Free Shadow Show: All-New Stories in Celebration of Ray Bradbury by Sam Weller, Mort Castle (Ed)

was that a spotlight seemed to be following them, outlining them, drawing Frank’s attention to their progress through the crowd. They almost glowed.
    The two men went into the gift shop across from the balcony. Almost immediately they returned without having bought anything and again made their way through the crowd. They disappeared into the darkness past the gate.
    “What was that all about?” Debby asked.
    “I have no idea.” Frank couldn’t help yawning.
    “Tired?”
    “Very.”
    “Me too.”
    Frank yawned again. “Know what? If this opera’s bad enough for Alexander and Brother Richard to leave, I’m going to bow to their superior taste.”
    “After all the trouble you took?”
    “It takes a real man to admit a mistake.”
    “That ‘real man’ stuff turns me on. Yeah, let’s go home.”
     
    T he parking lot was well lit. Even so, the low clouds made everything gloomy as Frank and Debby stepped over puddles, trying to find their car.
    “Has to be around here someplace.” Frank sensed that the angry sky was going to unload again. “Keep that umbrella handy.”
    Behind him, from the theater, he heard faint music as the orchestra started the second act. The only two people in the parking lot, he and Debby walked along another row of cars when movement to the left attracted his attention. He turned toward the edge of the lot, seeing two men emerge from the darkness and approach them.
    Alexander and Brother Richard.
    “What are you doing here?” Frank asked in surprise. “You left ahead of us.”
    “We’re looking for our car,” Alexander told him.
    “There.” Brother Richard pointed. “Over there.”
    With a tingle of amazement, Frank saw that his SUV was next to the sedan that Brother Richard indicated.
    “Good heavens,” Debby murmured.
    Thunder rumbled, as the four of them went to their two cars.
    “Drive safely.” Alexander eased his frail body into the passenger seat.
    “You, too,” Frank said.
    Brother Richard got behind the steering wheel.
    Watching them drive away, Frank said, “Can you believe that? All those coincidences?”
    “Weird,” Debby said.
    Following them down the winding road that led to Route 285, they watched Alexander’s headlights find an opening in the speedy traffic. The sedan headed north.
    “And weird again,” Frank said.
    “What do you mean?” Debby asked.
    “They told us Alexander lived in Albuquerque and that Brother Richard had driven down there to get him.”
    “So?”
    “Why are they going in the opposite direction, north instead of south?”
    “Maybe Alexander’s too tired for a long drive and they’re taking a shorter trip up to the monastery.”
    “Sure.”
    Another thunderstorm hit just as they arrived home.
     
    T he next morning Frank opened the Santa Fe New Mexican and found an article about the return of the monsoons. A weather expert commented that the storms were expected to linger for several weeks and would help to replenish the city’s reservoirs, which were low because of a dry spring. A forest-service official hoped that the rains would reduce the risk of fires in the mountains. Along with the good news, however, there had been numerous traffic accidents, including one that had killed two men the previous evening.
    One of the victims had been a monk, Brother Richard Braddock, who lived at Christ in the Desert Monastery, while the other victim had been a companion, Alexander Lane, from Albuquerque.
    “No,” Frank said.
    Debby peered up. “What’s the matter?”
    “Those two men we met last night. It looks like they got killed.”
    “What?”
    “In a traffic accident. After they left the opera.” Frank quoted from the story. “ ‘Wet pavement is blamed for causing a pickup truck to lose control Saturday evening and slam into a vehicle driven by Brother Richard Braddock on Route 285 one mile south of the Santa Fe Opera exit.’ ”
    “South of the opera exit? But we saw them go north.”
    Frank stared. “You’re