Why was he asking when it was so obvious he didn’t want her to come? Then she looked at Beau, who stood smiling and nodding, Premonition leaning heavily against his leg. There was the answer to her question.

“I don’t know.” Cleo unlocked the door and swung it open. The stench of ancient body odor hit her in the face. She swallowed and stared into the darkness, then turned back to the two men.

Daniel was silently begging her to say no. Beau was silently begging her to say yes.

She smiled. “I’d love to. Oh, and Beau, would you mind taking Premonition with you for a few hours? He could use a little exercise.”

“All right!” Beau shouted. He dropped to his knees and put his hand up so Premonition could give him a high five. Premonition, who had already known how to shake when Cleo got him from the pound, lifted one paw. Beau laughed in delight.

“Yeah. We’re a team. We’re a team.” Beau jumped to his feet and ran for the truck, the dog close behind.

Cleo looked up to see Daniel glaring at her. “You can’t mind-read worth shit,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, smiling, “but I can.”

The motel room was like something from a Quentin Tarantino movie. Twenty dollars a night, it was the kind of place where prostitutes rendezvoused and alcoholics slept off their latest indulgence. Worse than that, everything was orange-the curtains that sagged from ceiling to floor, the threadbare chenille bedspread, the shag carpet with a trail worn from the door to the bed and from the bed to the bathroom. Cleo hated orange.

Why not a nice avocado green? Anything but orange.

Missing hooks caused the curtains to droop in an out-of-sync way. Things weren’t any better in the bathroom. The floor was made of tiny, one-inch tiles, with grout that had accumulated years of scum. The shower seemed to have been an afterthought-one of those square fiberglass jobs with a trampoline floor and metal trim that could give you a good case of tetanus if you weren’t careful.

She discovered that the toilet flushed only if you held down the lever. Actually, she was surprised to find that it flushed at all. There was a hole in the wall where the paper holder used to be. Now, a half-used roll perched precariously on the back of the tank. Beside the toilet was a plunger. A sign of things to come?

On the rust-stained sink was a drinking glass. It had the same opaque, water-stained quality as the shower curtain. She made a mental note to pick up some disposable cups.

In the mirror, under the weird glow of the flickering fluorescent light, she looked like a corpse. Her face was pasty and mottled. There were deep lavender circles under her eyes. Her lips looked gray, almost blue.

Cleo pulled at the tiny chain, turning off the light, then left the bathroom to lie fully clothed on top of the bedspread. She wasn’t yet brave enough to pull down the covers. Exhausted, she soon fell asleep and dreamed a dream she hadn’t had in years…

She was back in college, dressed for Halloween, wearing a bright orange pumpkin outfit that was made of some cheap polyester fabric she’d picked up at a discount store. It was stuffed with newspaper that crinkled when she walked. She would have preferred to use batting for filler, but she was a college student and didn’t have that kind of money to spare. The fabric for the pumpkin had been enough of an expense.

In the dream, Jordan was still alive, even though she knew he was dead. He kissed her, saying he’d always wanted to make out with a pumpkin. She hadn’t told him yet, but she was pregnant.

Jordan was a pumpkin too, although he was so tall his pumpkin wasn’t round, but long and narrow. He laughed his bright laugh and said he was more like a squash.

And then the scene changed, the way things did in dreams. Suddenly they were at the theater, watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show, tossing dried toast, laughing.

Then came the bad part of the dream, when they were crammed into Jordan ’s little car, rain pouring down, Halloween lights from a townhouse casting strobe-like patterns on their faces.

The car skidded, then, just as quickly, hit something and came to a bone-shattering halt. Instantaneously, Cleo found herself outside the car. Rain beat down, but she couldn’t feel it.

Don’t look.

But she had to. She couldn’t keep from looking. That was what the dream was all about. Looking. Seeing something she didn’t want to see.

Why, it’s okay.

She let out her breath. What had she been so afraid of? It was only a pumpkin. Only a smashed pumpkin.

She stepped closer and suddenly she saw that it wasn’t a pumpkin at all, but Jordan.

Close your eyes, she told herself.

She closed her eyes, but she could see through her eyelids.

Turn away. All you have to do is turn away.

But she couldn’t move.

Cleo came awake with a sense of anxiety and relief-relief that the dream was over, anxiety because the dark mood of it lingered in her mind. She lay there staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, then her gaze tracked around the room, finally falling on the offensive curtains.

She jumped from the bed and pulled down the orange monstrosities. She wadded them into a ball then stuffed them under the bed. Next she pulled the spread free, wadded it up, and put it under the bed, along with the curtains.

There.

Better.

Daniel Sinclair would be picking her up soon. She held out her shaking hands. Her hair and clothes were soaked with sweat. She’d thought all of this was behind her. She’d been well for two years. Four, if she counted the years she was in therapy. So why now?

On wobbly legs, she crossed to the air conditioner and turned it to high. Then she dropped to her knees and opened her suitcase, flipped back the top, and retrieved a zip-seal bag. She pulled out a brown prescription bottle, quickly unscrewing the cap and dumping the contents into her palm. Vitamin C tablets. A couple of aspirin. That was all.

She checked the refill date on the bottle. The prescription had expired a year ago. She plopped down on the bed, grabbed the phone, and put in a call to her shrink’s office.

“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said in a soothing voice. “Dr. Porter is practicing in Texas now. Would you like to make an appointment with one of the other doctors?”

“I have a prescription I need to get refilled.”

“One of the other doctors would be glad to see you.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Panic was rising. “I’m in Missouri.”

“Then you’ll have to see somebody there. I’m sorry.”

Cleo hung up, wondering what she was going to do. She grabbed the skinny, tattered phone book, found Daniel Sinclair’s number, and dialed. She would tell him she couldn’t come. Tell him she had a headache.

Beau answered. And said Daniel was on the way to pick her up.