I’ve seen it happen.
And at this very moment, all I can do is wonder. Will I be too late?
The cab careens around a corner. Now we’re cooking!
Fuck.
Traffic! A parking-lot situation.
The driver skids to a halt behind another cab, a Checker, sandwiched in by a city bus that’s blowing hot smoke.
“Here!” I say, pushing money through the divider. “Take it. Keep the change!”
“Hope you make your class, sweetheart.”
I bolt from the backseat and start running, my heart pounding as fast as my feet are moving. And I’m so scared.
Why, Michael, why? Don’t throw everything away. Don’t throw us away. Or the kids.
All I can see in my head are the images from the hotel, what was in my dream and what I captured on film. The procession of gurneys being wheeled out. And then – I think of my other time at the Fálcon. Three years ago with Boston Matthew. Coincidence? I doubt it. But I don’t want to think about it now. I couldn’t if I wanted to.
Hurry! Just hurry.
Stay in the moment.
I hear a siren warbling up ahead, and my heart sinks, my legs actually buckle, and I nearly fall.
I’m too late. I blew it.
No – it’s a fire engine heading downtown, a blur of red shooting by a block away on Madison. The blare of the siren trails off, restoring hope. What is with the Fálcon Hotel, anyway?
I’m almost there. The burn from my legs is moving up to my lungs. It feels like a load of bricks has been dumped on my chest. But I don’t dare stop running. Nothing can make me stop.
Then, something does.
Chapter 100
MY CELL PHONE RINGS.
Michael! This has to be him!
I cut sharply to my right on the sidewalk, pulling up alongside a building. Barely able to catch my breath, I answer the phone.
“Hello?”
It’s not him.
“Is this Kristin Burns?” I hear. It’s a woman. I don’t recognize the voice, but she sounds upset. Oh man, this is no time for more pranks from the dark side.
“Yes.”
“This is Madeline Sturges from Preston Academy. I’ve tried to reach both Mr. and Mrs. Turnbull. To no avail. And you’re listed here as another contact -”
“What’s wrong?” I interrupt.
There’s a silence, and I can practically feel the woman’s anxiety through the phone. “It’s Dakota,” she says. “She told a classmate that she needed to go find someone.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“She’s missing from school. We’ve looked everywhere. Dakota’s gone.”
The phone drops from my hand. Before it hits the sidewalk, I’m sprinting again. Faster than ever.
Four gurneys.
Please, God. Don’t let this happen. Not to Dakota. She’s only seven years old.
How could she know about the Fálcon or that her mother might be there? It doesn’t seem possible.
Yeah, just like everything else that’s happened so far.
The pathetic truth is – anything is possible right now.
Chapter 101
I’M CLOSE. The corner of the Fálcon is twenty… ten… five feet away. I squeeze my eyes shut, running blind. I can’t bear to look at this.
But I have to look, don’t I? I feel like I have no free will in this matter.
Racing around the corner, I brace for the worst shock of my life. The four body bags.
They aren’t there, thank God. Not yet, at least.
There’s no crime scene, no throng of onlookers. No Dakota either. Just the bright red awning of the Fálcon, pulling me in with its powerful undertow.
Seconds later, I burst through the front doors. Don’t let them be in the same room as before! It’s where Michael would surely look first. He knows the number. I told him.
Dashing through the lobby, I head straight for the elevators, only to see half a dozen people waiting there. Without breaking stride, I turn for the stairs, taking two at a time. I’m leaking buckets of sweat as I climb past the second and third floors.
Spilling out onto the fourth, I practically hurl myself down the long hallway.
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
Never has a silence sounded so deadly, so haunting and eerie.
I pass one door after another until I reach the room Penley and Stephen were in. Their room. I come to a fast stop, and it’s as if I’ve given the pain of running here a chance to catch up. My legs and lungs feel like an inferno.
I see a “Do Not Disturb” sign that wasn’t there yesterday. Staring at it, I almost don’t notice the other thing that’s different.
The door’s open.
Just an inch, not even that. A small sliver of space between the door and the jamb. Slowly, I push my way in.
It’s no Motel 6. The room is more of a chic apartment. I step into a foyer with black-and-white tile like a chessboard. More games to play? For the first time, I hear something – a voice from around the corner.
It’s Stephen.
Is he laughing? Why would he be laughing?
I take a few more steps forward and realize he isn’t laughing. No, he’s crying. Sobbing is more like it.
Peeking my head out, I glimpse down the short hallway and I see why.
Michael has a gun pressed to his forehead.
Chapter 102
“PLEASE, DON’T DO THIS,” begs Stephen in a high-pitched whine. “Please, no! Please!” He’s naked, quivering and cowering by the foot of the bed. It’s all I can see in the dim room.
“Shut up!” barks Michael. “Shut the hell up!”
It’s happening so fast, and I’m frozen, almost as if I’m stuck in time or I’m watching a dream. That hideous burning smell is back too.
Michael cocks the gun, his voice seared with rage. “You fucked the wrong woman, and youdefinitely fucked with the wrong guy,” he says to Stephen. Then -
PFFTT!
I see the spurt of blood even before I hear the strange muffled blast.
The back of Stephen’s head blows out, and the wall behind him is splattered with dark red brain matter. For a second, he remains standing, his eyes open and brimming with terror. A flap of scalp juts out behind his ear like an open gate. This isn’t a dream, Kris.
Then Stephen’s body goes limp, as if a puppeteer suddenly released the strings. His arms and legs fold as he melts to the floor, a pool of blood around his head creeping wider and wider. The blood on the floor looks almost black.
God is in the details, right?
I begin to scream, just like in my dream.
Michael whirls around, his arm outstretched, the gun aimed right at me. Watching his gloved trigger finger twitch, I throw out my hands. “NO! MICHAEL! IT’S ME!”
He squints, seeing that it’s true. It is me.
“What are you doing here?” he says, lowering the gun.
I struggle for words, but there aren’t any up to the task. All I can do is slowly walk toward him. I’m not sure if I want to hold him or hit him.
“Don’t touch anything!” he says. It’s an order.
Huh?
“Fingerprints,” he explains. “Ours can’t be here. Don’t touch a thing.”
He begins twisting a small tube off the gun’s barrel – a silencer, I assume. That’s why the blast wasn’t really much of a blast.
Then he stops, thinks for a split second, changes his mind. Twist, twist, twist. The silencer stays on.
That’s the word for this, isn’t it? Twisted.
I keep moving toward him, my body feeling as if it’s crumbling with each step. Words finally come. “What have you done, Michael?”
That’s when I look farther into the bedroom and realize -I only knew half of it.
Michael slaps his hand over my mouth before I can scream again. Keeled over on a desk by the bed is a very naked, very dead Penley, blood still dripping down her chest and leg. An awful lot of blood is pooled on the floor.
Michael removes the hand from my mouth, raising a finger to his. “Shhh, we don’t have a lot of time,” he says. “We have to leave now. Kristin, we’ll be fine.”