You've Been Warned

We cover another block heading south and, yet again, I check to make sure I’ve got my camera.

Minutes later, I duck into a phone kiosk and watch Penley in front of the school’s gates as she practically shoos Dakota and Sean away. Amazingly, she’s still on her cell.

Is she talking to Stephen?

Is he meeting her at the gym?

“Excuse me, are you using that phone?” I hear.

The man’s voice startles me. Does it sound familiar? Actually, yes.

I turn around to see a guy in baggy jeans and a Gap T-shirt. Damn it, I know him! I haven’t seen this guy since we were in high school together. I have no idea what happened to him after school, but here he is, wandering into my nightmare.

I point at the phone. “I don’t think anyone’s using it,” I say. “You’re Harvey, right? From Concord?”

He stares at the frayed wire jutting from the receiver like a rat’s tail. “There’s a call coming for you, Kristin,” he says. Matter-of-fact, just like that.

Then the phone rings, and I literally jump. But I sure don’t answer it.

“Yeah. I’m Harvey,” he says, then he shuffles off.

“And let me guess,” I say to him. “You’re dead, right?” But Harvey doesn’t bother to answer.

I immediately turn back to Penley standing in front of the school. Only she’s not there. Oh, great.

My head turns like one of those automatic sprinklers. Not until my second three sixty do I spot her humping down Madison. Her walk gives her away. “I’m better than you,” it says with each stride. “So get out of my way!”

I hurry across the street, falling in behind her again. Now that the kids are gone, she’s off the phone. I’m shielded by the crowded sidewalk—the morning rush hour traffic—but I’m careful not to get too close.

We head south a few more blocks, and I try to remember what gym she belongs to. Is it Reebok? Equinox? Did she ever even tell me?

Anyway, I’ll find out soon enough. If I know Penley, it can’t be too much farther. Otherwise, she would’ve cabbed it, for sure.

My eyes remain trained on her while my mind looks ahead. One kiss, that’s all I need. A suggestive embrace would do the job, but a kiss, that would be the money shot.

That’s assuming Stephen’s even there.

She told me the gym is where they met. Then again, she also said he and I would make a nice couple. Ha!

Maybe this is nothing more than a wild goose chase and maybe it isn’t. I don’t care. I’m determined to get the proof I need—that Michael needs—if it’s there to get.

Then why am I starting to feel so uneasy about this?

There’s a hollow forming in my stomach, and with each step it grows. It’s not nerves or nausea, it’s something different. And this isn’t the first time I’ve felt it.

Streets, time, everything seems a blur to me. I’m so pre-occupied with the feeling, I almost miss Penley’s arrival at her gym.

I focus my eyes and watch her walk in. At that exact moment, the feeling takes over, consuming me. I know what it is. Dread.

And I know when I felt it last too.

Here.

Right outside Penley’s “gym.”

Otherwise known as the Falcon Hotel.

Chapter 80

I WANT TO RUN, but I can’t decide which way to go.

I’m desperate to get the hell out of here, and yet I absolutely have to keep following Penley and see where this is going. I take a step forward, then back. I’m a human yo-yo.

Finally, I run.

To the hotel.

I push back the fear—the dread—and sprint up the front steps beneath the Falcon’s red awning, slowing down only as I enter the lobby. Which I remember—from my time here after I moved from Boston. Block it out, Kris. Not relevant now.

Here comes the first tricky part—seeing which room Penley’s heading to while still not being seen.

Where is she?

Nowhere. I scan the swank lobby with its minimalist decor. They’ve redecorated, I see. The furniture is all black, as is most of the clothing. It’s like a Prada convention. There are thin people everywhere, but not one of them is Penley.

I rush to the two elevators on the wall to the left of reception. The first is open and waiting, the second heading upward. A digital panel on the wall tells me where. I watch and wait until it stops on the fourth floor.

Off I go, taking the empty elevator. When the doors open, I peek out, hoping to see Penley from behind, moving toward a room.

Instead, the hallway’s empty. I feel like one of those characters in a scary movie, with the audience shouting, “Get out of there, Kristin. Run! Get away!”

I won’t do that. I worry that I’ve missed Penley or that she’s not even on this floor.

Then comes a woman’s laugh from a few rooms down. Or is it a cackle? Either way, I know it instantly. It’s the Pencil.

I get close and listen, my ear maybe an inch from the door. When they’re not laughing, they’re talking, and though I can’t quite make out the conversation, I recognize the other voice in the room. It’s him.

Stephen.

I listen for a minute to their frolicking. They almost sound like kids in there, albeit very naughty ones. Is this really the woman who has me alphabetize her cans of soup?

I feel for my camera again. No problem this time—it’s there. At the ready.

I spot the door to the stairwell at the end of the hallway. There’s a small cut-out window at eye level. Looks like a perfect place to set up shop.

I figure if Penley and Stephen arrive separately, they probably leave separately. Not that it really makes a difference. Solo shots of them slinking out of the same hotel room will more than do the trick. Michael will be able to fill in the blanks.

I back away from the door, the mix of their giggling and God-knows-what now like nails on a blackboard to me. If I’m going to commit to a stakeout, I can only hope that Stephen isn’t into tantric sex, like Sting. I’ll be waiting forever!

I start walking toward the stairwell. Halfway there, I stop as if I’ve hit a wall. The feeling of dread rushes over me again as I turn and face a room on the opposite side of the hallway. I feel dizzy; I’m shivering.

All because of what I hear.

Chapter 81

IT’S THE MUSIC!

This time it’s not between my ears, it’s behind the door. The same song that accompanies the dream— about this hotel!—is coming from inside this other room. It must be on the radio. How convenient. Or how sadistic of someone. But who?

I lean in and listen, my ears straining. It’s faint, and I still can’t make out the damn lyrics. The name of the song remains stuck on the tip of my tongue.

Not for long, though.

I knock softly on the door. I hate to bother you, folks, but it’s time to play Name That Tune!

No one answers.