The man shook his head. “I’ve never seen her before. I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
The policeman turned back to Marissa as the train began to slow. “Would you care to file a complaint?”
“No,” yelled Marissa, “as long as he leaves me alone.”
The screech of the wheels and the hiss of the air brakes made it impossible to hear until the train stopped. The doors opened instantly.
“I’ll be happy to get off if it would make the lady feel better,” said the businessman.
A few people got off. Everyone else just stared. The policeman kept the door from closing with his body and looked questioningly at Marissa.
“I would feel better,” said Marissa, suddenly unsure of her reactions.
The businessman shrugged his shoulders and got off. Almost immediately, the doors closed and the train lurched forward once again.
“You all right now?” asked the policeman.
“Much better,” said Marissa. She was relieved the businessman was gone, but afraid the cop might ask for her identification. She thanked him then looked away. He took the hint and moved on.
Realizing that every eye within sight was still on her, Marissa was acutely embarrassed. As soon as the train pulled into the next station, she got off. Descending to the street, and irrationally afraid the man had found a way to follow her, she caught the first cab she could to take her to the Palmer House.
Within the security of the taxi, Marissa was able to regain a degree of control. She knew she was in over her head, but she had no idea to whom in authority she could go. She was presupposing a conspiracy but had no idea of its extent. And worst of all, she had no proof; nothing-just a few highly suggestive facts.
She decided she might as well continue on to New York. If her suspicions about that outbreak proved to be correct, she’d decide there who to contact. Meanwhile, she hoped that Ralph had found her a good lawyer. Maybe he could handle the whole thing.
As soon as she got back to the hotel, Marissa went directly to her room. With her present paranoia, she wanted out as soon as possible, criticizing herself for having used a credit card and, hence, her own name. She’d used an assumed name and paid cash for the flight from Atlanta to Chicago, and she should have done the same at the hotel.
Going up in the elevator, Marissa had decided she would pack her few things and go right to the airport. She opened her door and headed straight for the bathroom, tossing her purse and briefcase onto the desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement and ducked automatically. Even so, she was struck so hard she was knocked forward over the nearest twin bed, ending up on the floor between them. Looking up, she saw the man from the train coming toward her.
Frantically, she tried to scramble beneath one of the beds, but the man got ahold of her skirt with his good arm and yanked her back.
Marissa rolled over, kicking furiously. Something fell out of the
man’s hand and hit the floor with a metallic thud. A gun, thought Marissa, compounding her terror.
The man bent to retrieve the gun, and Marissa slithered beneath the bed closest to the door. The man returned, checking first under one bed, then under the one where Marissa was cowering. His large hand reached for her. When he couldn’t grab her, he got down on his knees and lunged under the bed, catching Marissa by an ankle and pulling her toward him.
For the second time that day, Marissa screamed. She kicked again and loosened the man’s grip. In a flash she was back under the bed.
Tiring of the tug of war, he dropped his gun onto the bed and came after her. But Marissa rolled out the other side. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the door. She had just wrenched it open when the man leaped across the bed and caught her hair. Whipping her around, he threw her against the bureau with such force that the mirror fell with a crash.