Ralph was dreaming of Kathleen again. She was standing on the edge of the pool he was building for Jerry Meuse on Coldwater Canyon, looking into the water saying: "It's milk, Ralph!"

As he realized that yes, indeed, the pool was filled with milk, the ground began to shake. Somewhere far off, he heard Duffy barking frantically.

I'm not dreaming, he thought, and opened his eyes. The walls were creaking, the doors flying open, the bed pitching around. This was no minor temblor. This was big and getting bigger. He felt a patter of dust on his face and threw himself out of the bed. A heartbeat later the ceiling came down, burying the place where he'd been sleeping seconds before.

The drapes were open a few inches (He'd not been able to sleep in total darkness since Kathleen's departure), and there was moonlight enough to get him across the pitching floor to the door. "Duffy?" he yelled as he raced down the stairs. "Where are you, boy?"

He ducked into the kitchen where Duffy usually spent the night (he'd protect his food before us, Kathleen had pointed out), but there was no response. The shaking had given way to brutal jolts now, as though some titanic foot were kicking the house. Every jar, plate, fork, and glass were either on the floor in pieces or on their way.

"Duffy?" he yelled again, fearing the worst.

Then, from the study, a fretful whine. He raced across the hall. The dog was under the desk, which was a more sensible place to be than--

Behind him, the sound of plaster cracking and splintering. He turned in time to see one of the huge bookcases, six of it's shelves weighted down with files on recent projects, the seventh with his secret stash of skin magazines, toppling toward him. He started to retreat, but a hail of books and Penthouses felled him.

Ralph's partner, Vincent, surveyed the chaos of the study.

"This is not a safe place for you to be right now," he said, "Come stay with Lauren and me till you get a structural engineer in here."