The Midnight Tour

He glanced at his wristwatch. Two minutes till ten. Though Monica was a late sleeper, she would certainly be awake by now.

Awake and wondering where the hell Owen had disappeared to.

How could I do this to her?

She had it coming, he told himself.

But to just abandon her...

She’ll be fine, he thought. Soon as she gets used to me being gone, she can relax and enjoy herself, explore all the wonders of San Francisco without the nuisance of my presence.

The hotel’s on my credit card. I left her airline ticket behind so she can fly home if she gets the urge. She has plenty of money, plus her own credit cards.

She’ll get along just fine.

Never acted like she wanted me around in the first place.

Well, now she’s got what she was asking for. Hope she’s happy.

I did you a favor, bitch.

So why do I feel so guilty about it?

Owen had gone through these matters before.

Many times.

In the cab on his way to the airport, then during the long drive back through San Francisco, over the Golden Gate Bridge and up the coast to Malcasa Point, he’d studied his actions, struggled with guilt, tried to justify what he’d done, and wondered what the consequences might be.

He supposed he must’ve spent the better part of four hours going over it all.

For a while, he’d worried that Monica might call the police. She probably would have called them except for one thing: his luggage had disappeared with him. Which made it fairly clear that he’d gone away on purpose.

No crime in that, as far as he knew.

After all, it wasn’t as if he’d run off and abandoned his spouse.

Owen had decided that he could stop worrying about the police.

But that still left him with plenty of other concerns.

Again and again, he’d concluded that he was definitely a jerk for ditching Monica. No question about that. A gentleman would never do such a thing. He should’ve stuck with her, no matter what.

But he was delighted that he hadn’t.

She had it coming. What did she think, I’d hang around and take her crap forever?

Inside the ticket booth, the plump girl slid open the window.

A big, heavy guy with glasses was first in line. He stepped up to buy his ticket.

He was one of the eight or ten people who’d arrived before Owen. He wore a black cap backwards, its bill sticking out behind his head. Though it looked like a baseball cap, it bore a Beast House logo the same as the guides wore on their uniform shirts.

Earlier, Owen had been tempted to approach him.

Say hi, introduce himself, ask where he got the neat hat.

Why not? The guy seemed to be alone. He was about the same age as Owen, and he looked friendly enough.

But maybe he didn’t want company.

Owen had decided not to bother him.

The guy stepped away from the window, clamped the ticket between his front teeth, and stuffed some bills into his wallet. Then he lifted the drooping tail of his shirt and shoved the wallet into a seat pocket of his plaid Bermuda shorts. His calves were round and pale. He wore moccasins and no socks.

Kind of a slob, Owen thought and watched him stroll around the corner of the ticket booth.

The others in line ahead of Owen seemed like ordinary tourist types. Three of them were gals, but they didn’t interest him. They couldn’t compare to Dana.

He pulled out his wallet and slipped a Visa card out of its slot in the leather.

Then he wondered if he should use cash, instead. His wallet was bulging. Here was a chance to slim it down by a hundred and fifteen dollars, especially if he paid with small bills.

But what if I get over to the Welcome Inn and find out they don’t take credit cards?

I’d better hang on to my cash, he thought. Better safe than sorry.

What if they haven’t got a vacancy?

Don’t worry about it, he told himself. Just take things as they come.

He stepped up to the ticket window.

“Good morning,” the girl said. “Welcome to Beast House.”

“Thanks.” He smiled in at her. The name tag on her chest read Rhonda. Though he remembered her from yesterday, he hadn’t been able to recall her name.

Does she remember me?

“I’d like one general admission,” he told her. “And can I also buy a ticket for tomorrow night’s Midnight Tour?”

“The Midnight Tour? Let me check for you.” She turned aside and typed something into a computer. Nodding, she faced Owen. “You’re in luck. It hasn’t sold out yet.”

“It sells out?”

“Oh, sure does. We like to keep it small and intimate, so we only allow thirteen guests.”

“Thirteen?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll just be number nine. Somebody else can be thirteen.”

“Lucky him. Or her.”

“We normally don’t tell whoever it is.”

“Then how do I know I’m not thirteen.”

Rhonda blushed. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“Happy to.”

A warm smile spread across her face. “Will that be a single admission for you?”

“Right, just one.”

“That’ll be a hundred dollars. Plus fifteen for today. How would you like to pay for that?”

“I guess I’ll have you put it on this.” He pushed the Visa card across the counter.

After signing for the charge, he was given a receipt, his ticket for the daytime audio tour, and a large red ticket.

“Both tickets have coupons for discounts at the snack stand, gift shop and museum.”

“Right.”

“The red one, that’s your ticket for the Midnight Tour. It’ll be your admission to the picnic which takes place here on the grounds tomorrow night at eight. After the picnic, there’ll be a special ten o’clock showing of The Horror at the theater up the street. Then comes the tour itself.”

“At midnight?”

“On the dot. The guide will lead you over to Beast House after the movie ends. Anyway, all the details are written out for you on the back of the ticket. But if you have any questions, just ask. I’ll be here all day today and tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Enjoy yourself, Owen.”

“Thanks.”

He almost added “Rhonda” to show that he’d noticed her name, too. But he stopped himself and stepped away from the window.

She’d seemed a little bit too friendly. Owen didn’t want to encourage her.

If I get involved with anyone around here, it isn’t going to be Rhonda.

Standing near the corner of the booth, he slipped the red ticket into his shirt pocket. It protruded a couple of