Damian cursed as he hurried forward, still training his gun on the slumped man. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, lights in the surrounding buildings started to come on. He held the nine millimeter close by the head of the fallen man, who was writhing in pain. With his free hand, he pried the large kitchen knife from the man’s tight grasp. He then allowed his eyes to shift quickly to the body that had never once moved. He saw the pool of blood running from around the neck area and knew that the rate of that flow was too great for the person to survive. The man he had shot was trying to rise to his elbows. He slapped the barrel of the gun onto the top of the man’s head, and the longhaired man grunted and fell onto his face.
“Goddamn it,” Jackson hissed. He looked around him for some sort of assistance. Then he saw that a light had come on inside the diner. A man appeared at the doorway, tying a rope around the waist of his old robe. Jackson waved the man out. Then he looked down and rolled the prone man at his feet over onto his back. In a flash of lightning, the man’s face became visible. Paul Lowell stared back at Damian with dead eyes. His throat had been cut so deeply that Jackson could see the whiteness of bone in the wound. Damian gasped and removed his hand, standing slowly. The heaving rain was staring to wash most of the standing blood into the gutter, but the flow was heavy and would soon cover the protected part of the sidewalk.
Jackson leaned over the man he had shot, grasped him by his filthy hair and raised his head. As the world flashed with lightning and the traffic signal flashed yellow once more, the face of Kyle Pritchard remained slack and unconscious.
“Good God almighty, what in the world did you do?”
Jackson let Pritchard’s head fall back to the wet sidewalk and then he looked up into the shocked face of the diner’s owner.
“Call the local police,” Damian said and held out his State Police identification. He knew everyone in the small town already knew exactly who he was and why he was there.
The old man didn’t move. He stood in the half-open doorway, almost as if he were preparing to run back inside.
“Move, old timer,” Jackson said. He placed his gun in his raincoat pocket and slapped handcuffs on Kyle Pritchard. “And you better put on some coffee.”
When Damian looked up, he saw the man had left to comply with his orders. Jackson placed his hands on his hips and looked from the murdered co-host of Hunters of the Paranormal to the just-awakening sound technician. He stepped back out into the rain and looked up, letting the cold wetness strike his face. When he looked back, he raised his brows.
“Now that, I didn’t expect,” he said, as lightning flashed across the sky once again.
Gabriel Kennedy stood just inside the doorway to room 1809, looking at John and Jennifer. John sat on the end of the large bed and Jennifer was at the desk, writing. Her energy level was almost off the charts now that Bobby Lee McKinnon had disappeared. She had changed out of the evening gown and had simply tossed it to Kelly Delaphoy with an apologetic look, and then had replaced the two thousand dollar dress with a pair of white Levis and a purple turtleneck. To Kennedy’s pleasure, Jenny had kept the make-up on to cover the dark circles under her eyes. As he watched, she sprang from her desk chair to the bell cart. She moved a small vase, and then counted something and wrote it down on her pad. She was following John Lonetree’s instructions to the letter about the way in which his part of the program would be conducted, numbering each item that she would place in John’s hands after he had gone to sleep. She would then record his reactions as his Dream Walk went through its paces.
“Be sure that you write everything down, and record the whole session too,” Kennedy said.
“I think she’ll keep everything in line,” John said, kicking off his cowboy boots.
Jenny smiled but didn’t look up from the notes she was writing. “What if Bobby Lee’s not really gone?” she asked, as matter-of-factly as she could.
“Tell him he’s had his moment in the sun, and then put him to work helping John.” Kennedy smiled, but saw that Jennifer wasn’t very appreciative of his sense of humor. “Sorry. I don’t know, Jenny. I don’t have any answers for you. All I can say is that if he does, end the experiment and call me. I don’t want him mixing it up with John while he’s under.”
The slight woman nodded. She walked to the door and kissed Kennedy on the cheek, then placed her thin fingers on his chest and pushed him out of the door. She closed it without another word and then turned to John who was stretched out on the bed with his large hands behind his head, watching her.
“I thought he would never leave,” he said with a smile.
“Now, am I supposed to sing you a lullaby?” she asked, not appreciating his sense of humor either.
“Maybe just a bedtime story,” John said, his smile growing wider.
“You wouldn’t care for my bedtime stories at all Mr. Lonetree, I assure you.” He flipped off the light switch at the wall, and then the desk lamp. She slid into her chair and looked toward the bed in the total darkness of the room. She hoped and prayed that Bobby Lee McKinnon would leave her be and stay away. She truly wanted to help the team — and most importantly, she wanted to help John Lonetree.
Before long, she felt that John had slid off to sleep. She would give him twenty minutes, as his instructions had stated, and then she would slide the first item he had requested into the bed beside his sleeping body.
Looking at her notes, she could barely make out the first item’s name: Portrait number one — F.E. and Elena Lindemann, wedding portrait.
Kennedy went over each team assignment one last time and then tiredly adjourned the meeting. He and Julie Reilly would be leaving at six in the morning, and the others soon after. He wondered how John and Jennifer were doing. He was tempted to enter the room and eavesdrop, but he knew that John’s Dream Walking was like a tightrope walker attempting a wire act in a high wind: any disturbance at the wrong time could send Lonetree falling out of whatever realm he was in. To Gabriel that could be dangerous, it would be like startling a sleepwalker out of his slumber while in motion.
As he returned his paperwork to his briefcase, he saw Julie Reilly waiting for him by the door. She had a curious look on her face and in a split second he saw the reason why. She pushed the door open and standing in the hallway was a rumpled looking Lionel Peterson. He was wearing a white shirt and black sport jacket, but that was where the neatness ended and the haggardness began. He was unshaven and his eyes were bloodshot. Kennedy could see the aftereffects of a long night of drinking. He pushed past Julie, making her step aside.
“I think you better slow down on your alcohol intake,” Kennedy said as he snapped his briefcase shut. “I know the look — I’ve been there.”
“I don’t give a good goddamn where you’ve been, Kennedy.”
“Can you tell us why you’re here and what you want?” Julie asked. “We’re tired, and we have an early day tomorrow.”
At that moment Kelly Delaphoy stepped into the room, followed by the CEO himself. Abe Feuerstein still had on his customary bowtie and his brown suit. He slid easily into a chair at the table. He was looking directly at Kennedy as he pushed a chair out for Kelly to sit. When she did, the CEO placed a hand her shoulder and squeezed.
“I sure as hell will tell you, Ms. Reilly,” Peterson answered smugly. “Although, you being the ace reporter here, I believe you should have had an inkling of what was happening right under your nose.”
The CEO of UBC watched, letting it all play out without comment, but still he kept his aged hand on Kelly’s shoulder.