Fear the Night

in subway stops that were permanently or temporarily closed. Bobby had spent his time down there. It was a rough place to live. The Sniper was one tough guy if he was using subway stops and tunnels for shelter and to travel on foot.

It could be done, though, Bobby thought. It could be done. He recalled seeing the ragged man who didn’t fit his surroundings going down into a subway stop. Bobby had assumed the man wasn’t real, but now, considering what was in the paper, maybe he had been real.

Bobby’s legs and feet were beginning to ache. He folded the paper and tucked it beneath his arm to read more carefully later, then pushed away from the building and stretched in the warm sun heating up the concrete.

It took him about twenty minutes to get to Washington Square, where he found a bench, shooed away half a dozen lethargic pigeons, and sat down. Tired as he was, he didn’t lie down; he didn’t want to be chased. He sat leaning back with his eyes half closed, his face to the heat of the sun.

After a while he felt stronger, but he was hungry. He’d have to scare up some food, or the money to buy some, pretty soon. He remained on the bench, but he kept his eyes open for someone throwing away anything edible-a doughnut or breakfast muffin or pizza slice. It was amazing how many students from NYU liked cold pizza for breakfast.

So the ragged man is real.

Bobby couldn’t get the man with the hurried gait and the worn-out backpack out of his mind.

A girl about twenty, college girl probably, wearing a tight T-shirt and jeans that were slung low on her hips, walked past. Bobby’s gaze went with her. She had some kind of tattoo just above the crack of her ass. And she was talking on a cell phone.

“Way, way wrong!” a female voice said nearby. This woman was wearing a business suit and carrying a leather case in one hand. Her other hand held a cell phone pressed to her ear. She ignored Bobby as she swished past on high heels. She was built better than the college girl and he wished she were the one wearing those jeans.

He noticed that beyond the woman a man stood talking on a cell phone. Bobby settled back on his bench and studied the people around him in the square. It was amazing how many of them were talking on cell phones.

He watched the woman in the business suit lower the phone from her ear and place it in her purse. She left the purse open as she strode from the square and began moving faster, flailing an arm in an attempt to hail a cab. A woman was seated about two benches down, reading a magazine, her purse beside her, a small leather case that probably contained a cell phone alongside the purse.

Bobby was no thief. It wasn’t that he was so honest, more that he was stubborn. Despite his lowly position in life, he held on to his essential self. Or so he told his essential self. He drew lines. He didn’t cross them. He might be down on his luck, but he wouldn’t let circumstances make him a thief.

But this was different, what he had in mind. This was one of those rare times when the end actually did justify the means.

He knew he was going to steal a cell phone.

Repetto immediately understood the meaning of the note. Another nursery tale: Rapunzel. The beautiful girl held captive by a witch in a tower. The girl who let her braided golden hair grow so long that her lover could climb it and join her.

Only the witch had foreseen what would happen. The witch was in control.

Repetto knew who Rapunzel was in the Sniper’s note, in his mind, in his sights: Amelia Rapetto.

“You’ve got to move out of this apartment,” Repetto told his daughter, after showing her the note. “We can get you someplace safe.”

Amelia didn’t stir from where she sat on the sofa. “It wouldn’t do any good. The Sniper might simply follow me. Or find out where I went. From what you say, and what I’ve read about him in the news, he might even have sources inside the police department.”

Repetto couldn’t deny it. He was amazed that she didn’t seem frightened. Her features were so composed, so calm. He found himself proud of her, even if he wanted to grab her long braid and drag her out of this apartment. Maybe he’d do just that, to save her life.

“I have a life to live, and I’m not going to let some sick killer decide how I’m going to live it. People aren’t like chess pieces he can move around anytime however he wants.”

“Amelia-”

“I’m twenty-one, Dad.”

“Meaning I can’t make you move out, even for a while?”

“Awhile?”

“Until this killer is caught.”

“That could be forever.”

“We’re talking about your life, Amelia.”

“Yes, my life. And I’m not going to let anyone dictate how I’m going to live it.”

“I’m not trying to do that. I’m trying to preserve your life. And the Night Sniper’s not trying to dictate how you live. He’s planning to end your life.”

“If I’m the Rapunzel in the note.”

“You don’t believe he means you?”

She couldn’t lie. Absently her right hand touched her luxurious long braid, slung over her shoulder and falling almost to the waist of the faded Levis she wore without a belt. “I suppose he means me.”

“Then you’ll get out?”

“No.”

Repetto felt like kicking a piece of furniture. Kids! Teenagers! No, Amelia was no longer a teenager, no longer a child. She was an adult making an adult decision, albeit a bad one. “You’re just like your mother.”

“I’m like my father. Maybe I’ll even be a cop someday.”

Here was something new. Repetto was thrown. The women in his life seemed to keep doing that to him.

“Will you at least accept police protection?” he pleaded.

“Of course,” Amelia said in an unemotional voice. “I’m not suicidal.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Then you are fooled. I want to live, just like anyone else. Any of the other victims.”

He watched her throat work as she swallowed. A pale shadow seemed to move across her face, and for the first time he saw fear.

But beneath the fear, the courage.

He pulled her to him and hugged her tight.

“I admit I’m afraid,” she said. “Okay?” As if she were admitting getting home past curfew.

He kissed the top of her forehead. “Anyone would be. Will you at least not attend classes for a few days, stay here out of sight? For me and your mother?”

“Of course. I don’t want to cause either of you any pain. And I really don’t want to die! I don’t! More than that, I don’t want you to think that’s what I want. It’s just that I’m an adult. I have to make my stand here or I might regret it for the rest of my life.” She stared up at him so much the way Lora did sometimes. “Please try to understand, Dad.”

“I understand,” Repetto assured her. He knew she was wrong, that she wouldn’t always regret leaving, that this wasn’t her young life’s Waterloo. There would be plenty of other crises, other battles. He also knew he could never explain this to her so she’d believe it.

He held her tighter and waited until her sobs had quieted and her body had stopped shaking. The longer he held her the more he hated the idea of her staying here, in this street-level apartment. He wished Dal were still alive. He wished-

Fuck it! Dal was dead, and Repetto wanted Amelia to remain alive.

“I’ll have Birdy and Meg guard you in shifts, along with some uniforms outside.”

She nodded. The admission of fear had at least made her that compliant.