kicked out with both feet, catching her on the chest. I pushed hard and she flew away from me, landed heavily on a pile of straw. The fire spread suddenly, aggressively, sparks and burning straw filling the air, smoke billowing to the ceiling, pouring out through the opening above the ladder. Cherri and Brian were still somewhere above us!

Greg dragged me across the floor, half lifting me to my feet and I squirmed, trying to escape him but I had forgotten again how strong he was, how determined. He swung me hard. My feet came off the ground and he continued the swing, building momentum. Then Greg let go.

I arced through the air, unable to change my flight. Greg had timed the throw perfectly. Flame licked my body. I smelled singeing hair, landing hard among the burning bales, my skin agony, a roaring sound engulfing me. All I saw was fire. Then an arm appeared, a woman's arm and I grabbed it, was pulled hard out from the flaming straw and dumped damaged and in agony on the dirt floor. Sara stood above me, her own hair smoking where she had reached through the flame for me.

"Stupid cunt!"

Greg punched her hard on the side of the head and she buckled. I kicked out at him, my boots catching his thigh and he stumbled. He turned and lashed out, catching me on the side and I rolled away, away from the flames. Fire filled the whole of the barn now, bales flaring, smoke thick. Above us the planks of the upper floor were smoking, tendrils of flame snaking along their edges. The smoke roiled and moved, the sound of the fire like a wild animal roaring.

I staggered to my feet and stumbled backward away from the heat, away from the noise.

Greg lifted Sara's slim figure in his arms and swung her as he had me, directly into the burning maelstrom she had rescued me from. Sara screamed as flame fanned around her flying figure. Her hair caught in a rush, flaring around her head. Her skirt followed, a puff of flame at her hips. Sara disappeared, the roaring fire engulfing her completely.

I stopped going backward and ran toward the flame. Sara had saved me. I could do the same for her. But in the short seconds since she'd pulled me free the fire had intensified tenfold. I couldn't reach her. Couldn't even see her. Couldn't hear her. No screams. No cries.

Movement beside me made me turn. Greg came at me again, knocking me forward toward the inferno. My hair caught again, flaring, the smell acrid. I twisted aside, managing to avoid Greg's hands. Above me something groaned and flaming wood crashed down, blocking my escape through the open doorway. Greg started toward me again, hesitated, the madness leaving his eyes as he realized he too was in grave danger. He stared into my face, eyes locked on mine for a moment before he grinned and spun away.

"Have a good death, Dani." He ran hard, leaped, soaring over the burning mass of wood between him and the door and suddenly I was alone with the flame. My body felt crisped, my hair and eyelashes remnants. More of the ceiling crashed down. I stared up. The flames had reached the upper floor now. Straw sucked fire to itself greedily. Fire licked and climbed the inner walls like a lover's tongue. I spun around, surrounded by fire and smoke. I could hardly see, my eyes closing up, convinced this was the end for me.

It should have been.

I went to my knees, my body giving up, pain dissolving away. The fire became distant, happening somewhere else. I stared at the flame caressing the far wall. Through the gaps we'd made to start this inferno lay cool, clear water I couldn't reach.

I coughed hard, my lungs raw, watched as something moved through the gaps in the barn. Figures moving. The wall exploded inward in a frenzy of burning wood and sparks. Brian rolled across the floor, wet clothes billowing steam. He grabbed me under my arms and lifted, turned and ran back, leaped and we soared through the flames, crashed back through the weakened barn wall and landed in the lake. Inside the barn I'd hardly felt the heat and fire. As soon as the cold water closed over me I was in agony. When my head cleared the surface I screamed. Cherri helped Brian drag me to shore, helped carry me away from the raging firestorm that had been our barn. The roof collapsed as they lay me on the grass beneath the trees. Beyond the woods came closer to the barn and some of the nearer branches had caught.

"Dani." Cherri leaned over me, her face streaked, her wet hair plastered to her cheeks.

"Hi," I said. I was starting to drift again, grateful for the lessening of my pain.

"Are you okay?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. I think I burned off all my hair."

She touched my head, laughed, the laugh catching in her throat. "Only on one side. You can start a new trend."

I began to cry.

Cherri leaned over and kissed me, her lips soft against mine. If I'd known I wouldn't see her for ten years I'd have kissed her back.

Chapter 27.

I was saved from my memories by college, drawn into hard work and distraction, with no time to sit around and mope, no time to miss Cherri, to miss her laugh, to miss the way her tongue poked out when she was concentrating and the way her mouth quirked up on one side when she found something really amusing, didn't think about any of those things at all. Not much.

Didn't wonder why Cherri hadn't written.

Two days before Christmas I was in the darkroom with Dad trying to decide whether to tell him about Jack. I guess I had to tell Dad, and if I was going to tell him here in the darkroom was the place, surrounded by the familiar smells, chemical and sharp, but smells I was comforted by, as I was comforted by his presence. Not a big man, not impressive in many ways until you noticed his eyes and read the assurance in them. My father was the rock in my life. I loved Mom and I guess I loved my brother, but Dad was the sun around which I orbited. Everything was different when I was with him, calm and safe, nothing bad ever going to happen.

I'd started college late, allowances made for my condition. Then in November I'd called Jack. We met on Sunset and took in a band, laughing when we discovered the Himalayans were playing at the Viper but the singer didn't remember us. I guess if Cherri'd been around he might've remembered her, but I didn't care and I don't think Jack even noticed the band at all.

My hair was starting to grow out again. The nurses had shaved it off completed, shaved close to my skull, too many burned and mismatched lengths to attempt repair. By Christmas it had grown out to just cover my ears. The first time I saw Jack he'd run his hand over the emerging hair and said he liked the new look, showed the shape of my face, made me even more beautiful. Jack always was full of shit.

Two weeks later I sneaked him into my dorm when my roommate was out, our coupling frantic and rushed, Jack because he wanted me badly, me because I was trying to exorcise the memory of Cherri. Two months without so much as a postcard or a phone call.

I'd been lucky. My skin was singed raw but there were no deep burns. Yes, I'd been lucky, unlike Sara. It was two days before the flames died back enough for anyone to go into the barn. They think they found her. They found something, anyway, a few bones, some melted buttons, one shoe completely unharmed. Dad came up to sit with me in the hospital and take me home but I refused to leave until Sara's fate was confirmed. The police interviewed Cherri and Brian, satisfied Greg was the guilty party. Greg had disappeared. No sign of him anywhere. They talked to me in the hospital where I lay covered in salve and bandages. That was where they shaved my head. The expression on my father's face as he sat beside my bed made my heart ache. He sat until I was well enough to take home, well enough to answer my own questions from the police. I told them Greg had murdered Sara. I didn't tell them he had raped me two years before, seeing little point now. They would find him and punish him for a worse crime. It would be impossible to hide for long. They'd find him and punish him. Lock him somewhere dark and cold, lock him in with hard men who might like a pretty young man. Nothing was too much punishment for Greg. Nothing.

The pinging of the timer drew me back from my thoughts. Dad switched off the enlarger lamp and slipped the sheet of white photographic paper into the tray of developer. He used plastic tongs and gently lifted, washing the liquid over the paper and I watched as the image appeared, an image of me he had taken that day. As it grew clearer I realized how good he was, how much harder I needed to work to even approach his level of skill, to attain the kind of emotion he invested in each photograph.

When he was satisfied he pulled the print free, allowing the excess liquid to drain before sliding it into the fixer to instantly stop the process and set the image permanently. He used tongs again to work the print around.

"Dad?"

"What is it, Dani?" The way he said it was as though he had known this was coming. I hadn't even known myself, but he had.

"I think I might have a boyfriend."

His hand stopped moving. The print floated one way, bumped the side of the tray and drifted back. Dad started rocking the tray again.

"Only think, Dani?"

"I have got a boyfriend."

"I assume you don't mean Pete?" He continued working the print.

"No, not Pete."

"Good for you. Do I know him? What's his name?"

"Jack Bennet. No, you don't know him."

"Where's he live?"

"LA."

"Local then." He laughed.