Haunted Humans Part 14

"Don't," she said in a little swallowed voice. And not only that, but right after the television announcement, Rae had disappeared. "Harley!" she cried.

"Are you going to leave us too?"

"What?" he said.

"Like Rae. Yesterday. Suddenly someone came along and relieved her. I know you shouldn't have to work twenty-four hour days or anything, but I just. . ."

"Oh, that? No, I told downtown I'd stick with you, at least for the next two days. I may need a little time off now and then. Couple hours to go feed the cat, collect the mail. But I figured n.o.body else is going to make the adjustment I did."

"Meaning me?" Gary asked.

"Yeah. I still don't quite believe in you, but I do give you credibility. I think other people could easily make a mistake about you."

"They do all the time," Clift said.

Harley nodded, frowning. He looked at the television, now in reach, then glanced at D.I. "You don't want me to turn it on?"

"I don't want to hear that there's been another attack."

"I've already talked to downtown today, and they would have told me. Let's just check in with one of the morning programs. I need a news fix."

"Okay," said D.J. She looked at Morgan. "Any of you play cards?"

"I know one called Misery," said the Shadow's deep echoey voice.

"You'll have to teach me," D.J. said. She had never had an extended conversation with the Shadow. She wondered how he had died, who he had been. He couldn't really be an old radio play character, could he? Getting to know Morgan would take a lot of time and work.

"With great pleasure," the Shadow said.

"So which one's that ?" asked Harley, glancing away from Regis & Kathie Lee.

"Shadow," D.J. said, as the Shadow geared up and produced his long spooky laugh that started at a medium pitch and sank down into very low registers.

Harley made a face as if he had smelled something bad.

"Oh, come on," said D.J. "He's just a kid. How old are you, Shadow?"

He glared at her. "Sixteen." It was the first time she had heard him say something in a normal voice. He sounded sullen and young.

"You can sound scary if that's what you want," she said. "How do we play Misery?" She retrieved Rae's cards from her luggage and began shuffling.

"Deal thirteen to each," he said in his spookiest voice.

They were playing their second hand when a knock came on the door of Harley's room. Harley switched off the television, reached for his gun, and eased to the connecting door. "Who's there?"

"Breakfast," said a voice through the door.

Panic started in D.J.'s chest and spread through her like fire feeding on lines of oil. She stared at Morgan. Morgan laid his cards down and looked out from under his brows.

"Don't open the door," D.J. whispered to Harley. Morgan was on his feet, carrying his body with a focus and intensity foreign to him. "It's him."

SEVEN.

B.J. Crept across the bed and picked up the phone. She felt as if she had swallowed a stone, and it lay in her stomach, pinning her down. She could not escape. Why even think of it?

Calm, she was calm. She had Things to Do. She dialed 911. Morgan walked silently to the outside door of their room. He gripped the k.n.o.b.

"Breakfast?" said Harley in a sleepy voice. "I didn't order any breakfast. You sure you got the right room?"

"Ambulance, fire, or police?" said a voice in D.J.'s ear.

"Police," she whispered. She realized that she didn't even know what hotel they were in, Or the address, having come in blind the night before. She grabbed an ashtray off the bedside table and fished the matchbook out of it. "I'm D.J.

Demain, a protected witness, here with Morgan Hesch and Detective Harley." She studied the matchbook. "We're at the Lamplighter Inn, 1342 Benjamin Boulevard, and Chase Kennedy, the escaped murderer, is trying to get into our room. Room 154, around the back. Please send help." She cradled the phone silently.

Morgan was watching Harley for a cue. Chase's voice said, "Room 154, that was my instruction from Detective McNamara." Chase sounded honestly confused. "But I'll leave if you want me to."

D.J. felt cold. Chase knew the detective's name. Had he killed him? How else would he know where to come? If he had done something to the detective, he probably had the police car, the gun, the radio . . . he had found her job, and her apartment. There was no escape. She closed her eyes and s.h.i.+vered. She remembered this kind of cold from before, the Arctic place she had gone when she realized Chase was who he was and she had made all these wrong a.s.sumptions, when she had learned she could never trust herself again. She had lived with this cold for a long time before anger thawed her out. Maybe this brief tropical period had been an illusion.

"Wait a sec," said Harley, his voice still sleepy. "What kind of breakfast you got ?"

Morgan whispered, "Doro, get in the bathroom and lock the door."

She stared at him. How could she leave him alone out here with Harley and Chase?

How could any of them be here? What if Chase did something awful, shot Morgan and Harley? There was no escape.

She felt so cold . . .

Maybe she could stop Chase somehow. It had happened before. She had to remember that. Maybe if she wasn't out here Morgan and Harley would both die and Chase would get away. Again. More deaths on her head. No, she couldn't stand that. Not again.

Anger sparked somewhere inside. She could fight. She could go down fighting.

"Do it," Morgan/Gary whispered.

She didn't have any special defense training, and she knew she wasn't as strong as Chase physically. Much as she hated to admit it, she could help Morgan and Harley best by being out of the way and as safe as possible. She scooted into the bathroom and locked the door, then looked through her toiletries purse for weapons. A perfume bottle. She could spritz that in Chase's eyes if he somehow got through the door. Baby powder. Throw it in his face. Cold cream: squirt it on the floor in front of the door and make it slippery? She did it, spreading the pale goop with her hands. She lined up the rest of her a.r.s.enal on the counter, then worked the towel bar out of its holders. Whatever else happened, she wanted to take a big swipe at him, break his nose at least, his head at best, his b.a.l.l.s.

She sat on the closed toilet, the towel bar over one shoulder, and listened.

Anger burned slow and steady.

What happens if I die? Morgan wondered. Gary had the body; they all thought that was best; n.o.body was going to argue at a time like this. Gary had faced situations like this before. He was tense but relaxed.

If I die, Morgan thought, we all die. He thought about each of his insiders, all their differences, all their samenesses; how Mishka loved ice cream and Elaine hated it, but put up with it for Mishka's sake; how Timmy taught the rest of them to play hopscotch, which a few could remember from grade school days but most had forgotten; how Valerie loved wind and wanted to run out into the middle of it any time it was blowing; how Afra knew the names of every flower, and the Shadow the names of every comic book hero; how Saul was hot for anything female, but usually wilted if any of them gave him a second look; how Clift liked to confuse people who thought Morgan was stupid by being smarter than they could ever be; how Gary liked to laugh, so deep it felt like it came from his toes.

He couldn't die. He barely even knew Afra and Gary yet. Where would all the insiders go if they lost him?

Gary clenched his jaw, feeling fire sear through his muscles. He wanted to kill Chase, stamp him out, crush him. He wanted to whip welts into him, smash his head between two rocks and destroy that corrupted brain. He drew in long draughts of breath, trying to calm himself, but it was difficult: hadn't he come back just to do this one thing? What else was there? His goal was just the other side of a door. All he had to do was open the door and grab.

"Maybe, if it's a real good breakfast, I'll open the door," Harley said. "I guess I am kind of hungry."