call, by the eerie atmosphere of this place. The voice existed only in her mind.
But Blaine’s head had turned.
I must have made a sharp movement, Natalie thought. I startled her and she instinctively lifted her ears and turned her head.
“Na-ta-lie. I know you hear me. Can’t you see me?”
Natalie jumped. Blaine lunged, but Natalie clutched the leash. If the dog found the voice, the dog would die. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.
“Who’s there?” Natalie could not get an exact fix on the voice although Blaine pulled toward the end of the room with the dais where the bands had once played “String of Pearls” and “Take the A Train.”
“Aren’t you going to answer, Na-ta-lie?”
Blaine pulled harder. Natalie shot the flashlight beam around the room. Cobwebs. Dust. Mildew.
The highly polished mirrored ball.
“Who are you?” Natalie asked, trying to steady her voice. She wouldn’t run. She sat against a wall. Someone might be trying to lure her into the open.
“I’m Tamara.”
Natalie’s breath came hard and fast. “Stop it!”
“Their throat is an open tomb.”
“You said that earlier on the phone. What are you talking about?”
“Romans, chapter three. It’s about bad people. So many bad people in the Bible!”
Freezing water seemed to run down Natalie’s back. That voice. So like Tamara’s, so lost, so sad. And so frightening. She felt as if she were spiraling down into another world— a world of shadows and voices and bone-chilling cold.
The voice rose. “I want you to be with me, Natalie. And you will. Even if I have to kill you.”
As Natalie’s fear intensified, so did her instinct for self protection. In one smooth movement she lay the flashlight on her thigh, reached into her windbreaker pocket, and withdrew the gun.
“I’m armed,” she said loudly, although her voice cracked. “Do you hear me? I have a gun and I will use it.”
“You can’t kill someone who’s already dead.”
A whisper of movement. Blaine growled, then barked ferociously. Natalie held tight to the leash as the flashlight dropped to the floor. She couldn’t see, but she could hear something coming closer …
She aimed and fired.
6
Blaine hit the floor as the noise of the shot reverberated around the pavilion. For an instant Natalie feared her grip had wavered and she’d shot the dog. Then she looked at her hand. Level and steady. How many operations had she performed on animals? Steady hands were a necessity. Slowly Blaine stood up.
No answering cry of pain followed the gunshot. Somewhere a fog horn bellowed. Other than that there was only silence except for the loud breathing of Natalie and the dog.
“Are you still there?” Natalie asked with a quaver. “Are you hurt?”
Nothing. Blaine looked around, trembling. Natalie trembled, too, but she tried hard to control herself. “Are you hurt?”
Still no answer. Oh, God, what if there hadn’t really been any danger? What if someone, maybe just a kid, had been playing a joke and she’d killed them? She should never have come in here.
She could not move. She was too frightened, too horrified at actually firing her gun at anything except a paper target. She sat motionless, the gun frozen in her hand as the seconds ticked by, trying to decide what to do. Then—
“Police!”
Her throat tightened, strangling a shriek. An urge to run madly from the pavilion took hold of her, but immediately she quelled it. She wasn’t a criminal. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
Except maybe kill someone.
“Drop your weapon! We’re coming in!”
Natalie placed her gun on the table, pushed it an arm’s length away, and sat rigidly in her chair as the front door opened. A man walked in, gun drawn. He shone his large flashlight around the room, then directly into her face. She squinted but didn’t dare raise a hand to shield her eyes. “I put down my gun and I’m holding onto the dog,” she called. “Please don’t
But Blaine’s head had turned.
I must have made a sharp movement, Natalie thought. I startled her and she instinctively lifted her ears and turned her head.
“Na-ta-lie. I know you hear me. Can’t you see me?”
Natalie jumped. Blaine lunged, but Natalie clutched the leash. If the dog found the voice, the dog would die. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.
“Who’s there?” Natalie could not get an exact fix on the voice although Blaine pulled toward the end of the room with the dais where the bands had once played “String of Pearls” and “Take the A Train.”
“Aren’t you going to answer, Na-ta-lie?”
Blaine pulled harder. Natalie shot the flashlight beam around the room. Cobwebs. Dust. Mildew.
The highly polished mirrored ball.
“Who are you?” Natalie asked, trying to steady her voice. She wouldn’t run. She sat against a wall. Someone might be trying to lure her into the open.
“I’m Tamara.”
Natalie’s breath came hard and fast. “Stop it!”
“Their throat is an open tomb.”
“You said that earlier on the phone. What are you talking about?”
“Romans, chapter three. It’s about bad people. So many bad people in the Bible!”
Freezing water seemed to run down Natalie’s back. That voice. So like Tamara’s, so lost, so sad. And so frightening. She felt as if she were spiraling down into another world— a world of shadows and voices and bone-chilling cold.
The voice rose. “I want you to be with me, Natalie. And you will. Even if I have to kill you.”
As Natalie’s fear intensified, so did her instinct for self protection. In one smooth movement she lay the flashlight on her thigh, reached into her windbreaker pocket, and withdrew the gun.
“I’m armed,” she said loudly, although her voice cracked. “Do you hear me? I have a gun and I will use it.”
“You can’t kill someone who’s already dead.”
A whisper of movement. Blaine growled, then barked ferociously. Natalie held tight to the leash as the flashlight dropped to the floor. She couldn’t see, but she could hear something coming closer …
She aimed and fired.
6
Blaine hit the floor as the noise of the shot reverberated around the pavilion. For an instant Natalie feared her grip had wavered and she’d shot the dog. Then she looked at her hand. Level and steady. How many operations had she performed on animals? Steady hands were a necessity. Slowly Blaine stood up.
No answering cry of pain followed the gunshot. Somewhere a fog horn bellowed. Other than that there was only silence except for the loud breathing of Natalie and the dog.
“Are you still there?” Natalie asked with a quaver. “Are you hurt?”
Nothing. Blaine looked around, trembling. Natalie trembled, too, but she tried hard to control herself. “Are you hurt?”
Still no answer. Oh, God, what if there hadn’t really been any danger? What if someone, maybe just a kid, had been playing a joke and she’d killed them? She should never have come in here.
She could not move. She was too frightened, too horrified at actually firing her gun at anything except a paper target. She sat motionless, the gun frozen in her hand as the seconds ticked by, trying to decide what to do. Then—
“Police!”
Her throat tightened, strangling a shriek. An urge to run madly from the pavilion took hold of her, but immediately she quelled it. She wasn’t a criminal. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
Except maybe kill someone.
“Drop your weapon! We’re coming in!”
Natalie placed her gun on the table, pushed it an arm’s length away, and sat rigidly in her chair as the front door opened. A man walked in, gun drawn. He shone his large flashlight around the room, then directly into her face. She squinted but didn’t dare raise a hand to shield her eyes. “I put down my gun and I’m holding onto the dog,” she called. “Please don’t
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