Snow was predicted in the afternoon, but if he left soon, he should have no trouble getting to the airport on time.

His eyes fell to a short story in the lower right-hand corner of the front page. He was attracted to it because of the Paris, France, dateline. Then he read:

FOUR STUDENTS KILLED
IN ALPS CAR CRASH

ONE FROM U.S.

PARIS, France, December 15—Four students of the famous Phillipe de Pluminel School of Horsemanship were killed in a car crash twenty miles outside the mountain town of Kufstein, Austria. The students, Pam Athena, Denise Hermes, Simone Hachette, and Claudette Bradley, were riding in a Volkswagen when it skidded on the highest road in the Alps and plunged into an abyss. All students were from France except Pam Athena, an American, from Venice, Florida. The students were on their way to watch the Lipizzaner horses perform at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna.

The newspaper dropped from Alec’s hands. For a moment he stood quietly in the snow, feeling nothing, seeing nothing. Then from somewhere deep within him came a piercing scream, wailing and shattering the stillness of the winter day. It was never-ending as he plunged forward, head downward, seeking the board fence for support. And when he came hard against it, his wailing stopped momentarily as he screamed the words, “You can’t die! I won’t let you! Pam!”

Only the broodmares heard him. Startled, they turned their fine heads in Alec’s direction. Then their short, incessant neighs echoed the sorrowful wailing that went on and on and on.

THE MOURNING
5

Alec remained hard against the fence, frozen like a statue. He continued screaming Pam’s name but the cries from his throat were nothing but a funnel of white in the cold, cold air. He stood there in the silence, his body shaking, his ears pounding, his head throbbing. He screamed Pam’s name again and this time the sound of his voice emerged from his throat, croaked and horrible.

“She … never … should have … gone away. I … I loved her … so much … so very much.”

There were tears and dreadful pain in his eyes. No one could do anything to help him … to bring her back. His tongue and lips were beyond control and a spasm twitched the muscles of his face. He let go his deathlike grip on the fence and turned toward the barn. He could see nothing. He swayed, unable to keep his feet, and collapsed in the snow, his face bloodlessly white, his eyes as lifeless as death.

He lay in the snow in a frightening state of disintegration. His distress over the loss of Pam was fearful, but he knew something was wrong with his mind, something that had been triggered by his tragic loss. He could feel it. Rather, he could feel nothing, nothing at all, only the cold. Perspiration flowed from his body, dampening his skin, making him colder still. His teeth chattered as he raised his head from the snow and looked out blankly, seeing nothing.

Struggling to his feet, he held on to the top of the fence. A frigid blast of wind struck his face and he could barely open his eyes. He looked over the fence and could make out only the vague figures of the broodmares. Slowly, he maneuvered his way along the fence, holding on to it with clutched hands lest he fall again.

He went toward the Stallion Barn step by step in a dreamlike nightmare, his eyes closed. If only it were a dream, he thought.