Miguel Coyote crashed through the front door and rode up the stairs like a bat out of hell, hair streaming behind him, red bandanna wrapped around his lower face to keep out the smoke. Flames licked round the Honda, threatening to ignite the petrol tank as a large section of roof collapsed onto the landing, missing him by inches.
Lori lay comatose on the floor of her bedroom. Without stopping to get off, Miguel bent and scooped her up. He flung her over his shoulder, swivelling the powerful machine round for a quick exit, spotting the Dreamcatcher as he did so, reaching for it, missing it by a hairsbreadth as the entire bed fell through the floor leaving the bike balanced precariously on a shelf of wood over a yawning chasm.
Miguel slapped the Honda with his knees and it sprang forward like an Indian pony, leaping over debris, flying down into the hallway as the stairs disintegrated like falling dominoes behind. Then they were out in the street, in the fresh air, Lori lolling against his back, more dead than alive, Miguel almost blinded, eyes streaming from the fumes.
Another enormous explosion rocked what was left of the building, folding the walls in like a house of cards, sending up a shock-wave of dust and sparks. Neighbours were running from their houses now, shouting and waving their arms. Helping hands appeared, lifting Lori from his back, stretching her on the grass verge where she lay, eyes closed, pale and still.
Miguel, half deafened explosion number two, ripped off the bandanna, shouting over the noise and confusion that someone should call an ambulance. Dismounting, he pushed the curious crowd aside and knelt beside Lori to take her pulse, giving a grunt of relief when he discovered there was one. His breath smelled of charred wood, his eyes behind the Raybans, were stinging. He took off the glasses, wiping away the grit with the bandanna, clearing his vision. Then he wrapped the cloth round his head to keep his hair out of the way before leaning down to give Lori the kiss of life.
When Lori came round she thought she must be dreaming again. Miguel Coyote was kissing her. It was not an unpleasant sensation. Then he pulled back and started massaging her chest. This she could get to like. His face, hanging over her, was full of concern, his singular eyes were not just blue now, but multicoloured, the whites dyed to a day-glow pink. Very strange. He bent to kiss her again and she relaxed, letting it happen, enjoying the sensation. A stray lock of his black hair fell across her eyes in a soft tendril, blotting out the sky. He smelled of hickory smoke.
Then he moved away and started to pound on her chest again. And through the numbness of the waking dream she became conscious of a tearing sensation in her lungs. It rose like a whirlwind into her larynx and, before he could kiss her again, she began to cough. And to remember. The explosion, the flames, the demonic laughter. With the memory came pain in earnest, a rending, as though the lining was being torn away from her rib-cage. She coughed and coughed, trying not to, each spasm tearing a sob of agony out of her aching throat.
Miguel Coyote lifted her then, holding her very close until the coughing subsided, stroking her back, calming her down.
“You’re alive,” he whispered into her hair, as if it mattered, as if he cared. “I made it. I wasn’t too late. You’re alive.”
Marge rounded the corner, a bulging brown bag under one arm, the dog panting behind her on a makeshift lead. She took one look at what remained of her home and stopped dead in her tracks, dropping both bag and lead at the same time. Avocados spilled over the pavement in a green torrent and the dog, true to form, took off on a barking fit.
The group of people, huddled round something on the grass verge opposite what had once been her front gate, scattered before the onslaught leaving Marge with a clear view of the biker and the limp shape in his arms.
Lori.
The dog was growling now, lips drawing back from sharp white teeth, threatening to bite. As Marge stumbled towards them, calling for the animal to quieten down, Miguel Coyote reached out to place his thumb and forefinger on the dog’s forehead and it collapsed in a heap, like an ox felled by a hammer blow.
Marge sank to her knees and Lori looked up at her with a weak smile.
“Hi mom,” she said.
And Marge, overwhelmed with relief, said the first thing that came into her head. The one thing that nobody had thought to ask before.
“Where’s your father?”
Ted Morrison was incinerated where he sat, didn’t even have the satisfaction of seeing his team win before he was instantly transported to the great stadium in the sky. So complete was his obliteration that they couldn’t even find enough bone shards to fill a thimble. His funerary urn held a mixture of adobe and wood-shavings.
Ted wasn’t widely mourned, except by Ted Jr who had always been a chip off the old block. The funeral would be a sparse affair, the turn-out consisting of the immediate family, Rube Watson, newly discharged from hospital, and a few fair-weather cronies from down the pool hall. The biggest wreath would come from his bookie, who, since he’d saved a bundle on his non-payment of Ted’s final winning bet, figured it was the least he could do.
As to the cause of the conflagration. The insurance company reckoned it was a leak from a gas canister. But insurance companies can be wrong. Whatever, Ted Morrison was worth a lot more dead than he had been alive.
The last time Lori saw Miguel Coyote was when he came to the hospital to bring her some flowers and say ‘good-bye’. Lori thanked him for saving her life, asked him what he was going to do now?
Miguel told her he didn’t know.
“Time for me to move on,” he said, “See new places, meet new people. For the first time in my life I can relax. The hunt is over.”
“You got the Dreamcatcher then?” Lori, asking the question that had been haunting her not only her dreams but her every waking hour, tried hard not to sound anxious.
Miguel shook his head. “Never found it,” he said. He’d done his sand and salt ritual on the ashes of the burnt out house, just to be on the safe side. “But you can rest assured it’s destroyed. Nothing could have withstood that heat.”
“So I’m off the hook?”
Lori felt suddenly light as a feather. A whole new world, a whole new life seemed to be opening up before her. She reached out and took Miguel’s hand, squeezing the strong brown palm between her paler fingers.
“Couldn’t you stay for a while?” she asked.
But Miguel didn’t get a chance to answer.
“What’s he doing here?” Perry, newly arrived, strode over to the bed and stood, arms akimbo, giving the biker the fish eye.
Miguel rose.
“I was just leaving,” he said, smiling, sliding his hand from Lori’s grip. The bright blue eyes seemed to be looking right into her soul. “Take care of yourself, Lori. Promise?”
“No need to worry about Lori,” said Perry. “She’ll be fine. I’ll be taking care of her from now on.”
And Lori wondered why this didn’t make her feel quite as happy as it ought to have done.
Miguel Coyote made one more quick stop before he left the hospital. To check in on Rube Watson, who was resting in another room just down the corridor. Satisfied that the Sheriff was on the mend, he got on his Honda and rode off into the great blue yonder, secure in the knowledge that he had saved two lives in Backwater Ridge at least and that the Dreamcatcher had finally been put out of action.
But Insurance companies aren’t the only ones who can be wrong.
The second explosion, tearing through the Morrison residence, shot the slightly scorched charm up out of the debris where it was caught a passing breeze. It floated over the rooftops of Backwater Ridge and came to rest on the steps of the Library, just as Miss Sanders was locking up for the day.
The Librarian bent down to pick up the little charm, blowing the dust off its singed feathers. Then she looked up into the cloudless blue sky and smiled.
“Gracious me,” she said. “It seems to be raining Dreamcatchers today. Well well. Far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
She popped the charm in her bag and trotted off down the path.
“I think I’ll just take this home,” she said. “Hang it in mummy’s window. It’ll give her something pleasant to look at while I’m out at work.”