Heather Graham Read Online Free

his astonishment, he lifted it with no effort whatsoever. Cathy reached down for the child trapped beneath it. A boy of perhaps ten. Not a skinny little tyke, either, Don thought. The orphans at St. Mary’s were not eating so badly. Except, of course, he reminded himself, boys didn’t necessarily gain a little weight from too much nutritious food.
    “He must be heavy, Cath,” he warned.
    “Not at all,” she told him. “Grab that sweet little toddler there. Two more trips and we’ll have them all.”
    There were six of them, all boys, if Don could guess correctly, between the ages of three and ten. They were smudged and dirty. Only three of them had stirred, groaned, or moved. He knew one had a broken wrist; another, well, he wasn’t sure if the boy, a handsome, lanky, blond-haired lad of about nine, would make it. Yet he suddenly stopped thinking about the boy because he could see his own Beamer, the broken headlights of it jammed against the derailed car of the train.
    There were mounds in the new-fallen snow beside it. Snow-covered mounds, with more snow falling upon them. In fact, as the sirens screamed in the night and rescue workers began to come running across the darkness, their flashlight beams wavering over the terrain, Don realized with a sinking sensation just what he was seeing becoming buried in the snow.
    Himself.
    And Cathy.
    She was just in the act of laying down one of the children, the littlest one, a round-faced cherub of about three.
    “Cathy.”
    “Isn’t this little guy adorable, Don? He’s breathing evenly, too, I’m certain of it. Wave to those ambulance attendants there, they can’t possibly see the children, and I’m afraid the kids will freeze to death before they get help. I wish I knew more about medicine—”
    “Cathy—”
    “Hello, over here! Hey, someone come help!” Cathy called. “Are those fellows deaf?” she demanded.
    “Cathy, look!”
    “Yes, yes, I know—it’s snowing. Those poor people. Do you think that they’re de—”
    “Cathy, I think they’re us!” Don exploded.
    “What?”
    “I’ve got to see!”
    He went running, tripping, scrambling over wreckage, baggage—even the nun, fallen from a sprained ankle.
    Cathy came quickly after him. Until she reached the nun.
    “Sister, can I help you?” she asked solicitously.
    The nun sobbed quietly, trying to struggle to her feet. Cathy pulled her up. The sister screamed, unable, it seemed, to realize how she was being helped. She hopped about in the snow, looking around her, in front of her, behind.
    She seemed to stare straight at Cathy, without seeing her.
    She looked heavenward.
    Then passed out cold.
    “How strange!” Cathy said, just barely catching the nun and easing her back down. “We need help here so badly! This poor lady will freeze if—”
    “She’s a nun, God’s going to help her first!” Don snapped. “Leave her for now, please, Cathy. Just get over here!”
    She stared at the sister. “You’ll be all right, help is coming, real help is coming!” she promised, then went running after Don. She moved so quickly that she slammed into his back when he tensed and stiffened.
    “Get around here!” he said, pulling her forward.
    “Easy!” she protested.
    “Look!” he commanded.
    “Where?” she asked.
    “Down.”
    “Down … where?”
    “There. In the damned snow!”
    “Oh, God!” she gasped, seeing the bodies. “Those poor people. They’re so hurt!”
    “They’re so dead!”
    “Oh, dear, Don, you’re right—”
    “Cathy, aren’t you listening? They are us! You and me. Us, Cathy! ”
    “They can’t be.”
    “Look at them! They are!”
    They stared at the ground together.
    At the couple there.
    He had fallen to her side. Their heads were together, his reddish hair and her ebony waves plastered in the whiteness of the snow. Their blood-stained fingers were laced together. They were as close as could be.
    In death.
    “It… it really is us!” Cathy breathed. “It