You've Been Warned

Unassuming.

Docile.

Harmless.

Innocent.

And then it all becomes clear to me.

Everything does.

From the beginning right up until Michael’s message.

Or, should I say, his alibi.

I turn and rush to the fridge, pulling open the freezer door.

There, staring back at me, is a brand-new pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Chunky Monkey, of course.

God is in the details.

PART 13

Chapter 99

“CAN’T YOU GO any faster?”

The cabbie glares back at me, pissed. “Hey, I’m going as fast as I can, lady!”

“No, you’re not! And this is a matter of life and death.”

“What? You’re late for your Pilates class?”

He’s speeding down Fifth Avenue, probably looking to cut over to Madison. We’re still blocks away from the Fálcon.

It’s come down to this. I don’t understand anything completely, and yet it all makes sense. Finally. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. It’s up to me. It’s always been up to me. If I don’t get to the hotel in time, something horrible is going to happen.

I’ve seen it happen.

And at this very moment, all I can do is wonder. Will I be too late?

The cab careens around a corner. Now we’re cooking!

Fuck.

Traffic! A parking-lot situation.

The driver skids to a halt behind another cab, a Checker, sandwiched in by a city bus that’s blowing hot smoke.

“Here!” I say, pushing money through the divider. “Take it. Keep the change!”

“Hope you make your class, sweetheart.”

I bolt from the backseat and start running, my heart pounding as fast as my feet are moving. And I’m so scared.

Why, Michael, why? Don’t throw everything away. Don’t throw us away. Or the kids.

All I can see in my head are the images from the hotel, what was in my dream and what I captured on film. The procession of gurneys being wheeled out. And then—I think of my other time at the Fálcon. Three years ago with Boston Matthew. Coincidence? I doubt it. But I don’t want to think about it now. I couldn’t if I wanted to.

Hurry! Just hurry.

Stay in the moment.

I hear a siren warbling up ahead, and my heart sinks, my legs actually buckle, and I nearly fall.

I’m too late. I blew it.

No—it’s a fire engine heading downtown, a blur of red shooting by a block away on Madison. The blare of the siren trails off, restoring hope. What is with the Fálcon Hotel, anyway?

I’m almost there. The burn from my legs is moving up to my lungs. It feels like a load of bricks has been dumped on my chest. But I don’t dare stop running. Nothing can make me stop.

Then, something does.

Chapter 100

MY CELL PHONE RINGS.

Michael! This has to be him!

I cut sharply to my right on the sidewalk, pulling up alongside a building. Barely able to catch my breath, I answer the phone.

“Hello?”

It’s not him.

“Is this Kristin Burns?” I hear. It’s a woman. I don’t recognize the voice, but she sounds upset. Oh man, this is no time for more pranks from the dark side.

“Yes.”

“This is Madeline Sturges from Preston Academy. I’ve tried to reach both Mr. and Mrs. Turnbull. To no avail. And you’re listed here as another contact —”

“What’s wrong?” I interrupt.

There’s a silence, and I can practically feel the woman’s anxiety through the phone. “It’s Dakota,” she says. “She told a classmate that she needed to go find someone.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“She’s missing from school. We’ve looked everywhere. Dakota’s gone.”

The phone drops from my hand. Before it hits the sidewalk, I’m sprinting again. Faster than ever.

Four gurneys.

Please, God. Don’t let this happen. Not to Dakota. She’s only seven years old.

How could she know about the Fálcon or that her mother might be there? It doesn’t seem possible.

Yeah, just like everything else that’s happened so far.

The pathetic truth is—anything is possible right now.

Chapter 101

I’M CLOSE. The corner of the Fálcon is twenty... ten... five feet away. I squeeze my eyes shut, running blind. I can’t bear to look at this.

But I have to look, don’t I? I feel like I have no free will in this matter.

Racing around the corner, I brace for the worst shock of my life. The four body bags.

They aren’t there, thank God. Not yet, at least.

There’s no crime scene, no throng of onlookers. No Dakota either. Just the bright red awning of the Fálcon, pulling me in with its powerful undertow.