legs. Or worse, die. You don’t jump off a high place just because you want to.
Down the block, a car turned her direction, twin headlight beams cutting through the rain. Cleo stepped behind a tree, hiding until the car passed. When it was gone, she returned to the edge of the road and continued walking in the direction of the motel.
Her feet slipped and squished in her sandals, and her jeans were heavy with the weight of the water. But she wasn’t cold.
At the motel, she dug the key from her bag and stuck it in the lock.
Why had she come back? Why didn’t she just keep walking? Walking until she was out of Egypt, out of Missouri.
There had been a brief moment back there at Daniel’s when she’d forgotten who she was, when she’d forgotten the bad things, forgotten the dreams that haunted her and the guilt that stalked her. There had been a moment when she’d felt alive.
For someone who moved through her days trying not to feel, it had been a little like a rebirth, like being born all over again. Like so many things in life that were good, the feeling had lasted only long enough to leave her with an emptiness, a black, bottomless void that scared her.
She’d pushed him away. She was aware of that. But it was the only way she knew.
She stepped inside, closed the door behind her while flipping on the light switch-and let out a small shriek of alarm.
Dr. Campbell was lying on the bed, one hand behind his head, his feet crossed at the ankles. He wore a crisply pressed white shirt tucked neatly into a pair of belted dark jeans. On his feet were loafers and a pair of patterned socks. The soles of his shoes were barely scuffed.
“You scared me to death,” she said, hand to her heart.
He smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That makes us even.”
“Excuse me?”
In one smooth motion, he swung his feet to the floor and sat up.
She tried to make sense of his words and failed. The
He got to his feet. “Don’t you know?”
She shook her head.
He mirrored the motion with a headshake of his own. “I tried to talk Jo out of hiring a psychic, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“I thought you were backing her up. You seemed so interested.”
“When I realized there would be no talking her out of it, I gave her my support. I expected you to spout a bunch of bull, take your money, and leave.”
He was mad because she hadn’t gone out with him. “It’s nothing personal,” she explained. “You’re just not my type.”
He waved her words away. “Then you started talking about barns and digging a hole. What did you see in that hole?” he asked. “Something scared you, didn’t it?”
“Nothing. I didn’t see anything.” She wouldn’t tell him about the pumpkin. She wouldn’t tell anybody about the smashed, broken pumpkin.
“I know you saw something.”
A thought, an image, flashed in her brain. It was like one of her dreams, but not a dream, because she was wide awake. A man. Holding a knife.
The man in front of her had done something bad, something very bad, something he’d kept a secret for a long time.
“I don’t know anything.” She watched him with the intensity of a cat. When the moment came, she would fling open the door and run, all in one swift motion.
She watched him. Empty eyes in a face
She spun and grabbed for the doorknob.
In the way of nightmares, her body became sluggish and heavy, and no matter how her mind screamed at her to run, her legs were no match for the quicksand.
She opened the door. A hand above her head shoved it shut. Campbell ’s body slammed into hers, smashing her against the door. Lights flickered in front of her eyes.
A knife came down. But then the knife changed, turning into something else. A hypodermic needle. She opened her mouth to scream. At the same time she felt the needle plunge into her neck.
The scream died in her throat. The only sound she could emit was a choking gasp, pain robbing her of air. This room-it had warned her from the beginning, foreshadowing this very moment.
She gulped at the stagnant motel air, but couldn’t seem to pull in an adequate supply. She sank. Down, down, to the orange carpet. Down, down, until she was lying in a puddle on the floor, her face against the abrasive, stinking orange she so hated and feared.
Dr. Campbell loomed over her, smiling his dead smile. He had something in his hands. The orange bedspread. He brought it over her head. She tried to struggle, tried to scream, but the darkness swallowed her.
“She’s gone.” Jo’s voice barked from the cell phone Daniel held to his ear.
Daniel turned left on Main Street, cruising at patrol speed. “Who?” he asked, even though he knew damn well who.
“Cleo! I went to the motel to pick her up this morning and she’s gone. Her suitcase. Everything.”
Daniel felt sick. Guilty. Responsible. But it wasn’t his fault, he told himself. She was an adult. He couldn’t feel responsible for everything and everybody, couldn’t blame himself for everything that happened.
“This is where you’re supposed to tell me you were right all along.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Good. Then while you’re on patrol, why don’t you swing by The Palms and pick up the bill? I was so upset this morning that I forgot to get it.”
“Sure.”
Daniel disconnected and hung a right, heading in the direction of The Palms.
Before getting the bill from Willie, he decided to stop at room six.
Empty, just as Jo had said. Cleo’s suitcase plus all of her clothes were gone. He checked the bathroom.
Except for a bar of soap in the shower, it was empty too. He checked the drawer next to the bed. The pill bottle was gone.
On his knees, he looked under the bed, expecting to find the bedspread where he’d stuffed it two nights ago. Instead he found nothing but a pair of orange curtains. He got to his feet and made another perusal of the room. No bedspread.
Ordinarily he’d just think she’d taken it. But she hadn’t wanted the
In the harsh light streaming through louvered windows that probably hadn’t been washed since Millie and Babe owned the place, the room looked tackier than ever. The stains on the carpet were more obvious. The walls were smeared with handprints, grease left by a million previous occupants. He’d been against Cleo’s coming, but Christ, why hadn’t they found her a decent place to stay? A room at somebody’s house or something.
He examined the space thoroughly, not really knowing what he was looking for. Every time he passed the bed, wet carpet squished under his feet. He spotted something on the door, and leaned closer.
It looked like dried blood.
It could have been there for years. For all he knew, this could be the room where the prostitute had been
