"Easily," he said. She saw him shove the gun into the pocket of his black coat and grip the bar with both hands, lifting the glider. The breeze caught at it. He walked into the wind, reminding her somehow of a crow walking, one of those big ravens she'd grown up seeing, in Oregon. He was within a few feet of the edge now, the side of Skinner's room that faced China Creek. "You and your friend here caused me a great deal of trouble," he said, "but you're either going to burn to death or asphyxiate now, so I suppose we're even." He looked out, stepped forward.