I HAD NO IDEA what time it was when I finally staggered out of the Ace Hotel restroom. I barely remember leaving the lobby. Somehow I headed in the right direction, across Twenty-Ninth and then up Eighth Avenue. As I meandered toward Hell’s Kitchen, I pulled out my phone and tried to call Zora. She didn’t pick up, so I left a message, not realizing how hard that single bourbon had hit me.
“It’s me. Look, I didn’t do anything wrong, you know. I mean, that whole Cassandra thing. I didn’t know. I mean, she doesn’t have to be such a … We are onto something here. The video … Oh my God, the video. This whole Miracle thing … You could have told me you were worried. And … I mean, I’m sorry if I got too personal. You’re … I … It’s all cool to me, you know. Anyway. Just call me. I mean … and I’m sorry. Yeah … call me.”
I had to take a breath before continuing, and I sort of lost track again. “Oh, shit, I forgot … Jasper threatened me. Threatened to kill me. I couldn’t believe it. He said if I didn’t stay away from the girl, from Miracle Jones, that he’d kill me. I swear. It’s crazy.”
For a second, I was distracted by the light on Thirty-Second. I forgot I was leaving a message until I’d crossed.
“Yeah, okay. Call me. Soon. When you can. Okay? Yeah … ’bye.”
For some reason, I just kept walking. Though I was in no condition to work, I started to put the pieces together. I laid out what I had. Something painting Jasper as on the edge. Something about the woman in that first story he’d told me. Walking on the beach. Like his first victim. Full circle. It had to be Miracle, somehow. He must have stumbled across the daughter of his first victim. But what were the odds? That seemed impossible.
Had I been 100 percent, I would have stopped there. Like I said, I’m no novelist. No action movie director. I can’t bend the lines of reality to make the story work. Plus, I just wasn’t thinking straight. There was no way Miracle just randomly ended up on the beach in that exact second. Yet, in the moment, it fit so perfectly. So cosmically. It all made sense. Jasper needed to find Miracle. Kill her. And it would all be over. Full circle.
My brain kept churning. I storyboarded Jasper’s life. I painted transitions and camera angles. I could hear gulls calling in the background as his mother talked about her divorce, about how much she didn’t know. I framed shots of the moon and of bright-yellow daylilies. Morning fog shrouding a dark little cabin surrounded by the straight, thin trunks of white pines that jutted out of the soft earth like the devil’s fingers. In my head, I scored the entire thing, a dark mix between Requiem for a Dream and the old Halloween movie.
Too much.
That’s what Zora would say. I was pushing too hard. My eyes came up when her voice thrust itself into my head. And I realized I was way farther away from my building. In fact, I had to slow at the closest intersection and check the street signs like a lost tourist. I was shocked to find how far off I’d gone.
In that instant, an eerie feeling moved through me. It was like a shiver without the shake. As it passed, I looked left and right and back again, searching for eyes I knew were watching me. But I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing more than the sparse crowd moving along the evening streets somewhere near Hell’s Kitchen, I hoped.
My searching stopped on the glowing windows of the Starbucks across Forty-Third Street. I stared at the faces I could see through the glass. No one even paid attention. I doubted they could see me through the glare. But I couldn’t shake the feeling. Someone was watching me.
Then, as if I remembered it for the first time, my conversation with Steph came back to me. The severity of what she’d said. The risk I was in. Cassandra could destroy me, especially considering the thin ice upon which my career lay. With a single word, her father could make sure that I never worked again in Hollywood. Or New York. Or Austin or Nashville or anywhere.
Hurrying, possibly a bit frantic, I headed north on Ninth Avenue. With every step, I fought the urge to look over my shoulder. At the same time, a cold sweet broke out on my forehead. I could feel perspiration soaking through my shirt too. Someone was watching me, someone out there in the darkness, following my every step. My throat tightened, like someone was trying to choke me, but going at it in agonizingly slow motion. I sped up, my heart racing even faster.
Ignoring the crosswalk, I stepped out onto the street, thinking I would head west. A cab swerved around me. The horn blared. A vivid image of the driver showed his face contorted in rage, transforming into Jasper’s birdlike features. His piercing little eyes.
I stumbled up to the curb.
“You okay?” someone asked.
That’s what got me to stop. I blinked and saw the man. He was short, probably five and a half feet, and built like a firefighter. He wore all black, which contrasted with his thick, styled salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes, as he watched me, were soft, concerned. I stared into them and felt strangely safe.
“Yeah,” I said, between huffs. “I’m okay.”
“You scared of something?”
“No, no.” I put my hand up.
The guy smiled. “We all go a little mad sometimes.”
“What?” I said, my tone sharp.
“Whoa, nothing, man,” the guy said, taking a step back. “It’s just an old movie quote. Take care of yourself, buddy. You don’t look so good.”
The guy shook his head before walking away. I took a deep breath and let out a soft laugh. The guy was actually right. I was going a little mad. No one was watching me. Everything would be okay. I just needed to speak with Kent—he would smooth over everything. That and get some sleep.
So I moved one block at a time, breathing in and out, keeping my head down and my eyes locked on the sidewalk in front of me. When I reached my building, I took the front steps as slowly and deliberately as I could. I pulled the handle, and the door opened.
Crossing my lobby, I honestly thought it was over. I thought it was all in my head. That I’d let the case get to me. Let it come close to pushing me off my already precarious ledge. I was debating whether or not to call Kent as I rose up the stairwell. Midthought, I opened the door to my floor and stepped out. My head turned and I looked down the hallway. That’s when I saw it, a flash of bright yellow. And I knew, even from that distance, what it was. A yellow daylily circled into the shape of a perfect halo, sitting right outside my apartment door.