"He's taken my clothes off… going to… to kill me."
"Who, Chris? Give me a name. Who're you talking-"
"Tied me… to the bed…"
"Where are you? Tell me where!"
"Doused gasoline all over me… go… go… going to burn me!"
Suddenly there was no more.
''Hello, hello?'' Jessica asked.
But she got no answer. All that Jessica heard now on the other end was a garbled, keening sound, the noise of a wholly frightened animal. Then came a scream, which was immediately followed by a sudden violent whoosh of what sounded like forced air, a soft explosion, intermingled with a strangled cry of excruciating pain; then followed the crackling roar of what sounded like a raging fire. The fiery sound was mixed with female screams, and simultaneously a cackling laugh, deep and throaty, seemingly male.
"What the hell's going on there?" she shouted into the receiver.
And the line went dead. The dial tone like a death knell.
Jessica stared at the receiver for a moment, wondering what in hell it had all been for, wondering if some of the raunchier forensics men in the ''club'' might not have gotten together to pull a prank call on her, thinking her an easy target, gullible. Oleander, Mac, any one of them could easily have gotten her number simply by checking with the desk. Some of those old whiskered grunts were not above it, scientific standing and professional bearing notwithstanding.
Hell, her mind raced, the lot of them were always anxious to break the tedium of their profession with anything that might relieve stress, anything that smacked of fun, and by far, the worst of the bunch was Karl Repasi, but he had his cronies, too, and he was quite the persuasive bastard, easily convincing younger colleagues into participating in such pranks.
He'd obviously gotten help from a woman, too. One of Jessica's own female colleagues, of whom there were a surprising number, or had he roped some poor room attendant or barmaid into his little hoax? Great sound effects, though, she concluded.
She'd find out soon enough, she reasoned, imagining their smirks when she entered the reception downstairs. For now, a quick shower was called for. Maybe the steam would clear her mind and relieve some of her pent-up hostilities, and it might help to uncrease the wrinkles in her gown.
But only now did she realize that she still clutched the receiver so tightly in her hand as to make her knuckles white. Gasping, she placed the receiver in its cradle.
She wondered if she'd be as angry with Las Vegas if Jim were here beside her.
Still, the call, the genuine nature of the horrid cries of the voice calling itself Chris… it all seemed so real and unrehearsed. Then again, if an actress had been hired, then why not? she told herself. But suppose it had been real? her mind nagged.
She dialed the desk operator, identified herself as an M.E. with the convention and as a guest of the house, giving her room number, 2017, and adding, "Did the phone call I just received-did it originate from outside or inside the hotel?"
"It was from a house phone, Dr. Coran."
She smiled. "Repasi," she muttered.
"Pardon?" asked the desk clerk.
"Never mind."
The clerk then interrupted her, saying, "I'm sorry, that call originated from another room, Dr. Coran."
"What room?"
''Seventeen thirteen, Dr. Coran. Below you. Would you like me to call them back?''
"Yes, please." She decided to cut short Repasi's little fun.
But the number continued to ring, unattended. An automatic tumbler clicked in and a too-pleasant, syrupy female voice asked, "If you would care to leave a message for the current occupant, please do so at the sound of the tone."
The tone came and she felt foolish. What sort of message should she leave? She wasn't even sure it was Karl Repasi. There were plenty of others who might have cooked up this little scenario. "This is Jessica Coran," she finally said, "and I just want you to know that your joke's as little as your penile extremities, gentlemen!"
The moment she hung up, she regretted stooping to their level, becoming the thing she hated. Still, it felt good to jab back, and she was, after all, only human.
What did they expect her response to be? To telephone the Las Vegas Police Department? There a desk sergeant would take her complaint, and one of the boys would contact the sergeant for a copy of the complaint, which would be read at one of the sessions to a screaming, howling bunch of sawbones. Jessica would bear the brunt of the joke, along with the FBI, and her description of the "crime" her ears had witnessed would be recounted. This followed by colleagues, wiping tears from their eyes, staggering to her table to thank her for all the laughs while politely, civilly enjoying their stress-reducing weekend.
They'd get the biggest laugh when Karl Repasi role-played the sergeant at the desk, saying, "Okay, so what do you want us to do about it?"
"Trace the call. Determine its origin. Something of that nature might be in order," another would respond, playing Jessica's part.
"We'll look into it, Dr. Coran. Enjoy your stay in Vegas.. Don't drop too much at the tables," Karl would finish with a flurry.
"Well, to hell with that," she told herself, pleased now that she had put the kibosh on the hoax. She now urgently sought out the refuge of a hot shower, anticipating the relaxing spray.
When she stepped from the shower not ten minutes later, she heard an assortment of noises outside her door and up and down the hallway. The circus was in town. It sounded like conventioneer central. One of the other conventions in conference here was a rowdy bunch of Michelin Tire Corporation reps from all over the country. Whoever these characters were rampaging about in the hallway, they sounded like they meant to get their party's worth.
Still, in the thick terry-cloth robe she'd bought while in Hawaii some years before, Jessica was startled when someone banged bearlike on her door, screaming something unintelligible from the other side. She wondered if it were Karl and his crew, disappointed at her earlier lack of response, but a look through the peephole revealed a stranger mouthing the words, "Fire! Fire in the building! Get out!"
THREE
Some say the world will end in fire.
Still in her robe, Jessica threw open the door. She could smell the faint odor of smoke as it wafted through the hallway. Somewhere, overhead sprinklers had gone into service, while her room and the hallway remained dry. Instantly, she recalled the bizarre phone call and the room number the desk had given her when she'd asked to be patched through to the mystery caller.
She instantly returned to her phone and again dialed the desk, shouting, "There's a fire up here somewhere, and I believe its origin is room seventeen thirteen. Get the fire department up here, now!"
As she held the receiver in one hand, she worked a pair of panties beneath the robe and up her legs. She then thought of J. T., who was on the floor above. She dialed his room, telling him to get out, that there was a fire on the seventeenth floor. He thought she was pulling his leg until she screamed, "Goddamn it, J. T., move!" With that, she slammed down the receiver.
She looked about for something to throw on, grabbed a pair of Guess? jeans, a pullover T-shirt with a Magic basketball logo on it, her card key to the room, and she then rushed barefoot toward the elevator, where she found the stairwell. Along with others in various stages of dress and undress, she moved along in an attempt to get below the fire, telling others she suspected it to be three or four floors below them. One or two of her traveling companions were curious how she knew this fact.