The Midnight Tour

inches.

What if it falls out and I lose it?

He considered folding the ticket in half.

Nah. It’ll be all right. Long as I don’t bend over too far, or something.

He put away his credit card, returned his wallet to the back pocket of his trousers, and stepped around the corner.

“Morning,” said another guide he recognized from yesterday. A blonde with a deep tan and pale blue eyes—a real beauty, but so athletic and tough-looking that Owen found her somewhat frightening. She looked like she ought to be a skiing instructor somewhere in the high Sierras. Or the Alps. According to the tag above her jutting right breast, her name was Sharon.

“Good morning,” Owen said, and gave her the ticket for today’s tour.

She tore it. “You know about the discounts, right?”

“Yep.”

She handed the stub to him, then turned away and stepped over to the cupboard where the audio players were stored. She reached up and pulled one down. “It’s all rewound and ready to go,” she said, coming toward Owen. “You wear it around your neck like this.”

She put it on him, leaning in close and raising her arms to lift the strap over his head. He smelled cigarette smoke and perfume and spearmint chewing gum.

He began to feel a little breathless and trembly.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I saw you here yesterday, didn’t I?”

Heat rushed to his face. “Yeah. But I didn’t get to see everything. My girlfriend got sick and we had to leave.”

“Well, glad you could make it back. I guess you already know how the tour works.”

“Right.”

“Hope it goes better for you today.”

“Thanks. I’m sure it will.”

Turning toward the house, Owen put his headphones on.

Some of those who’d preceded him through the ticket line were gathered in front of the porch, eyes on the hanging body of Gus Goucher. The big guy with the Beast House cap was snapping photos of Gus.

As Owen approached, the others climbed the porch stairs and went into the house. The big guy stayed, ducking and bobbing with the big black camera at his eye.

One of the guides seemed to be watching him.

She was the small, cute blonde who’d given Dana a ride to work in her Jeep. The same one who’d briefly gone into Beast House with her. She stood at the top of the porch stairs, leaning back against a support post, one ankle resting across the other, arms folded across her chest.

She frowned slightly as she stared at the camera-happy fat guy.

She didn’t even glance at Owen.

He felt like an intruder as he walked toward them.

He wondered if he should just keep moving. After all, he’d done Station One yesterday. He didn’t really need to stop and listen to it all over again.

But if I don’t stop, she’ll think I goofed. She’ll point out my mistake.

Besides, Owen really wanted to start from scratch. This time, with no Monica moaning and smirking by his side, he might be able to concentrate on the tour and really enjoy it.

He stopped a few paces away from the foot of the stairs, lifted the player to take a look at its control buttons, and was about to press Start when the big guy waved at him and called out, “Hey, buddy?”

Owen raised his eyebrows and pointed to himself.

“Yeah, you. Wanta do me a big favor?”

Up on the porch, the guide uncrossed her arms and stood up straight.

“Could I get you to take my picture with poor old Gus here? Okay? You mind?”

“No. that’d be fine.”

The guy hurried toward him, smiling and nodding, reaching out with the camera.

Owen took it.

“It’s all automatic. Just push this right here.”

“Got it.”

The big guy rushed up the porch stairs to Gus, stood close to the dangling legs, put an arm around them and smiled.

“Ready?” Owen asked.

“Just a sec.” He turned his head toward the guide. “Why don’t you come over and be in the picture, too?” he asked.

“Aaaa, you don’t want me in it.”

“Sure, I do. Are you kidding?”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’m John,” he said. “John Cromwell.”

“Nice to meet you, John.” She turned toward Owen. “And you are?”

“Owen.”

“Hi, Owen.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Lynn,” she said, more to Owen than to John.

“Now we all know each other,” John said. “Hop on over and join me in the picture.”

“Well, if you’re sure...”

“Come on.”

Walking toward him, Lynn said, “We’d better hurry, though. We don’t want to be in the way of these people.”

Owen glanced back and saw a family of five strolling toward them. Earlier, they’d been directly behind him in the line. They’d seemed like nice people, the kids quiet and well-behaved.

When he returned his attention to the porch, he found John standing between Lynn and the lynched dummy —arms around both.

And Lynn seemed to have an arm around John.

Boy! How’d John manage that?

“Better take it,” Lynn said.

He snapped the photo.

John said, “Take a second one, just in...” and squeezed Lynn in against his side.

She yelped and laughed as Owen took the second shot. Then she escaped and swatted John on his butt.

“Spank me again,” he told her. “Please.”

Laughing, she shook her head. “That’s more than enough, Johnny boy.”

Owen climbed the porch stairs, ready to return John’s camera.

“Thanks for the help,” John told him.

“No problem.”

Lynn glanced at Owen’s chest. “Ah, ha! I see you’ve bought a ticket for the Midnight Tour!”

He blushed and smiled. “Yeah. I can’t wait.”

“Doing it tomorrow night?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Me, too,” she said. “I’ll be your guide.”

“Really? Great!”

She turned to John. “You coming on it, too?”

The big guy’s mouth fell open. He blinked a few times. Then he said, “You’re the guide?”

“I’m always the guide. It’s my tour. I originated it.”