Tyrone said, "Something went wrong. One of the rockets misfired and flew toward the house. It hit Margaret and it exploded, and there was this terrible crackling noise-you know, like rockets make when they explode in the sky."
Holly shook her head, because of course she hadn't heard it herself. "Margaret caught fire. I could see that she was screaming. She spread her arms wide and she jumped off the balcony, and she fell onto the steps at the back of the house. They threw buckets of water over her and tried to roll her in a tablecloth, but the rocket was all magnesium and she kept on burning and burning and they couldn't put her out."
"Holy shit," said Matthew, putting down his sandwich and wiping his hands on his pants. "And you reallyknewthat was going to happen?"
"I don't know. Maybe it was more of an intuition than a genuine vision. After all, childrendoget burned at fireworks parties, don't they? Just like gardeners accidentally chop their fingers off in mowing machines."
Tyrone took hold of Holly's hand. "You're not feeling any bad vibes like that now, are you? Don't let this Joseph asshole get to you. He was the one who beat up on his kid, wasn't he? So you shouldn't lethimmakeyoufeel guilty."
"I still feel-I don't know-maybe that woman in the bookstore was right. Maybe she could sense bad luck coming, the way I used to."
"Holly, there's no such creature as Raven. There's nothing after you. And if that painting really gives you the heebie-jeebies, I'll tell that guy to come and take it away."
"No, that's okay. It's only a painting, and like Matthew said, it's probably not a raven at all."
"You should take Katie and Doug up on their offer. Go off to the lake for the weekend, take a break. You deserve it."
"Maybe you're right."
"Hey, listen, Holly," said Matthew, "before you go, you don't see any bad luck comingmyway, do you? I mean, if I'm going to catch fire or chop all my fingers off, I'd really like to know about it."
Tyrone rolled up his eyes in exasperation, but Holly said, "Okay, then, give me your hand." Matthew wiped it on his pants again and held it out. Holly held it for a while and closed her eyes.
"Yes ." She nodded. "You're finally going to decide that bugging Tyroneisn'tenough of a challenge."
"And?"
"Like you said, you're going to climb the east face of Mount Hood in midwinter, totally naked."
"Hey, I don't call that bad luck. That'll be cool!"
"Cool? You think so? You're going to run out of rations on the way up, and by the time you get to the top you're going to have nothing left but a frozen Twinkie."
Matthew tugged his hand away and gave her a playful slap. "Your sister, Tyrone! What a saucy mare!"
Blood in the Street
Holly and Tyrone left the Quarter Deck hand in hand while Matthew trucked along the sidewalk a few paces in front of them, snapping his fingers.
"Whatdoyou see in him?" asked Holly.
Tyrone smiled. "He keeps my feet on the ground. Stops me from being too queeny."
"You were neverqueeny. Just artistic."
"Holly, I know my weaknesses."
Holly said, "Katie and Doug are trying to pair me off with Katie's cousin. Some guy called Ned."
"You don't sound very enthusiastic about it."
"I don't know. I just don't like blind dates, that's all."
"It won't be a blind date; it'll be a deaf date."
She gave him two sharp nudges with her elbow, and he laughed and almost lost his balance on the curb.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" he said. "But seriously, I think it's about time you found somebody. It doesn't have to be the love of your life, after all. But you've always said that being deaf makes it difficult for you to socialize. It's bound to. Why not give him a try? I mean, he can't be that much of a freak, can he?"
"You want to bet? He's in wood pulp."
"Oh. I have to confess that I don't know a whole lot about wood pulp."
"Neither do I. But I expect I'm going to find out."
They were about to cross the street when Holly realized that something was happening on the opposite corner. A streetcar had come to a halt at the intersection, and a crowd of people were gathered around the front of it. An ambulance came speeding down Third Street, its lights flashing, quickly followed by two police cars.
"Oh God, there's been an accident," said Matthew. "Somebody's been knocked over."
"Come on," said Tyrone, taking Holly's arm. "We can go in by the back door. You don't want to see this."
But as Tyrone led Holly away from the scene of the accident, the crowds parted as if they had been choreographed, and she could suddenly see quite clearly what had happened. The man she had met in the Bellman's Bookstore, the man with the shaving-brush eyebrows that she had imagined for a moment was David, was lying on the streetcar tracks, on his back, with his arms spread. His face was as pale as a suffering medieval martyr, and his lips were wet with blood. More blood was running across the street and creeping along the pavement, heading southwest.
"Oh, shit," said Matthew, and pressed his hand in front of his mouth and started to retch.
"Come on," said Tyrone.
But Holly couldn't take her eyes away from the vision of the man with the shaving-brush eyebrows and the green Burberry coat just like the one David had worn. The streetcar had rolled over him and stopped and its front wheel was resting in the middle of his chest, so that he was almost cut in half. Pale and martyred as he was, he was staring up at the sky with a strangely confident look in his eyes, as if he were hoping that this had never happened and that it was nothing more than a bad dream.
"Holly, come on," Tyrone urged her.
"No," said Holly. "Wait."
The paramedics were already kneeling down on the pavement and opening up their resuscitation packs, although it was obvious to everybody that the man on the tracks could never survive. Holly heard nothing: She only saw them gesticulate, and silently argue, and hurry backward and forward. The man turned his eyes toward her, and it seemed to Holly as if he were asking her why this had happened, and whether he was imagining it, and if she had been anything to do with it.
She looked down. On the pavement lay the books that he had bought from the Bellman Bookstore, on George Stevens and David O. Selznick. The book about George Stevens had fallen open, and the rain was already crinkling its pages. It was marked with blood, too, in a strange jagged pattern, like a claw, and the claw spread right across a black-and-white photograph of James Dean inGiant.
Holly turned to Tyrone and opened and closed her mouth but didn't say anything. She couldn't find the words. Tyrone led her away, holding her elbow firmly, propelling her, until they reached his gallery. Matthew followed close behind.
"Are you all right?" he asked her once they were inside. "Do you want a coffee? A brandy? Another glass of wine?"
"I'm fine. It was the shock, that's all. I saw that guy in the bookstore. I talked to him. I thought-I had the impression that he was David."