Midnight Voices

“Deal,” Laurie said. Hurrying to her room, she pulled on her clothes, shoved her feet into her slippers, then ran back downstairs and out into the hall. Ignoring the elevator, she took the stairs two at a time, came to the seventh floor, and knocked at the Albions’ door. A few seconds passed, but just as she was about to knock again, Alicia Albion opened the door.

For just a second, Alicia looked almost startled to see her, but then she smiled at Laurie, though it wasn’t the same as the welcoming smile she usually offered her. This one seemed almost sad to Laurie. “Oh, dear,” Alicia said. “You’ve come to see Rebecca, haven’t you?”

Laurie nodded uncertainly. Just from the way Mrs. Albion had asked the question, she knew that something was wrong. “Is she all right?”

A strange look passed over Alicia Albion’s face, but then she smiled and nodded her head. “Oh, yes. But I’m afraid she’s not here. Didn’t she tell you?”

Laurie frowned. “Tell me what?”

Again there was just the tiniest hesitation before Mrs. Albion spoke. “She’s gone out west,” she said. “To New Mexico.”

“New Mexico?” Laurie echoed. “What’s in New Mexico?”

“Her uncle,” Alicia replied. Now her hands were twisting nervously at her apron. “Well, I mean, not her real uncle, but Max’s brother. With fall and winter coming, we thought it would be good for her.”

Laurie gazed up at Mrs. Albion. Why hadn’t Rebecca told her she was going away? When she’d seen her yesterday, Rebecca hadn’t said anything about going anywhere. In fact, she’d just been hoping she wouldn’t have to go to the hospital. And if she was so sick she might have to go to the hospital, how could she have gone all the way to New Mexico? But if she’d had to go to the hospital, why wouldn’t Mrs. Albion tell her? “Is she coming back?” she finally asked.

Alicia Albion’s eyes seemed to widen slightly, as if she weren’t certain what to say, but then she nodded. “Well, of course she is.”

“When?”

Now Alicia’s eyes narrowed and Laurie thought she saw a flash of anger in them. But then Alicia was smiling at her again. “Well, I’m not sure,” she said. “If she likes it, she might stay a long time.” She hesitated, then spoke again. “Maybe all winter.”

Suddenly, from somewhere inside the apartment, Laurie heard Max Albion’s voice. “Alicia, who is it?”

“It’s Laurie,” Alicia called back. “She came to see Rebecca.”

There was a moment’s silence, then: “Why don’t you invite her in?”

The door opened wider, and suddenly Alicia Albion was smiling at her again. “Would you like to come in? I’m sure we could find something for you to eat. Why don’t you just—”

But Laurie was already backing away. “No,” she said. “I have to go home. I have to go home right now.” Backing away a few more paces, she finally turned and walked as quickly as she could back to the stairs. Only when she’d made the first turn on the way down, and was certain Alicia Albion could no longer see her did she break into a run, taking the rest of the stairs two at a time. Back in the apartment, she ran upstairs to her own room, and began changing back into her pajamas and bathrobe so her mother wouldn’t know she’d gone anywhere at all.

But even as she was changing clothes, her mind was racing. Where was Rebecca? She was almost sure Mrs. Albion wasn’t telling the truth; if Rebecca had really been going to New Mexico, she would have told Laurie. So she must have gone somewhere else.

The hospital?

But if she’d gone to the hospital, why wouldn’t Mrs. Albion have told her?

Then, even as the question echoed in her head, an answer came to her.

What if Rebecca hadn’t gone to the hospital at all, or New Mexico either?

What if she’d died?

Though it was almost fall, summer still held the city in its grip that afternoon, and as Caroline walked north three blocks then turned west toward Eliot Academy the dank heat of the afternoon closed around her, making her clothes stick to her skin, and her hair feel limp and straggly. But it wasn’t only her body the heat was affecting, but her mind as well, for with every step she took, the more her nerves began to tingle and strange thoughts flit through her head.

She was within a block or two of the last streets Brad had trod when he went out for his last run.

The streets where he’d thought people were watching him, following him.

The streets Andrea had wandered the last days of her life, going to and from work, running errands, doing all the little things that other people were doing right now.

Things like she was doing.

Was the killer here somewhere, watching someone else?

Watching her?

She looked around, scanning the people on both sides of the street. Was anyone watching? Or making a show of not watching? What about the man across the street, his back to her as he gazed into a shop window. Was he really looking at something in the window, or was he only pretending?

He moved on, without so much as a glance in her direction. But he wouldn’t look directly at her, would he? He could have seen her reflection in the shop window; known that she was watching him. She tracked him all the way to the corner, where he turned left and disappeared down Amsterdam Avenue.

Stupid! Caroline said to herself. Stupid and paranoid, just like Brad! Except that Brad was dead, and so was Andrea, so why shouldn’t she be paranoid? And with two people dead — her husband and her best friend — was it really paranoia? Of course not!

Or was it? Where was the connection? It was a year since Brad had been killed. And Andrea hadn’t been out running in the park, making herself an easy target. She’d been at home in her apartment.

So it was paranoia.

But even so, she couldn’t keep her eyes from searching the faces of the people around her, looking for something — anything — that might hint at danger. Now, with the Academy only a block away, she could feel eyes watching her — sense someone behind her. Now it was she who stopped to peer into a shop window, surreptitiously glancing at the sidewalk behind her.

Empty.

Whoever it was had slipped into a doorway, or maybe even one of the shops. She lingered at the window, facing a display of cutlery, the knives laid out in sprays. Like flowers, she thought, and immediately wondered where such a strange idea might have come from. Then another thought came into her mind: I’m going to be late. She glanced at her watch, and saw that she was right — the ten-minute walk had already taken her nearly twenty minutes. But still she stood rooted to the spot, certain that at any moment whoever had been following behind her would reveal himself.

Unless he wasn’t on the street at all.

A building? Could he be watching from above, looking down at her, watching her, laughing at her nervousness?

She spun away from the shop window, and scanned the windows of the buildings across the street. Above the shops were apartments, most of them with curtains drawn; someone could be peering at her from any one of them.

Now she felt panic rising inside her — an unreasoning, overwhelming terror that made her want to turn and run back to the shelter of home, to lock the heavy door of the apartment, shut out all the dangers that suddenly seemed to fill the streets.

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe! It was as if steel bands were wrapped around her chest, bands that were getting tighter with every second that passed. Instinctively, she reached out and braced herself against the window, then jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder. Spinning around, she found herself looking into the eyes of a middle-aged woman, who looked vaguely familiar.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked.

Somehow the words broke the grip of the panic that had seized Caroline, and she nodded as the terrible constriction in her chest eased and she was able to catch her breath. “I–I’m not sure what happened. I just…” But