Age of Desire

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The burning man propelled himself down the steps of the Hume Laboratories as the police car — summoned, he presumed, by the alarm either Welles or Dance had set off upstairs — appeared at the gate and swung up the driveway. As he ran from he door the car screeched up to the steps and discharged its human cargo. He waited in the shadows, too exhausted by terror to run any farther, certain they would see him. But they disappeared through the swing doors without so much as a glance toward his torment. Am I on fire at all? he wondered. Was this horrifying spectacle — his flesh baptized with s polished flame that seared but failed to consume — simply a hallucination, for his eyes and his eyes only? If so, perhaps all that he had suffered up in the laboratory had also been delirium. Perhaps he had not truly committed the crimes he had fled from, the heat in his flesh licking him into ecstasies.

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