Marissa ducked into a coffee shop and ordered a cup of tea to calm down. She sat at a window table and stared out at the street. The man who had scared her came out of the store with a shopping bag and hailed a cab. So much for him. It was at that moment that she saw the businessman. It was the way he was carrying his briefcase that caught her attention, his arm at an awkward angle, as though he couldn’t flex his elbow.
In a flash, Marissa was back in her own home, desperately fighting the unseen figure whose arm seemed frozen at the joint. And then there was the nightmare in the lab.
As Marissa watched, the man took out a cigarette and lit it, all with one hand, the other never leaving his briefcase. Marissa remembered that Tad had said the intruder had carried a briefcase.
Covering her face with her hands, Marissa prayed she was imagining things. She sat rubbing her eyes for a minute, and when she looked again, the man was gone.
Marissa finished her tea, then asked directions to the Palmer House. She walked quickly, nervously switching her own briefcase from hand to hand. At the first corner, she looked over her shoulder:
the same businessman was coming toward her.
Immediately changing directions, Marissa crossed the street. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the man continue to the middle of the block and then cross after her. With a rising sense of panic, she looked for a taxi, but the street was clear. Instead, she turned around and ran back to the elevated train. Hurriedly she climbed the stairs, catching up to a large group. She wanted to be in a crowd.
Once on the platform, she felt better. There were lots of people standing about, and Marissa walked a good distance away from the
entrance. Her heart was still pounding, but at least she could think. Was it really the same man? Had he been following her?
As if in answer to her question, the man popped into her line of vision. He had large features and coarse skin and a heavy five-o’clock shadow. His teeth were square and widely spaced. He coughed into a closed fist.
Before she could move, the train thundered into the station, and the crowd surged forward, taking Marissa along with the rest. She lost sight of the man as she was carried into the car.
Fighting to stay near the door, Marissa hoped she could detrain at the last moment as she’d seen people do in spy movies, but the crush of people hampered her, and the doors closed before she could get to them. Turning, she scanned the faces around her, but she did not see the man with the stiff elbow.
The train lurched forward, forcing her to reach for a pole. Just as she grabbed it, she saw him again. He was right next to her, holding onto the same pole with the hand of his good arm. He was so close, Marissa could smell his cologne. He turned and their eyes met. A slight smile formed at the corners of his mouth as he let go of the pole. He coughed and reached into his jacket pocket.
Losing control, Marissa screamed. Frantically, she tried to push away from the man, but she was again hindered by the crush of people. Her scream died, and no one moved or spoke. They just stared at her. The wheels of the train shrieked as they hit a sharp bend, and Marissa and the man had to grab the pole to keep from falling. Their hands touched.
Marissa let go of the pole as if it were red hot. Then, to her utter relief, a transit policeman managed to shove his way over to her.
“Are you all right?” yelled the policeman over the sounds of the train.
“This man has been following me,” said Marissa, pointing.
The policeman looked at the businessman. “Is this true?”
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.
The man checked the hall quickly, then closed and secured the door. Marissa ran to the bathroom, grabbing what she thought was the gun off the far bed. She had almost managed to get the bathroom door closed before the man reached it.
Marissa wedged her back against the sink and tried to keep her attacker from opening the door further. But, little by little, his greater strength prevailed. The door cracked open, enabling him to get the arm with the frozen elbow hooked around the jamb.