did.
Deborah was now on the ground beside Angel, who had his head inside the
first of the kilns. This would probably be a long wait.
I had barely put the last bite of sandwich into my mouth when I became
aware that I was being watched. Of course I was being looked at, anyone on the
business side of the yellow tape always was. But I was also being watched-the
Dark Passenger clamored at me that I had been singled out by something with an
unhealthy interest in special wonderful me, and I did not like the feeling. As
I swallowed the last of the sandwich and turned to look, the whisper inside me
hissed something that sounded like confusion…and then settled into silence.
And as it did I felt again the wave of panicked nausea
and the bright yellow edge of blindness, and I stumbled for a moment, all my
senses crying out that there was danger but my ability to do anything about it
completely gone. It lasted only a second. I fought my way back to the surface
and looked harder at my surroundings-nothing had changed. A handful of people
stood looking on, the sun shone brightly, and a gentle wind riffled through the
trees. Just another perfect Miami day, but somewhere in paradise the snake had
reared its head. I closed my eyes and listened hard, hoping for some hint about
the nature of the menace, but there was nothing but the echo of clawed feet
scrabbling away.
I opened my eyes and looked around again. There was a crowd of perhaps
fifteen people pretending not to be fascinated by the hope of seeing gore, but
none of them stood out in any way. None of them were skulking or staring evilly
or trying to hide a bazooka under their shirt. In any normal time, I might have
expected my Passenger to see a dark shadow around an obvious predator, but there
was no such assistance now. As far as I could see, nothing sinister loomed in
the crowd. So what had set off the Passenger's fire alarm? I knew so little
about it; it was just there, a presence filled with wicked amusement and sharp
suggestions. It had never showed confusion before, not until it saw the two
bodies by the lake. And now it was repeating its vague uncertainty, only half a
mile from the first spot.
Was it something in the
water? Or was there some connection to the two burned bodies here at the kilns?
I wandered over to where Deborah and Angel-no-relation were working.
They didn't seem to be finding anything particularly alarming, and there were
no jolts of panic roiling out from the kiln to the place where the Dark
Passenger was hiding.
If this second retreat was not caused by something in
front of me, then what caused it? What if it was some kind of weird interior
erosion? Perhaps my new status of impending husband-hood and stepfatherness was
overwhelming my Passenger. Was I becoming too nice to be a proper host? This
would be a fate worse than someone else's death.
I became aware that I was
standing just inside the yellow crime-scene tape, and a large form was lurking
in front of me. “Uh, hello?”
he said. He was a big, well-muscled young specimen with longish, lank hair and
the look of someone who believed in breathing through the mouth.
“How can I help you,
citizen?” I said. “Are you, uh, you know,” he said, “like a
cop?” “A little bit like one,” I said. He nodded and thought
about that for a moment, looking around behind him as if there might be
something there he could
eat. On the back of his neck was one of those unfortunate tattoos that have
become so popular, an Oriental character of some kind. It probably spelled out
“slow learner.” He rubbed the tattoo as if he could hear me thinking
about it, then turned around to me and blurted out, “I was wondering about
Jessica.”
“Of course you
were,” I said. “Who wouldn't?” “Do they know if it's
her?” he said. “I'm like her boyfriend.” The young gentleman had
now succeeded in grabbing my professional attention. “Is Jessica
missing?” I
asked him. He nodded.
"She was, you
Deborah was now on the ground beside Angel, who had his head inside the
first of the kilns. This would probably be a long wait.
I had barely put the last bite of sandwich into my mouth when I became
aware that I was being watched. Of course I was being looked at, anyone on the
business side of the yellow tape always was. But I was also being watched-the
Dark Passenger clamored at me that I had been singled out by something with an
unhealthy interest in special wonderful me, and I did not like the feeling. As
I swallowed the last of the sandwich and turned to look, the whisper inside me
hissed something that sounded like confusion…and then settled into silence.
And as it did I felt again the wave of panicked nausea
and the bright yellow edge of blindness, and I stumbled for a moment, all my
senses crying out that there was danger but my ability to do anything about it
completely gone. It lasted only a second. I fought my way back to the surface
and looked harder at my surroundings-nothing had changed. A handful of people
stood looking on, the sun shone brightly, and a gentle wind riffled through the
trees. Just another perfect Miami day, but somewhere in paradise the snake had
reared its head. I closed my eyes and listened hard, hoping for some hint about
the nature of the menace, but there was nothing but the echo of clawed feet
scrabbling away.
I opened my eyes and looked around again. There was a crowd of perhaps
fifteen people pretending not to be fascinated by the hope of seeing gore, but
none of them stood out in any way. None of them were skulking or staring evilly
or trying to hide a bazooka under their shirt. In any normal time, I might have
expected my Passenger to see a dark shadow around an obvious predator, but there
was no such assistance now. As far as I could see, nothing sinister loomed in
the crowd. So what had set off the Passenger's fire alarm? I knew so little
about it; it was just there, a presence filled with wicked amusement and sharp
suggestions. It had never showed confusion before, not until it saw the two
bodies by the lake. And now it was repeating its vague uncertainty, only half a
mile from the first spot.
Was it something in the
water? Or was there some connection to the two burned bodies here at the kilns?
I wandered over to where Deborah and Angel-no-relation were working.
They didn't seem to be finding anything particularly alarming, and there were
no jolts of panic roiling out from the kiln to the place where the Dark
Passenger was hiding.
If this second retreat was not caused by something in
front of me, then what caused it? What if it was some kind of weird interior
erosion? Perhaps my new status of impending husband-hood and stepfatherness was
overwhelming my Passenger. Was I becoming too nice to be a proper host? This
would be a fate worse than someone else's death.
I became aware that I was
standing just inside the yellow crime-scene tape, and a large form was lurking
in front of me. “Uh, hello?”
he said. He was a big, well-muscled young specimen with longish, lank hair and
the look of someone who believed in breathing through the mouth.
“How can I help you,
citizen?” I said. “Are you, uh, you know,” he said, “like a
cop?” “A little bit like one,” I said. He nodded and thought
about that for a moment, looking around behind him as if there might be
something there he could
eat. On the back of his neck was one of those unfortunate tattoos that have
become so popular, an Oriental character of some kind. It probably spelled out
“slow learner.” He rubbed the tattoo as if he could hear me thinking
about it, then turned around to me and blurted out, “I was wondering about
Jessica.”
“Of course you
were,” I said. “Who wouldn't?” “Do they know if it's
her?” he said. “I'm like her boyfriend.” The young gentleman had
now succeeded in grabbing my professional attention. “Is Jessica
missing?” I
asked him. He nodded.
"She was, you
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