The Dream Stalker

A ByteMe Book for teens

By Mari Bailey

Published by Awe-Struck E-Books, Inc.
Copyright 2001

ISBN: 1-58749-085-4

Electronic rights reserved by Awe-Struck E-Books, all other rights reserved by author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law.

PROLOGUE

The dreams began the week before we were to leave for New York. I was alone and afraid. The night was so dark and I was running down a long tunnel. I could only see about a foot of the way in front of me, but I knew I had to keep going forward. I didn't know exactly what the danger was, but I could feel it like a chill on my spine. Someone was out there. I slowed to listen. Was it my imagination or did I hear someone breathing? If my pursuer was that close I knew I had to run. I had to get away!

After having the nightmare three nights in a row, I talked about it with Tara, my best friend, who knows something about the meaning of dreams. I'm not usually into any of that psychic stuff but what she told me was enough to scare me.

Chapter 1

"Can you believe it, Heather? We're actually going to New York!"

Tara Leonard, my best bud in the whole world, had been saying that practically every five minutes since our plane left Oregon.

"Mellow out, will you?" I told her. "Or you'll end up driving me crazy by the time we get there."

But the truth was, I was just as excited. Our families had given us the most awesome high school graduation present -- this cool trip to New York City for an entire week! We would be joining a one-day mini-tour of general sightseeing, but doing the rest on our own, staying with my Great-aunt Delilah, who I imagined must be ancient by now.

I hadn't seen my aunt since I was about five and hardly remembered her at all, but I'd been hearing stories about her from my parents practically forever. They called her the family Bohemian. I remember having to look that word up in the dictionary when I was a lot younger.

I knew even then that my aunt wasn't actually from Bohemia. She was from Oregon City like me and all the rest of my Dad's family. I did know she wasn't quite old enough to have come over on the Oregon Trail. And I didn't think she was a gypsy either despite the weird clothes my Dad said she wore. She didn't look like a gypsy in the photographs we got every once in awhile at Christmas time. But my parents did say she was an artist and that definition was in the dictionary too, along with something about an unconventional lifestyle so I decided that must be the right one. Also, my mom said, to call Great-aunt Delilah an eccentric was "putting it mildly."

I was thrilled to be spending time with Aunt Delilah no matter how eccentric she was. After all, I was an artist myself or at least art is what I'd be majoring in when I started college at Portland State in September.

Aunt Delilah is a fabric artist, which sounded kind of exotic to me. Mom has a different opinion.

"She does weird things with fabric," she says. "That used to be called just sewing and quilting. Now they call it art. Go figure."

Mom couldn't even sew on a button much less make a quilt so that could be part of the reason. I learned how to sew when I was a kid just so she wouldn't have to. I couldn't wait to see Great-aunt Delilah's work. I was more into painting and drawing myself but I loved looking at all kinds of art.

I closed my eyes, wondering what it would be like to visit some of New York's most famous art museums. The Metropolitan of course and the Museum of Modern Art. Maybe even the Guggenheim. I made a mental list of the other museums I wanted to visit, just in case we had time.

"We're here, we're here!" Tara announced, grabbing my arm and jerking me back to reality.

A few minutes later the two of us burst into LaGuardia Airport like we were entering Disneyland, trying to look everywhere at once, behaving as if we just stepped into a wonderful dream world. Except that we were each dragging a suitcase on wheels and carrying a backpack crammed full. This being our first major trip we'd argued about what to bring and had probably packed too much.

Partway across the airport, Tara nudged her elbow into my side. "We're gawking like a couple of kids from a hick town."

"So? We are kids from a hick town," I pointed out.

Tara rolled her eyes. "I know that but we don't have to make it so obvious to everyone else. Let's get a grip, okay?"

"Yeah, you're right," I agreed, still scanning the crowd and taking it all in but trying to be a little more discreet about it.

After a couple more minutes of checking out the airport I suggested we go outside and look for the airport shuttle we were supposed to take to get us to Greenwich Village and my great-aunt's place.

We headed towards the sliding glass doors and I was totally focussed on following the crowd trying to get outside, when suddenly someone in front of me stopped. I skidded to a halt and someone else bumped into me from behind. I turned around, sure it was Tara, ready to throw out some smart aleck remark. My quip froze in my throat, when I realized I was facing a guy about our age, maybe a little older. More than just a guy. He was drop-dead gorgeous, a total babe. I stood staring at him, speechless for once in my life. He looked a bit like an actor or a model, only even better and I wondered if he lived here in New York or was a tourist like us. I was still trying to kick my brain into coming up with something clever to say when he looked into my eyes and spoke.

"Please excuse me, fair lady," he said with a bow, reminding me of a poet or a Shakespearean actor. Was he for real? No guy I knew ever spoke like that, but he sounded sincere. Maybe he was an actor. Anyway he definitely had style.

"It wasn't your fault." I finally found my voice.

"Come on, Heather. What's the holdup?" Tara complained from somewhere nearby.

"I gotta go," I told him, wishing that I didn't.

"I've no doubt we'll meet again," he said with a smile, before Tara pulled me away.

"We've got a bus to catch," Tara said, as we dove through the crowd and eventually made our way outside.

The first thing I noticed was the long row of yellow taxis lined up along the curb. There were also about a million people bustling around in every direction, all moving quickly, eyes front and center, aiming for wherever they were going. The sound of the traffic rushing by was almost deafening. People were talking and shouting, plus there were a lot of horns and whistles blaring too. Overall it was pretty outrageous. I didn't think I'd ever heard that much street noise before. Certainly not in Oregon City. Not even in Portland, the nearest big city.

I started looking around for signs and was relieved to spot one that said Airport Shuttles farther down the walkway.

"That's where we go," I said to Tara, shifting the weight of my backpack a bit and tightening the grip on my suitcase.

Since there were more than a dozen shuttle buses with location signs in the front of each one, we started checking them out, searching for the one that would take us to Greenwich Village. It wasn't long before we were handing our stuff over to the van driver to stow in the back, then climbing in to find some seats.

The van was already pretty crowded, so Tara and I ended up settling in the last row.

"I can't believe how easy it's been to find everything," Tara said. "My parents were so worried we'd get lost or something."

I laughed. "It's probably pretty difficult to get lost in an airport with signs and info booths all over the place," I told her. "Just wait until we're running around in New York City. I have a feeling that's what they're really worried about."

The van driver was just starting to close the doors when someone yelled and came running up to the bus. I didn't pay much attention until the person climbed in and took the last remaining seat, the one right next to me. It was the gorgeous guy who'd bumped into me coming out of the airport just a few minutes ago. He flashed his killer smile at me.

"So my fair lady, we do meet again." He was still doing his Shakespeare bit.

I said hi, then jumped as Tara elbowed me in the ribs.

"Who is that guy?" she whispered.

I shrugged my shoulders. "He bumped into me in the airport," I whispered back, then mouthed for her benefit alone, "what a babe!"

She looked at him, raised an eyebrow to let me know she wasn't impressed, then went back to looking out the window.

Because she had a steady boyfriend, Tara never gave any other guys more than a casual glance. Not that I cared. In fact, I was sort of glad, since I wasn't with anyone special at the moment. I mean I'd gone to the senior prom with Rory McCallister, I liked him just fine, but I wasn't committed to him or anything. I liked being able to look. I had even teased Tara and my other girlfriends that I just might want to have a romantic fling while I was on vacation.

Trying to be discreet, I checked out the guy again, taking time for a good look. I noticed his longish, blond hair falling slightly onto his forehead and his sparkling hazel eyes, when we met earlier in the airport. Dreamy romantic hazel eyes I could get lost in. I wondered where he was from and more important for right now, where he was going. Wouldn't it be cool if he was staying somewhere near my aunt's place in Greenwich Village?

"How far are you going?" he asked suddenly, like he'd read my thoughts. I blushed as I realized he'd caught me eyeing him.

But I swallowed and tried to get a grip as I mentioned the general area of my great-aunt's place.

"I get off before that," he said with what sounded like genuine regret. "By the way, my name's Curt." He'd apparently decided to give up the "fair lady" routine and talk more like a regular guy.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Heather and this is Tara." I looked over at my friend and couldn't help feeling annoyed, when she frowned and turned back towards the window.

I looked at Curt.

"Are you visiting someone here?" I asked.

"Yeah, this friend of my step-dad is putting me up for a couple of weeks. I've been in the city before, but I thought it would be fun to do the tourist thing."

"Us too," I said excitedly. "I mean about doing the tourist thing. But it's our first time here."

"Oh, you'll love it," he said, just as the van slowed and our driver announced the first stop.

"That's me." Curt offered another gorgeous grin and a "be seeing you, fair lady," then he was gone.

I sighed as the van started up again.

"What's with you?" Tara hissed. "You shouldn't give some strange guy personal info. Especially here."

"What personal info?" I asked, surprised "Our first names?"

"And the part of Greenwich Village we're staying in. And that this is our first time here."

I rolled my eyes. It sounded like something our parents would say.

"Give me a break," I said. "He was polite and gorgeous." I sighed again. "Anyway, I'll probably never see him again."

I turned my attention outside to see what was going by. Nothing recognizable, mostly just a lot of tall buildings, including some heavy-duty skyscrapers. Then we passed Central Park, which was definitely on our list of must-sees.

"Do you think we'll pass the Statue of Liberty?" Tara wondered suddenly.

"Well, duh," I said. "It's not exactly standing on a street corner in the middle of town, you know." We both collapsed into a fit of giggles, getting strange looks from the other passengers in the van.

We thanked the shuttle driver and tipped him for carrying our luggage to our entrance, but I wasn't sure from his reaction, if it was too little. He mumbled, "You gals have fun in the Big Apple," then climbed into the van and nudged his way back out into the traffic.

Tara and I stood on the sidewalk looking up at the apartment building. Great-aunt Delilah lived on the top floor of an old five-story building and there was no elevator. We grabbed our bags and started up the stairs.

"Man, I wish I hadn't packed so much," I groaned after awhile.

Tara muttered in agreement, then added helpfully, "Maybe it'll get you in shape for the Statue of Liberty climb."

Since my best friend was a major claustrophobic, I probably would be making the more than three-hundred-step climb without her.

At last we thumped our bags down on the fifth-floor landing and headed down the hall looking for apartment numbers.

"Here it is," I said. "Number 501."

I knocked on the door and fixed my best smile in place. The door flew open almost immediately, as if my great-aunt had been standing just on the other side waiting for us. I hoped she was as excited about our visit as I was. She seemed to be as she flung out her arms and pulled me forward in a gigantic hug. She was strong and she held onto me for what seemed like a long time before letting me go and standing back to look me over.

Great-aunt Delilah was taller than I expected, as thin as a model or an actress, and just as striking in her long forest green caftan. Her high cheekbones and expertly penciled brows made her look both elegant and sophisticated. Her silver gray hair was twisted into a knot on top of her head and accented with a green dragonfly clip. She was grinning from ear to ear and her eyes sparkled like sapphires. So that was where I got my own dark blue eyes!

"Heather Morgan!" she said. "You've become a beautiful young lady. The last time I saw you, you were five years old. You were just the cutest thing. But I'll bet you don't even remember me."

I felt myself blush. How I hated that habit of mine I couldn't control. "Only a little, I'm afraid. I was pretty young," I admitted.

"Well, you're quite the grownup now," she said, stepping back and checking me out again.

"I turned eighteen in April," I stated firmly.

Then I remembered Tara standing there behind me. I grabbed her arm and pulled her forward.

"Tara, I want you to meet my Great-aunt Delilah. And this is my best friend in the whole world, Tara Leonard."

My aunt waved her hands in the air and I noticed what long thin fingers she had and that she wore several interesting rings.

"Please, girls, don't call me 'Great-aunt Delilah.' It makes me feel three hundred years old. Just call me Lilah. That's what I go by to all my friends and business associates -- people in the art world."

Tara and I exchanged glances, then shrugged. "Sure, Lilah," we said in unison, grinning like fools. It felt positively wicked to be calling someone her age by her first name.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Tara. Come in, come in, both of you," Lilah said, drawing us inside and closing the door, "Let's get you settled. I'll show you where you'll be sleeping and give you a tour of the apartment."

I looked around, for the first time really taking in the apartment, too, instead of just Lilah. My great-aunt lived in a loft apartment, something I'd only ever read about in books. It seemed like the favorite type of place for an artist to live in and from looking around I could understand why. The room we were in was huge with super high ceilings and a ton of light. The walls that weren't taken up with windows had floor to ceiling shelves.

"Wow, this place is awesome," Tara said. "Look at all this stuff."

It was obvious this was where Lilah did her work. There were several long tables, most of them covered with pieces of fabric in a million different colors and textures. I also spotted a few sewing machines, and the rows of open shelf units were stuffed with more fabric and boxes with labels telling what was inside, buttons, thread, lace, whatever. There were a ton of art books too, and I hoped I'd get the chance to look at some of them while we were visiting. There was a small kitchen in one corner of the room and a dining room set with books piled on the table and on all but one of the chairs.

"Great-aunt...I mean, Lilah," I said. "I can't wait to see some of your fabric art. I'm going to major in art when I go to college this fall."

Lilah clasped her hands together. "Wonderful! Another artist in the family. Maybe you can make up for your father -- he had to give up his dreams."

"Dad was an artist?" I squeaked. "He never said a thing!" I'd never even suspected such a thing and I was eager to hear all the juicy details, but Lilah was already leading us towards the other rooms.

"I'll have plenty of time to fill you in while you're here," she promised. "Come, girls, bring your bags."

Tara and I grabbed our rolling suitcases and picked up the backpacks we'd set down inside the front door. Lilah led us down a hallway covered on each side by quilts and wall hangings.

"Are all these your work?" I asked, slowing down to look.

But Lilah kept right on going, tossing, "later, later," over her shoulder. She opened the first door on the left. "My guestroom," she announced. "This will be your humble abode while you're here with me." She motioned us inside, but, at first, Tara and I just stood in the doorway with our mouths hanging open.

"Wow," we both said at once, making Lilah laugh. The room was great! My great-aunt's guestroom was retro Sixties and probably the wildest bedroom I'd ever seen! Everywhere you looked there were these great colors and textures. Hot pink, shimmering lime green, submarine yellow and tangerine orange. Wildly patterned quilts and throw pillows covered each of the two beds -- peace symbols and flower power to the max -- the beds were actually big fluffy futons. This would be like a week-long slumber party! There was a purple lava lamp undulating sensuously on the bedside table and the curtains were red and blue tie-dye, which had produced accents of purple throughout. Fabric collages and banners with things like birds and butterflies and flowers covered the walls. There was a yellow and black hanging that said "war is not healthy for children and other living things," which I knew was around for the Vietnam War but seemed to fit right in with the recent one we'd just had in Kosovo.

"I'm glad I brought my sketchbook," I told my aunt. "I just know I'm gonna find all kinds of inspiration here."

"I get the bed on the right," Tara announced. I knew from experience that she would want the one by the window because of her claustrophobia. We wheeled in our cases and unloaded our backpacks onto the beds.

"Let me show you the bathroom," Lilah called from outside in the hall. "And then there's my room."

I wondered why her voice sounded odd when she said it. Odd but tinged with a bit of humor like she was smiling when she said it. After what we'd already seen, I didn't think anything else would surprise me. But I was wrong.

Her room was positively awesome! The place looked like a jungle. Every wall was covered with a huge quilt. On the quilts were appliques of leaves and branches and vines on a sky blue background. The big bed in the middle of the room was covered with a similar quilt and it was piled with pillows in every color you could think of. But the most awesome things were the trees. Huge trees all around the room -- not real live ones -- trees made of fabric with their trunks stuffed and the leaves individually quilted and sewn on. I knew it was called soft sculpture but I'd never seen any in person before.

"Wow, this is so cool," I told Lilah, who was grinning proudly, her eyes shining, looking almost bluer than before. "It must be like sleeping outdoors only much more comfy." I was never a big fan of camping. I liked comfort way too much to want to sleep in a tent on the hard ground.

"It's my own private park in the middle of the Village," Lilah told us. "I always have sweet dreams in this room."

"I can see why." This from Tara. "Makes me wish I'd learned how to sew when you did, Heather," she added.

"It's only too late if you never start," Lilah said, sounding wise. I guess someone her age would know about something like that.

"Yeah, Tara," I put in. "I can always spend the rest of the summer after we get back teaching you what I know," I offered.

Lilah positively beamed. "I think you girls are in for a very exciting time."

I didn't know if she meant just our week in New York or what; but when we went back into the front room, we started telling her about some of the places we wanted to see and things we hoped to do.

Lilah said we could move the books off the dining chairs and put them on the floor so Tara and I sat at the table while she put a kettle on to make us all some tea. We weren't big tea drinkers but I figured trying different things was what a vacation away from home was like. Anyway, I didn't think it would be polite to tell my great-aunt all we ever drank was diet soda.

The tea was one I'd never had before, lapsang souchong, -- definitely a mouthful -- and Lilah served it with these little cookies she called "biscuits," like the English did. I watched Tara take a sip of her tea first and when she didn't look grossed out I decided it was okay to try mine.

"Hey, this is great," I said, meaning it. "Mom only ever has regular tea at home and I only have it if I'm sick or something. But this is totally different."

"I never drink anything but tea or wine," Lilah said. "The world's two civilized beverages. And of course that does include champagne!"

"What about coffee?" Tara asked. She had recently discovered the trend and was experimenting with lattes and caf� mochas.

"No coffee for me," Lilah insisted. "Not when there are so many wonderful teas to drink on their own or to blend. To me one cup of coffee tastes just like any other."

I, for one, hadn't come all this way to debate about beverages so I decided to change the subject.

"Tell us about your work, Lilah. I've never met a fabric artist before."

While we finished our tea and biscuits and helped ourselves to second cups, my great-aunt told us that her mother was a seamstress and about how she herself had to learn to sew to help out at home, but that she'd always wanted to do more than just stitch dresses and shirts.

"A neighbor introduced me to quilting but I never liked her idea of making all these identically patched squares, so I branched out. Then I did pillows and from there it was only a baby step to soft sculpture."

"Like the trees in your bedroom," I said, totally fascinated. "They are, like, so cool!"

After awhile we went back into Lilah's room to check out the sculptures and wall hangings again and we looked at the stuff in the hall and the guestroom, too. I found everything pretty amazing. I knew before we went to bed I was going to do a sketch of Lilah's room.

For dinner that night we went out into our Greenwich Village neighborhood and Lilah talked us into trying an Indian restaurant. It was food Tara and I had never tasted before and some of it was spicy, but it was all really good. Lilah said she liked her currie to be practically in flames, but Tara and I ordered ours extra mild to be safe. We had some yummy appetizers called pakooras that were spinach and onions dipped in batter and fried and also some really good flat Indian bread called papadum.

Halfway through dinner, I went looking for the ladies' room, which was located near the back of the restaurant. It was so dark, with pretty much just the glow of the candles on the tables for light. I had finally spotted the hallway I was aiming for when a movement in the far corner caught my eye. I glanced, then looked again, wondering if I could be imagining things. It sure looked like Curt, the guy from the airport and the shuttle van. The one I thought was a total babe. I couldn't believe that we would end up at the same restaurant, not when he got off the bus way before we did.

Curt saw me, too, because he raised his glass up towards me in a mock toast and mouthed some words I couldn't make out. Feeling too uncomfortable to go over there, I just smiled and waved. Suddenly I wondered if maybe Tara was right and I should be careful here in the city. I mean he really was a stranger and seeing him here was just too weird. Or maybe I was just being a chicken. Anyway, he got this kind of wistful smile on his face, and I hurried off to the ladies' room. Maybe, I decided, I could stop by on my way back to our table. But when I came back out, his table was empty and neatly set for the next diners, making me wonder if I could have just imagined seeing him there after all.

Later on, walking back through the Village, window shopping with Lilah and Tara, I suddenly thought about Curt and how I'd run into him three times in one day. That had me looking around, almost expecting to see him again. And for a brief moment, I felt a little uneasy, suddenly remembering that awful dream I'd been having. Could the two somehow be connected? But that was totally ridiculous. I mean there was, like, no way! Was there? I pushed the thought out of my mind and focussed on what Lilah and Tara were talking about, but I still felt a chill snake its way down my spine.

Chapter 2

The three of us sat up late that night talking. Even though Tara and I had basically just met Lilah, we had so much to tell her and so much to ask her. I thought her life was major fascinating and was totally in awe of her accomplishments as an artist. While we talked in her bedroom, I even did a couple of quick sketches of her tree sculptures. I also used the opportunity to ask her for details about my dad actually being into art long ago.

"Well," she began, "he was very interested in Oriental art when he was in school. He even took some classes in Japanese lettering and brush painting. Said he hoped to continue his studies in Japan someday, after he graduated from college, if he could save the money."

"But Dad wasn't an art major," I protested. "He got his degree in electronics."

"That's right, he did," Lilah agreed. "He did that for practical purposes. He insisted he wouldn't be 'one of those starving artists' so he only took art classes as electives."

"So what happened?" I asked. "He's never been to Japan and he's always been an engineer. I've never seen him paint a picture in my life!"

Lilah smiled and her eyes grew dreamy as she continued her story. She told us that during my dad's second year of college he'd met a Japanese woman named Kyoko who had come to America to study medicine. She was taking her general requirements in Portland -- she had relatives there -- then would transfer to a medical school in California. She was one year younger than he was and they fell in love. He wanted to go with her when she returned home to Japan."

"What happened?" I said again. "And what about Mom?"

"Your father didn't meet your mother until his relationship with Kyoko had ended. Kyoko died in a terrible accident involving the bus she was riding in and a drunk driver in a pickup truck. Your father was heartbroken and he dealt with it by working and studying too hard. He signed up for a full course load the following semester, eighteen credits, and he also took on two part-time jobs. I'm surprised he didn't end up killing himself. Fortunately, he met your mother about six months into that grueling schedule and she talked him into cutting back. In fact, it was your mother who helped my nephew heal and become whole again. They became friends and he told her all about Kyoko. Your mother helped him so much. She probably saved his life and I know she saved his heart. Eventually they fell very much in love, too."

My throat tightened and I felt like crying. What a sad, romantic and tragic story.

"And what about his art?" Tara asked.

"Heather's father never painted again," Lilah's eyes were bright with unshed tears.

Tara and I went to our room soon after, undressed in silence, turned out the light and crawled into our beds. I could hardly believe what I'd learned about my dad that night. He'd never told me anything about that part of his life nor had my mom -- and I'd always thought we were pretty close.

I turned and stared at the lava lamp, which we'd left on. "You wanna talk?" Tara asked after awhile.

"I wonder if my dad still thinks about Kyoko," I said. "And I wonder if he loves Mom as much as he loved her."

"He probably loves her even more."

I was surprised by Tara's comment.

"How do you figure that?" I asked.

"Because they went through this big tragedy together. Your aunt said she helped him heal. That's got to be so special. And because they were friends first and that's the most important thing in a relationship."

That sounded nice and I smiled in the pale purple light from the lamp. Then I had another thought. "Do you think I should ask him about it when I get home? Tell him I know?"

"I don't know, Heather. It's, like, if he had wanted you to know he'd have..." she broke off. "I mean you have deep dark secrets from them don't you?"

"Sure," I admitted. "It kind of goes with being a teenager."

"Well, then, maybe it also goes with being a parent, too."

"When did you get to be so wise, girlfriend?" I asked her and then the two of us said "goodnight."

I thought it would be difficult to sleep after that great story along with all of the excitement surrounding our trip. But I guess we were both exhausted. Tara actually fell asleep first, but I wasn't far behind.

Unfortunately, the nightmare was waiting for me. Once again I was running down a dark alleyway terrified because someone I couldn't see was chasing me. Only this time the person got close enough for me to see that it was a guy, but I couldn't see any more than that.

The next morning, I pushed the dream out of my mind, the way I'd done the first few times I had it. I knew it was an avoidance tactic, but it was my way of coping.

Tara and I left the apartment right after breakfast for our New York City tour. Lilah said she had a full day of sewing and stuffing planned. She was actually on deadline for a specially commissioned piece that would hang in some important building. She warned us to save some energy for our big night tonight. We had three tickets to Phantom of the Opera and three fancy dresses to wear! I could hardly wait.

We had Lilah to thank for the fun way our trip was planned. She had suggested to my parents that we take a day-long bus tour of the Big Apple so we could see the main tourist attractions and decide which sites we wanted to go back to later and explore on our own. She's actually rescued us since our parents wanted to sign us up for an organized tour group for the whole week! It was obviously their way of trying to keep Tara and me from exploring the big scary city on our own. But Lilah vetoed that idea and convinced them it would be a much better experience her way. The folks' way would have definitely cramped our style.

We took a bus to the hotel where we were supposed to meet our tour group.

"This sure isn't The Plaza," Tara commented when we pulled up in front.

"No, but maybe we can see that on one of our other days," I said. "Not that they'll even let us inside, I'm sure." We only knew about the Plaza from movies like Home Alone II.

Inside the hotel we found the travel desk where other tourists were gathering and we met our tour guide, a perky woman named Sandy who seemed like she'd be a lot of fun. The morning's first activity was a walking tour of the Chelsea area, Herald Square and the Empire State Building, which we were dying to get to the top of to see the view. Tara had even promised to take the elevator with me despite her claustrophobia. We were also eager to spend some shopping time in Macy's, which we only knew about from Miracle on 34th Street and the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Later that afternoon we'd take a bus tour through a lot of other parts of the City, Wall Street, Central Park, and the Theater District. We'd also take a drive down "museum mile," a major group of museums on the Upper East Side. I was looking forward to making time to go back there to explore later in the week.

Our tour guide gave everyone those stick-on labels that say, "Hello, my name is..." and instructed us to fill them out and wear them. Tara and I had just slapped ours on the front of our shirts and were joining the line forming near the exit when a late arrival sauntered in and strolled up to Sandy.

"I'm joining the tour," he said. "I'm not signed up but my travel agent told me to just show up here this morning."

I was staring at him, probably with my mouth hanging open, when Tara poked me with her elbow.

"What's with you?" she asked. "I know he's good-looking, but get a grip. You can close your mouth for starters."

My mouth snapped shut but I couldn't stop staring.

"Don't you recognize him?" I hissed. "He's the guy from the airport shuttle. Curt." I wasn't about to add that I'd later seen him in a back corner of the Greenwich Village Indian restaurant where we'd gone for dinner. Tara would have totally freaked out and called the cops or something if she knew about that. I decided to fill her in on it later, when we were alone.

"This is beginning to be just too weird," I said. "Still, he is a total babe and it's kind of romantic the way he keeps turning up."

Tara looked at me like I'd lost it, but she didn't say anything, to my great surprise.

Anyway Sandy wrote the new guy's name on her clipboard and handed him a nametag, which he stuck in his pocket without filling out. Just being mysterious, I wondered, a bit more intrigued.

I didn't get to talk to him as we started out on our tour and he ended up near the back of the group while Tara and I were up front. Was he suddenly playing hard to get?

The morning flew by and we were soon stopping at a caf� near Madison Square Garden for lunch. That was when I finally got more of a chance to talk to my mystery man Curt. It had to be fate since I'd seen him a total of four times in less than twenty-four hours. I was delighted when he walked over to our table and asked if Tara and I and another girl, who was sitting with us, would mind if he joined us. I invited him right away when I noticed that Tara looked like she was might object. I was getting a little tired of her selfish attitude -- after all, I didn't have a boyfriend waiting for me at home and I definitely wanted to learn more about this guy.

He introduced himself as Curt Bonner and told us he came from a small town in Massachusetts called Marblehead. I'd never heard of it but Curt said it was about an hour's drive from Boston.

As we talked I could see we had a lot in common right off the bat. He was just a year older than I was, and his trip to New York had been given to him by his "new rich stepfather." Then he announced that he was planning to major in art when he went to college in Boston in the fall.

"No kidding?" I said, studying him with greater intensity. Once again I lost myself in his hazel eyes, admiring the blond hair that was just touching his shirt collar and the lock of it that hung over onto his forehead in such a sexy way.

I told him about my great-aunt Delilah and her fabric art, pulling the sketchbook out of my backpack to show him the drawings I'd done of her soft sculpture trees, happily ignoring Tara's sighs.

Curt and I chatted for awhile about "museum mile" and the other art museums we were dying to see. It was obvious we liked many of the same artists -- Van Gogh, Dali, Picasso -- and he knew that some of their more famous works I'd mentioned hung in the Museum of Modern Art, which was actually located away from museum mile, in upper midtown. It was great sharing an interest with someone my age -- most of the guys I knew just got bored at the mention of art.

Tara, also, could take only so much "art talk," as she calls it, before she gets restless. Anyway, I wasn't surprised when she changed the subject after awhile and started talking about Phantom of the Opera. Tara had acted in several plays during our high school years and the theatre was her big love.

Curt perked up when she mentioned the play we'd both been dying to see. "I just read the book," he told us.

"We did, too," I said. "Just before we came here. We wanted to be totally prepared when we see the show. And I think Tara's been wearing out her CD."

"How did you get tickets?" he asked. "I tried but everything is sold out for the weeks I'll be here."

"Well, I guess we can thank our parents' careful planning," Tara said suddenly, gathering her things and getting up from the table. "Come on, Heather," she said to me. "I've got to go touch up my makeup."

I looked at her in surprise. Her makeup looked flawless and she had never been one to fuss about it. Anyway, I knew something was up when I followed her to the ladies' room.

"What's with the sudden exit?" I asked her a minute later.

She shrugged. "I just think we should discourage Curt from hanging around us the rest of the day. Let him latch onto somebody else on this tour."

"Oh, come on, he's nice -- and I like talking to him. We seem to have a lot in common."

"Yeah, I noticed." She frowned. "I don't mean to ruin it, I just have a feeling he's too eager to please. It's like -- I don't know. He just makes me feel weird."

I eyed her for a moment, not sure what to think "Don't you want me to have any fun? I mean he's a cutie and I don't have a boyfriend waiting at home."

"All right, he's cute, I'll give him that. But didn't you notice how he agreed with all your favorite art choices as soon as you mentioned them? Like, totally coincidental, I'm sure. It just makes me wonder if you should trust him."

That chilled me. What would my best bud say if I told her that I'd spotted Curt at the restaurant the night before? She already mistrusted him, so anything would really freak her out.

"I just think you're being paranoid," I told her. "But I don't want anything to keep us from having a great time, so let's go back and join the rest of the group before the bus leaves without us."

I resented the fact that she was so against a guy she hardly even knew. A guy who actually seemed to like me a lot. That just wasn't at all like her. I hoped she wasn't getting weird and jealous on me.

The rest of the tour was a lot of fun, even though Curt was no longer hanging around and by the time we got off the bus back at the same hotel we'd started out from we had a pretty good idea of the sights we wanted to explore close-up.

Since the hotel where we'd met the tour group was located pretty near Central Park West, Tara and I decided to pop in for a quick peek at Strawberry Fields, a pilgrimage I'd promised my mom I would make. We had a little time before we needed to get back to get dressed for dinner and the theater. To my surprise, Curt caught up with us again just as we were about to head off in the direction of the park

"I wanted to say what a pleasure it's been to meet two noble ladies," he said with a little bow.

"Noble?" I started to giggle. I just couldn't help myself. "Sometimes you talk like you've been reading Shakespeare or some other English writer," I pointed out, teasing him. "Are you sure you're not an English Lit major?"

He didn't confess, but then he didn't deny it either, just got this kind of mysterious look on his face. From up close I noticed these interesting gold flecks in his hazel eyes. But even though he was terrific to look at, and he'd been nice enough while we were having lunch, I figured it was time to say goodbye. Tara's warning had made me realize that, deep down, I wasn't really interested in a vacation fling, no matter what I'd told my friends.

"Well, it was great meeting you, Curt," I said politely.

"Yeah, great," Tara chimed in, and I wondered if I was the only one to notice the sarcastic note in her voice. "I hope the rest of your New York vacation is a blast," she added.

"Yeah, and good luck with your art studies," I said, as Tara grabbed my arm and started pulling me down the street, leaving Curt standing there looking after us.

"You didn't have to haul me away," I complained. "I was saying 'goodbye'."

Tara shrugged. "I know, I know. But there's just something about him that bugs me, you know?"

"Whatever. I'm sure we won't be seeing him again," I said, deciding maybe I wouldn't even tell her about last night's sighting. Why make things worse?

I pushed Curt Bonner out of my mind as we headed for the part of West 72nd Street where the famous apartment building, the Dakota, is located. That's the place where John Lennon had lived and died, and I'd promised to make the pilgrimage for my mom's sake rather than my own.

I wasn't even born yet when the Beatles were together and became the most famous rock group in history and I was just a little girl when Lennon was murdered by an insane fan in the entryway of the Dakota. But I did like their music, which I heard on my mom's CDs and at the moment the Sixties music was in with a lot of us teens. I knew his death had really shaken up Mom and millions of others all over the world.

Anyway, it made me feel kind of sad standing there in front of this huge building that was over a hundred years old, according to my New York guidebook. It was kind of a scary-looking building, too, with a lot of Gothic-style gables and turrets and towers. It had these gargoyles and other spooky creatures for decoration and the whole place gave me a shivery feeling like I was standing in front of a big old haunted castle or something.

"Listen to this, Tara," I said, reading aloud from my guidebook. "It is believed the ghost of famed horror movie actor, Boris Karloff, haunts the building."

"Man, talk about a place giving you the creeps," Tara said and I had to agree.

"Let's get out of here."

But still, I had promised Mom so I took some pictures, and then we went across the street to the part of Central Park called Strawberry Fields, which was dedicated to John Lennon and to world peace which was a big cause of his when he was alive. It's a kind of neat place with lots of trees that were sent from countries all over the world. The park had a lot more restful feeling than the building did.

There's also this huge round mosaic with the word Imagine right in the middle of it. I knew John Lennon's famous song by that name pretty well from Mom's CD.

It was pretty cool to actually stand there and look at the mosaic and somebody had even put a single red rose down in the middle next to the word.

There was a vendor selling tee shirts and I got one for my mom. It had a picture of a bright red strawberry on the front and said "fields forever" like in the song. Mom would love it!

I wanted to sit in the park and draw for awhile, so I pulled my sketchbook out of my backpack again, while Tara went off in search of one of the ice cream vendors we'd seen on the way in. I'd drawn the mosaic and the rose by the time Tara returned, a panicked look on her face, and handed me an ice cream bar.

"You won't believe who I just saw," she said, then answered before I could even ask, "Your creepy friend from yesterday and from the tour."

"You mean Curt Bonner?"

"Yeah, and here he comes, too."

I looked up to see him walking across the grass towards us. I smiled and waved.

"Hello again," I called, ignoring Tara's groan as she sank down beside me. "I guess you wanted to see more of the infamous Central Park, too," I said to Curt, trying to hide the fact that my heart was beating extra fast and I had this kind of queasy feeling in my stomach. Could Tara be right? Was another meeting too much of a coincidence in such a short amount of time?

"Funny we should end up in the exact same part of it," Tara said pointedly. She obviously didn't share my desire to keep things polite. "Out of a park that's got more than 800 acres in it." She glared at him and took a fierce bite of her ice cream bar.

Curt seemed oblivious to her rudeness as he grinned at me. "Not so strange. I came to see the Dakota and Strawberry Fields, same as you, I imagine. I'm a big John Lennon fan."

"So's my mom," I said, then added, "I like his stuff, too," not wanting to sound like I didn't know anything about such a famous musician.

I told myself I didn't care much what Tara thought about Curt. He seemed okay to me and I couldn't understand why she had immediately disliked him.

"I like his music a lot," Curt said in an odd sort of voice -- really serious and kind of grim. "I can't believe some guy just walked up and shot him one day."

We were all pretty quiet for awhile. I mean what can you really say? But no way was I prepared for what he said next.

"I'm just waitin'. One of these days they gotta let him out."

"What are you talking about?" I asked. Suddenly I had a sick feeling in my stomach. Maybe I'd eaten my ice cream bar too fast.

"I'm talkin' about that bad dude who shot him. Shot Lennon. I'm waitin' for them to let him out of the loony bin."

"Why?" Maybe I was dense, but I just didn't get it. Like, duh!

Curt made his thumb and forefinger into a pistol shape, aimed it off in the distance, and... "Blam!"

He spat the word out in a tone and volume that made both Tara and me jump. Several other people in the park looked at us curiously. For the first time I thought maybe Tara had the right idea, being uneasy about this guy.

Before I knew what was happening, Tara pulled me to my feet, muttering something about being late for an appointment. Before I could even say a word, we were hurrying out of Central Park and into a cab.

"Now do you believe me when I say that guy is creepy? He thinks he's going to assassinate an assassin, for crying out loud!" Her eyes told me she was really upset.

"I heard, I heard. Maybe he was only joking?" I wished.

"Did you see the look on his face? The gleam in his eye? He was serious. That guy is some kind of nutcase!"

"Okay, okay, so maybe you're right he is weird. It's too bad, though. I kind of liked him. I mean he's gorgeous and we seemed to have a lot of stuff in common."

"Yeah, I know. He did seem okay at first but...Look, Heather, we came to New York City for culture, not a summer romance. And anyway, I thought you wanted to get closer to Rory when we get back. You said yourself you had a really great time with him at the prom."

"Maybe you're right," I agreed as the cab pulled up in front of my aunt's building. "Maybe I'll get him a shirt while we're here. Souvenir of New York. Maybe from the Hard Rock Caf�, if we make it there."

"All right!" Tara said, relaxing a little. "Now let's go get glam for tonight. Phantom of the Opera here we come."

But as we hurried up the five flights of stairs another little worry crept into my thoughts. What if Curt showed up at the theatre too?

Chapter 3

Phantom of the Opera was fabulous! To have all the details and characters of the book we just read come to life on stage was something I'll never forget. Plus the three of us had such fun dressing up for the theatre! Tara and I both wore these glittery black dresses we'd bought for the senior party following our graduation. Not as formal as our prom dresses -- these were short and sassy while our prom gowns were full length -- but with plenty of glitz and glamour. Tara had a sparkling butterfly clip in her short red hair and I was wearing the tiny diamond stud earrings and a heart-shaped pendant that my grandparents had given me for graduation.

Lilah looked really glam wearing a long purple velvet dress she told us she'd designed herself. She had sewn on what must have been thousands of tiny crystal seed beads and pearls and they sparkled whenever she moved or the light fell on them in just the right way. I asked her jokingly if she had ever heard this quote that was something like, "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple," and she laughed.

"Honey," she told me, "All my life I've worn whatever color strikes my fancy whenever it strikes my fancy. My way of dressing has always been bold and showy," she admitted. "And I wasn't about to change when I got older!"

I'd already noticed her showy clothing style in the two days we'd been there.

Tara and I were impressed that the Majestic Theatre was so big and fancy and that the Phantom set was totally awesome. We each bought a big glossy program as a souvenir. Lilah said that sometimes cast members actually came out into the lobby after the show to sign autographs. That would be so cool!

I think we were literally sitting on the edge of our seats throughout the whole production, caught up both in the story and the performers and in the glamorous costumes as well as the set. When it got to the part where the big chandelier falls on the audience we looked up to see a huge chandelier glittering and trembling above our heads and for awhile it really looked like it was going to fall straight down on us. Tara grabbed onto my arm and I grabbed onto Lilah's and we just held on until the scene was over. Then we looked at each other in relief and maybe some embarrassment, too. But we were glad we hadn't gotten demolished after all.

Tara was totally impressed with the woman who acted and sang the part of Christine. She had the most amazing voice! So did the Phantom. Plus he had the body of a hunk. I would have killed to see him without his mask! I immediately began wishing he'd be out in the lobby signing autographs after the show.

I told Tara I thought he was a hunk while we were standing in line in the ladies' room during the intermission.

"Me, too!" she admitted with glittering eyes, surprising even me. She hardly ever looked at a guy other than her own boyfriend. Not even actors and singers.

"Wouldn't it be just too cool to get his autograph on our programs?" she gushed. "Not to mention seeing him close-up and without his mask!"

Sometimes we thought exactly alike.

Lilah had a special treat for us during intermission. She'd bought each of us an awesome dark chocolate truffle that absolutely melted on the tongue. She also treated us to French mineral water and she did let us each have a sip from her tall champagne flute.

It wasn't the first time Tara and I had tried alcohol. I mean there was often beer floating around at parties, sometimes they were even "keg parties," and we'd gone to a couple of those. I never understood the big deal about beer though. I thought it tasted pretty gross and Tara agreed with me. But that taste of champagne was something else. It was smooth and light and I thought, even after my one sip, that there was a drink I would really enjoy. Someday. In the meanwhile sparkling mineral water would do just fine.

After Phantom of the Opera was over, we began chattering excitedly about the performance, the three of us all talking at once about different parts of the show, as we headed outside.

Lilah had agreed to let us hang out in the lobby awhile to see if any cast members came out to meet the people. Tara and I met the woman who played Christine. She was even more beautiful close-up and was super nice to us, too, asking us about ourselves while she wrote out her name. Tara told her she had the best voice she'd ever heard. I thought my best bud had a pretty good voice herself and she had acted a couple of singing parts in school productions. Who knows? Maybe someday Tara would be appearing right here on Broadway and I'd have a famous friend.

We hung out for about twenty minutes or so but, much to our disappointment, the hunk who played the Phantom never did come out.

"Hmph," Tara said, dismissing him when I complained. "He's probably got a super ego anyway."

We met Lilah by the door and the three of us headed for one of the taxis lined up at the curb in front of the theatre.

A minute later, I wondered if I should have pointed out to Tara and Lilah what I saw as we streamed out of the theatre lobby along with other theatre-goers who had also hung around for autographs. I guess I should say who I saw. There, leaning against a lamppost across the street, was Curt Bonner. The scary part was not so much that he was there, but the fact that he wore a black cape with black satin lining and a tall top hat. He could tell the moment I noticed him and he removed the top hat and gave me a little bow before disappearing into the crowd.

I immediately felt goose bumps along my arms and the prickle of hairs down the back of my neck. That made two extremely weird things Curt had done that day. First was what he'd said in the park, about getting the John Lennon assassin some day, and then his odd dress and behavior outside the theatre. It would have made more sense to me if Curt had been wearing a phantom half-mask. At least they were selling those in the theatre gift shop and even though he hadn't got tickets to the show, he still could have gone into the shop.

One of our school friends had warned us that in New York City, "anything goes," but this was just too weird. I mean, Curt supposedly wasn't even from New York. He told us he was here on vacation, just like me and Tara, and that he lived near Boston. Well, what kind of teenage guy, no matter where he's from, brings a top hat and cape on vacation with him? What kind of teenage guy even owns a top hat and cape? Only a weirdo, a voice in the back of my mind answered my questions.

That was the first time I could recall thinking the word stalker and it scared me big time. I decided then I had to tell Tara what I feared was going on. I would tell her before we went to bed, but I wasn't sure I would tell my great-aunt. I didn't want her to worry or, even worse, have her call and alarm the parents. Both our parents had a tendency to overreact and it would be just like them to try to make us go home early. I knew better than to upset them, when I didn't really have to. I didn't want to take the chance that they'd never let us leave Oregon City again! No, I didn't think I should tell Lilah. She might overreact as well.

In the cab on the way home Lilah entertained us with stories about other fabulous shows she'd attended. It would have been great to stay long enough to see other shows. But I was still thrilled with seeing this one!

Despite the distraction Curt had provided by showing up outside the theatre, I was kind of envying the exciting life Lilah had in New York City. I even started wondering if there was any way my parents would let me go to art school here in two years when I finished my general ed requirements. Would Lilah actually let me move in with her? I could just imagine how fun that would be. Not to mention everything I could learn from her. I always felt it helped my creativity to be around other creative people. And what an inspiration my great-aunt would be! Maybe I could ask her before Tara and I went back home to Oregon.

We were all still too high on adrenaline to want to go to bed right away. So, once we'd changed out of our glitzy clothes, we all met back in the dining area, Tara and I dressed in oversized night shirts and Lilah in purple silk -- what else? -- pajamas. She was about to put on the kettle for a pot of tea when she seemed to have second thoughts. She turned to look at us and a bright sparkle came into her sapphire eyes -- I still felt weird looking into those eyes when they were so much like my own -- and she grinned, holding a finger up to her chin like she was trying to decide about something.

"You two must promise not to say anything about this to anyone back in Oregon City," she said and I could hear the mischief in her voice. "Especially not your parents. They'd never let you visit me again!"

Tara and I glanced at each other and shrugged, then turned back to Lilah. "We promise," we said in what sounded like a single voice. It was obvious to the both of us that my aunt had a treat in mind, obviously a sinful treat. Just how sinful we found out a minute later when she pulled a bottle of champagne out of the fridge.

"Are you serious?" Tara said immediately and I just laughed. My great-aunt was sure a cool lady for someone her age. None of my grandparents back home were as liberal and daring as she. Lilah was pretty outrageous and I just knew I would have to find a way to get back to New York.

She brought the most gorgeous crystal champagne flutes out of one of the high cupboards.

"But," she added in what might pass for a stern voice, "Only one glass each." Then she laughed. "I was even younger than you two when I first developed a taste for champagne. Definitely one of life's greatest pleasures."

"Right up there with chocolate," I added helpfully, causing Tara to run back to our room and return with a bar of white chocolate which she broke into three pieces.

"These might not be quite on the level of those to-die-for truffles we had at the theatre," she said. "But then this isn't exactly roughing it either."

"Here, here!" Lilah agreed, handing us each a tall glass filled with bouncing bubbles. "Let me think now. I believe a toast is called for,"


"I know," Tara said. "Here's to the rest of this trip being as much fun as it's already been in just two days."

I laughed. It was simple and straightforward and we all agreed. The three of us clinked our glasses and then raised them to our lips. "Mmm," I said after the bubbles had tingled across my tongue and slid coolly down my throat. "This is definitely a life I could get used to."

I was starting to think it wouldn't be too difficult to spring my New York art school idea on my aunt. She was so beyond cool I was almost certain she'd agree.

Lilah begged off to bed once we'd finished our champagne and chocolate, saying "A lady must always get enough beauty sleep."

Tara and I giggled, and I wondered how much of the ditzy way I was feeling had to do with the alcohol I seemed to have so little tolerance for. But the buzz didn't last long. Unfortunately. Once Tara and I had washed our faces and brushed our teeth I remembered my plan to 'fess-up' about seeing weird Curt that night. Maybe it would help to get it off my chest. Maybe she wouldn't think it was anything to worry about, I hoped. Hah! Tara was a worse worrier than I was. She would probably add worries I hadn't even thought of yet.

"Tara, we gotta talk," I said, after propping myself up on several of my aunt's bright flower power pillows.

"Don't look so serious," she scolded. "It's not like we're suddenly gonna become alcoholics after one glass of champagne," she said.

I stared at her. "What are you talking about? I wasn't even thinking about the champagne."

She frowned. "Then what's up? You look like you've done something really bad. You look like you did before our grad night party. When you spent all that time dancing with other guys 'cause you thought Rory didn't care enough to get jealous. Then you felt almost sick to your stomach when you saw how hurt he looked."

I rolled my eyes. "This is way worse than that," I said. "And it doesn't have anything to do with something I've done."

"Then what's up?" she asked again.

So I told her about seeing Curt outside the theatre that night and about what he was wearing and what he'd done. Tara's eyes grew wide and then I noticed both her hands were curled into fists on top of her quilt. "That creep," she said. "Why didn't you tell me then? I think he could be stalking you!"

Even though I'd already figured out the same thing, it made me feel worse to hear the word said out loud. Suddenly, my stomach felt queasy and I knew it didn't have anything to do with the champagne or the rich chocolate. Everything I'd ever read in newspapers and magazines about stalking was swimming around in my head.

"What do you think I ought to do?" I asked, feeling hopeless and confused. "I don't think there's actually anything I can do" I moaned, answering my own question. "I mean he hasn't actually done anything to me. Weird behavior isn't exactly against the law."

"Yeah, if it was, prison overcrowding would be even worse than it already is."

"And I don't think we ought to tell my aunt," I said, adding my fear of being grounded for life if she told my parents.

"Are you kidding?" Tara said. "After tonight? Your aunt is way cool, Heather. No way would she get us in any trouble with the parents."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I admitted. "But I still don't want her to worry unnecessarily. I mean maybe we're both overreacting. He knew we were going to the theatre tonight because we talked about it in the park. But what are the chances of him showing up tomorrow when we take that trip out to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island? He can't possibly know we're going there."

Tara just shook her head. "It doesn't help that you're having those weird recurring dreams about somebody chasing you down a dark tunnel," she said. "That is just way too spooky."

"Thanks a lot," I said. "I was trying to make myself feel better so I might get some sleep tonight."

But she was right. Having a weirdo following us around didn't help my dream situation at all. It seemed like I tossed and turned for hours before finally falling into a restless sleep. And that night's dream was the worst one yet.

This time instead of running through a tunnel I was climbing up a dark winding staircase. Narrow and twisting and turning it rose. Higher and higher. Always higher.

I climbed for what seemed like hours, hours stretching into days, days into eternity. I kept looking up to see if I was anywhere near the top but I could see nothing ahead of me. Nothing except more steps and the darkness beyond. Always more steps.

My breath was coming fast and shallow and I could feel the steady thudding of my heart against my chest. I could feel every muscle in my legs ache with the exertion of the climb. But there was no stopping, no stopping until I reached the top of the staircase and whatever was up there. I couldn't stop going farther up and I couldn't go back down either.

I could hear the heavy breathing. He was down there. He. The same unknown person who had chased me through countless tunnels. He was there below me and climbing too, steadier and more sure-footed than I was, I knew that instinctively. He was stronger, faster than me, and it was only a matter of time before he caught up with me. Caught me.

It was growing hotter as the heat writhed inside that winding upward tunnel. Stifling. Sticky. Robbing me of more breath, making it impossible to breathe normally, impossible to go any faster.

Suddenly a faint light up ahead. I was finally reaching the top, nearing the end of my climb.

But he was still behind me and I would have no place else to go.

I reached the top, pulled myself onto the landing and tried to see around me. But it was too dark and I was exhausted. I leaned against the railing, trying to catch my breath, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart.

Then a breeze, a sudden gust and I looked and saw the open door. I heard him laugh.

"There's no place else to go, Heather."

Then I was falling, falling, into the darkness of the night.

Chapter 4

"This is so exciting! I can remember wanting to see the Statue of Liberty ever since I was a little kid," I said to Lilah on our way out to see Lady Liberty the next morning. I was so glad Lilah had decided to take the morning off from her work to join us -- especially after last night's dream.

"We have a big copper sculpture back in Portland, too," Tara added. "It's called Portlandia and is supposed to be second in size to the Statue of Liberty, even though it's actually only about one third of her size. But since Portlandia seems big to me, I figure Liberty must be HUGE!"

"I don't remember anything like that," Lilah said. "But I haven't been back to Oregon in awhile."

"You should come visit us soon, Lilah. Mom and Dad would love to see you. And I could show you my paintings and drawings."

Tara and I began our third day in New York in excited anticipation of a great experience. Well, maybe I was a lot more excited than Tara, mainly because my best bud had told me long before our trip that there was no way she was going up inside the statue with me.

Tara became claustrophobic about five years ago when she was playing hide-and-seek with her kid brother, who was four at the time. She was hiding in this big old trunk in their parents' room when the trunk lid accidentally got latched and she couldn't get it open from inside. Right away she freaked out and started screaming and banging on the lid and her mom heard her and let her out. But she's been super claustrophobic ever since and even has trouble getting in elevators. We still hadn't made it to the top of the Empire State Building and I couldn't wait to see if she really was going to go up in the elevator.

We wanted to see the statue early, so we wanted to catch the first boat from Battery Park out to Liberty Island. Our guidebook said that was the best thing to do during the summer when there were the biggest crowds. It also got super hot inside the statue later in the day.

"This is so exciting," I said to Tara on our way there.

"Yeah," she agreed. "But I can't imagine getting used to having these tall buildings everywhere. 'Way more than in Portland. It's all kind of overwhelming, don't you think?"

"I think it's way cool," I replied, turning my head every which way, trying to look out of all the taxi windows at once so I wouldn't miss anything.

"Battery Park," the cab driver said. "Where do you ladies want to get off?"

"Look, Heather, there she is! Our first look at Lady Liberty!"

"Wow," I said, my voice in totally awed agreement with hers. "It is way cool to actually see her."

"No matter how many times I've seen the great lady," Lilah said, "the first glimpse always takes my breath away. Mr. Bartholdi was a master of his art," she said, referring to the statue's creator, French sculptor Auguste Bartholdi.

We paid the fare and scrambled out of the cab near the ticket office. There were already people in line for the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island Ferry so I was especially glad we'd come early. The whole time we were waiting to buy tickets and board the ferry we just kept looking out over the Hudson River.

"Why is she so green?" Tara asked once the three of us were on our way across to Liberty Island. "Portlandia's not green and she's made of the same copper isn't she?"

"Yeah, but Portlandia just sits on a building in downtown Portland," I said.

Lilah added, "The Statue of Liberty is out in the sea and salt air and has been for over a hundred years. The Great Lady is entitled to be a little green."

We all laughed. We had climbed to the top deck of the ferry and stood against the railing watching the statue get bigger and bigger as we approached. The slight chill in the morning air felt good against my face.

"Imagine how the millions of people who came to America from other countries felt seeing the statue for the first time," I mused.

"Yeah," said Tara, adding, "I'm looking forward to the Ellis Island tour later on."

Tara's great-grandparents had passed through Ellis Island on their journey from Ireland. I knew it would be exciting for her to see and she had promised her parents she'd take lots of pictures there.

We got off the ferry and walked up the path to stand in line for admission to the statue's museum.

"Oh, my gosh!" Tara said craning her neck to look up. "You were right. She is huge!"

"Imagine what a great view there is from way up there," I said, trying to sound casual.

Tara narrowed her eyes and looked at me. "There is no way," she insisted. "I told you when we were still home that I wasn't going up those narrow winding stairs with you. There is no way," she said again, this time with a shudder for effect.

"Okay," I said, grinning. "I had to try once. How about you, Lilah?"

"No, thank you," my aunt replied. "I've made many a climb up there in my younger days. I've even been up in the torch, which was also open to visitors many years ago. But right now, the five flights to my apartment are just enough. Twenty-two would do me in."

"So what are you two going to do while I climb up to the top?"

Tara shrugged. "Oh, we'll just hang around the island, check out the gift shop and the museum, take some pictures -- you know, kill time. It can't take you that long to get up there and look out, can it?"

"I don't know," I teased. "It could take hours. Three hundred and fifty-four steps!" Saying the number out loud scared me for a minute. Would I really be able to make it up all those stairs? It would be the equivalent of walking up twenty-two flights.

"Well, I guess that's what you've been working out on the gym's stair-stepper to prepare for," Tara teased right back. "You can do it, Heather. I know you can."

I decided to start the climb immediately and check out the museum after I got down. I wanted to go up before the place became too packed with visitors. So, leaving Tara and Lilah in the museum, I headed for the stairs.

The first couple of flights were no problem and I felt like I was making good progress. The worst part was that the stairs were so narrow and they wound up in a steep spiral.

I stopped counting stairs after awhile. There was too much noise from all the other people who were in there, climbing steps both above and below me. My legs were feeling weaker and it was getting harder to catch my breath. I had to tell myself to just keep climbing, one step after the other, one foot at a time, and to keep focused on my ultimate goal.

Finally, finally, winded but still in positive spirits, I heard somebody right above me give out a whoop. "I made it!" That was enough to give me that last needed boost of adrenaline and suddenly I was at the top too, actually in the crown at the top of the Statue of Liberty, almost three hundred feet above the point where I'd started out. It felt incredibly awesome to have made it!

The first thing I noticed some people do was lean against the side wall, trying to catch their breath. But I hurried over to one of the windows for a dynamite view of the surroundings, then moved from window to window so I could see all around the statue. My legs were a little shaky, so I stepped back from the window. It was a long way down. Even though I thought it probably wouldn't turn out very good I took a picture from up there just so I could show Tara what I saw.

It was after I'd clicked the camera, while I was lingering at the last window thinking I would start going down soon, that someone came right up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. I jumped, startled, and spun around to see who was there. I knew it couldn't be Tara. No way would her claustrophobia let her get up that narrow spiral staircase. And Lilah had opted firmly to stay below with her.

But I had no idea it would be Curt Bonner.

"Another pleasant coincidence," he said.

"How did you get up here?" I demanded, then thought that sounded stupid and maybe even rude. "I mean I didn't see you on the staircase or in the line down below."

He grinned, his features still perfect -- maybe too perfect? He'd made both Tara and me uneasy yesterday with his weird comments, not to mention the threat he made in Central Park. That plus his appearance outside the theatre last night, in top hat and cape, was just too far out. He was showing up everywhere we were since the day we'd arrived in New York. Was it really just a coincidence as he claimed?

Suddenly I didn't like being in such an enclosed space with him, even if there were a lot of other people around. Suddenly I felt last night's dream wrapping nightmare fingers around me like a fist clenching my insides together. My heart began to pound and I felt lightheaded.

Curt gestured towards one of the windows. "Did you catch the view already?" he asked. "It's a long way down isn't it? It's a good thing they've got grilling on the windows or this would make a popular suicide jump."

A chill washed over me despite the crowd and the closed in space. I looked around, half expecting to see an open door, half expecting to feel that sudden breeze I'd felt in my dream. Why did Curt Bonner always say such weird stuff? Was it this guy's mission in life to shock people with his off-the-wall comments? I knew I had to get out of there.

"Well, you probably want to look around up here. Bye," I said in a rush, heading for the stairs.

"No, I'm all done up here," he said, following. "It would be my great pleasure to escort a lovely lady down a treacherous path."

Having him suddenly slip into his weird speech mode didn't help at all. I wanted to believe he was just a quirky guy with a flair for dramatic speech, but I knew from yesterday that Tara had already made up her mind he was a weirdo. And she could be right!

I swallowed hard and kept moving, grabbing the railing tightly as I made my way down. At that moment I kept two thoughts uppermost in my mind. I had to keep going down and, above all, I had to keep from falling.

Would Tara be there when I got outside? She would not be thrilled when I reached the bottom of the statue with Curt trailing right behind me.

He stayed close on my tail the whole time I was descending the narrow spiral steps. I kept imagining I felt his breath at the back of my neck. I felt that if I stopped suddenly he was so close he would slam right into me.

I tried to speed up my descent but with all the other people in front of me I didn't have much freedom of movement.

Part of the way down I wished I had started counting the steps from the top, the way I had tried counting on the way up. It might have kept my mind off of the constant presence of Curt right behind me, by giving me a distraction, and it also would have let me know how close to the bottom we were. I didn't want to look up too much, because even though I wanted to measure our progress down, I didn't want to encourage him in any way by acknowledging his presence. For the first time in my life I felt claustrophobic and I could suddenly understand Tara's feelings about being in closed-in spaces.

I concentrated on the steps below me, carefully lowering one foot at a time. Hurry, hurry, I silently willed the people below me. I need air, I need space. I need out!

Finally, after what seemed like hours, we reached the bottom of the staircase and I let out the gush of breath I hadn't realized I was holding. What a relief. Out in a wide-open space again. Not that the Liberty Museum located in the statue's pedestal was exactly a wide-open space. I mean it was still indoors. But at least here I didn't have the creepy feeling Curt was breathing down the back of my neck.

I still wanted to spend some time looking around the museum but my first thought was to get outside, walk around the statue a bit and look for Tara and Lilah. I didn't see them in the museum so I wondered if they were outside enjoying the nice day and the fresh sea air.

I rushed outside without turning to see if Curt was still right behind me and started walking quickly around the statue, scanning the crowds for a sign of the familiar faces of my best bud and my aunt. Wait'll I told Tara who I just happened to run into.

Although I'm sure it was only a matter of minutes, to me it felt like I was searching for hours. Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my right shoulder and I must have jumped a mile. It was the exact same thing Curt Bonner had done in the crown of the statue. I spun around, ready to spit out some rude retort.

"Listen, you...."

But it wasn't him. Breathing a sigh of relief I thanked God and Lady Liberty it was Tara instead. She frowned.

"What's up? You look like you were expecting an axe murderer or someone equally delightful."

I grinned at her, feeling silly for overreacting, then looked at the top of her head. "What are you wearing?" I gasped. "It looks so silly."

Perched on Tara's head was a bright green foam crown, a bright Christmas green, not the subtle, weathered bluish-green of the statue itself. Seven spikes pointed outwards, just like the seven spikes in Lady Liberty's crown, which Tara informed me represented the world's seven continents and seven seas. Besides shopping, she had also spent her time reading up on the statue.

Then I noticed Lilah coming up beside her. My great-aunt was wearing a bright green foam crown too, and although it clashed violently with her flowing purple pantsuit, she looked just as self-assured and dignified as ever. Suddenly I just had to laugh, mostly with relief and maybe a little bit out of the hysteria left over from my run-in with Curt Bonner at the top of the statue.

"But why is there this weird thing on top?" I suddenly wondered aloud, looking at the crowns more intently. Sticking out behind the spikes of the crown was a six inch foam cutout of the statue itself, also bright green.

Tara pouted, pretending to be hurt. "You don't like it? Then I guess it's too bad I bought you one, too." She took one out of the bag she was carrying and held it out to me.

"You bought me one of those ridicu -- I mean lovely foam crowns? Now what made you do a stu -- I mean a thoughtful thing like that?" I couldn't resist teasing her about her choice of souvenirs.

"Well, look around here," she said defensively. "Lots of people are wearing them. It's the thing to buy to show that you've been here."

I looked around, paying attention to detail for the first time since I'd come out of the statue's pedestal. Tara was right! Dozens of people, mostly kids but some adults too, were wearing the whimsical crowns. Lilah was smiling like the proverbial cat.

"Actually," said Tara, touching one of the foam spikes, "I have to confess. I didn't buy this for me. I bought it for my kid brother." She laughed. "But it's kind of fun to wear it here on the island where it's hard to look stupid with so many others wearing them. Now put yours on!"

I rolled my eyes, but she had already lightened my mood considerably, so I decided to be a good sport and wear the bright green crown on my head. Eventually. "Well," I said, teasing her a bit," I'll think about it. But just here on Liberty Island and maybe on the boat but as soon as my feet hit shore, it's off."

"I think they look totally cool," Tara insisted. "Oh, and I still want to know why you whirled around ready to attack when I put my hand on your shoulder just now. You looked really spooked."

"Oh, yeah, that reminds me. I still have to go back in and look around the museum. I was trying to get away from someone who did that same thing to me when I was up in the crown."

She studied me with narrowed eyes. "Get away from someone? You mean like a pickpocket or something?" It was well known that pickpockets frequented crowded tourist areas.

I shook my head, suddenly distracted by a familiar figure walking up behind Tara. She turned her head to follow my gaze.

"Oh, great," she muttered. "Him again." She looked back at me and the expression on her face clearly said that Curt Bonner had just spoiled her fun. "Is he going to show up everywhere?"

"I don't know," I said, turning to look at him. That darn polite instinct that had been instilled in me by my parents made me wonder if I should introduce him to my aunt. She was looking at Curt, seeming very interested.

Tara, who could also be polite when she wanted to, clearly did not want to now. "What are you doing here, Bonner?" she demanded.

"You left the statue so fast, I lost sight of you for awhile," he told me.

"That's the idea," Tara said through gritted teeth. If Curt heard what she said, he obviously decided to ignore her.

"We were just getting ready to go in and see the museum. So I guess we can't stop and talk now," I said pointedly, hoping he'd take the hint and leave us alone. To my surprise he then said he'd only come over to say goodbye before catching the next ferry. When he turned away, I breathed a sigh of relief.

"That was easy," I said. "Maybe we were just overreacting. Although I have to admit he scared me showing up in the crown with me when I had no idea he was even on the island." Briefly, I filled Tara in on what had transpired while I was in the statue. I told Lilah that Curt was just some guy we'd met on the tour the day before, not wanting to worry her about what a pain he'd become. How did he know where we were going? This is a big city...

"Maybe you would have been better off being claustrophobic like me," Tara said. "I can't even imagine being stuck in close quarters with a creep like that."

"Well, I wasn't thrilled to see him," I admitted. "But I wouldn't have missed the experience. It was a great feeling when I finally reached the top."

We watched as Curt headed towards the ferry landing.

"It probably was just a coincidence," I said. "I bet -- I hope -- this is the last time we'll see him." I hoped saying it out loud would make me believe it, but I had to admit I wasn't totally confident.

"Anyway," Tara said, "Are you going to wear your crown or not?"

I made a face while she arranged the crown on my head. "There, that's so much better," she decided. "Now you look totally patriotic."

She was right. Even though I felt silly, I also felt very patriotic as I gazed back up at the statue.

"That is one tall woman," I said before putting an arm around my best bud and accompanying her and my aunt inside to check out the museum. Maybe after that I would go to the gift shop and get Rory a foam crown too.

Suddenly it seemed extremely important to hang onto my sense of humor.

Chapter 5

I decided, with Tara's urging, to tell my aunt about Curt Bonner that evening at dinner. The three of us had ended up having a great time on Liberty Island after Curt left and I got back into the spirit of the adventure. The museum was awesome and I liked the gift shop, too, where I did buy a foam crown for Rory as a joke and also some post cards, a guide book and a Statue of Liberty pen. Then we went over to Ellis Island, which was a half a mile away but also in New York harbor. Visiting Ellis Island was another emotional experience, but in a different way than seeing the Statue had been.

The Immigration Museum was pretty interesting and we got to tour some of the different buildings, including the hospital. There were tons of photographs of some of the millions of people who had come through Ellis Island to find a new life here in America. I think Tara was especially affected by what we saw since her own great-grandparents had come through there and she knew a lot about them from her grandparents.

After we took the ferry back to Battery Park and had lunch, Lilah decided it was time for her to go home and work on her commission. But Tara and I stayed to explore some more of the city on our own.

We eventually headed over to the Empire State Building, and I was thrilled to have Tara actually go up to the top in the elevator with me. She told me that if I could climb up twenty-two stories' worth of narrow winding stairs and then be up in Liberty's crown with a creep like Curt Bonner, then she could survive a supervised elevator with a lot of other people who weren't worried about anything at all. Anyway, although I can't say she didn't get nervous, but she did great and we both agreed that the view from up there was totally awesome.

At first I had a million reasons why it wasn't a good idea to tell Lilah about my stalker, the main one being that I didn't want our visit to cause her any amount of stress or worry. And there was still my fear of her calling Oregon City to tell my parents and then having them insist we return home immediately. Despite the annoyance of Curt following us all over the city, we were still having a blast and would hate to have to cut our visit short.

But Tara didn't think Lilah would make things worse for us and she urged me to give my aunt a chance. "Are you kidding me, Heather?" she said when I told her I thought she might call my dad. "After getting to know her the past few days and seeing how totally cool she is? I bet the last thing she'd do is treat us like kids and go tattle to your folks. She might encourage you to tell them yourself but I think she'll ultimately let you make your own decision."

"I guess you're right," I admitted. "But what if she thinks we ought to call the cops?"

"I don't know, girlfriend." Tara shrugged. "But talking to the cops might get rid of the creep," she said. "It might just make him quit tailing you. When is he supposed to go back to Boston or wherever he said he was from?"

"I thought he said 'a couple of weeks.' And it's some small town near Boston."

I hadn't yet decided how I was going to break the stalker news to my aunt, but I thought maybe I would do it at dinner that evening. Lilah was still in great spirits from our adventures that morning and she told us she'd gotten a lot of work done on her project in the afternoon. I decided to wait until after we'd finished our main courses, while we were lingering over coffee or tea and dessert. She'd taken us to an Italian restaurant that night and the food was wonderful -- homemade pasta and the best sauce I'd ever tasted. I didn't think I had room for dessert but Lilah talked us into trying their homemade spumoni ice cream, which she insisted we surely had room for.

My great-aunt made a comment about the good time we seemed to be having and I was sitting there trying to decide how to spoil the mood by mentioning Curt and ignoring Tara's pointed looks for me to go ahead with it. Then suddenly my take-charge friend blurted out, "We have a really big problem, though, and Heather's gonna tell you all about it now."

I glared at her. "I was getting around to it," I defended. "I was just trying to figure out exactly how to start."

Lilah looked from me to Tara and back again, frowning, her elegant brows drawn together and a worried look in her dark blue eyes for the first time since we'd arrived.

"Well, go on," she said in her no-nonsense way. "Spill it."

"I don't want you to panic," I said, hoping to keep it from sounding that extreme. "It's just that we've met this guy here who's been following us around." Nothing like getting right to the point. I knew Tara would approve and she nodded before pointedly adding, "Make that following you around, Heather. I'm sure he's not interested in me."

Lilah's frown deepened. "I take it it's that fellow from Liberty Island this morning," she said and we both nodded. "What exactly do you mean by 'following you around'? How did you meet him and exactly how has he behaved so far?"

Tara and I told my aunt the whole story together, starting with him being in our shuttle bus and about him joining us at the last minute the day we took the bus tour of the city.

"How could he possibly have known you were going to take that tour?" Lilah asked. "What did you say to him in the shuttle bus?"

"Only hello and where we were from and that kind of talk. I know for a fact I never said 'oh, by the way, we're taking a bus tour of the city in the morning, meeting at the Lincoln Hotel. Why don't you join us?' That's part of what's so scary about him. How has he known about everyplace we were planning to be? The tour, Strawberry Fields, then Liberty Island this morning."

"Unless he started following us from day one," Tara said. "He could have taken a cab after he got off our shuttle bus and followed us the rest of the way to Greenwich Village, saw where we were staying, then hung out early the next morning so he could watch us leave."

"You might be right," I said, hesitating. "I did see him that first night too, in the Indian restaurant."

"You what?!" Tara grabbed my arm and glared. "When were you planning to let me in on that piece of info, Heather?"

"I know, I know. I don't blame you for being mad. But at first I thought he was such a babe and you obviously didn't like him from the minute you set eyes on him. I just wanted a chance to get to know him a little bit in the beginning. Those first two times I ran into him really seemed like coincidences then. Like maybe even that it was 'meant to be'."

Tara's green eyes flashed. "Those two times? When was the other time?" she demanded.

I peered at Lilah to check out her reaction and she was looking at me in kind of a sad way. Was that because Tara was mad at me or because she thought I was stupid to be attracted to Curt in the first place?

Anyway, I told both of them about the incident at LaGuardia. Even about the strange words he spoke. "I thought he was just super polite," I said. "Or just a bit different."

"He's different all right," Tara said.

I reached across our side of the booth and put my hand over hers. "Listen, Tara, I'm sorry, okay? I never in my wildest dreams expected things to turn out this way."

"Speaking of dreams, Heather, why don't you fill Lilah in on those weird ones you've been having?"

I let out a heavy sigh. "You're right, I guess. I should tell everything now. To you and to Lilah." I turned to my aunt who looked grim, but interested. She was, perhaps wisely, staying out of the upset between my friend and me. I didn't blame Tara for being mad at me. We usually told each other absolutely everything. And right away, too. That's what best buds do. Even I couldn't understand my decision to hold back about the first two times seeing Curt.

I told Lilah all about the dreams I'd started having about a week before our trip. It was stuff Tara already knew -- I hadn't kept anything about the dreams a secret. Probably because I knew how interested my friend was and how she'd been reading up on them lately. And also, because I think telling someone, someone I thought might understand, had offered me a small amount of comfort.

It turned out, to my total surprise, that Lilah was into dreams, too. Like, I had no idea!

"Didn't you notice those metaphysical books on my shelves?" she asked. "Dreams, astrology, numerology?"

"I guess I only paid attention to the art books," I admitted.

"Then you must have a dream dictionary!" Tara sounded excited. "I was just wishing last night that I'd brought mine."

"Well," said Lilah, dipping a spoon into her dish of spumoni, "We can look through mine when we get home."

"All ri-i-ight!" Tara said. "I wish I had an aunt like you. You are one cool lady."

"These dreams of yours are very interesting, Heather," Lilah continued. "And I'm almost certain they have something to do with this young man."

"Curt Bonner," I said. "Man, I wish I'd never heard the name. I wish I'd never thought he looked hot and wanted to get to know him."

"There's another reason to get closer to Rory when you get back home. Sweet, safe, reliable Rory who you claimed was a bit dull," Tara said.

"It's not that I think he's dull," I defended. "I just hoped I'd meet someone exciting in New York. Someone more...artistic," I finished, looking at my aunt for support.

"There's nothing wrong with artistic," Lilah agreed. "But every once in awhile the reliable guy is the better choice."

I was shocked by that statement coming from the eccentric character I'd been getting to know.

"But about the matter of this fellow following you," my aunt added. "his behavior definitely could fit the definition of stalking. And laws have been put into effect in the last few years to crack down on this kind of behavior. There have been an increasing amount of stalking cases in the news. Victims just about anywhere -- or anyone, celebrity and non-celebrity, too."

"That's one thing that surprised me," I said. "I thought stuff like this only happened to singers and to movie stars. People like David Letterman and my mom's hero John Lennon. I mean, I'm just a nobody from Oregon City."

My aunt sat up straight and tall in her chair, her eyes flashing. "I don't ever want to hear something like that coming from your mouth again, young lady," she scolded. "You are definitely not a nobody. You're a human being who possesses talent and character and individuality. Where you're from doesn't make the least bit of difference nor does the fact that you're young. Each and every person who's born makes a mark on this earth, whether it be to a handful of people or a world full of them."

"Whoa," I said, holding my hands out in front of me to ward off anymore of her words. "I guess you told me off."

She sat back, less on edge. "I just don't want you to ever sell yourself short, Heather. And you keep in mind what I said as well, Tara," she added to my friend who was sitting there nodding, speechless for a change, attentive, with her eyes open wide.

"Anyway, back to what I know about stalking," Lilah said. "Granted this young fellow's behavior is annoying, not to mention frightening. But unless he has actually said or done something threatening, there's nothing the police can do at this stage."

"But his behavior is threatening," Tara protested, and I nodded in total agreement.

"Not really," Lilah insisted. "So far everyplace you've been to and seen him has been a public place. He hasn't made any verbal threats to you, there have been no written threats, nothing. Technically, all he's doing is presenting himself at the same location where you happen to be. If anyone called him on it he could claim coincidence."

"You mean Heather can't get the police to issue him a warning? You know, 'stop following the girls around town,' or something like that."

Lilah shook her head, then checked out the bill the waiter had just deposited on our table. "All he's actually been doing is sightseeing," she said. "That's what he'd probably claim. He's a tourist, just like you two girls." She started gathering her things.

"Come on, let's go home and see what we can figure out about this dream situation."

It was obvious the three of us were of one mind on the way home. No one was in the mood to window shop and the only thing we talked about was Curt Bonner and how we were surprised he hadn't shown up at the Italian restaurant.

I couldn't avoid scanning the streets and alleys we passed, checking out anyone standing in a storefront or waiting to cross the street. Was Curt somewhere around and I just hadn't spotted him yet? In spite of my paranoia, I was able to allow a small glimmer of hope to enter my troubled thoughts. Maybe my brush-off after we got out of the Statue of Liberty had had an effect after all. Maybe he wouldn't "just happen to be" anywhere else on our vacation.

The minute we stepped into the apartment Lilah headed for one of her many overflowing bookshelves and pulled out a couple of volumes. Then we settled around the dining table, which had become our favorite gathering place.

"Now," Lilah began, fixing each of us with a getting-down-to-business look, "One important thing we know about dreams is that they can be a forewarning of things to come. They can also help us solve a problem we might be having. With your dreams, Heather, both situations might very well apply."

"Like my having the first dreams before our trip warned me that I would meet a weirdo who would start hassling me?"

"Undoubtedly," Lilah agreed.

"That's the same thing I told you the other night," Tara added.

I understood about that but there was one thing that still confused me. "How can this same dream that warned me of an upcoming problem help me solve that problem? I don't get that part."

"We'll get to that," my aunt said. "You can also learn to control your dreams, though I don't know if you should try that at this point. I think what we should do right now is go over any symbols that appear in these dreams and try to determine what they might mean."

She grabbed a notepad and pen from the middle of the table and got ready to write. "Why don't we start by having you describe the dreams to us again? Try to tell them in as much detail as you can remember and don't leave anything out, no matter how insignificant it may seem."

Tara leaned forward and propped her arms on the table in front of her, her face a picture of interest. "This is gonna be so fascinating," she exclaimed, adding, "Don't you worry, girlfriend. This'll help us figure out what you should do."

I wished I felt her confidence. Frankly, one part of me was naively hoping Curt was history, and another part of me was still scared to death.

For the next two hours the three of us put our heads together. I repeated my dreams again in as much detail as I could remember. It wasn't easy.

I told about the damp tunnel, about my inability to see much farther than a hand in front of my face. I described the cloying smell of mildew, the feel of the packed earth beneath my feet. Every time I pictured myself back in that dark tunnel my stomach flipped over and I felt like I was going to break out in a sweat.

Then I had to tell about the breathing. The heavy breathing was the worst part. It sounded like some kind of huge monster following behind me. A monster that was gaining on me, catching up with each heavy step. I described it as being like a scene from Jurassic Park where the terrified people were running from the T-rex who was close on their trail.

Then I told them about last night's dream, my most recent nightmare; I hadn't even told Tara about yet. The one I'd been so afraid was coming true this morning. My stalker and I -- on the cramped spiral staircase inside the Statue of Liberty.

Tara and my aunt listened to it all, every once in awhile asking me to repeat or elaborate on some part of the dream. Lilah jotted things down on her notepad, and every once in awhile I could tell by the expression on her face that she had an idea. Then she'd hold up a hand for me to pause while she scribbled furiously.

"Okay," she said when I felt drained, like I had told everything I could possibly remember about the dreams. "Let's start with the way the dream opens. You're in a tunnel, a dark tunnel where you can barely see what's right in front of you. The darkness represents the uncertainty of the situation, the not knowing what lies ahead of you. You might have started having the dream right before this trip because you didn't exactly know what to expect. Fear of the unknown."

"You mean like I didn't know what you'd be like or how the week would go? Even though Tara and I had made a list of everyplace we wanted to see."

"Sure," she agreed. " For one thing, you hadn't seen me for more than a decade and had very little memory of the me you had met. You might have been afraid you were coming to see an absolute ogre."

I laughed. "You mean you're my monster?"

"It's possible that's what threatened you at the time."

"But in the dream I'm running away, being chased. And then last night the person spoke."

"Yes, I know." Lilah referred to her notes. "He spoke to you, even called you by name. By that time the person who threatened you had changed. You knew more about me by then, but you'd met this young man who interested you at first. You were attracted to him and that's always scary. A new relationship. Heading into the unknown."

"Especially when you're already kind of in a relationship you haven't resolved," Tara put in pointedly. "With Rory." I ignored her.

"And by then he, Curt, had shown an interest in me, too," I added. "You know this whole thing could all be quite innocent." My voice sounded hopeful. "Just a matter of a couple of teenagers and a mutual attraction."

"Yeah, an attraction that turned weird," Tara added. "What about those bizarre things he said to you? What about him showing up at every single place we've been to?"

"Except the Italian restaurant tonight." Once again I was hoping that we were overreacting. "Maybe it's all over. Maybe I'll never need to think about Curt Bonner again in my whole entire life."

Lilah smiled. "Of course there is that possibility. But maybe we should quit for tonight and pick up this dream analysis again in the morning. It is getting late."

I looked at the clock for the first time since we'd gotten home. "Yikes," I said. "It's almost midnight."

We said our goodnights, taking turns in the bathroom. I was the last one and I had just finished brushing my teeth when I heard the phone ring in my aunt's bedroom. I gathered my toiletries and opened the door, stepping hesitantly out into the hall. People always say a phone call in the middle of the night means bad news. I thought of my parents right away. Unable to stop myself, I headed for her room and stood in the doorway.

"Who's calling please?" I heard Lilah say in a sharp voice. "She's already asleep, young man. Something that you should be."

I gripped the edge of the doorway, trying to fight the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. How had he gotten my aunt's number? How had he known we would still be awake? A moment later my aunt hung up the phone.

"It was him," I whispered, not a question. "It's not over yet."

From the look on her face I knew I'd guessed exactly right.

Chapter 6

My first awareness was the sound of heavy breathing. I was running through the dark tunnel, running as though my life depended on it. Someone was after me. I felt his presence even before I looked back and saw the dark shadow of a hunched figure coming towards me.

The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and mildew. My clothes clung to my body like a damp chill and the sound of our hurried footsteps echoed off the narrow tunnel walls.

I gasped for breath in the stale air as I ran faster, faster than I ever imagined I could run. But I knew he was even faster and stronger than I, knew it was just a matter of time before he caught me. When he did he would kill me, that much I knew for sure.

"Heather!" He called my name. He knew who I was.

Why? The word tore from my throat in a choked whisper. What had I done to make him come after me?

"Don't run from me, Heather. Don't you know you can't escape? You belong to me. You are my soul mate."

"No!" I screamed, or thought I did. In my fear and exhaustion the word might have come out as a mere whimper.

Suddenly he caught up to me, grabbed my arm tightly in his hand as I shrank back in terror.

"No!" I tried again, louder, stronger. "Never!"

But it was too late. He held on tight, hurting me, shaking me. I knew I could never get away...

"Heather! Heather!"

I tried to pull out of my attacker's grasp but he was too strong.

"Heather, wake up!"

"Never!" I said again, and the sound tore from my throat as I opened my eyes and looked into the panicked face of my best friend. I looked around, taking a minute to recognize where I was and found a sudden sense of relief. I was in my aunt's place in New York City. The bedroom I was sharing with Tara. She had switched on the lava lamp between the two beds.

"Oh my gosh!" I gasped, relieved. "It was just a dream. Another scary dream."

I sat up in bed and grabbed some fat pillows to pile behind me. My clothes felt damp and clinging. My throat was dry. As dry as it had felt while I ran through the tunnel.

"Oh my gosh," I said again, grabbing Tara's arm and pulling her towards me. "Would you please get me a drink of water?" I whispered, suddenly thinking about Lilah in the bedroom down the hall and hoping my nightmare hadn't woken her up too.

Tara brought some water, which I swallowed in thirsty gulps, before putting the half-empty glass on the nightstand.

"It seemed so real," I told Tara, moving over on the bed so she could sit beside me.

"Obviously, from the noises you made. I was beginning to think you were never gonna wake up."

"I'm sorry I woke you," I said, feeling a bit embarrassed for the first time.

But Tara waved it off with an understanding smile. "No problem," she assured me, leaning forward and propping her chin up on one hand. "Now tell me everything."

So I did. Everything I could remember, which seemed like a lot. All about the damp dark tunnel and the man chasing after me. And what he said.

"This is the second time he's called me by name," I told Tara. "And the first time he's called me his 'soul mate.'"

I shivered, remembering what the guy chasing me had said. About me belonging to him and not being able to escape. I could imagine Curt saying those same things to me and it made my skin crawl. Was this what it felt like to be the target of a stalker?

"Did you recognize him? Could you tell if it was that creep, Curt?" Tara was often right on when it came to reading my mind.

But I just shook my head, reaching for the water glass once more. My throat still felt so dry.

"It was too dark in the tunnel. All I could make out was this form. This masculine form."

"We gotta check the dream dictionary again," Tara said. "I wonder if the words this guy said might be in there. The part about you being his soul mate."

I laughed but even to me it sounded like a fake laugh. "I don't see how that dream dictionary would help me, Tara," I protested. "Knowing what those things are supposed to mean isn't going to keep me from having the nightmares. And it's not going to prevent the things I dreamed about from coming true."

"Maybe not," she defended. "But wouldn't you feel better with more information?"

"Not really," I said. "I think I'll only feel better if the dreams stop entirely."

She shrugged her shoulders but seemed to agree. "And if you hadn't met a creep who decided it would be fun to stalk you around New York City."

"Well, I'm not gonna let Curt Bonner or anybody else spoil this vacation for us." I said with more bravado than genuine courage.

Then I glanced at the clock and realized that it was three o'clock in the morning, which meant there was still the chance of more dreams tonight. Provided I was able to fall asleep again, that is.

Curt's midnight phone call had, no doubt, ruined any chance I'd had for a good night's sleep. Tara had wanted to call the police, but Lilah restated her belief that he still hadn't broken the law. He still hadn't actually threatened me with anything he'd said or done. Never mind that he had become what my mom would call "a common nuisance." Never mind about the fact that he was really starting to scare me.

Much to my surprise, I did fall asleep for a second time that night and when I woke up sometime around eight o'clock and realized that I hadn't had anymore bad dreams I was relieved.

Next I remembered what Tara and I had planned for the day. Checking out the Museum of Modern Art was definitely one of the trip's highlights for me because of my passionate love for art. It would be the perfect antidote to creepy Curt, I was sure.

Tara's bed was empty and even made up, a rarity for her, and I could hear voices from the other room where she and Lilah were probably having breakfast. I threw back the covers, quickly made up my own bed and scrambled for the bathroom. I planned to be standing in front of the museum when it opened its doors at ten a.m.

I knew Tara wouldn't have told Lilah about my dream and since my aunt didn't say anything about it, I figured it hadn't awakened her after all. The three of us talked some more about Phantom and about the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. It was obvious that no one wanted to talk about my stalker or my dreams. Like maybe if we didn't say anything about them out loud they would all just go away.

Tara and I made it to the museum with ten minutes to spare before opening time. Surprisingly, there were only a handful of other people waiting around so there wasn't the great rush I'd expected when the museum did open.

There were three paintings I knew the museum owned that I wanted to see in particular. I'd even wanted to write ahead to make sure they weren't going to be out on loan or packed away or anything that would prevent me from seeing them but Tara thought that was being way too silly. Sometimes I got like that when it came to something I really loved.

The main painting I wanted to see was Vincent Van Gogh's The Starry Night and I asked about its location at the information desk.

"Mellow out, will you, girlfriend?" Tara complained as I pulled her towards the escalator that would take us to the second floor.

I zeroed in on the painting immediately as we entered the room but there were already several people clustered in front of it, so I waited, not too patiently, for my turn. Tara took a quick look and wandered off to check out the rest of the room while I stood transfixed in front of the great masterpiece I had heard so much about. There were these magnificent swirls of thick blue and yellow and white paint and for several moments I tried to go back in my mind to Van Gogh's sad and insane world, to the genius of a life tragically cut short 'way too soon. In a way, like my mom's hero, John Lennon.

"Starry, starry night..." the words to a familiar song I'd heard many times on Mom's stereo were sung softly beside me, jarring me out of the melancholy world I'd willed my spirit into. I turned to look. There behind me was Curt Bonner.

Why was he here, too? How could he have known?

"Are you following us?" I spoke aloud before I could stop myself, my tone demanding and a bit frightened to my own ears.

He looked at me, blinked calmly, then smiled. He didn't answer my blunt question, but stepped up beside me and gazed at The Starry Night. My paranoia took over and I forgot all about my own safety. Suddenly, I was concerned only about the painting. Was Curt Bonner the kind of psycho who would actually try to deface a fabulous work of art? Was he dangerous and sick enough to harm the great masterpiece that so many millions came to see? I looked around and felt better when I saw a guard standing just a few feet away, watching the painting, watching us.

"Too bad about him," Curt said. "Such genius cut off and shot."

I blinked, looking at him. I don't know why his bluntness surprised me. I figured he was referring to Van Gogh's self-inflicted wounds. Why did people focus on the grizzly? I was so sick of hearing about the cut ear incident and was about to say so to Curt, when I saw Tara heading in our direction, a furious look on her face. I swallowed hard, preparing for the worst. I knew she would never hesitate to be blunt or even downright rude if she felt the person deserved it. And I knew she was as fed up with him as I was, maybe even more. I could tell by the angry flash of her green eyes that Curt was about to get an earful.

She stomped over and actually grabbed his arm, jerking him around to face her.

"Listen, Mister Bonner, we've both had more than enough of you! The organized tour is over now and we don't like the fact that you've been following us around for the last three days. And today makes four! Now either get lost or we call a cop and have you pulled in for harassment!"

No question about it -- Tara could take care of herself and her friends. I stared at her, my mouth hanging open for a minute, before my mingling feelings of shock, fear and embarrassment surfaced. But she was right and I had to admire her for not being afraid to put her feelings into words.

"She's right," I said to Curt. "Having you show up everywhere we go is too much of a coincidence. You are bothering us now and I think you ought to leave."

I held my breath, half expecting him to react in some angry or violent way. But instead he spoke quietly. "I'm sorry to have intruded on you ladies with my presence," he said before he bowed formally, smiled a little half-smile and left the room.

Tara put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug. "You okay?" she asked. "You're shaking like crazy, Heather."

"I didn't notice I was till he left; but I'm fine now, thanks to you. I guess I should have listened to you from the very beginning. I wish I'd confided in you and Lilah sooner. She's been great, too."

We hugged briefly but the experience had left me more shaken than I realized and I couldn't stop the sudden flood of tears. Once again Tara took control, leading me off to the nearest ladies' room and then to the museum cafeteria for a cup of tea and a deliciously wicked, rich chocolate dessert. I guess we'd picked up on Lilah's tea habit.

"I feel guilty eating something like this at ten in the morning," I confessed.

Tara obviously had no such guilt. She polished hers off while I was still only halfway into mine. "Enjoy it, girlfriend," she said, giving her fork an extra lick before putting it down on her dessert plate. "For one thing, occasional decadence is allowed when you're on vacation, and for another, you deserve it after what that creep has put you through."

"Hopefully that was the last we'll ever see of Curt Bonner," I said. "But I still feel so shook up, I'm almost tempted to give up the rest of the day here at the museum. Maybe we could go shopping instead."

"Now don't get crazy on me, Heather. You know how much you were looking forward to this museum. Didn't you even make a list of the paintings you wanted to see here? You know you'll regret leaving here the minute we go. Anyway, we're not wasting the bucks we paid for our admission."

"I guess you're right. And who knows when I'll ever have a chance to get back here?" I hadn't yet told her my idea of returning to stay with my aunt while I studied art. I was afraid she'd freak out if I said I wanted to leave Oregon.

"I'm exactly right," Tara agreed. "So don't let that creep spoil it for you. And I really doubt we'll see him again if he knows what's good for him." Her eyes flashed and I noticed that her hands closed into fists on the table.

I smiled then. "I don't think he'd enjoy another run-in with you," I teased.

But despite the smile I'd managed for Tara's benefit, I couldn't help the uneasy feeling I still had. Would Curt really leave us alone from now on? And would I keep having those creepy nightmares the whole time we were on vacation?

We finished our snack and headed back upstairs to look at the paintings, in search of another of my favorites, The Persistence of Memory by Spanish surrealist painter Salvador Dali. I was shocked at first by how small the painting was in real life -- only about 9" x 12" -- yet it was still a powerful piece of work and I was thrilled to see it right there on the wall in front of me. Tara always forgot its title and called it "the melting clocks picture," because that's what it portrayed -- a surrealistic landscape of melted and draped timepieces. It was weird, yes, but I liked it a lot anyway. Maybe because I thought it was so imaginative and I just had to take the time to do a sketch.

I sketched a couple of works from Picasso, too, and then we wandered around the other galleries, which included a modern poster exhibit on the third floor. Then we went outside and sat in the sculpture garden awhile before having a late lunch. The last thing was the of course mandatory trip to the museum gift shop where I picked up a handful of post cards, one of each of my favorite paintings and a few extras to send to friends. I also found a little cloisonn� pin with The Starry Night reproduced in all its beautiful colors. I pinned that to my jacket the minute it was paid for.

We still had twenty minutes until closing time when we'd finished in the gift shop and I wanted to take one more walk out in the sculpture garden and have someone take a photo of us in front of one of the pieces. The garden was the only place in the whole museum where picturetaking was even allowed so I didn't want to miss out.

We found a friendly-looking couple who was taking pictures of a toddler in a pink ruffled dress, and we asked if they would mind taking our picture for us. I showed them how the camera worked and Tara and I posed in front of the piece we liked the best.

In the cab on our way back to Greenwich Village I noticed that had been the last picture on my roll so I rewound the film, popped it out and stuck it in the pocket of my denim jacket.

"Didn't Lilah tell us there's a photo place around the corner that does one-hour developing?" I asked Tara.

"Yeah, she said it was called Speedy Photo Stop, I think. Why, do you want to drop the film off before we go upstairs?"

"Yes, that way we can pick up the pictures on our way out to dinner tonight."

Lilah had finished her big commission that afternoon so she was in high spirits. The wall hanging was gorgeous! I was impressed enough to consider taking up fabric art myself. I knew I wanted to try at least one project. Maybe my aunt could help me plan it before we left New York. Or maybe I could actually begin it here. Wouldn't Mom be surprised if I took up fabric art when she couldn't even sew a stitch herself?

We sat around the table, a comfy arrangement I'd grown to love in the few days we'd been there. Lilah had fixed herself a cup of tea and Tara and I grabbed a couple of diet Cokes from the fridge.

My aunt said she would be delivering the wall hanging to her client within the hour so we chatted about our day over our drinks and decided on another Indian restaurant for that night's dinner when she got back. We had enjoyed our first meal in Greenwich Village and wanted to try something different. While Lilah was delivering her wall hanging Tara and I had time to relax and get changed, and also to run down the street to pick up the pictures I'd left at the photo place.

I pulled the photos out of the envelope the minute we were out of the shop so we could start looking at them as we walked the block and half back to the apartment. The first one on the top was the last shot we'd had taken, the one of Tara and me in the modern art museum's sculpture garden.

"This turned out pretty good," I told Tara. "Neither of us closed our eyes or had stupid expressions or anything."

She was looking over my shoulder when she suddenly grabbed the picture out of my hands. "Hey," I protested. "What's with you?"

"Look here," she said pointing to something in the background of the picture, and I could tell she was angry.

I took the picture back and focussed carefully on the spot she'd pointed out. Suddenly, I felt like my heart stopped and the blood in my veins ran cold as I recognized the dark figure lurking in the sculpture garden behind us.

The man, who within just a few days, had become my stalker. Curt Bonner.

Chapter 7

We showed my aunt the photos that evening over dinner, saving the picture of us in the museum sculpture garden for last. Grimly, I pointed out the shadowy presence of my stalker in the background. Thinking about him still lurking around the art museum so many hours after our initial confrontation in front of the Van Gogh painting was scary to me. Had he been there the whole time, following us from room to room, observing our every move?

We told Lilah about the art museum confrontation, including Tara's arm-grabbing and the feisty telling-off that she put Curt through. But we all agreed that everyplace he'd shown up at after us was still a public place. He may be scary and irritating but he still hadn't broken any laws.

We didn't talk much as we walked back to the apartment. It didn't take a genius to realize that we were wary, each of us looking around to see if he was anywhere nearby. And I think we'd even begun to breathe a little easier as we reached the fifth floor landing and saw the beautiful flower arrangement sitting in front of my aunt's door.

"Ooh, flowers!" I said. "Maybe they're from the people you just delivered that wall hanging to."

"Yeah," agreed Tara. "They loved it so much they just had to send you a bonus."

Lilah's face was flushed with eager anticipation as she carried the flowers inside, set them on the dining table and ripped open the envelope to read the message. But her expression immediately clouded over and, without a word, handed the card over to me.

"What is it?" Tara asked, looking over my shoulder.

Sorry to have upset you, my sweet. Curt.

I heard a choking sound, but it was several minutes before I realized it was coming from my own throat. The card slipped from my fingers to the floor and I was vaguely aware of Tara picking it up and placing it on the table next to the flowers.

"Maybe this is the creep's way of saying goodbye?" My friend's voice was hopeful, but somehow I already knew better than to expect him to give up that easily. Somehow I knew with near certainty that we had not seen the last of Curt Bonner.

My aunt put an arm around me and started leading me towards the table. But I looked at the flowers sitting there and pulled back, feeling like I didn't want to be anywhere near them. Lilah took the arrangement into the kitchen and asked me if I wanted her to put the tea-kettle on. But suddenly I felt exhausted. More tired than I'd felt after climbing up the stairs in the Statue of Liberty or after an hour of working out on the stair stepper machine back home.

"I think I'll just go to bed," I said in a small voice that didn't even sound like my own.

To my great surprise, there were no dreams that night and I felt both rested and relieved when I woke up the following morning.

Tara was still trying to convince me that she thought the flowers were a parting gesture and I wanted so much to believe her that I think maybe I did for just a little while.

The arrangement was conspicuously absent when we went in to breakfast and I sincerely hoped that my aunt had just thrown it away. The three of us vowed not to let my obsessive admirer spoil another moment of our fifth day in the Big Apple. Especially since we had planned a full day of our favorite pastime. Shopping!

Lilah said she had the day all arranged, although she wouldn't tell us much about it other than the fact that we'd be checking out some major New York City stores! And, she told us to dress up a bit more than we would for a shopping trip back home. After all, she said, when you're in the big city it's the thing to do!

We took over an hour to get ready! Tara and I pulled out practically everything we'd brought and showed it to my aunt. She grimaced and said no way the minute she saw some of our things like my Portland Blazers tee shirt. She said nobody in New York would recognize my favorite basketball team anyway. She also vetoed Tara's Oregon Trail shirt as being just " too small town" for the City."

Finally she picked out a pale blue silk blouse for Tara to wear with her short denim skirt and a simple black skort and white tank top for me. She looked us over approvingly when we were dressed, then disappeared down the hall to her bedroom with a sly wink and the instructions to "wait here."

Lilah returned with her hands full -- scarves, jewelry, even a couple of hats. "Now that you're wearing the basics," she told us, "Let's dress you up with some stylish accessories."

Minutes later, Tara and I were taking turns in front of the full-length bathroom mirror, totally excited at the glamour just a few well-chosen accessories had added to our looks. My aunt beamed in satisfaction. "Now you're ready for a day of New York City's finest shops. But first, one more surprise."

Tara and I squealed in delight as Lilah told us she'd booked all three of us at one of those "instant glamour" studios that morning. The kind of place that did hair and makeup and then took fashion model-like photos. What a totally awesome idea. Our New York glamour shots would be so great to show everyone back home! And once again, Tara and I were impressed with just how cool a lady my great-aunt had turned out to be. I knew already that it was going to be so hard to say goodbye to her in just a couple more days and head back home to Oregon City.

By the time we left the apartment, my stalker problems had moved to the back of my mind where I hoped they would stay. Until my aunt suggested we take an anti-Curt precaution just in case he was keeping an eye on Lilah's building and following us in the next available cab. We snuck out through a back alleyway that she thought we should use for the remainder of our visit.

Tara almost talked me out of it when she wondered aloud if Curt might be clever enough to anticipate our new move. "I'd hate to have that psycho trap us in the alley with a gun," she said.

"Thanks a lot, girlfriend," I groaned. "Just make me feel totally paranoid!"

But we used the alley, anyway, and Lilah rushed us through it so fast I didn't have time to think about any possible danger.

The morning passed amidst a whirlwind of makeup and hairspray and in no time at all we were waiting for the results of our glamour girl photo shoot. The pictures were awesome and the shop gave us cardboard folders to protect them and a form for ordering extra copies after we got back home.

Then we were back in a cab, each of us feeling oh, so glamorous and heading for lunch at one of the stores Lilah had promised offered the best in fashionable clothing and gourmet food. The restaurant was located on the top floor of the department store and had a view out over what seemed like a million other city skyscrapers. The food was great but I was more interested in people watching, enjoying checking out the clothing and hair styles of the many other diners around us. Tara leaned over and whispered how glad she was that we'd glammed up before we got there or else we would have looked like a couple of kids from a hick town.

Nothing Tara and I had back in Oregon City or Portland came even close to comparing, both in size and variety, to New York City stores and the afternoon soon passed amidst a whirlwind of bright images and crowds of other shoppers.

We tried on the most amazing outfits we had no intention of buying on account of their amazing prices! But we sure had fun.

We did buy some stuff, of course. Well, maybe it was a lot of stuff. There was no way we were going to spend all that time in such cool shops and not have anything to take home. I went nuts at the makeup counter of this one store when I saw all the awesome shades of nail polish and lipsticks that hadn't made it to the West Coast yet. I was sure to be the first one at Portland State to wear fall's hot new colors.

Tara got a great bargain on a cool pair of jeans and I found a couple of great tops. Lilah bought stuff too, in her style of course, soft flowing fabrics in bold rich colors.

By late-afternoon we were tired and hungry again. But Lilah wanted to take us to one more shop, which she claimed had the biggest and best lingerie selection on the planet, along with the most interesting shopping atmosphere. Tara and I were not about to pass up a place like that so we followed along.

The Silk Butterfly was awesome! I can honestly say I had never seen so much silk, satin and lace in my entire life. And I could tell why my aunt liked it the minute I saw a couple of racks of flowing gowns and lounging pajamas in the rich colors she favored: deep purple, emerald green, desert rose. I just had to try on this one silk gown that was the same brilliant sapphire of our eyes. But it was way beyond my price range, so reluctantly I put it back on the rack.

The shop had a great atmosphere, too, with gentle New Age music playing in the background, soft lighting, and scented candles burning on tables and candle stands. There were unusual groupings of mannequins, the kind of elaborate displays you usually only see in store windows. The figures were those ultra modern one-tone mannequins that almost looked like space aliens. No hair and no painted on expressions, just sleek generic shapes.

There were a couple of tables of sale merchandise and Tara and I started digging through some of the stacks since we had pretty nearly spent our limit with the day's shopping spree. I threw a couple of things over my arm to think about, then turned to check out another table.

Then I froze, immediately feeling the clench of a fist in the pit of my stomach. I studied very intently a group of mannequins at the farthest corner. They remained frozen in their set poses just as they had before. None of them moved. None of them stared at me.

Was I going crazy? I could have sworn I'd caught a movement from one of the figures a second ago. A figure that looked all too familiar to me these days. Carefully, my eyes swept the shop, studying every mannequin, every person, shopper or employee. But, no, I must have just imagined it. None of them turned out to be my stalker.

I shivered once then shook my head. Get a grip, Heather, I instructed myself. That loony is gonna end up turning me into one, too.

I saw Lilah heading for the dressing rooms, an array of jewel-toned silks and satins draped over one arm. Tara was close behind with an armful of black lace. Maybe I would try something on, too. That would make me feel better. I selected a couple of pretty camisoles off one rack and went after the others. The dressing room attendant counted my selections, handed me a numbered card, and pointed me in the direction of one of the curtained off cubicles, the only one still vacant, she told me, the farthest one on the left.

For the next few minutes I lost myself in the fun of trying on clothes, something I don't think I ever lost from years ago when I was a little girl playing dress-up in Mommy's discarded finery. I picked out one of the camisoles to buy: a gorgeous one in deep purple. I smiled to realize I had picked up a few habits from my aunt.

I got dressed in my own clothes again, gathered up the things I'd taken into the room, and swept back the curtain. There on the other side, just inches away from me, was Curt Bonner. I followed my first impulse. I screamed. A moment later, everything went black.

***

Tara's voice was the first thing I heard. Then I could hear Lilah's too, as well as several other voices I didn't recognize. I was lying on a hard surface and someone was shaking me.

"Heather, wake up! Heather!"

"Stop shaking me," I said, in a voice that sounded weak and tired, not at all like my own. I opened my eyes and saw Tara and Lilah and another woman peering at me. The dressing room attendant from the shop. I was lying on the floor of my dressing room, obviously just where I'd fallen. I became aware of other shoppers and store clerks behind them, talking in muted voices.

"Heather, are you all right?" my aunt asked, concern etched into every part of her face. "Should we call a doctor?"

"No!" I said immediately, sitting up slowly. "I'm fine. I guess I just fainted."

"No kidding," Tara said. "But what gives? I've never heard of you ever fainting before."

"He was here," I said, my voice still coming out in little more than a choked whisper. "Curt. He was right outside my dressing room. He must have been watching me, waiting for me."

"Curt Bonner?" Tara squeaked. "Here in the dressing room of a ladies' lingerie shop? I'd like to know how he got in here."

"So would I," I agreed, grabbing onto Tara's arm to help me stand. "Didn't anybody else see him?" I looked around me at the small cubicle where only a thin curtain had protected me from my stalker. I had to get out of there, I thought, making my way unsteadily down the aisle, peering at the stalls on either side, all vacant now following my screaming-fainting episode. Part of me was mortified at the show I had put on, but the rest of me was scared to death. What if he had a weapon, a gun or a knife? What was he planning to do to me? What would he have done if I hadn't screamed?

Tara and I stayed in the shop, sitting on a velvet loveseat that was part of a display. Lilah was talking to a woman near the dressing room doors, someone Tara told me was the store manager.

"Didn't you see him?" I asked Tara again, noticing the doubt in her eyes. "You were back there, too. Didn't anyone see him?"

"It's not that I don't believe you, Heather," Tara began in a cautious voice. "But nobody else did see him. The dressing rooms were practically full and the attendant was there the whole time. How would a guy have gotten in there in the first place, much less out again after we all heard you scream, without somebody seeing him?"

I didn't like the way she was looking at me. "You don't believe me," I accused. My best friend in the whole world did not believe me. She obviously thought I had imagined Curt back there in the dressing room. I looked from her to the faces of some of the other shoppers who were still sneaking glances my way like I was some kind of a nut case.

Tara began to protest, but I cut her off, standing up and meeting Lilah who was heading our way. The look on her face was troubled and etched with the same doubt I had seen on Tara's.

"You don't believe me either," I said, before my aunt had a chance to say a word. She came over and put her arms around me, gathering me into a hug that I'm sure she meant to make me feel better, to make me heal. But I struggled out of her hold and looked at her, feeling the familiar flush in my face that I knew was caused by both embarrassment and anger.

Lilah studied me a moment, as if she was trying to decide what to say, trying to pick her words carefully.

"Honey, I do believe that you saw him. I know that to you this nightmare is very real. It's real for all of us who are close to you. But no one saw him or heard him running away. I checked with the store manager and there is definitely just the one door to the dressing rooms. The attendant swears she was there the whole time."

"But I know he was there," I insisted, but I could feel my anger draining, turning instead into sheer exhaustion and a feeling of utter helplessness. Was the continued presence of my stalker making my mind play tricks with me? But I had seen him there right in front of me. I had seen him with my own eyes. Hadn't I? I looked again at my aunt and at my best friend, noted the pity I saw in both faces.

Suddenly, I was no longer sure of anything. Suddenly, all I could think of was how very much I wanted to go back home to Oregon City.

Chapter 8

It was a tense and nearly silent ride home in the taxi after our shopping spree. Tara and my aunt insisted on carrying my shopping bags along with their own and with the three of us plus the shopping it was a tight squeeze in the back seat.

They put me in the middle like they had to protect me or something and, although I leaned back against the worn vinyl seat and closed my eyes, I had the feeling Tara and Lilah kept checking me out and exchanging glances across me in the cab.

The five flights of stairs up to my aunt's apartment seemed the longest ever. I guess it was because I felt so drained, both emotionally and physically, from the week's experience. I wanted to go into the guestroom and immediately crawl into bed with a cluster of Lilah's pillows around me for security and nothing but the tranquil lava light to gaze at. Maybe the lamp could help me talk myself into a state of self-hypnosis that would both relax me and also wipe out the memory of my stalker dreams and confrontations. I guess I was asking for a lot, maybe asking for too much.

Lilah and Tara insisted I had to eat dinner first and they ordered a pizza which, to my surprise, actually looked and smelled appealing when it arrived. I ate more than I would have thought possible after what I'd been through and then went in and had a nice long soak in a tub filled with juniper scented bubbles -- Lilah's suggestion -- surrounded by candles and soft music she supplied by placing a portable CD player on the counter next to the sink.

I closed my eyes and relaxed, and for the first time ever, fell asleep in the bath. Unfortunately, the dream was waiting for me the moment I drifted off.

I was running down a long dark hallway of small, curtained- off cubicles. The only sound I heard was the breathing. His breathing. Always behind me, always becoming louder. Always coming closer.

The curtains moved as I ran past. Was anyone behind them? Anyone who could help me? I knew I couldn't stop to look. I was too afraid, too rushed, to take the time. He was getting closer. Closer. And I was exhausted from the exertion. More than once I stumbled. I had no idea how much longer I could keep running, keep going on.

Just when I'd reached the point where I felt I could no longer go on, I saw a dim light up ahead of me. The end of the hallway was in sight. But as I got closer I realized there was another curtain at the end. That curtain was right in front of me, in my way, and I would have to go through it, not knowing what I would find behind it. Would it be just another hallway, another long way to run? There was no choice. There was no going back. He was back there. And he was catching up with me. My only choice was to pass through the curtain. Could whatever was back there be any worse than what was behind me? Any worse than him catching me?

Instinctively, my steps slowed as I neared the end of the hallway. Instinctively, I chanced a quick glance over my shoulder. I still couldn't see him.

My heart was pounding solidly against my chest and I gasped and wheezed in an attempt to catch my breath. I reached up with one hand to pull aside the curtain. I drew it across in one quick movement.

Curt Bonner was there on the other side, waiting for me behind the curtain, standing mere inches in front of me. In his right hand, the arm upraised and ready to strike, he held the biggest knife I had ever seen. It was Curt Bonner, and he had become Norman Bates, stepped straight out of Psycho.

I screamed.

"Heather, Heather, wake up." It was the same as coming to in the dressing room earlier that afternoon. Tara was shaking me and she and my aunt were calling my name. But this time I wasn't lying on a strange shop floor. This time I was lying naked and vulnerable in a tub filled with lukewarm water and fading bubbles.

"Boy am I glad you didn't lock the bathroom door," Tara was saying, handing me a fluffy forest green bath towel. "Otherwise you might have drowned in here before we got in."

I held the towel over my breasts, suddenly embarrassed by my nudity. Lilah was already backing out of the room, pulling Tara with her.

"I'll go put the kettle on," she said. "Come into the dining room for tea when you're dressed."

By the time I went out to the other room my aunt had already set out a pot and three cups and she and Tara were sitting there looking worried.

"I know for sure that one was a dream," I said, taking a seat. "I still say this afternoon really happened." I glared from Lilah to Tara and back again, daring them to disbelieve me, daring them to tell me I was losing it.

To my great relief and surprise, Lilah asked what we had planned for the next day, our last day in New York. I had mixed emotions about leaving the city. Part of me loved it and wanted to stay and absorb more of its rich and varied culture. But the rest of me was in a pretty stressed and fragile state, eager to reach the safety of home.

Tara took a sip of her tea, chamomile-mint, which Lilah said would be soothing, and grinned at me before answering.

"We'd planned to spend the whole day exploring as much as we can in Central Park," she said, adding, "not all 800 plus acres of it, of course, but the only part we've seen so far is Strawberry Fields. But since we're starting with The Metropolitan Museum of Art, I don't think we'll get much farther."

In spite of how miserable I'd felt just minutes ago, Tara's remark made me smile. Sure she was humoring me, I knew that. She was also trying to cheer me up and that was one of the things I loved about my best bud. It didn't even matter anymore, if she didn't believe I'd seen Curt in the dressing room. What did matter was that she cared about me, and that she was really truly good for me.

"You mean you're not going to limit the amount of time I can spend in the Met?" I asked innocently. "You aren't going to set your stopwatch or anything?"

That made them both laugh and for the first time since I awakened on the dressing room floor that afternoon, they actually stopped looking worried.

Then Lilah said she had something for me and disappeared down the hall to her bedroom. When she returned a moment later I noticed she was carrying a Silk Butterfly bag and, thinking she wanted to show me what she'd bought in her favorite lingerie shop, I dug into the bag when she handed it to me. But what I found, to my surprise and delight, was the silky purple camisole I had tried on that afternoon. I'd forgotten all about it in the confusion of the way things had turned out.

"You bought this for me?" I squealed, totally delighted to have it after all. "How did you know this is the one I wanted to buy?" I asked Lilah.

"Well, there were two camisoles I picked up from the floor beside you when Tara was helping you up and out of there. I didn't know which one you'd decided on so I just took a chance and picked the one that was in my own favorite color."

I was surprised to notice my aunt's face flushed for the first time. Did we have something else in common?

I threw my arms around her and pulled her in for a big hug. "Thank you so much, Lilah. You have been the absolute best. I'm going to miss you so much when we go back tomorrow." The thought of leaving the aunt I'd grown to love so much in such a short time brought tears to my eyes and I noticed the telltale gleam in her eyes too when I released her from the hug.

"You're welcome to come back and visit me anytime, Heather. You too, Tara," she added. "I certainly hope your bad experience hasn't given you an awful impression of my favorite city." She looked thoughtful. "Maybe I'll have to visit Oregon City again one of these days. It's been years since I've seen that nephew of mine."

"That would be great! We'd all love to have you visit. And don't worry," I said. "I still enjoyed New York and I do want to come back."

"Me, too," Tara chimed in. "And that creep isn't from here, anyway."

Now was as good a time as any to tell my aunt I wanted to return to New York for my art studies. And to ask if it was all right if I stayed with her. I was nervous about asking her, but it was so important to me and my future as an artist. I took a deep breath and tried to steel myself for the big question.

I needn't have worried. Lilah loved the idea of having me return to New York for my art studies and assured me I was welcome to stay with her.

"Who knows?" she said. "Maybe someday you and I can have a show together!"

"Well, I don't know about that," I said, laughing. "You'd better wait until you check out my work before you commit yourself to showing with me."

The next day was sort of bittersweet. The three of us seemed kind of mopey at breakfast, knowing it was our last chance to all be together for awhile. We headed over to the Metropolitan -- Lilah decided to come with us -- and I was prepared to lose myself in the magic of the great art I knew I'd see there.

Of course my favorite room was the one hung almost entirely with Vincent Van Gogh canvases. Tara left me to sit in there awhile and absorb the passion and creative genius I could feel coming from every brushstroke. Lilah sat beside me and, by silent mutual agreement, neither of us said a word. We sat and we meditated and we enjoyed.

I thought Tara would get bored in the museum after awhile but she discovered a special costume exhibit in progress, and with her love of the stage, spent quite some time enjoying it.

The best thing about the museum was that we didn't see Curt. Sure, every once in awhile I did think about him but only briefly and I was able to push him out of my mind for most of the time.

We had lunch in the beautiful but very crowded caf� and visited the gift shop after that. By then we felt we had absorbed much of what the Metropolitan had to offer, and Tara and I decided to go explore more of Central Park. Lilah took a taxi back home and we agreed to meet her there in a few hours.

We didn't stay in any one spot for very long but checked out a couple of great places not too far from the Met. We liked Belvedere Castle and the Shakespeare Garden.

But no matter where we went or what we saw I couldn't stop myself from scanning the faces of the people around us or from looking over my shoulder every once in awhile.

Finally, Tara pulled me over to sit on one of the park benches. She looked me in the eye in her straightforward way and said, "You're thinking about him, I can tell. Do you want to just call it a wrap and head back to Lilah's? At least you're less vulnerable there than you are out here in public."

I smiled at my best bud. She was so often able to pick up on my thoughts and feelings. "Suddenly I feel very, very tired," I admitted to her. I watched a couple of runners go past then sighed. "In a way I've fallen in love with New York and feel like I never want to leave. But in another way, a more urgent way, I can't wait to leave. Because of him."

Tara and I made one more stop before heading back to Lilah's apartment. We decided we couldn't leave New York without first checking out the Hard Rock Caf� and picking up some souvenirs from their great shop. I got a couple of final gifts to take back for friends, including the perfect tee shirt for Rory. I had to admit that after the week's excitement -- I should say the week's terror -- I was looking forward to spending some time with quiet, reliable Rory. Tara didn't say "I told you so" when I admitted that to her, which I appreciated.

The scene that greeted us at Lilah's apartment was a total shock. She had cleared away the normal stacks of books from the dining room table and set three places with pretty china and silver and an arrangement of candles burning softly in the center.

"We're eating in tonight," she announced, looking pleased.

"Lilah, I didn't know you cooked," I blurted before thinking it might sound a bit rude. But other than cereal and fruit for breakfast, all our meals had been eaten out in New York restaurants.

But my aunt was unfazed. "Who said anything about cooking?" she asked raising one finely penciled brow. "Just because a person is creative doesn't naturally follow that they should also cook. Give me my tea kettle and my microwave and I do just fine."

"But what are we having for dinner?" Tara asked, with another glance at the nicely set table, just as there was a knock at the door.

"Why, Chinese takeout of course," said my aunt, as if there had been absolutely no other acceptable choice. "Lee Fong's -- best Chinese cuisine in all of Greenwich Village."

We laughed. As usual, Lilah had everything under control.


The three of us sat up late that night talking, trying to cram in as much time with each other as we could. Tara finally gave in about midnight and went to bed but Lilah and I stayed up another couple of hours, discussing art and family and school and places we had been. There was only one thing we didn't talk about and I was grateful for that.

Lilah promised to visit us in Oregon City soon, maybe even for Christmas. It was going to be so hard to say goodbye to her in the morning. She was one cool lady and I had grown to love her so much. I was more determined than ever to do well in my studies and in my art so that she would be proud of me when I came back to stay with her.

Maybe it was all those hours of gentle conversation that made me sleep peacefully for the few hours left of that night. We were up at six to head back to LaGuardia Airport and home.

My great-aunt and I clung to each other fiercely and promised to faithfully keep in touch by phone and through email. I cried and she cried and to my surprise, Tara added her own tears to the pot, and then we went down those five flights of stairs for the last time to wait for the cab that would take us back to the airport.

I hoped we weren't being na�ve to think that once we reached the safety of our homes in Oregon, we would have seen the last of Curt Bonner. But surely a stalker wouldn't go to great lengths to contact me -- after all there was a whole city full of girls he could haunt. But a part of me still wondered, would I really be safe once I got back home to Oregon City? Or would the nightmare follow me there?

Chapter 9

Our parents, along with Tara's kid brother, met us at the airport and we got a little crazy, everyone hugging and talking all at once. After we got our luggage we went to our favorite pizza parlor where the questions flew at us from all directions. Tara and I told about some of our adventures -- not about my stalker -- and I gave my parents the hello message from Great-aunt Delilah. I didn't know when would be a good time to report on Curt but Tara and I had agreed it was probably better left out of the welcome home confusion.

The first time I heard from Curt after my arrival home seemed harmless enough. A post card from the Museum of Modern Art with just a few words scribbled on the back -- Enjoyed seeing New York with you -- Curt. It was even a picture of my favorite Van Gogh painting we saw there, The Starry Night, and I figured it was just a gesture of friendship, before he turned psycho on me. And, since the card was postmarked New York City and arrived the day after our return, he had to have mailed it during the week we were all out there. But it only took me a minute to realize he'd gotten my home address and I knew darn well I hadn't given it to him.

It didn't make me feel a bit better when Tara said he'd probably gotten it off the Internet. "You can learn practically anything about anybody these days," she reminded me.

"Oh great," I moaned. "So now he's got my address and he could just show up at my front door." I didn't like the way Tara scowled, like it was something that might really happen.

Still, I decided not to panic, just tossed the card into the wastebasket and refused to think about it anymore. "Well, I'm sure that's the last I'll hear from him," I told Tara. "He's probably back home in Massachusetts now and forgotten all about me."

The next day I got a telephone call.

"Who is it?" I asked Mom, putting down my sketch pad and reaching for the phone.

"He didn't say. Sounds like a boy's voice."

Maybe it was Rory.

"Hello? This is Heather."

"Heather Morgan, prettiest girl to ever visit New York City."

I froze. Curt Bonner.

"Uh, what do you want?"

"Just to hear your sweet voice. And to see if you got my post card. I picked it out especially for you."

"Yeah, I got it," I muttered. "Where did you...?"

He interrupted. "Good. I've created a work of art -- a masterpiece -- I think you'd like to have. It's a sculpture, but that's all I'm telling. Goodbye, my sweet."

The line went dead and I just stood there feeling prickles at the back of my neck and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The way he called me "my sweet" made my skin crawl. After awhile Mom came and took the phone out of my hand, switched it off and put it down on the table.

"Who was that?" she asked. "Your face went dead white. What's wrong?"

I sank down into one of the kitchen chairs and told her the story. I knew by then that I had to, that I probably should have told it sooner. I went up to my room and came back with the trip photos which I'd already shown everyone last night. But now I pointed out Curt lurking in the background of the Museum of Modern Art's sculpture garden.

Mom listened to everything, asking a few questions, and then she looked at Curt's picture for a long time. "Let's talk to Dad when he gets home. Maybe this boy is as harmless, as you first thought. But I don't like the fact that he got our address and telephone number without you giving them to him."

"Yeah, well, there's not a lot that's private these days," I said.

I called Tara right after Mom and I talked and, as I expected, she had a fit.

"I knew it!" she shouted. "He's behaving just like one of those celebrity stalkers I heard about on the news. Next thing you know he's gonna show up on your doorstep with a gun!"

"Thanks a lot, Tara. I knew I could count on you to make me feel better."

"Well, I'm sorry, Heather. But you know I had a bad feeling about him from the start. I wish now that we had called the police, even though Lilah said he hadn't done anything against the law. Maybe they could have just issued him a warning or told us what to do or something. Why don't you call them now?"

"We're waiting to see what Dad says. And I'm kind of curious about this work of art he told me he's sending."

"You're nuts! I wouldn't open anything that creep sends. You better call the cops so they can send out their bomb squad."

I laughed then, even though I was still kind of nervous. "You've been watching too many made-for-TV movies, Tara. I'll let you know what happens."

My dad thought we should wait, too. He said pretty much the same thing Lilah did. "There's really nothing we could take to the police right now. This boy hasn't made any threats and with him living clear over in Massachusetts I don't think he'll do more than get in touch with you by phone or through the mail"

Mom said she had already called the phone company to request an unlisted phone number. Unfortunately, they couldn't make the change for three days and Curt managed to call four more times. Twice I answered and he asked if I'd gotten his package. As soon as I said no he'd say, "I do hope you like it, my sweet. Take care," then he'd hang up before I could tell him to quit bugging me. I wished he would at least quit calling me "my sweet," since it gave me the creeps.

By that time I was pretty shook up and I wouldn't answer the phone at all, even if I was the only one home. I let the machine pick it up and every time we got one of those "hang up calls," I imagined it was my stalker. I told Tara and my other friends that I was letting the machine screen my calls so they'd be sure to say something so I'd know who it was.

The other two times Mom answered the phone and lied and told him I was out. He left his number but of course I never called him back.

The day we got our new unlisted number was the day his package finally arrived. It was bigger than I'd expected, about nine inches by twelve inches and about four inches high. At first I was afraid to open it, remembering what Tara had said about a bomb, but then decided I was being paranoid and tore off the wrappings.

Inside was a wooden box without a lid, like a shadowbox, its front covered over with a sheet of some sort of clear plastic. In the box were three partially melted plastic wrist watches, glued over some background splatters of paint.

Mom took one look at the melted watches and said something about a time bomb but I got it right away. I even laughed, a bit relieved.

"It's okay," I assured her. "This is just his sculptural interpretation of Persistence of Memory, the Salvador Dali painting at the Modern Art Museum in New York. I'll show you my postcard of it. I think Curt means it to be a harmless token reminder of the visit."

It was the last time I would think of anything to do with Curt Bonner as harmless.

The following day Tara came over to see the sculpture, and we went into the family room where I'd left it. There was no way I was taking anything from him up to my room.

"I think it's creepy, Heather. And I still think you oughta tell the police about this guy."

Just then the phone rang. I went into the kitchen, picked it up without a second thought, then froze when Curt's voice came over the line.

"I'm disappointed in you, Heather. I just wanted to be your friend. You seemed like such a sweet thing in New York. Very sweet. And we have so much in common."

I listened, too stunned to say a word.

"But you didn't return my calls," he continued. "And now I find out you tried to keep me from calling by changing your number. Do you know how upset that makes me, Heather?"

I gripped the receiver tightly in my hand and swallowed hard. I tried to speak, tried to form the words that would tell him to leave me alone, but my mouth was dry and my throat tight and I couldn't say a thing.

"You can't get beyond my reach, Heather, so don't try anymore. If you do I might get really mad. And I'll always find you anyway, no matter what you do."

"Please..." I finally managed to say. "Curt, don't."

"Don't what, Heather? Don't love you? I already do. Don't call you? I can't stop myself. Don't send you anymore presents? I just put one in the mail this morning, my sweet."

I slumped against the kitchen counter at the news.

"It's a portrait of you, Heather. I hope you like it. Until the next time, my sweet."

Then the line went dead and he was gone.

For the first time I noticed that Tara had followed me into the kitchen and stood staring. "It was him," I said, like she hadn't already figured that out, then burst into tears as she came over to hug me and let me cry on her shoulder.

This time I didn't even wait for my parents to get home. I called the police myself. The guy I talked to listened to my story, then said I definitely had grounds to file a complaint according to Oregon's stalking laws. The fact that they took me seriously made me feel better. I wanted to believe the police would be able to take care of everything and that very soon, Curt's contact with me would end.

Tara wasn't convinced but she drove me down to the police station and went in with me. I took along the one photograph of Curt I had from the trip, the phone number he'd given to Mom, the melted wristwatch collection and the Starry Night post card I'd managed to rescue from the trash.

The officer listened to us tell the whole story and looked at the things I'd brought. He told me that according to Oregon law if a person knowingly alarms a person by "engaging in repeated and unwanted contact" with the other person, and if the repeated and unwanted contact "causes the victim reasonable apprehension," then the police could issue the stalker a citation. I was thrilled to finally hear that there was something the police could do. They told us to leave it in their hands and to be sure and contact them if I heard from Curt in the meantime.

I returned home feeling drained by my experience but hopeful that the end was in sight.

My parents were glad I'd gone to the police. "You were right not to play around with this boy any longer," Dad said. "This is serious. I've read too many news accounts of stalkers harming their victims."

It didn't make me feel any better to hear that.

My mom echoed Dad's fears. "I guess I hesitated to report him at first because of the distance involved," she said. "I thought, how many boys that age would be able to just go out and buy a plane ticket from Massachusetts to here?"

Somehow that didn't make me feel any better either. I had a scary feeling that Curt was capable of doing anything that entered his unbalanced mind.

Two days later, Curt's second present arrived. It was, like he'd said, a portrait of me. Sort of.

He had apparently taken a photograph of me sometime during the trip and blown it up to an eight by ten, then cut it into a lot of different parts -- nose, each eye, arms, and so on -- then glued them all onto a sheet of drawing paper in a somewhat random form. He'd added colored pencil drawings of other body parts -- an extra nose, a spare eye -- so that it had the feel of cubism, like a Picasso. In fact he'd written its title on the back, "Heather, After Picasso." So in view of Curt's earlier Dali interpretation through his "sculpture," I tried to see the photo collage as harmless enough, just his interpretation of Picasso.

He'd enclosed a letter in the same envelope and I found that more frightening than the picture. Eighteen standard size pages, probably written on a computer, expressing his feelings about me and his plans for our future. The letter was full of old-fashioned endearments such as "sweet thing" and "dear heart" that only made my skin crawl. He spoke of getting a little apartment in New York City, which he called "the magical city of our meeting." He went on, "I can hardly bear all this time away from you now, but very soon I will come and carry you away, my fair maiden, to be with me for all eternity."

Carry me away?

That was it! A threat to kidnap me, as far as I was concerned. Mom and I rushed down to the police station with the letter and the new gift. The police said they had discovered Curt's address in Massachusetts and had issued the citation the day before.

"Well," Mom said, "Then I guess these were already in the mail. But certainly he'll stop now."

It didn't help that the police officer didn't look too convinced.

I called Tara as soon as I got home and told her everything that had happened. She came over to see the picture and the letter, copies of which were now in the police files. She studied the Picasso-like picture for a long time and looked again at the box containing the melted watches.

"If this creep remembers that your other favorite artist is Van Gogh, I hope his next gift isn't a slice off of his ear."

Tara had a way of saying exactly what she thought, no matter what. I shuddered at the prospect of opening a box in which a bloody piece of an ear would rest. By that time nothing Curt did would surprise me. I didn't want him to harm me or himself either. How had our innocent little trip to New York turned into such a nightmare?

I couldn't blame myself. I truly believed I had been merely friendly to Curt in the beginning without being too encouraging. I was sure that there was no way I had given him the impression there could be a possible love relationship between us. The guy was just nuts!

I had already called my aunt several times, filling her in on the situation. "I feel bad now that we didn't contact the police here," Lilah said. "Maybe just a talking-to would have helped."

"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't think something that simple would have stopped him."

For the next few days I didn't hear from Curt but my mind kept repeating lines and phrases from that long long letter over and over. Not because I wanted to but just because they were stuck in my brain and no matter what I did or what else I thought about, the words kept returning. Especially the part about him carrying me, his "fair maiden" away to be with him for all eternity.

I would totally freak out if the next thing that happened was Curt Bonner standing on my front doorstep.

Chapter 10

I received one more present from Curt a few days later. This time, on advice from the police, we took it to the station so someone could check out the package and open it for me.

No, it wasn't anything to do with ears, like Tara had thought, but it did have something to do with Van Gogh. Inside a larger box was a smaller, slim package wrapped in brown paper and marked: Caution explosives. But when the police opened it and showed it to me it was merely a box of sparklers with a note wishing me a "starry starry night."

I was relieved enough to think that was a pretty clever gift -- considering the source. I also thought it was better than another bizarre piece of his artwork. But when the next day brought a UPS delivery labeled with Curt's return address, I took it to the police station unopened as well.

It was a set of two eight by ten self-portraits done not in oils but in some kind of acrylic paint. Curt had painted himself, or a reasonable attempt at himself, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and sporting a bushy red beard, actually resembling a famous Van Gogh self-portrait. The second painting was the more chilling, a picture of Curt with a mad expression in his eyes and a heavily bandaged ear. I freaked out.

"Do you think this is a real threat?" I asked the police. "I mean would he actually cut off his ear and send it to me?"

There was no way anyone could know for sure.

When I got home there was another package sitting on the front porch, this one sent through the mail. It was too big to be an ear. Angry and impatient, I tore the wrapper off myself and opened the box. It took me a minute to realize what it was, but when I did I picked up the phone and called Lilah.

"What did you do with that flower arrangement Curt had delivered to your apartment?" I asked my aunt.

"Why, I took it outside and put it in the trash the minute you went to bed," she told me. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I just received an arrangement of dead flowers that looks exactly like what he sent and has the same card with it. I just wanted to make sure he hadn't broken into your place to steal it," I said.

"No, but he was obviously going through the trashcan in the alley. Now why would he send you the dead flowers?" she wondered.

"Maybe to tell me he knows I didn't keep his gift?" I suggested. "Or maybe, to warn me that I'm gonna end up dead next."

"Oh, Heather," Lilah said, her voice etched with concern. "Hang up this phone now and call the police again."

"What can they do?" I asked, pretty much already knowing the answer. "He still hasn't really threatened me, so all they can do is issue him another citation. He's not gonna kill me from hundreds of miles away."

"You haven't heard of the Una-bomber?" my aunt asked quietly. "He wasn't there in person when he killed any of his victims. Now call them."

So I did and they said they could order him to stop all contact with me and that would include personal contact as well as packages or letters sent by any means and also phone calls to me or any member of my family. Once again we tried changing our phone number, although we weren't as optimistic as the first time.

Then, to everyone's surprise, three full weeks passed without a word from Curt, either by phone or through the mail. I was daring to believe that he had finally taken the police orders seriously and had backed off for good. The police seemed to agree, telling me I was lucky to have had it end so quickly and easily. They did suggest I continue to be aware of anything suspicious and to inform them immediately if I heard from Curt again.

Once I relaxed, I began to sketch and paint seriously again, activities I'd been unable to do during my misery over the entire Curt Bonner situation. Rory had called after he heard I was back from New York and I felt able to go out with him again. His manner was so calm and easy-going, it reassured me that the whole world hadn't gone mad.

Tara and I began going to the mall again, shopping with great enthusiasm for clothes to wear to college. That's when I discovered something that surprised me -- I could no longer go into a store dressing room to try anything on. That's how much my one fainting experience had affected me. I could not erase from my mind the image of Curt Bonner standing on the other side of that curtain.

The dreams hadn't gone away either, but they were different from before. I was no longer running down the dark tunnels or hallways or going up the winding stairs. Now I was pushing aside a curtain or pulling open a door. And never again was my assailant unknown to me. Always, always, it was clearly Curt Bonner on the other side. Sometimes he held a weapon but sometimes it was just him, grinning and staring at me with pleading eyes. Sometimes he spoke. And he always said the same thing. "Come with me, my sweet. I want us to be together always."

My parents wanted me to see a therapist and I had finally called and gotten an appointment for the week right before school started. I truly felt that if I could stop having those dreams, the nightmare would really be over.

Then one day, about mid-afternoon, Tara and I were upstairs in my room surfing the Net on my computer when the front doorbell rang. Mom had left me a check for her cosmetics lady before she left for the beauty salon and told me her order was being dropped off sometime that afternoon. So, grabbing the check off of my dresser top, I raced down the stairs and flung open the front door, only to freeze in horror at the sight of Curt Bonner holding a small handgun pointed at me. He had a big grin on his face and reached out with his free hand as if to touch me. Instinctively, I backed away, then instantly regretted my step when I saw the look of anger replace his smile. He came into the room and eased the door shut behind him.

There was a very ugly look on his face, one that sent a wave of terror ripping through me.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Heather. I really thought you were the girl for me. I mean we really hit it off well in New York, didn't we?"

I took another step back. I couldn't stop staring at the gun he clutched tightly in one hand. And, though I tried, I couldn't get a sound to come out of my constricted throat.

Again, he reached a hand out to touch the side of my face. This time I was too frozen to move.

"You're so pretty, Heather. And so creative and talented, everything I want in a girl. There's just one thing wrong."

"What...what's that, Curt?" I managed at last.

He smiled, a twisted, pained-looking smile. "Why, Heather, you know what's wrong. It's your doing after all, isn't it? Ordering me to stay away from you. What's wrong? What's wrong!?"

He raised his voice to a near yell. For the first time, I remembered Tara upstairs and wondered if she had heard him. If she had, why wasn't she down here? Or maybe she was up there calling 911. Please, I prayed. Please be calling 911.

"What's wrong, my sweet Heather, is that you don't want me. That does create rather a problem."

"What are you going to do, Curt? I never meant to make you mad -- it's just that..." I tried to think quickly. "See, I just haven't been used to guys, and, well...you came on kind of strong, don't you think? I mean you sort of scared me and all."

He was staring at me, still holding the gun, and I couldn't tell whether I'd made things worse or better by what I'd said. I took a deep breath and continued.

"Curt, why don't you put the gun down and we'll go into the kitchen and have a soda and talk?"

It sounded trite and ridiculous but I had to get him to put that gun down.

"You know, I really did like the sculpture and th--the portraits you sent. And all the other gifts. I know I should have written a proper thank you, but..."

I don't know if I was imagining it or if he really did loosen his hold on the gun. Suddenly he laughed and to me it was even scarier than his anger.

"It could have been so good for us, Heather. My sweet Heather. But it's too late now. There's only one way you can make it up to me."

"Anything, Curt. Tell me what I can do to make it better. Just tell me."

He laughed again. "Haven't you figured it out yet? There's only one thing you can do..."

"Tell me!" I had to remind myself not to shout at him.

"Come with me, Heather." He gestured with his gun. "Come with me," he repeated.

"Where? Go with you where, Curt?"

He smiled sadly. "I like it when you say my name, Heather. It sounds so dear. Except I know you don't mean it to be. I know you're not sincere."

"Where do you want me to go with you, Curt?" I asked again, even though I knew I was terrified of going anywhere with him. But at least it might keep him talking. Had Tara called the police? I wondered again.

"We're going on a long and faraway journey," he said. "With this." He gestured again with the gun. "First you -- " He pointed it at my head! " -- and then me." He turned the gun to his own head for a second, then pointed it back at me. "We'll be together for all eternity," he said, with a demonic smile. A cold chill ran through me. I was starting to panic, when suddenly a loud crash sounded from upstairs. Tara!

Curt looked towards the stairs, still holding onto that darn gun.

"Who's up there?" He asked through clenched teeth.

I thought quickly. "No one. My cat probably just knocked something down. She's always getting into mischief."

Would he believe my lame attempt at an explanation? Obviously not. He grabbed my arm and, pushing me ahead of him, headed for the stairs. It was just like my nightmare on the Statue of Liberty stairs.

Please, Tara, do something, I prayed silently.

When we reached the top of the stairs, Curt looked around, confused. Which room had the sound come from? Where to check first? Every door was closed, an unusual situation -- something Tara must have done. It gave me a moment of hope, thinking she might have a plan after all.

Suddenly a door slammed -- perhaps a closet door -- the sound coming from my bedroom.

"Something's going on here. That was no cat." Curt pushed me towards the room and ordered me to open the door. We went in cautiously, gazing around the room.

"Okay, Heather. Let your cat out of the closet."

I slowly opened the door, ever-conscious of his gun, and looked in. I ran my hand along the row of clothes, turning back to face him. "See, nothing but clo..."

"Hey, Bonner!" Tara's shout startled us both, giving me just the second I needed to knock the gun out of his hand, and to watch in amazement as my best bud sprayed something directly into his face. Curt yelped in pain, bringing both fists up to rub his eyes. Tara was still thinking faster than me. She ran around the bed, grabbed the gun up off the floor and held it on Curt, who was doubled over, still rubbing his eyes.

"I called the police," she told me. "They should arrive any minute."

Sure enough, we heard the sound of distant sirens approaching and in what seemed like a matter of minutes, two police officers burst into the room. They handcuffed Curt and took him and his gun away.

Later that evening, after my parents had come home and Tara's folks had joined us too, she told us how she'd kept quiet upstairs, giving Curt enough time to believe we were here alone, then made the noise to get us upstairs once she'd worked out the plan. She'd been hiding under the bed when we first opened my bedroom door, and what she'd sprayed in Curt's face wasn't mace as I'd first believed but her purse-size can of hairspray. She'd caused no permanent damage to his eyes but she surely saved both our lives!

"There's no way of knowing for sure with Curt's obsessed personality, how much he would have acted out his desire," said the therapist who I saw for awhile after the incident. She helped me understand more about stalkers, whether they're after celebrities or just everyday people like me. She made it clear that I shouldn't blame myself for anything that had happened -- I had done nothing to encourage him and his behavior would probably have been the same no matter what I did. She assured me that stalkers' victims are picked for reasons only they themselves can justify.

***

My first month of college was tougher than I'd expected. At first I was afraid to talk to anyone, terrified of running into another "Curt." But Rory and his gentle ways, Tara, Lilah, my parents, and my therapist finally helped me realize that I couldn't live my life in a plastic bubble. I couldn't deprive myself of meeting new people and making friends just because I'd had one bad experience. I can see why people who live in big cities keep to themselves, though. My small town friendliness made me kind of an easy target. So does that mean I'm not friendly? I hope not! But I'm sure a lot more careful than I used to be.

Things are a lot better now, halfway through my first semester of college. I've made a few new friends, even though I'm still a bit cautious at first. I still see Rory, but I know I won't get serious about him or anyone else for a very long time. I want to concentrate on my studies and my future art career. I also don't want to make any assumptions about anyone. I have to stand on my own.

I finally stopped having those awful stalker dreams, and I've gotten enough confidence and trust back to know that I still want to continue my art studies in New York someday, just like I'd talked about with my great-aunt Delilah. Like maybe for my junior and senior years.

My parents actually told me about Dad's former love of Oriental art and how he'd given it up when he lost Kyoko. He regrets destroying all his brush paintings; but I know for sure that he and my mom are totally happy together.

I'm planning to spend more time in New York with Lilah, learning everything I can about the art world there. And she's coming out to Oregon City for Christmas, just like we talked about. Tara and I are still best buds, and she never lets me forget how she saved my life. That girl has guts, you know? And, although I hope I'll never have to, I'd do the same for her in a minute.

The End

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