F. Paul Wilson - Hosts

"With any other pair of women I'm sure you would have, right off. But your brain wasn't offering you options for your big sister's sexual orientation. So unless Kate showed up on a motorcycle with a shaved head and 'Bitch On Wheels' tattooed on her arm, you weren't going to see it. Her being a lipstick lesbian just made it harder."

"No wonder she seems to be walking on eggs when I'm around. Kate… I can't get over it."

"Does it bother you?" Gia said. "Come on, Jack, talk. You keep things in and stew about them. Don't do that here. Talk to me."

"Okay. Am I bothered? No. Anything Kate wants to be is fine with me. But am I shocked? Yes. Because I never saw it coming. I grew up with her, Gia. Never a sign, never a hint."

"At least not that you saw."

"Granted. I was a kid and I wasn't looking. But she always had boyfriends and… Gia, it's like the direction I always thought was north has suddenly become south. Should I go back and talk to her? Tell her I know and it's all right? Maybe that way she can relax around me."

Jack was used to knowing what to do in most situations, but here he was foundering.

"Since you asked," Gia said, "yes. Otherwise the two of you will go on dodging each other: she'll be hiding who she is and you'll be hiding that you know what she's hiding. But it's not my decision. And whatever you do, save it for tomorrow. Kate's got enough on her plate tonight, don't you think?"

Jack slipped his hand around the back of Gia's neck and kissed her lips. What would he do without her?

"Thanks."

She brushed her fingers against his hair. "Not a good day for Repairman Jack, hmmm?"

"Lousy."

"Well, Vicky's sitter is good till midnight. We could go back to your place and maybe, just maybe, if we think real hard, we might come up with a way to help you forget your troubles."

It had been a whole week. Jack felt more than ready.

"I think that's a perfectly wonderful—"

He noticed a woman standing across the street, staring. Not at them. Above them. She seemed to be in a trance. Something familiar about her face.

"What's wrong?" Gia said.

"Check out that blond woman over there. Do we know her?"

"Never seen her before."

Jack followed the line of the woman's stare and felt a stab of uneasiness when he realized she'd drawn a bead on the west corner of the third floor.

Gia whispered, "She's staring at Jeanette's apartment."

He looked at the woman again and now he recognized her. From the seance or whatever it was in the Bronx last night.

"I don't like this," Jack said. Not with Kate in that apartment.

"Look over there," Gia said, cocking her head to the left. "Down on the corner."

Jack spotted the man immediately. Although Jack didn't recognize him—a number of people at the seance had had their backs to him when he'd peeked in—he felt sure he was with the cult. Because he too was staring up at Jeanette's apartment.

How many more weirdos out tonight? he wondered as he scanned the block. He spotted none beyond these two.

Jack stepped to the curb for his own look at Jeanette's windows and spotted a human silhouette standing in one of them. A Bates Motel chill rippled across his shoulders. The open-mouthed terra cotta head glaring down at him from atop the window arch frieze only added to his unease.

Then the shadow disappeared from the window. Jack did a quick review of the apartment layout and decided it had to be Jeanette's study. Was she coming out to join the others?

"Let's move over here," Jack said, guiding Gia away from the vestibule's light wash and into the shadows.

Sure enough, minutes later Jeanette emerged. She crossed the street and joined the other two. The trio glided off toward Seventh Avenue.

"This is creepy," Gia said. Jack could feel her shiver as she clutched his arm and leaned against him. "Like some of those movies you make me watch. Where do you think they're going?"

"Looking for a cab to take them to the Bronx, I'll bet." But he didn't care about them. It was his sister who concerned him. "I've got to check on Kate."

He stepped back to the apartment house door and pressed the button labeled J. VEGA. Three times. Finally Kate answered.

"Yes?"

"Kate, it's Jack. I just saw Jeanette leave. Are you all right?"

"Of course." Even through the tinny little speaker Jack thought her voice sounded thick with emotion. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Can I come up, Kate?" He glanced at Gia for approval and she gave him a combination shrug-nod. "I'd like to talk to you."

"Not tonight, Jack. Maybe tomorrow. It's been a long day and I'm not feeling that great."

"You're sure you're all right, Kate?"

"I'm fine, Jack. Fine."

That last word, couched in a sob, tore his heart.

"Kate…"

But she'd broken the connection.

Jack turned to Gia and slipped his arms around her. "I can't stand this," he said, pulling her close and resting his cheek against hers.

She caressed his back and whispered, "I know. You're the fix-it man and you can't fix this."

"I don't even know where to start."

"Let's go home. Things may look different in the morning."

"Yeah."

But he doubted it.

FRIDAY

1

Sandy found Beth in the kitchen making fresh coffee when he burst into the apartment with the morning edition.

"Ta-daaaa!" he cried as he held up the front page.

Beth shrieked and ran to him. She'd moved some of her clothes into his apartment yesterday; she was barefoot in tight little shorts and a T-shirt and she looked so good Sandy wanted to grab her and hug her, but she snatched the paper from him and held the tabloid at arms length, staring at the three-word headline large enough to read from a block away.

THE

SAVIOR

SPEAKS!

"'An exclusive interview for The Light by Sandy Palmer'!" she said, reading the italic refer running along the bottom. "Sandy! Your name's on the front page!"

"I know, I know! Isn't it awesome!"

"Totally! I've so got to read this!" She opened to page three. " ' "Call me anything you want," the man known as The Savior said. "The one thing I'm not telling you is my name." ' " She looked up at him and smiled. "What a great opening line!"

While Beth stood there reading, Sandy wandered about the front room, unable to sit or even stand still. Every giddy nerve in his body was singing a joyful tune and his stomach tingled, almost to the point of nausea. Today was without a doubt the best day of his life, and the best moment of this day was when he'd stopped in front of the newsstand and gaped at that front page. For a full minute at least he'd stood frozen, couldn't even reach into his pocket for the change to buy a copy. And during that minute he'd seen one person after another pass up the Times and the News and the Post and go for The Light .

Mine. My Light .

He'd sure as hell earned it. Yesterday he'd thought he was home free after weathering an intense grilling by George Meschke and the other editors; then McCann showed up and put Sandy in the hot seat, firing questions from all angles, obviously hoping he'd contradict himself. He pushed Sandy almost to the breaking point.

"Am I on trial here?" he'd finally shouted. "All I did was answer the goddamn phone! Since when is that a crime?"

And that had brought Meschke to his rescue. He'd told McCann they were satisfied with the story's authenticity and were running it in the morning. McCann reluctantly backed off.

"Well, at least we know he was a SEAL," the big detective had said. "Or at least he says he was. That's a boost. Only so many guys make it all the way through SEAL training. We'll get the Navy on this."