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Carol started to push herself up onto her hands and knees； anxious to find Paul and give him any first aid he might need。 But another bolt of blinding； ear shattering lightning spent itself just outside the building； and fear turned her muscles into wet rags。 She didn't even have the strength to crawl； and she was infuriated by her weakness； for she had always
been proud of her strength； determination； and unflagging willpower。 Cursing herself； she slumped back to the floor。
Something's trying to stop us from adopting a baby。
That incredible thought struck her with the same cold； hard force as had the forewarning of the window's implosion； which had e to her an instant before the impossible barrage of lightning had blasted into the courtyard。
Something's trying to stop us from adopting a baby。
No。 That was ridiculous。 The storm； the lightning…they were nothing more than acts of nature。 They hadn't been directed against Mr。 O'Brian just because he was going to help them adopt a child。
Absurd。
Oh； yeah？ she thought as the deafening thunder and the unholy light of the storm filled the room。 Acts of nature； huh？ When have you ever seen lightning like this before？
She hugged the floor； shaking； cold； more afraid than she had been since she was a little girl。 She tried to tell herself that it was only the lightning that she was afraid of； for that was very much a legitimate； rational fear； but she knew she was lying。 It was not just the lightning that terrified her。 In fact； that was the least of it。 There was something else； something she couldn't identify； something formless and nameless in the room； and the very presence of it； whatever the hell it was； pushed a panic button deep inside her； on a sub…subconscious； primitive level； this fear was gut…deep； instinctive。
A dervish of windblown leaves and papers whirled across the floor； directly toward her。 It was a big one：
a column about two feet in diameter； five or six feet
high； posed of a hundred or more pieces of this and that。 It stopped very near her； writhing； churning； hissing； changing shape； glimmering silver…dark in the flashing storm light； and she felt threatened by it。 As she stared up at the whirlwind； she had the mad notion that it was staring down at her。 After a moment it moved off to the left a few feet； then returned； paused in front of her again； hesitated； then scurried busily to the right； but came back once more； looming above her as if it were trying to make up its mind whether or not to pounce and tear her to shreds and sweep her up along with the leaves； newspaper pages； envelopes； and other flotsam by which it defined itself。
It's nothing more than a whirlwind of lifeless junk！ she told herself angrily。
The wind…shaped phantom moved away from her。
See？ she told herself scornfully。 Just lifeless junk。 What's wrong with me？ Am I losing my mind？
She recalled the old axiom that was supposed to provide fort in moments like this： If you think you're going mad； then you must be pletely sane； for a lunatic never has doubts about his sanity。 As a psychiatrist； she knew that hoary bit of wisdom was an oversimplification of plex psychological principles； but in essence it was true。 So she must be sane。
Nevertheless； that frightening； irrational thought came to her again； unbidden； unwanted： Something's trying to stop us from adopting a baby。
If the maelstrom in which she lay was not an act of nature； then what was it？ Was she to believe that the lightning had been sent with the conscious intent of transforming Mr。 O'Brian into a smoking heap of charred flesh？ That was a fruitcake notion； for sure。
Who could use lightning as if it were a pistol？ God？ God wasn't sitting up in Heaven； aiming at Mr。 O'Brian； popping away at him with lightning bolts； just to screw up the adoption process for Carol and Paul Tracy。 The Devil？ Blasting away at poor Mr。 O'Brian from the depths of Hell？ That was a looney idea。 Jesus！
She wasn't even sure she believed in God； but she knew she definitely did not believe in the Devil。
Another window imploded； showering glass over her。
Then the lightning stopped。
The thunder decreased from a roar to a rumble； fading like the noise of a passing freight train。
There was a stench of ozone。
The wind was still pouring in through the broken windows； but apparently with less force than it had exerted a moment ago； for the whirling columns of leaves and papers subsided to the floor； where they lay in piles； fluttering and quivering as if exhausted。
Something。。。
Something。。。
Something's trying to stop us from… She clamped off that unwanted thought as though
it were a spurting artery。 She was an educated woman； dammit。 She prided herself on her levelheadedness and mon sense。 She couldn't permit herself to succumb to these disturbing； uncharacteristic； utterly superstitious fears。
Freaky weather…that was the explanation for the lightning。 Freaky weather。 You read about such things in the newspapers every once in a while。 A half an inch of snow in Beverly Hills。 An eighty…degree day in the middle of an otherwise frigid Minnesota winter。
Rain falling briefly from an apparently cloudless blue sky。 Although a lightning strike of this magnitude and intensity was undoubtedly a rare occurrence； it probably had happened before； sometime； somewhere； probably more than once。 Of course it had。 Of course。
In fact； if you picked up one of those popular books in which the authors piled all kinds of world records； and if you turned to the chapter on weather； and if you looked for a subsection entitled 〃Lightning；〃 you would most likely find an impressive list of other serial lightning strikes that would put this one to shame。 Freaky weather。 That's what it was。 That's all it was。 Nothing stranger than that； nothing worse。
For the time being； at least； Carol managed to put aside all thoughts of demons and ghosts and malign poltergeists and other such claptrap。
In the relative quiet that followed in the wake of the fast…diminishing thunder； she felt her strength returning。 She pushed up from the floor； onto her knees。 With the clinking sound of mildly disturbed wind chimes； pieces of glass fell from her gray skirt and green blouse； she wasn't cut or even scratched。 She was a bit dazed； however； and for a moment the floor appeared to roll sickeningly from side to side； as if this were a stateroom aboard a ship。
In the office next door； a woman began to cry hysterically。 There were shouts of alarm； and someone began calling for Mr。 O'Brian。 No one had yet burst into the office to see what had happened； which meant that only a second or two had elapsed since the lightning had stopped； although it seemed to Carol as if a minute or two had passed。
Over by the windows； someone groaned softly。
'Paul？〃 she said。
if there was an answer； it was drowned out by a sudden gust of wind that briefly stirred the papers and leaves again。
She recalled the way that branch had whipped across O'Brian's head； and she shuddered。 But Paul hadn't been touched。 The tree had missed him。 Hadn't it？
〃Paul ！〃
With renewed fear； she got to her feet and moved quickly around the desk； step