Cold Judgment by Joanne Fluke

smelled the smoke. Greg raced to the library and pulled open the door.
    The room was in flames. Loose sheet music burned brightly, fanned by gusts of wind from the open window. Thick black smoke rolled up from the cataloged bundles, and one by one the smoldering piles burst into flaming torches. Bound stacks broke open and scattered in the wind, fluttering and rising like bright, searing bats.
    Greg coughed as the smoke filled his lungs. “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree” whipped past his face. The picture of the Andrews Sisters on the cover was blackened and charred. Lifetimes of words and music were annihilated as they fueled the insatiable flames.
    His shocked mind shouted out commands. Shut the door to the library! Run outside! Call the fire department! But his paralyzed body would not obey him. The fire held him captive, hypnotizing him with its destructive beauty.
    Now the flames reached out for him, demanding their sacrifice. The room was an inferno, a furnace of blazing orange and yellow. A mighty blast of heat seared his face and Greg crumpled to the floor. The very element he had loved and courted had betrayed him. His last thought was of the girl and how she would never hear her song.
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    The fireplace was blazing cheerily in his living room when Dr. Elias came home. He rubbed his hands together to warm them and stood with his back to the flames. Gradually the heat took the stiffness from his body and he could move despite the pain. Fire was a comforting thing, a necessary element in the survival of the race. It was unfortunate that Greg had been forced to experience directly the destruction it could cause.
    After the task was done, he had lingered in the freezing storm until sirens wailed in the distance. It was his duty to stand guard until it was finished. When the first flashing red lights had appeared at the crest of the hill, he left. He did not remember the details of the ride home. His mind was fogged with cold and pain.
    Dr. Elias picked up the syringe he had prepared. The fact that he had proceeded without it was a testament to his courage. It would be so easy to increase the dosage, to ignore his final responsibilities and sink into the false security of a drug-induced euphoria. But he had resisted the easy way out. He had tested the strength of his convictions and he had triumphed. Dr. Elias smiled as he plunged the needle into his vein. His father would be proud of him.
    Now it was late and there was one more task to complete. Dr. Elias walked down the hallway, flexing his fingers until they were limber enough to hold the brush. He unlocked the door to his studio and faced the group portrait, smiling a little as he saw how well it was taking shape. Doug was finished. He had captured the radiant innocence in his eyes. And Jerry. There was a serenity about him now that he had not had in life.
    Dr. Elias picked up his brush. Greg had been haunted by the guilt he’d carried. He would not paint him that way. Now Greg was at peace and his face would reflect the calm acceptance of his fate.
    His brushstrokes were the only sounds in the room as he applied paint to the canvas. Greg’s lips seemed to whisper words of thanks as he painted them. His eyes were clear and unafraid. Dr. Elias smiled as he put down the brush.
    It was finished. Dr. Elias stood back and nodded. Three were terminated now, and the world was safe from them. Five more patients to cure and his work would be completed.

CHAPTER 11
    â€œMove in with you?” Debra turned to look at him in amazement. “Mac! Is this a proposition?”
    Mac laughed. “In a way, I suppose it is. I just thought you might feel nervous staying all alone. My house is big and it’d be nice to share it with you. As far as the proposition goes, I solemnly promise not to attack you in the middle of the night.”
    Debra swallowed nervously. If Mac had been any other man, she would have refused immediately, but somehow Mac