Out on the street there was a shout and a crash, as if something large and metal had fallen from the sky; spied as incoming moments before by someone standing too close. Erin sat up quickly from her bed, a swirl of dizziness playing with her head, then swiftly moved to her window, her heart racing. So loud. People’s voices now. Whatever it was, it was close. The room-darkening curtains had been pulled shut to keep out day, she’d gotten home only an hour or so earlier after another late night with Juan and planned to sleep the morning away. But she couldn’t sleep and instead laid awake on her neatly made bed thinking about him, his reluctance, his difficulty saying anything that dipped below surface conversation. Two months in and she adored his hands, his mouth, his cock, but she knew nothing of his heart. And when she opened the curtain, her thoughts collided. She expected to see Juan out there, bloodied on the ground under a piece of a plane, maybe his torso severed, onlookers horrified by his gruesome ruin and spilled blood. Erin pictured him alive, crimson life bubbling from his mouth, and she wondered if he would think of her in those final moments. She wondered if he would be scared as the life slipped out of him and she felt a pang of fear and long helplessness fill her. Her limbs felt heavy as she scanned outside to discover the commotion, frightened Juan was out there without a chance to live, his vision dimming, his secrets forever untold. Erin surveyed the street, and though she still heard voices, no one was in view. She figured something happened over on Green Lane and after a glance to Juan’s house across the street, old, tall and blue, she saw his wife’s car in the driveway. Donna had gotten back from the hospital already, her overnight shift done. Now she was laying in bed next to Erin’s lover. Hopefully he was safe in bed next to her. Erin closed the curtains and returned to her own empty bed.