Excerpt from Chapter 1

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By quarter past ten they had moved less than thirty feet. At the rate they were going, Belmontes figured they’d reach the ticket counter about five minutes after he’d peed in his pants.

     To hell with this," he said to Cassie. "You stay in line. I gotta find a restroom."

Cassie laughed. "You do seem a little nervous," she said lightly. "I was beginning to wonder if you were having second thoughts about our wedding."

    The irony of that statement made Belmontes chuckle. He looked at Cassie, saw the lovely head held high and the half-smile lighting her face. Any misgivings he’d had about marriage had long since passed. He knew what he wanted, and he wanted it with her.

    "Well, don’t just stand there," she chided. "We should be boarding in about twenty minutes."

    Belmontes set off briskly, vaguely impressed with the thought that Cassie had doubted him. Weaving his way through the congested terminal, he walked for what seemed a very long time before he found a restroom. Sidestepping a baggage cart, he went inside.

    The room was crowded.

    Belmontes waited impatiently for a turn at the urinal, then got in line to wash his hands. As he leaned toward the basin he felt a sudden, sharp pain in the vicinity of his left shoulder. What the hell? For an agonizing moment he thought he was having a heart attack, but the pain diminished, almost as quickly as it had begun.

    He felt a sudden wooziness.

    Everything around him became blurred, like a photograph out of focus. He shook his head and tried to fix on his image in the mirror above the sink. Behind that image, through the fog clouding his brain, he thought he saw a familiar, smirking, face.

    It can’t be!

    Belmontes tore his gaze away from the murky vision and turned to look behind him. He saw faces staring at him in puzzlement and annoyance, but none belonged to the man he was looking for.

    God help me. I’m hallucinating.

    "The guy’s drunk," someone said. The voice seemed to come from far away, echoing strangely.

     Belmontes opened his mouth to refute the accusation, but his tongue felt thick and unwieldy and he could barely move his lips. When he finally managed to say something, his words came out garbled and didn’t make any sense.

    I have to get out of here.

    He started for the restroom door, but suddenly felt weak, very weak. Turning back to the sink, he fumbled for the faucet and splashed water on his face. When he lifted his eyes to the mirror again, he was shocked to see that the surreal image was once more behind him. He stared at it, unbelieving.

    I’m looking at a dead man!

   Breathing heavily, he tried to turn around again. He didn’t have the strength. His knees buckled. Hands reached out to hold him, but they were pushing too, pushing him down a well filled with murky, black water that blurred his vision, muffled sounds. He felt himself sinking under the weight of the water, deeper, ever deeper into the depths. As darkness closed in around him–just seconds before he succumbed to unconsciousness–his last thought was of the haunting, awful image of Benny Chi–gazing over his shoulder, laughing at him.

 

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