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For a second there is nothing。 Then the glass lands in the pile of soaking rags； finding the whiskey and brandy and gin； and the floor flashes to life。 From below e popping sounds； wood busting； fire spreading。 The front door is already blocked。 Gil is bellowing into his cell phone； calling for help。 The fire is rising toward the second floor。 My mind seems lit with sparks； a white light when I close my eyes。 I am floating； buoyed by the heat。 Everything seems so slow； so heavy。 Ceiling plaster crashes to the ground。 The dance floor is shimmering like a mirage。
〃How do we get out？〃 I shout。
〃The service stairway；〃 Gil says。 〃Upstairs。〃
〃Paul！〃 I yell。
But there's no answer。 I inch toward the stairs； and now their voices have disappeared。 Paul and Curry are gone。
〃Paul！〃 I bellow。
The blaze has swallowed up the Officers' Room and begins moving toward us。 I feel a strange numbness in my thigh。 Gil turns to me； pointing。 My pant leg is torn open。 Blood is running down the tuxedo fabric； black on black。 He pulls off his jacket and ties it around the gash。 The tunnel of fire seems to close in around us； urging us up the stairs。 The air is almost black。
Gil pushes me up toward the third floor。 At the top； nothing is visible； only grades of shadow。 A band of light glows beneath a door at the end of the hall。 We move forward。 The fire has e to the foot of the stairs； but seems to remain at bay。
Then I hear it。 A high； collapsing moan； ing from inside the room。
The sound freezes us momentarily。 Then Gil lunges forward and opens the door。 When he does； the sensation of drunkenness from the ball returns to me。 Bodily warmth； like the tingle of flight。 Katie's touch on me； Katie's breath on me； Katie's lips on me。
Richard Curry stands arguing with Paul behind a long table at the far end of the room。 There's an empty bottle in his hand。 His head lolls on his shoulders； pouring blood。 There is nothing but the smell of alcohol here； the remnants of a bottle poured over the table； a cabinet in the wall opened to reveal another stash of liquor； an old Ivy president's secret。 The room is as long as the building's breadth； framed in silver by the moonlight。 Shelves of books line the walls； with leather spines deep into the darkness beyond Curry's head。 On the north…facing wall there are two windows。 Puddles glisten everywhere。
〃Paul！〃 Gil yells。 〃He's blocking the service stairs； behind you。〃
Paul turns to look； but Curry's eyes are fixed on Gil and me。 I'm paralyzed by the sight of him。 The ridges of his face are so drawn that gravity seems to be pulling at him； dragging him down。
〃Richard；〃 Paul says firmly； as if to a child； 〃we all have to get out。〃
〃Move away；〃 Gil shouts； stepping forward。
But as he does； Curry smashes the bottle on a table and lunges； swiping Gil's arm with the jagged bottleneck。 Blood runs between Gil's fingers in black ribbons。 He staggers back； watching the blood pour onto his arm。 Seeing this； Paul sags against the wall。
〃Here；〃 I call out； yanking the handkerchief from my pocket。
Gil moves slowly。 When he pulls a hand away to take the cloth； I see how deep the cut is。 Blood runs over the furrow as soon as the pressure is gone。
〃Go！〃 I say； pulling him to the windows。 〃Jump out！ The bushes will break your fall。〃
But he is frozen； staring at the bottleneck in Curry's hands。 Now the door to the library is quaking； hot air building on the other side。 Tendrils of smoke are starting to stream in from beneath the door； and I can feel my eyes watering； my chest getting heavy。
〃Paul；〃 I cry through the smoke。 〃You have to get out！〃
〃Richard；〃 Paul yells。 〃e on！〃
〃Let him go！〃 I bellow at Curry…but now the fire is roaring to be let in。 From beyond es a terrible ripping sound； wood tearing under its own weight。
Suddenly Gil collapses onto the wall beside me。 I rush to the window and open it； propping him against the frame； struggling to keep him upright。
〃Help Paul 。 。 。〃 Gil mumbles； the last thing he says to me before the life begins to fade from his eyes。
A frigid wind strikes through the room； kicking up snow from the bushes below。 As gently as I can； I lift him into position。 He looks angelic in the light； effortless even now。 Staring down at the bloody handkerchief； clinging to his arm out of nothing but its own weight； I begin to feel everything dissolve around me。 With one last look； I let go。 In an instant； Gil is gone。
〃Tom；〃 es Paul's voice； so distant now that it seems to e from a cloud of smoke。 〃Go。〃
I turn to see Paul struggling in Curry's arms； trying to pull him toward the window； but the old man is much stronger。 He won't be moved。 Curry shoves Paul toward the service stairs instead。
〃Jump！〃 I hear below me； voices pouring up through the open window。 〃Jump down！〃
Firefighters； spotting me inside。
But I turn back。 〃Paul！〃 I yell。 〃e on！〃
〃Go； Tom；〃 I can hear him say； one last time。 〃Please。〃
The words bee distant too quickly； as if Curry has carried him down into the haze。 The two of them are retreating into the ancient bonfires； wrestling like angels through the lifetimes of men。
〃Down〃 is the final word I hear from inside the room； spoken in Curry's voice。 〃Down。〃
And again； from outside： 〃Hurry！ Jump！〃
〃Paul；〃 I scream； backing up toward the ledge of the window as the flames begin to corner me。 Hot smoke presses like a fist against my chest。 Across the room； the door to the service stairs swings shut。 There is no one to be seen。 I let myself fall。
Those are the last things I remember before the slush of snow engulfs me。 Then there is only an explosion； like a sudden dawn at midnight。 A gas pipe； bringing the entire building to its feet。 And the soot begins to fall。
In the silence； I am shouting。 To the firemen。 To Gil。 To anyone who will listen。 I have seen it； I am shouting： Richard Curry； opening the entrance to the service stairs； pulling Paul away。
Listen to me。
And at first； they do。 Two firemen； hearing me； approach the building。 A medic is beside me； trying to understand。 What stairs？ he asks。 Where do they e out？
The tunnels； I tell him。 They e out near the tunnels。
Then the smoke clears； and the hoses make sense of the club's face； and everything begins to change。 There is less searching； less listening。 There is nothing left； they are saying； in the slowness of their steps。 There is no one inside this。
Paul is alive； I shout。 I saw him。
But every second is a strike against him。 Every minute is a fistful of sand。 By the way Gil is looking at me now； I realize how much has changed。
〃I'm okay；〃 he says to the medic tending to his arm。 He wipes a wet cheek； then points to me。 〃Help my friend。〃
The moon hangs over us like a watchful eye； and as I sit there； staring past the silent men who hose down the shattered clubhouse； I imagine Paul's voice。 Somehow； he says； far away； staring at me over coffee； I feel like he's my father too。 Over the black curtain of the sky I can see his face； so full of certainty that I believe him even now。
So what do you think？ he is asking me。
About you going to Chicago？
About us going to Chicago。
Where we were taken that