by John Saul
“Can I go up and see Rebecca?” Laurie asked as she put the dishes from the snack her stepfather had made for her into the dishwasher. Tony looked down at her uncertainly.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. If you’re sick—”
“But I’m not sick,” Laurie protested. “I just felt tired this morning. But I’m fine now.” She gazed up at him, her eyes wide. “Please?”
“If your mother finds out I let you start running around—”
“But I won’t run around. I’m just going upstairs.” She could see him wavering. “And I won’t be gone more than half an hour. I’ll be back before Mom even gets home.”
Still he hesitated, but finally he nodded. “Half an hour, and no longer. Deal?”
“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.
&
nbsp; 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 then her voice trailed off as she realized exactly what had happened: she’d let her paranoia get control of her, and had a panic attack. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “Thank you.”
The woman nodded, smiled at her, then continued on her way toward the park. Caroline watched her go, suddenly certain she’d seen the woman somewhere before, but still unable to place her. Had the woman been fol— Then, as her mind once again began responding to the seductive advances of the paranoia that had held her in its grip only a moment ago, she forced the thought aside, and turned back toward the Academy. She could have seen the woman a thousand times before—she’d lived in the neighborhood for more than ten years, and the other woman had probably been here for twice that long. Why shouldn’t she look familiar? By the time she stepped into Ralph Winthrop’s office—blessedly cool after the heavy warmth outside—she had her roiling emotions firmly in check.
Then she saw Ryan sitting on a wooden chair in the corner of the headmaster’s office, his face stormy, his eyes glittering with anger, a swollen bruise on his forehead. I can’t deal with this, she thought, knowing even as she silently spoke the words to herself that she had no choice. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to get in any more fights,” she said.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Ryan said. “Justin Fraser called me an idiot.”
“So you hit him,” Ralph Winthrop said softly. When Ryan started to say something, he held up his hand as if to physically block whatever words the boy might utter. “Don’t try to deny it—Mr. Williams and Mrs. Wennerberg both saw it. You hit him, and he hit you back. The fact you got the worst of it doesn’t mitigate the fact that you hit first.” He turned to Caroline. “I know that the policy about fighting is less stringent in the public schools than here, but I believe I made a special point of reminding Ryan of it when we agreed to take him back, given his record after he left us last year.”
Caroline’s heart sank. They’re kicking him out. After just one day, they’re kicking him out. “But—”
But Ralph Winthrop was already on his feet. “I’ve never before seen any reason to bend the policy. In fact, the policy has worked so well that I’ve only had to enforce it once.” Caroline felt a flicker of hope. “I’ve gone over Ryan’s records, and I’ve had talks with all his teachers. We all agree that given the—” he hesitated, searching for the right word, then found it: “—given the difficulties your family has experienced over the last year, we should make every accommodation we can for the boy.” The flicker of hope in Caroline glowed brighter. “But I’m afraid we can’t simply ignore it.” As Caroline waited, she saw Ralph Winthrop’s gaze fix appraisingly on Ryan, and his fingers drummed on the desktop. Finally, apparently coming to a decision that Caroline knew would be final, he stopped drumming his fingers on the desk and turned his eyes back to Caroline. “Two weeks’ suspension,” he said. “Beginning now. If there is another infraction of the fighting policy, I won’t even call you in—I shall simply send him home. And I’m sure I needn’t remind you that tuition is not refundable in the event of expulsion.” He stood up, came around the desk, and moved toward the door, leaving no doubt in Caroline’s mind that the meeting was over. But as they were leaving, he suddenly spoke one more time. “You might want to get him some counseling, Mrs. Fleming. He seems to think the building you live in is haunted, and that his stepfather hates him.”
Her face burning, Caroline led Ryan out of the building onto the street.
“I didn’t do anything, Mom—” Ryan began as they crossed Amsterdam and started toward the park. But Caroline didn’t let him finish.
“Not one word,” she said, her hand tightening on her son’s arm hard enough so that he winced. “Do you understand? Not one single word! What are you trying to do? How dare you tell anyone that Tony hates you? Since the moment he’s met you he’s done everything he can to be your friend! He’s taken your side, letting you do things I never would have. He hasn’t tried to take your father’s place, but he’s let you know he’ll be there for you, any time you need him, even though you’re barely even polite to him. Who do you think paid so you could go back to the Academy? And this is the thanks you give him? Getting yourself suspended on the second day of school?”
“But—”
“But nothing!” Caroline interrupted. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you. Not one single word!”
CHAPTER 25
Tony emerged from his study as Caroline and Ryan came through the front door. “I trust it wasn’t anything too seri—” Tony began, but his words died on his lips as he saw the bruise on the boy’s forehead. Then: “May I assume you gave as good as you got?”
Ryan glowered at his stepfather. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“And you can go up to your room and think about it until you decide to take responsibility for what you did,” Caroline cut in.
“Aw, Mom,” Ryan moaned, but Caroline shot him a look that warned him not to push any further, and he scooted up the stairs.
Caroline dropped her bag on the table by the study door, glanced at the clock, and sighed heavily. “It feels like it should be six instead of barely four.”
“Was it that bad?” Tony asked. “A little arnica will take care of his bruise, and it hardly seems like something as simple as a schoolyard tussle should have made them call you over there.”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “Where have you been lately? Ever heard of a zero-tolerance policy?” As they started toward the kitchen, Caroline glanced into the vast livingroom, and as she multiplied the amount of work waiting for her in that single room by the total number of rooms in the apartment, she suddenly felt even more exhausted than she had when she woke up that morning. Pausing just long enough to pull the two heavy pocket doors closed so at least she wouldn’t have to look at it, she followed her husband into the kitchen.
“Want me to fix you something?” Tony offered. “The sun’s got to be over the yardarm somewhere.”
Caroline shook her head. “I’ll just have a cup of coffee.”
“Sit. I’ll do it—you look like you’ve been through the wringer.”
Sinking onto a chair, Caroline nodded, then started telling him what had happened as she was walking over to the school. “I kept thinking about Andrea and Brad and I got this horrible feeling that there’s some kind of plot going on.”
“You’re just tired,” Tony said, putting a steaming mug of coffee in front of her, then sitting down across from her and taking one of her hands in his. “After what you’ve been through it would be surprising if you weren’t getting a little paranoid. Maybe you should just take a long rest—tell Claire you won’t be working for awhile.”
“I’ve got to finish Irene Delamond’s apartment,” Caroline sighed, shaking her head. “And I’m in the middle of three other projects, just in this building. Not to mention this place,” she added, balefully surveying the outdated kitchen. “What is it with this building? Didn’t anyone ever modernize anything?”
“I guess we were waiting for you,” Tony replied.
“I would have thought Lenore would have done something with . . .” her voice trailed off as she saw the look that came over Tony’s face at the mention of his former wife, and she quickly squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I—”
“No, it’s all right,” Tony said, recomposing his features. “If you can talk about Brad, I should be able t
o talk about Lenore.”
“Or we can talk about something else altogether,” Caroline said firmly. “For instance, where am I going to get a babysitter?” When Tony only looked blank, she remembered that she hadn’t told him about the meeting with the headmaster. “More bad news: Ryan’s home for two weeks. Suspended for starting the fight.”
“Suspended?” Tony echoed. “You’re kidding!”
“I wish I were.”
Tony listened in silence as she recounted the conversation she’d had with Ralph Winthrop, but when she was done, his eyes narrowed angrily. “Maybe I should have a talk with your Mr. Winthrop. If a couple of eleven-year-olds can’t have it out without getting suspended from school—”
“Not a good idea,” Caroline cut in before he could finish what he was saying. “All that would do is get Ryan expelled right now, and I really don’t want to have to deal with that. So I’m going to have to get someone to stay here while I go to work.”
“I can do it,” Tony offered.
Caroline was already shaking her head. “Not a good idea, either—not until he gets a lot better adjusted to having you as a stepfather. I’ll just start going through my list, and see what I can come up with.” But an hour later, after she’d called everyone in her address book that she’d ever used before, she’d come up empty. “Everyone’s booked,” she said. “Except Mrs. Jarvis, whose son put her in a nursing home three months ago.”
“What about one of the neighbors?”
Caroline stared at him. “The neighbors? You didn’t see Ryan in the lobby the other morning—he’s terrified of them.”
“Well, there must be someone,” Tony went on. “What about Virginia Estherbrook?”
“Virginia Estherbrook?” Caroline echoed. “Tony, she’s a star! She’s not going to want to baby-sit an eleven-year-old.”
“She was a star,” Tony replied. “Come on—she hasn’t worked in years—most people think she’s dead, for God’s sake. I bet she’d do it. Let me call her.” Before Caroline could object, he’d picked up the phone and dialed a number.
