“Weirdly, an image of Adrian’s Love painting came back to me. I thought of the jagged red streak, slashing through the blackness, ripping itapart. Staring at Jill and her inconsolable pain, I suddenly understood his art a little bit better.”

“And as the bullet ripped through his flesh, Ralston was consumed by a single thought: I never told her that I loved her.”

“Each memory rips through me, and although I stow myself against the emotions, I can’t prevent the pain that accompanies each image. Pain for a love never acknowledged, pain for a friendship now gone. Pain for a loss I can’t possibly endure.”

“The last time I saw her was red. The sky was like soup, boiling and stirring. In some places, it was burned. There were black crumbs, and pepper, streaked across the redness.”

“It was like watching magic take wing, Brian thought.The muscular black horse soared over the ground with the woman on his back.They streaked over another rise,moving west,into the dying sun. The sky was a riot of color, a painting slashed with reds and golds. It seemed to him she would ride straight into it, through it.And he'd have no choice but to follow her.When she pulled up,turned to wait for him, her face flushed with pleasure, her eyes gleaming with it,he knew he'd never seen the like.And wanting her was apt to kill him.”

“As I looked there came, I thought a change - he seemed to swell - his face became suddenly black and the features seemed to melt and alter...”