Ыоуве Been Warned   ::   Patterson James

Chapter 92



I COME OUT OF THE DARKROOM and notice there’s a message on my answering machine – just one – and I’m afraid to listen toit. No, I’m petrified to press the button and hear what somebody has to tell me.

What now?

Who could this be? Another call from Kristin Burns?

I get a cold bottle of water in the kitchen and gulp it right down. How did I get myself into this mess? How do I get out?

There has to be a way, but I can’t imagine what it might be. I’m supposed to be creative, aren’t I? So why can’t I begin to figure this puzzle out? Could anyone?

I can still see the red light flashing on my answering machine. It might be Michael, and maybe, maybe he’s okay now, back to normal.

Of course, it could also be Delmonico, calling from where, exactly? Do they have phones there, wherever dead people hang out these days?

I approach the infernal message machine and I’m starting to shake like a leaf. How insane is that? Given what’s happened to me? Not so crazy.

I stab the button on the machine.

I get myself ready to listen to whomever, about whatever.

I hear a voice I don’t know – a woman’s voice. Who’s this?

“Kristin… this is Leigh Abbott. I own the Abbott Show on Hudson Street, and I’m calling to tell you that we all love your stuff. Love it! Please give me a call at 212-555-6501. I would like to put your astounding work in the Abbott Show. Call me, Kristin: 212-555-6501. We are so impressed with your vision of New York.”

I press the button on the machine again.

Listen to Leigh Abbott again.

It’s the best news I’ve gotten since I moved to New York City. Absolutely the best by far. My dream has come true.

So – why am I crying uncontrollably?



Chapter 93



THE SOUND OF MY OWN SCREAM jolts my head off the pillow, piercing the still air of my bedroom like a jet engine on takeoff. I rip back the sheet in a panic, the sweat dripping from my hair.

I’m burning up – almost literally.

The dream’s never been more real. It’s getting worse.

I feel sick to my stomach and barely make it to the bathroom. I throw up so violently, my neck muscles convulse, cramping into knots. I begin to gag, then choke. Collapsing to the floor, I can’t even call for help. This is it, I’m going to die – on a cheapo bath mat from Bed Bath amp; Beyond!

And the very last thing I’ll hear is the music now starting to blare in my head.

Somehow, though, I keep breathing. What saves me is my lack of appetite last night. The stomach’s barren; there’s nothing left to get caught in my throat.