EXCERPT from SINCE ALL IS PASSING

At last the door behind the counter opened and the old man shuffled out. "All right, all right," he muttered. "I'm com­ing."

He peered at Marie over his glasses. "Oh. It's you. What do you want? I can't do anything about that toilet," he warned. "The part's on order."

"No, no." Marie impatiently waved away his words. "You have to call the police. A little girl's been kidnapped!"

"What are you talking about?" The man gave her a closer look, taking in her wet hair and inappropriate attire for the first time. "You must have had a bad dream. Go back to bed." He turned away.

"It wasn't a dream!" she shouted. "A little girl was kidnapped right out there in your parking lot. What are you going to do about it?"

He turned back slowly. "Well, now, what would you suggest I do?"

"Call the police," she snapped in exasperation. "Then let me see his registration card. Maybe I can find out who he is."

"I'm not calling anyone until you convince me you ain't just seeing things. And nobody gets a look at the regis­trations. They're confidential." He folded his arms.

Marie ground her teeth together. "Okay. Okay. Here's what happened. I couldn't sleep, so I got up and looked out the window. I saw the door across from me open. A man carried a struggling child to a car, threw her in, and drove away. I ran outside to stop him, but I was too late." She shook her head. "I was too late."

"Let's see now. That would be room twenty-five," the clerk said thoughtfully. "I'm not saying I believe you, mind, but I think I'll take a gander at the registration."

He retrieved a three by five metal file from under the counter and flipped through it, pulling a card out of the box. Marie leaned over the counter to catch a glimpse of it but he shielded it from her with a cupped hand. "No, you're wrong," he said at last. "That room's registered to a single man. No child."

"Of course it is!" Marie exploded. "Do you think a kidnapper would be stupid enough to put his victim's name on a motel registration card?" She twisted her hands together, crushing her wedding ring into her flesh. "You've got to do something before he gets too far away. Please!"

The clerk stared at her for a long moment. Then he shook his head. "Call the police yourself if you're so all-fired sure. That man's been here for days and I ain't seen or heard no child. You want my opinion, I think you just had a bad dream. No sense waking up half the town for that." He put the file away under the counter. Shuffling over to the wall, he flipped off the overhead light and turned on the "No" in the vacancy sign. Then he disappeared through the door behind the counter and shut it with a bang.

Marie stood alone in the dark office with her mouth hanging open. How could he be so stupid? The old saying 'no one wants to get involved' must be true.

She went to the pay phone in the corner and was about to dial the local authorities when a thought stopped her. Moving to the door, she shoved it open and let it swing shut, deliberately jangling the cowbells tied to the handle. Then she crept around in back of the counter in the dark, feeling her way on her hands and knees.

She took the metal file from the shelf and opened it. The moon shed feeble light onto its contents. Flipping through the cards, she prayed that they were arranged by room number and not by name.

In moments she found the card she wanted and pulled it out with trembling fingers. “Will Persky,” the card read in bold, black letters. “729 Harris Avenue, New Spencer, Pennsyl­vania.” The date of arrival was noted as the day Rebecca was kidnapped, nearly a week earlier.

Clutching the card, Marie crawled back around the counter to the door. She pushed it open cautiously, trying to keep the bells silent. At last she had it open enough to squeeze out. Closing it quietly behind her, she ran back around the building to her room.

She dressed mechanically as she tried to think. What she needed right now was a plan of action. Should she call the local police or perhaps call Chris? Or should she go after the kidnap­per herself, before he could put more distance between himself and the law?

It took her only a minute to reluctantly discard the notion of calling the local police. She had no proof of her allega­tions, so the first thing they'd do would be to summon the motel clerk, who would give them his opinion that she'd simply had a nightmare. Whose story were they more likely to believe-that of a stranger, or of a man who'd lived and worked in this town all his life?

Should she call Chris, then? He didn't have local jurisdic­tion, but the kidnapper was on his way out of town anyway. Chris was involved with the original case and could certainly put out an APB, or anything else that was necessary. Maybe he had the influence to persuade the local authori­ties to pitch in as well.

Hastily stuffing her shirttail into her jeans, she pulled her long-distance phone card out of her purse and punched in Chris's number. It rang several times before his sleepy voice answered.

"Chris, it's Marie."

"Geez, Marie," he said groggily. "You've got a bad habit of calling people in the middle of the night. You know that?"

"This is important," she said impatiently.

"I think I've heard that before. Okay, okay. Where are you, anyway?"

"I don't know. Some little town on the Indiana border. But I need your help, Chris. You won't believe what I saw tonight."

"Let me guess. A werewolf howling at the full moon? A vampire?"

"This isn't a joking matter," Marie protested. "I saw Rebecca, right outside in the motel parking lot!"

There was a long moment of silence. Then Chris said care­fully, "You saw what?"

"I saw Rebecca! She was with the man who kidnapped her. He shoved her into that same car and drove off with her. Now do you see why I need your help?"

“Are you sure you weren’t just dreaming?” Chris’s voice was skeptical.

“No, it wasn’t a dream. I woke up from a bad dream, and I went to look out the window. I saw a man shoving her into a car. He drove away before I could stop him.”

“How far away was he?”

“I’m not sure.” Marie looked out the window to gauge the distance. “About a hundred feet, I guess.”

“What did the man look like?”

“He was thin, and he had dark hair, I think.” Marie shrugged. “It was hard to see him through the rain.”

“It was raining?” Chris sighed. "Listen, what makes you think the child was Rebecca?"

"It was her, I'm telling you. I saw her face as plain as day."

"Let me get this straight," he said with exaggerated patience. "You saw her as plain as day, but you couldn’t make out the man’s features through the rain, the dark, and the distance. Is that right?”

Marie slumped down on the bed, her shoulders sagging. "You don't believe me."

"Have a heart, Marie! Would you believe that story?"

"Probably not," she admitted, wincing. She easily imagined how it must appear to him. "But I did see her just the same."

"You were just having a dream. A nightmare. You had one last night and you thought you saw Rebecca then. The same thing must have happened tonight. You were sleepwalking, and you thought you saw her. Doesn't that sound like a more reasonable explanation?" His voice was low and soothing.

"Sure, except for one thing," Marie said, refusing to be sidetracked. "It wasn't a dream. I saw her! I tried to catch them, but I was too late. So I went to the motel manager to get some information about the man who rented the room."

"And what did the manager say?" Chris's voice was cautious.

Marie paused to pull on her shoe. "Well, if you must know, he said that the room was occupied by a single man, some guy named Will Persky. But of course the kidnapper wouldn't adver­tise that he's got a child with him! And he checked in the day that Rebecca was kidnapped. It all fits. Can't you see that?"

"All I can see right now is that you had another bad dream, one so vivid that you thought it was real," he said comfortingly. "But it wasn't real, Marie. You have to face the fact that Rebecca is probably dead. We have no reason to think she's still being held."

"She's not dead," Marie insisted, savagely tightening the laces. "I saw her! You've got to put out an APB on that car. You have to stop this Persky character-we've got a real chance to catch him now."

"No, Marie, I won't do that." Chris's voice was firm now, sending a chill down her spine. "There's been no ransom demand, and we've identified Rebecca's coat with her bloodstains on it. I'm not going to upset that poor family any further with false hopes. Go back to sleep now, and call me tomorrow. I guarantee everything will look different in the morning light."

"But…" She bit back a stream of protest. It was obvious that she was getting nowhere with Chris, and she could hardly blame him for stubbornly refusing to believe her, since she'd also claimed to have seen Rebecca before. If she alarmed him any further, he might decide she'd come unhinged and send a posse out after her. Then where would little Rebecca be?

Marie reached for her other shoe. She didn't have time to finesse him around to believing her. She'd have to get Chris off her back and handle this alone; it was obvious now that she was the child's only hope.

"Okay, Chris," she said, forcing a chuckle from her suddenly dry throat. "You're right. It must have been a dream. I'll try to get a little sleep, and call you tomorrow. I'm sorry I bothered you."

"That's okay, Marie." Relief vibrated in his voice. "I'm glad I could help. I'll talk to you in the morning. Take it easy."

"Bye, Chris." She hung up the phone with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Now she was really and truly on her own.

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