as if all the rooms were empty, the lobby empty, the manager’s quarters
empty, all of it abandoned in the wake-or perhaps the approach-of some
great cataclysm. The overbearing silence, except for the rain, and the
bleak concrete hallways generated and fed this odd fantasy until it
became disturbingly real and a bit upsetting.
Don’t let the frightened little kid come to the surface again, Doyle
warned himself. You’ve done well so far.
Don’t lose your cool now.
After a few minutes of observation, during which he leaned with both
hands on the fancy iron safety railing, Doyle was convinced that the
miniature pine trees and the neatly trimmed shrubbery in the courtyard
below did not conceal anyone; their shadows were entirely their own.
The crisscrossing promenades remained quiet, deserted.
The windows were all dark.
Underneath the steadily drumming rain and the occasional banshee cries
of the storm wind, the sepulcher silence continued undisturbed.
Standing by the rail, Alex had been without protection, and now he was
thoroughly drenched. His shirt and trousers were sodden. Water had
even gotten into his boots and had made his socks all cold and squishy.
His arms were decorated with rank on rank of goose pimples, and he was
shivering uncontrollably. His nose was running, and his eyes were teary
from squinting out at the rain and fog.
Nevertheless, Doyle felt better than he had for some time.
Although he had not found the stranger who was harassing them, he had at
least tried to confront the man.
Finally, he had done something more than run away from the situation.
He could have remained in the room despite Colin’s accusing look, could
have made it through the night without taking this risk. But he had
taken the risk, after all, and now he felt somewhat better, pleased with
himself.
Of course, there was nothing more to be done. Whoever the stranger was,
and whatever the hell he had intended to do once he had picked their
lock, the man had obviously lost interest in his game when he realized
that they were awake and onto him. He would not be back tonight.
Perhaps they would never see him again at all, here or anywhere.
When he turned and started back toward their room, all of his good humor
was abruptly forgotten . . .
Two hundred feet along the same walkway which he had first examined on
coming out of the room, along a corridor that had appeared to be
absolutely empty and safe, a man stepped out of a recess in front of a
door and hurried to the courtyard steps in the southeast corner of the
overlook, thumped down them two at a time. He was very nearly
invisible, thanks to the mist and the rain and the darkness. Doyle saw
him only as a shapeless figure, a shadowy phantom . . .
However, the hollow sound of his footsteps on the open stairs was
proof that he was no imagined spirit.
Doyle went to the railing and looked down.
A big man dressed in dark clothes, made otherwise featureless by the
night and the storm, loped across the lawn and the flagstones by the
pool. He ducked under the floor of the second-level walkway which
served as the roof over the first-level promenade.
Before he quite realized what he was doing, Alex started after the man.
He ran to the head of the courtyard steps and went down fast, came out
on the lawn where the rain and wind rolled openly.
The stranger was no longer over there on the ground-floor walkway where
he had been when Doyle had last seen him. Indeed, he seemed to have
vanished into thin air.
Doyle looked at the pines and shrubs from this new prospective, and he
realized that the stranger might have doubled back to wait for him. The
feathery shadows were menacing, far too deep and too dangerous . . .
Taking advantage of the yellow and green lights that surrounded the
swimming pool and avoiding the shadows, Doyle crossed the courtyard
without incident. However, he had no sooner gotten out of the worst of
the wind and rain than he heard footsteps again. This time they were at