The Midnight Tour

He dodged to the other side of the stairway to get past Dana but she dropped the walkie-talkie and grabbed the banister with her right hand, flung out her left arm and hooked him across the chest. His whole weight suddenly tried to rip her backward and hurl her down the stairs, but she clung to the rail. The impact turned her sideways. Then the kid lost his momentum and she swung him in against her body.

“Let me go!” he gasped, thrashing. “Let go! It’s coming!!”

“Calm down,!” Dana said. She started carrying him down the stairs.

“Let me go! It’s gonna get us!”

“Nothing’s going to get us.”

“Hurry!”

Rushing down the stairs, she listened for sounds of footfalls behind her. She had an urge to look over her shoulder.

Only a few steps from the bottom, she thought, Made it. No matter what, I’ll make it to the hall before it gets me.

Get real, she told herself. Nothing’s up there.

She scampered down the final stairs and carried Lance out of the stairwell.

The onlookers applauded. She heard calls of “Thata girl!” and “Good going,” and “Nicely done.”

She set Lance onto his feet and turned him around to face her. Holding him by the sides, she crouched and said, “Everything’s all right, Lance. Everything’s fine.”

He gazed with wide eyes up the stairwell behind Dana. He was gasping and shaking.

“Nothing’s up there,” she said.

“Oh yes it is.”

Keeping hold of him, Dana checked him out from head to foot.

His pale blue T-shirt was dark with sweat. It felt hot and damp under her hands.

Lance didn’t seem to be injured.

She turned him around.

No damage that...

“Don’t you ever do that again! Do you hear me! Don’t you EVER! You scared the daylights out of me!”

“I was just...”

Smack!

He flinched in Dana’s hands.

She stood up fast. “Hey!”

He started crying.

“Don’t you hit him,” Dana snapped.

“I’ll hit him if I want.” As if to demonstrate, Lance’s mother hauled back for another swing at his face.

“No!” Dana caught her wrist.

“Let go of me!”

“Don’t hit the kid,” Dana said. “It isn’t nice to hit little kids.”

The mother spit at her.

The gob of saliva landed on Dana’s uniform blouse just above her left breast.

“Lady,” Dana said.

Then Janey kicked the woman in the leg.

“Ow! You little twat!” Her left hand darted at Janey.

As the girl leaped away, Dana jerked the woman’s right arm and swung her around and slammed her against the wall.

“That’s enough!” Dana shouted in her face.

The woman blinked.

The spit had soaked through Dana’s shirt. She felt its cool wetness against her skin.

With both hands, she clutched the front of the woman white T-shirt. “Calm down!”

“Let go of me!”

“You cannot go around hitting people,” Dana said.

Or spitting on them, she thought.

And she smelled the woman’s spit on her shirt. Felt it against her skin, and smelled it. It smelled like jasmine. It smelled like sneeze.

She suddenly gagged.

“Let go of me, or I’ll...”

Dana felt it suddenly coming. She had time to turn away. But she chose not to. She kept her grip on the mother’s T-shirt and lurched forward and threw up in her face.

For lunch, she’d had a Red-Hot Beastie Weenie, Beastly Chili Fries with cheese, and a strawberry flavored milkshake called a “Bucket of Blood.”

Chapter Thirty-three

SANDY’S STORY—July,1992

The sight of Terry’s badge seemed to freeze Sandy’s mind.

She gaped at it.

For God’s sake, don’t faint! Don’t scream and run! Just act normal.

Sure thing.

Keeping her eyes on the badge, she tried to sound like Cagney as she said, “So, you’re a copper?”

“Right. Fort Platt Municipal Police Department.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

“If I’m not a cop, I’ve got a mighty fine shield and i.d. Look at that photo. That’s me, rights

She stared at the i.d. photo. “Yep.”

“So I’m either a real cop or a really slick bad guy. But that isn’t the point.” He flipped the police i.d. over. Underneath it was his driver’s license. “Look. See the address there? Fourteen Beach Drive? That’s my cottage. If you follow me over, you can check the address before you even get out of your truck. If they don’t match up, you can just drive on.”

“I guess I could do that,” Sandy said.

She felt numb.

“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

“Great!”

She smiled and nodded and resumed her grocery shopping.

Dazed.

Oh, my God. Oh, God. A cop. He’s a cop. What’m I gonna do?

Go over to his place and kill him?

No, no, no. Can’t do that. He’s a nice guy. I like him.

I can’t kill him.

Can’t?

Okay. I could.

But even if I wanted to, all these people are seeing us together. I’d never get away with it.

Just play along. See what happens.

In the checkout line, a couple of customers greeted Terry and he responded as if they were his good friends. The cashier knew him, too. Her name tag read, MARGE. She said, “Hey there, Ter. Whatcha up to?”

“No good, as usual.”

“Haw!”

As Marge slid the groceries across the scanner, Sandy said to her, “Is this guy really a cop?”