One moment she stood on the terrace of their Montauk home, Constantine walking towards her with a smile saying, Hey, wonder what’s in this one?Then he was hurtling towards her, his skin cracking open like a dry river bed, and blackening to charcoal. She felt the force of the impact, felt herself flying, flying . . . and then she was in the sand, lying there, hearing nothing, not the crash of the waves, not the crackling and burning of the wreckage that she could see the terrace had become.‘Constantine!’ she screamed, but she knew he was gone, gone into that great mystery where she couldn’t follow unless she died too.Oh, she wanted to die.‘Constantine!’ she called again, but her voice broke and she was sobbing, standing in a dark void without him, and then . . . she was awake. She shot upright in the bed, shivering, shuddering, sweating; and he was there, sitting there in the chair across the room. Not Constantine of the dazzling smile and overpowering charm, but the charred smoking wreck he was now.‘No .
