WESTCHESTER COUNTY, NY

OCTOBER 6

Patrick Sullivan lay in bed on his right side, face to the wall, Pamela spooned warmly against his back.

Ah, peace.

Judge Boughton's decision had started to thaw the ice between them. After all, if a federal judge thought the case warranted a hearing, then maybe Patrick hadn't gone off his head with "this sim thing," as she liked to call it. A little champagne before dinner and a Graves Bordeaux with perfectly done steaks had finished the melt, leading to a hefty serving of aerobic sex for dessert.

And now for some much-needed sleep. But his slow slide toward dreamland was cut short by the crash of shattering glass. He levered up in the bed. Not again! The sound had come from the living room this time. Anger bloomed with the crash, but thewhoomp! that followed it shot a bolt of terror through his heart, even before he saw the flicker of flames along the hallway.

"Pam!" he shouted, shaking her. "Pam, wake up!"

She was slow coming to. Not used to all that wine. But when she saw the flames and smelled the smoke  -  "My God!"

Neither of them was wearing a stitch but they still had a few seconds. Patrick found Pam's slacks and blouse on the floor and tossed them to her. As she slipped into them - God knew where their underwear might be - he dialed 911. He found his jeans as he was reporting the fire.

Less than a minute later, cold and barefoot, they stood on the curb and watched the flames fan out from the living room. The howling fire trucks arrived shortly and brought the blaze quickly under control, but not before it had gutted Patrick's house. Somewhere along the way a neighbor had draped a blanket over their shoulders; another had brought them some old sneakers, ill-fitting but a hell of a lot more comfortable than the cold wet asphalt of the street.

When it was over and the firemen were rolling up their hoses, Patrick stood mute, numb with shock, unable to move a muscle as he stared at the smoking ruin of his home. But Pamela began to lose it. She started with a few deep sobs that quickly graduated to wails. Patrick tried to comfort her but she shoved him back.

"Don't come near me!" she screamed. "This is all your fault! I told you to forget this crazy sim thing but you wouldn't listen! You had to keep pushing and pushing until you almost got us killed!"

Patrick saw the terror slithering in her eyes. He took a step toward her. "Pam - "

"No!" She held out a hand and backed away. She looked wild with her hair in disarray and her tears reflecting red and blue flashes from the police and fire vehicles. "No, you stay away! I've had it! I can't take this anymore! Everyone I work with thinks you're either a nut or an opportunist! I'm tired of defending you and I don't want to be burned alive! We'rethrough , Patrick! I can't take any more...I just can't!"

She's hysterical, he thought. She doesn't know what she's saying. "Pam, please..."

"No!" She raised her hand higher and turned away, moving toward her car. Through a sob she said, "I'm going home alone, Patrick. Good-bye."

She left Patrick standing alone outside the smoking timbers of what had been his home, wondering how a day that had started out so well could go so hideously wrong.