Starlyn was using the computer in the kitchen while Cole waited his turn. He wondered if there'd be a message from Addy. He hadn't heard from her in a few days, which was unusual, but he figured it was because of the heat wave. The last time they'd spoken, Chicago was having power outages and Addy was in full-frontal freak. She had called from her cell, warning that it was almost out of power and they might get cut off.

"Yesterday it hit a hundred and seven. When there's a blackout all Lara and I can do is lie on the bare floor with wet paper towels stuck to our skin. h.e.l.lo? Last night you could smell fire and hear sirens and gunshots and alarms going off-it was like a war zone. h.e.l.lo? You still there? In the bad neighborhoods people are afraid to go out no matter how hot it gets. Some people have died because they were too scared to leave their windows open and their apartments turned into ovens. They say it's like-h.e.l.lo? They say it's like the flu all over again, with hospitals shutting their doors and the morgue running out of-h.e.l.lo? I feel like if I have to stay here much longer I'll lose my mind. I'm going to-" End of call.

Cole hadn't heard from Addy since, but he thought he knew what she'd been about to say. She'd been about to say that she was coming to Salvation City, where it was several degrees cooler and where so far they'd had only one little brownout and of course no arson or looting at all.

Before the heat wave began Cole and Addy had talked about another visit and how maybe this time, instead of her coming to him, he'd go to her in Chicago. Not that PW and Tracy were down with this plan, and Cole himself had mixed feelings about seeing Addy again so soon. But the idea of being back in Chicago was irresistible, something he'd started to dream about even before Addy came. And so he was disappointed to think that now the trip might not happen.

But then, this was becoming a season of disappointments. What with Addy dropping like a bomb into their lives, and the deadly weather, and PW's shingles attack, there hadn't been any more camping trips, either.

But even if he never made it back to the woods, Cole was happy with his Remington and with his decision to learn how to shoot-though shooting turned out to be much harder than he'd been led to think it was. (Tracy's idea that a person who could draw well could probably shoot well, too, proved to be nonsense.) He discovered he was anything but a natural marksman, though he did at least a tiny bit better with a rifle than with a pistol. Not that he found it all that much fun, either. Firing at soda cans and plastic jugs and Satan's silhouette was no big thrill to him, and he was still not keen on the idea of hunting. Funny, he almost got more satisfaction from cleaning the rifle than from firing it. The series of snaps and click-clacks made by disa.s.sembling and rea.s.sembling the parts, the smells of the solvent and gun oil-these gave him real pleasure (oddly enough, since he couldn't recall ever getting pleasure from cleaning anything else before). But he discovered it was true what he'd been told, that he'd feel better, "more comfortable in your skin" (Boots), once he knew how to handle a gun. No denying. And when he saw on the news the gangs wilding in Chicago, he wondered how someone as defenseless as Addy could protect herself. He felt afraid for Addy and for whoever this Lara was, and he felt inexplicably guilty, too. As if protecting them was somehow his his responsibility. responsibility.

Bad a shot as he might yet be, were anyone to break into the house right then and dare touch a hair on Starlyn's head, Cole swore he would not flinch; his aim would be true.

And yet it was he who had put those tears in her eyes. How messed up was that?

"All yours," she'd said, getting up from the computer and starting to leave the room.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was desperately wanting to keep her there that had made him blurt out those words. Which certainly had kept her there.

Or maybe he just couldn't stand the suspense anymore.

Was she or wasn't she sneaking out to see Mason? Were they kissing, et cetera? How far had they gone? These questions would not leave Cole alone. He knew that Starlyn had made a commitment to G.o.d to remain pure until her wedding day, and that she belonged to her church's virgin club. But everyone knew that teenagers who made this commitment weren't always able to keep it, and that when this happened, though you were judged to have fallen, you weren't punished; you were forgiven.

If he told her what he already knew, maybe she'd tell him more?

For sure he'd never have been so bold as to speak if she hadn't started being nicer to him. But that summer it had seemed to him they were even becoming friends. Not that she ever completely lost her air of detachment and superiority or gave him reason to believe he could be anyone seriously important to her. But when she wasn't off with Amberly or some other BF, she seemed happy enough to hang out with him, playing cards or video games. Or she would sit and let him sketch her head or her hands. (He was really dying to draw her feet, but even when she was barefoot he was too shy to ask.) She said she thought he was mad talented and even offered to collaborate with him on a comic: "Your art and my words."

Up till now she'd shown little interest in his art and no curiosity at all about his past. But one day she surprised Cole by asking about his parents and what being in an orphanage was really like. Another day she wanted to hear what it was like to have almost died from the flu. These were, of course, the top three subjects Cole was least eager to talk about. But that didn't mean he wasn't grateful to be asked. He was grateful for any attention from Starlyn. And she had listened when he told his stories, and he could tell she was moved, as he was moved when she said she was sure his parents had been good people.

She said she knew-sort of-what it might be like to lose a parent because she had no father herself. "He's alive but I've never laid eyes on him."

Another new Starlyn thing that summer was how often she would say-usually out of the blue-how much her aunt and uncle loved Cole. "I don't think it's possible for two people to love a body more." It was hard for Cole not to suspect she had been put up to this. "I've been praying for G.o.d to do a work in your heart so you'll know this is where you belong."

But when he was honest with himself Cole knew the real reason he'd spoken up was to make himself look good. He wanted Starlyn to know. All summer he'd been dying to tell her, dying for her to know that he'd discovered her secret months ago and never said a word.

How could such loyalty fail to impress her?

How could it not bring the two of them closer?

And what on G.o.d's green earth did Cole want more than to be closer to Starlyn?

The thought that she would not always be there (in fact, her mother was coming to fetch her that weekend) made him deliriously sad.

As for Mason, Cole did not like him anymore. He did not trust Mason. He was only a molecule away from hating Mason Boyle.

"Please," she said thickly. "Please, don't."

Even if he'd stopped to think before shooting off his mouth, he'd never have predicted this. Don't what what? As if he were about to get violent with her!

"Gosh, Starlyn, I was just saying. I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're thinking. I promise I'd never do that."

She dabbed a spilled tear with her fingertip (he felt felt this, as if she had literally grazed his heart). She hiccupped once and said, "Well, this, as if she had literally grazed his heart). She hiccupped once and said, "Well, th-that's th-that's good to know." As she grabbed a tissue from a box on the kitchen counter and blew her nose, Cole delicately looked away. He thought she would leave the room then. Instead, she opened the cookie jar sitting on the counter and took out an Oreo. good to know." As she grabbed a tissue from a box on the kitchen counter and blew her nose, Cole delicately looked away. He thought she would leave the room then. Instead, she opened the cookie jar sitting on the counter and took out an Oreo.

He held his breath as he watched her eat the cookie, slowly and thoughtfully, as if she were consuming important information. The sound of her deliberate munching filled the room, and he felt that, too: her teeth, her tongue. Her wet eyelashes made him feel weak.

She was wearing her hair up today. Cole tried not to stare too obviously at her ears. (Sketching her once, he'd been struck by the thought that some ears, at least, really could be compared to seash.e.l.ls.) She thumbed crumb dust from her lower lip and said, "I know you're a good boy, Cole."

Talking down to him: something she'd stopped doing recently, making it all the more humiliating for him to hear her do it now.

"Like, maybe you saw something or heard something you're too young to understand?"

Cole nodded, then blushed in confusion because of course he hadn't meant to agree with this.

"I'd never ask you to lie for me. But remember, a promise is sacred."

This time his nod was emphatic. He wanted nothing more than for her to understand that her secret was safe with him.

"If you were older," she said, "I could explain everything." Something withered in him. She was brushing him off, like the cookie crumbs. But at least she wasn't upset anymore. At least he hadn't blown everything and made an enemy of her.

She opened the cookie jar again and took out another Oreo. But this time, instead of eating it herself, she offered it to Cole. He didn't want it, he had no saliva in his mouth, the cookie tasted like grit, but he ate it anyway because he thought this was what she wanted. What a wonderful life that would be: day after day, doing nothing but what she wanted. "All I can tell you is, something awesome is going to happen."

She was smiling, her head tilted to one side, watching him as if she was seeing something curious about him, or something she hadn't noticed before. He thought she had never looked so soft. She had never looked so beautiful. Something awesome is going to happen. Something awesome is going to happen. Something awesome was happening right now. She was standing just inches away from him. He thought he smelled peaches. He held the cookie mush in his mouth, unable to speak, unable to swallow. Something awesome was happening right now. She was standing just inches away from him. He thought he smelled peaches. He held the cookie mush in his mouth, unable to speak, unable to swallow.

She lifted her shoulders high and then dropped them again, an exaggerated gesture, followed by an exaggerated sigh. "I was just thinking how much love for you there is in this house." She gazed upward, as if this love were something that could be seen, a pink cloud floating by . . . Cole pretended to see it, too. She said, "I feel so blessed that you're part of my family."

Touch me, his heart boomed. And to his astonishment she did. She put her arms around him, and because she was wearing her hair up today he was able to press his face right into the curve of her neck, where it fit like a puzzle piece. Not marble-cool like he'd always imagined, but very, very warm. She squirmed when she felt his lips move, and then, as if she'd heard a scream for help or smelled something burning, she broke free and fled the room.

Cole waited for gravity to pull him earthward again. He spat the half-chewed cookie into his palm and threw it into the trash. A tingling sensation low in his belly made him want to get behind a closed door as quickly as possible. But first he checked his e-mail.

Still no message from Addy.

THE MESSAGE WAS THERE the next morning. Addy was back in Berlin.

I could not stay in that horrible place even one more day. It was bad enough the power kept failing, but then so many fire hydrants were being opened all over town we didn't have any water, and they were saying the heat might not break for another week. Lara left first. She went to stay with some friends outside the city, and I was too scared to stay alone. I've never seen such chaos, not even when I had the flu. I was amazingly lucky to get on a flight. I had to pay a huge fee-a bribe is what it really was-but I couldn't lose this chance to get out while the airport was operating, as it hadn't been for days. I felt like I was escaping from some banana republic.

But she did not want Cole to think she had abandoned him.

Of course, I still want you to come live with me. That's not going to change. But in the end it's going to be up to you. If it comes to court, the judge will say you're old enough to decide for yourself who you want to live with.If you want me to, I can always fly back to the States. But I've been thinking, how would you feel about making a little trip to Berlin, just to see what it's like?

He didn't answer right away. He was glad to know Addy was safe, but right now he couldn't think about her or about going anywhere. Starlyn was leaving tomorrow. He didn't know when he'd see her again. That was all Cole could think about.

THREE DAYS AFTER she'd driven to Salvation City to take her daughter home, Taffy called her sister Tracy. Her speech was so distorted she had to repeat herself twice before she could make herself understood.

That morning, she'd slept through the alarm (the lovebirds had been out two-stepping the night before) and was rushing to get ready to go to her job at the insurance office where she worked as a receptionist. She wondered about Starlyn, who was usually up before her. She hoped her daughter wasn't coming down with some bug.

When she was ready to leave the house, Taffy went to Starlyn's room and found her gone.

"Nothing else is missing. Not her backpack or iPod or even her wallet. No makeup or toiletries, far's I can tell, and none of her clothes. The things she was wearing yesterday, everything, including her flip-flops and her teensies, the angel locket you got her for her birthday, her scrunchy, her watch, her tears-of-Christ pendant, her purity bracelet-it's all there in a heap on the floor. And her cell's sitting on her dresser."

The shock had knocked Taffy flat. "When I come to, I was laying face down across her bed."

Later that same day, Lucinda Boyle, who was feeling too unsteady to leave her bed, called her next-door neighbor, Rutha Mae. She didn't mean to be any trouble, she said, but her son had left the house that morning to get a prescription for her muscle relaxant filled and he hadn't come back. She'd tried calling him but he wasn't answering. "Which, you know, ain't half like Mase." Who answered his phone even while leading Bible group.

Rutha Mae said she was sure there was a simple explanation, that if anything had happened to Mason they'd surely have heard by now, but she'd be right over anyhow so Lucinda didn't have to wait all by her lonesome. She'd bring some pineapple loaf cake, Rutha Mae said.

Minutes later, as she approached the house, Rutha Mae was surprised to see Mason's car parked in the garage. The garage door being open, Rutha Mae stepped inside, where she saw some clothes scattered on the floor.

"Everything he put on that morning," Rutha Mae reported later. "Plus his wallet and his keys and phone, and that silver stud he always wore in his ear? Everything but his tattoos! He must've been just about to get in the car."

COLE FOUND PW SITTING ALONE out on the back porch. The temperature had finally dropped, and the evening was humid but cool-too cool to be wearing nothing but a pair of baggy shorts. But that was how you'd usually find PW dressed these days.

The rash and the blisters that had itched him to such distraction were gone. But PW was not yet out from under the devil's whip. He could not bear the weight of even the lightest cloth against certain parts of his torso. A draft of air touching one of those spots was sometimes enough to make him hop up and down in pain.

Postherpetic neuralgia. Something to do with the nerves being confused and sending false messages to the brain. Occurring in about twenty percent of shingles cases, according to the doctor, and PW's case appeared to be unusually bad. The painkillers the doctor gave him weren't doing much good. Nor could the doctor say how long the condition would last. Maybe months, maybe years. He did not say maybe forever, but that grim possibility was understood.

The doctor was worried about PW's mental state. He wanted to put him on antidepressants. PW refused at first ("Rather put my faith in prayer"), and later, when he changed his mind, the antidepressants, like the prayer and the painkillers before them, would not do the trick.

One day worse than usual-the whip lashes raining down especially hard and thick-PW resorted to bourbon, whose medicinal effects he hadn't forgotten, and discovered that here was something that did help, if only a little, and only if he drank a lot.

"What is it, son? What's on your mind? Here, come sit closer to me."

Was it a sin to find the smell of whiskey on a person's breath so pleasant? (Cole's parents had drunk only beer and wine, both of which, like coffee, left smells he found gross.) Not so pleasant was the way the whiskey messed with PW's speech and sometimes even made him drool. Also, Cole could not get used to him being half naked all the time. Something about those beefy shoulder pads, the tufts and whorls of black hair, and the Hershey's Kiss-like nipples hidden in there made Cole shy away from sitting too too close on the wicker sofa. close on the wicker sofa.

"It's about Starlyn."

"Yeah?"

"I think Mason kidnapped her."

"Now, why on earth would you say a thing like that?"

A promise is sacred. Cole chose his words carefully. "Because-because it doesn't make any sense. Why would just the two of them be raptured and n.o.body else?" Cole chose his words carefully. "Because-because it doesn't make any sense. Why would just the two of them be raptured and n.o.body else?"

PW breathed a pungent sigh. "First of all, it hasn't even been one whole day yet. Second, Scripture tells us very little about the rapture, so we don't really know what to expect. No one knows the hour or day, not even the angels in heaven, according to Matthew. Only G.o.d the father knows. So maybe it was never intended for all believers to be taken away in exactly the same breath. We don't know. Like we don't know what's going to happen in the next next breath, either." breath, either."

Cole didn't understand how PW could be so calm. Others, he knew, were nowhere near calm. In fact, something very different from the joyful and triumphant celebration Cole had heard so often and so confidently foretold was now unfolding in Salvation City. To the stream of callers wanting to know such things as whether they should climb up on their roofs or keep their doors and windows open, whether they should eat normally or start fasting, whether it was okay to have s.e.x, or safe to drive, and what should they do about the dog-whether there was any chance they'd actually missed the rapture and were now officially left behind, and how could such a thing have happened ("Weren't we promised promised we were saved?"), and how much time did they have before the tribulation began in earnest-to all these confused and shaken souls Pastor Wyatt responded alike: Be patient. Gather with your loved ones. Stay home. Wait. Pray. we were saved?"), and how much time did they have before the tribulation began in earnest-to all these confused and shaken souls Pastor Wyatt responded alike: Be patient. Gather with your loved ones. Stay home. Wait. Pray.

Their own household had been turned upside down. Poor Tracy had already had enough to cope with in the weeks since Addy's arrival. Now her legs kept giving out from under her as if she'd been struck by a palsy. After she toppled downstairs, spraining her ankle and splitting open her eyebrow, PW had ordered her to bed. He made her swallow a handful of the painkillers the doctor had prescribed for him and which he knew had a sleep-inducing effect. She had slipped into oblivion babbling blessings and prayers, convinced that when she opened her eyes again she'd be resting on the clouds of 1 Thessalonians.

"I'll be the first to admit I am not sure what's happening," said PW. "But I'm also sure the Lord will let us know all we need to know in his own time. Have faith, and the mystery shall be revealed."

"But there's no mystery," said Cole. "There's an explanation."

"What? Two people naked as Adam and Eve and without a penny on 'em walk off into the yonder without anyone taking notice?"

"Mason-"

"Oh right, the Great Kidnapper. And how'd he get to Louisville without his car?"

"There are other ways!"

"Hunh!" PW lurched in his seat as if he'd been Tasered. "It's okay, son," he said quickly. "I'm all right." But he spoke through gritted teeth, and his face was milk white. "Don't look so scared." He tried to smile. "It hurts worse to see you scared."

Every time this happened-and it could happen several times a day-Cole felt not only scared but the worst kind of helpless. All he could do was sit and watch as PW struggled, breathing shallowly, skin sheened with sweat despite the cool air. Cole sometimes wondered why the bigger a person was, the bigger their pain could seem. The way a suffering whale was so much worse to imagine than a suffering mouse.

PW reached down to the floor next to the sofa and picked up a bottle Cole hadn't known was there. He took a few large sips and put the bottle back in its spot. Then he sagged back against the sofa cushion, a fist to his mouth, and bowed his head. Under his breath, but loud enough to be heard, he asked G.o.d to forgive his weakness.

If it was part of G.o.d's plan, then suffering was not an evil but a blessing. This was something PW often said when preaching about sickness and pain. Cole had also heard him say that he would not be suffering so severely now unless G.o.d was punishing him. "And it's for me to search my heart for what I've done to displease him." Cole thought he had a pretty good idea what that thing might be. But PW never wavered from his testimony that in everything regarding Cole he had done G.o.d's will.

There was no mistaking the Lord's voice, PW had told him. It was the morning after Addy's visit and they were sitting in the den. PW had one hand on Cole's shoulder and the other on the ma.s.sive desk Bible. "When the Lord speaks to you, the words enter you in a special way. They become part of your flesh, and they never leave you."

The Lord had spoken. He had spoken clearly. And his words were save the boy save the boy.

Three times in one night he had woken PW with the same message. "And he wasn't taking no for an answer."

But why, oh why, Cole had to ask himself, didn't Jesus send a message to him and Addy, too? Wouldn't that have helped them all?

PW picked up the bottle again. It was past sunset now, and the dark was like some night animal rubbing its furred flanks up against the porch screens.

PW drank and drank. It was as if they could not start talking again until every drop was gone. Each time he took the bottle away from his lips he let out a heavy sigh, aromatizing the air with bourbon like room spray.

Just as Cole was beginning to think he'd been forgotten, PW reached over and punched him playfully on the shoulder.

"So let me get this straight. You're saying Mason somehow got himself to Louisville, sneaked into Starlyn's house, bopped her over the head like a caveman, and dragged her off by the hair?"

Cole refused even to smile.

"Mighty strange he waited till she was gone, don't you think? When just a couple days ago she was here? How'd you explain that?"

Cole said nothing. What was the point in explaining anything? Why couldn't PW see the truth? What was wrong with Tracy, and Starlyn's mother? What was wrong with them all? By the time they caught on (and Cole was beginning to fear this might never happen), Mason and Starlyn would be far away. In his mind, they were headed to Mexico and a life of drugs and sin.

PW spoke as if he'd been able to read Cole's thoughts. "Okay, then. That's the case, what we got to do is examine what happened and why it happened like it did. We got to ask ourselves just what is the Lord trying to make us see see here. Now, it's possible he is here. Now, it's possible he is using using those two. Maybe he thought it was a good thing for us to go through a false alarm, just to show us how unready we really are. You see, G.o.d-" those two. Maybe he thought it was a good thing for us to go through a false alarm, just to show us how unready we really are. You see, G.o.d-"

"This has nothing to do with G.o.d," Cole said wearily.