The comfort of the seat did not help. Lia’s arm about his shoulder did not help. John moved in his seat until he was looking out the rear window of the car.

The horizon was a huge red glare of hidden flames.

Back in the flames, he had left his memory and innocence. Those shots could only have come from Turner. They could have gone back and saved the man from the flames. They should have tried to help the man, as he had saved them.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

Instead, they had run.

It was the close of a tragedy. King Lear perhaps.

Despite everything he had done this night, he did not feel like a hero.

John faced forward and allowed Lia to settle herself at his side. Turning his head, he looked at the woman. She had decided this night, and he wondered how much the hand fate had played in the events.

As if reading his thought, Lia looked at John and passed a hand lightly across the hair of his forehead, then gave him a soft kiss.

“What if we’re both married?” he looked at Lia.