You've Been Warned

At least I try to. It’s stuck. The knob twists, but the door itself seems to be jammed. Oh, brother. Now I’m not so sure I want to get into this closet.

But I have to, so I pull harder. Then harder still, with both hands. It’s almost as if the damn door is locked from the inside; only that’s impossible, isn’t it? This closet’s never been locked. Who would lock it?

Changing my grip on the knob, I really put some muscle into it. I yank so hard my shoulders ache.

Slowly, the door begins to give—until it flies open.

I look inside.

Oh, no! Oh, God! Help me!

And then I’m screaming at the top of my lungs.

Chapter 45

“KRISTIN, WAKE UP. Wake up!”

My eyes snap open, and I gaze around, confused and out of sorts. Not to mention petrified. Everything is soft focus. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my apartment,” says Connie. “On the planet Earth.” She looks concerned, scared, even.

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

“Am I okay?” Connie shakes her head in disbelief. “My God, the way you were screaming, I thought somebody was trying to kill you in here!”

I can see sunlight slicing through the blinds. It’s morning, and I’m lying on the pullout couch in Connie’s living room on the Upper East Side, that much I’ve got figured out. Everything else is sketchy at best.

“I... don’t... remember....”

“You came here last night, hysterical,” explains Connie. “You were going on and on about this dream and some pictures you’d taken—oh, and you were telling me about your closet. The one in the front hallway? Is any of this ringing a bell?”

“The cockroaches...”

“Yeah, you said there were a million of them. It was horrifying just to listen to you describe it.”

That’s the last thing I remember. The entire closet was crawling with cockroaches. Maybe not a million, but a thousand, and I’m deathly afraid of cockroaches. They got in my hair, on my face. The rest is a blank.

Connie takes my hand. “You were quite the mess, sweetie,” she says. “I gave you two Xanax and put you to bed. You slept straight through the night, not a peep.”

Until now.

The hotel, the four gurneys, the hand. The same dream, only I had it in a different location. It travels.

“What can I get you, Kristin? How do you feel?” Connie asks.

Like shit.

With a sound track to boot. Will I ever figure out what this song in my head is? I wish Connie could hear it; maybe she’d know what it is.

But she can’t. So I don’t mention it, or anything else. If I don’t understand what’s happening to me, how could she? Plus, I don’t want to frighten her any more than I have already.

I’m fine, I tell her. “In fact, what time is it?” I ask—panicked. “I can’t be late for work.”

I pull back the covers, and Connie stops me.

“Hold on,” she says. “This is serious, Kris. You should’ve heard yourself last night, the things you were saying. Something’s very wrong. I think you need to see that psychiatrist of yours again.”

Been there, done that.

“I’m so sorry I scared you,” I say. “I’ve been having this recurring dream, and it seems so real. I guess I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”

“What about these pictures you were ranting about? Ghostly images? Transparencies?”

“Part of the dream,” I lie.

Am I embarrassed about going bonkers? Ashamed? Why can’t I talk to one of my best friends about this?

Connie regards me for a moment. “At least call in sick,” she says. “You need to relax.”

“I can’t, Connie. The kids depend on me.”

“Let the Pencil take care of them today. She is their mother, after all.”

“Really, I’m fine.” I fake a smile and swing my feet to the floor. Then I give Connie a little wink. “Do you think I can borrow some clothes?”

Chapter 46

DONNING A PAIR of black slacks and a putty gray turtleneck from Connie’s closet, I’m out of her apartment in less than ten minutes. Normally it takes me a little longer to get ready for work. Then again, normally I don’t have someone—in this case Connie—eyeing me as if any moment I might climb onto a chair and begin shouting, “I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs!”

So as I walk into the Turnbulls’ building and ride the elevator up to the penthouse, I experience something new and different. Being early.

Good. No chance of Penley waiting for me at the door.

Instead, it’s Sean I see immediately. He’s sitting on the floor of the foyer, engrossed in the bright-colored Legos scattered around him. He doesn’t even hear me come in.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Sean glances up, beaming. “Hi, Miss Kristin!”

I kneel next to him. “Whatcha building? Looks impressive. Sha-zam! What is that?”

“A supergalactic missile launcher that will save the world from the evil aliens of planet Thunder.”

“Wow, are they planning to attack us?”

“I think so,” he says with the cutest nod.