Free Melody Burning by Whitley Strieber

now.”
    He didn’t want to. He really, really didn’t want to. “Please let me stay.”
    “If my mother found you in here—I don’t even want to think about it. Do you have any identification?”
    He threw his arms around her. “Don’t go on the roof like that again. Don’t ever!”
    She leaned against him for a moment with her full weight, and it felt so good that he said in his mind, “Never stop, never stop.” But then she did stop.
    He grabbed her hands. “Promise me.”
    “You can’t ask me that, because—you just can’t!”
    She turned away from him. He thought of the little birds that sometimes got into the crawl spaces of the upper floors. He tried to catch them, but he never could, and they died. They always died.
    She said, “You have to leave now.”
    “I can’t. I’m scared for you.”
    “Oh, Lord, now a lurker fan who lives in the walls. Where does it end?”
    “If you come back up on the roof, I’ll be there,” he said.
    “I have a balcony.”
    “I’ll be there.”
    Her eyes widened and then sort of seemed to flash, and he decided that, whenever possible, he would be no more than ten feet away from her. He wanted to say “you have to live,” but it sounded selfish, so he said nothing.
    He put his hands on her shoulders and held her, and looked down into that perfect face. He knew there was a great sadness in her and realized that, at all costs, his primary mission was to save the woman he loved.
    Unable to speak, he turned from her and went quickly out the door, into the hall, and back to the den. In a moment he was up in the crawl space and racing off down the equipment chase and into the depths of the building.
    He did not see the light that followed him as he dropped down the chase, but it was there, and it carried his fate with it, a terrible fate that was thundering toward him with all the fury of an avalanche.

C HAPTER 10

    O hmygosh! Ohmygosh! Oh, he was beautiful, he was beautiful , he was gentle and amazing, and he lives in the walls. He lives in the walls !
    I—I—I think I should be furious—at him for breaking into my house, at this stupid building for its rotten security. I think I should sue their asses. I think somebody should call the cops and get this kid into foster care. I think the Luther thing should be followed up . . . and I think I really, really want to see him again.
    Where does he go, what does he do? Where did he go? He just suddenly walked out of the room, and I went out behind him and he was gone !
    Is he a ghost, a real ghost? No, because he kissed me. It was like how a little boy kisses you, all sloppy and hard. He was clumsy and his heart was beating like a motor, but he’s huge , way over six feet, and handsome, too, with hair that makes him look wild, and those big soulful eyes and rippling arm muscles. The way he held me, it was like he was some kind of master of dance. I just fell into his arms. He made me feel like a feather, an adored, beautiful feather. Then the kiss, and it was just darling—he had no idea what to do, he was just way out of his depth.
    And what’s with the blouse? What is that ? He thought I was calling him an actual TV set, not a cross-dresser, because he must have no idea what that is.
    I am laughing so hard I have to hold my face in the pillow until I practically smother, but then I just roll around in bed imagining him in here with me. He is really strong, and I know why—because he climbs around in this building like some kind of wonderful, beautiful phantom of the skyscraper.
    His hair is a huge, blond wave that frames his face and hangs down behind him. You can see on the sides where he cuts it, but not very well. What does he use, pinking shears?
    His face is an open window. His eyes are wide and blue-gray. He looks like everything surprises him. When I kissed him, he was so surprised that he almost collapsed.
    He’s rough but sweet, and the way he was forcing himself to hold back just thrilled me and made me