Why am I thinking all this? she chided herself. I'm trying to psychoa.n.a.lyze him and put him in a category when I don't know the first thing about what he's actually turned into after all this time. Is all the warmth and sincerity for real? Back in the old days he'd make nice whenever the stakes were low, but then when he had something on the line, he'd push as hard as he needed to get what he wanted.

Well, she reminded herself, I'm that way too. That was part of our problem.

The phone beeped.

"Voila," Stone's voice announced. "I got an address in the West Village. It's Two-Seventeen West Eleventh Street. The phone is unlisted but it's billed to her name, so you were right about the number. And get this, it hadn't been turned off. So I thought, idiot, why don't you do the obvious and just try calling?"

"But her mother said she'd disappeared... ."

"Well, that's highly plausible. There's an answering machine there with a very strange message. It doesn't give a name, but it's a woman's voice and it's like a _cri de coeur_. She's away but she--quote--can't say where. You should listen to it."

Greenwood Lake Road had now become Skyline Drive,

for no discernible reason, and the traffic was picking up. Ally put on some speed and pa.s.sed a truck.

"I'll do that. But we don't actually know for sure if it's the same Kristen Starr, though it surely has to be. Did you recognize her voice?"

"I've never watched her cable show. I just sort of know who she is. But you'd better listen to her announcement. How could there be two screwed-up young women named Kristen Starr in the same town, even if it is New York?"

"I'll listen. It's got to be her, though. Give me the address." She hesitated a moment after he did then, "Would you like to meet me there?

I think I could probably make it in an hour, or an hour and a quarter to be safe. We could ask around see if anybody in her building or the neighborhood has any idea what's going on with her. Maybe somebody's seen her."

"I was supposed to head into the office, but nothing could keep me away," he declared with enthusiasm.

A patrol car was speeding by in the opposite direction, siren blaring.

She waited for the noise to subside.

"Great. I'll try for an hour. Unless the traffic really gets crazy. You never know what to expect at the GW Bridge, even in the middle of the day."

She clicked off the phone, then checked the number in the front of the black address book and punched it in.

The phone rang twice and then an answering machine started. The voice making the announcement sounded thin, tiny, and fragile. Just hanging on. It was the verbal equivalent of the loopy handwriting on the letter, a transparent attempt to bolster nonexistent courage.

"Hi. I'm away for now--I can't say where--and I'm not sure when I'll be back. But you can leave a message or whatever, in case I get a chance to pick them up at some point. Or you don't have to. That's okay too."

What an odd thing to say, Ally thought. It's like she s trying not to sound too needful.

But it was definitely the Kristen Starr. The slightly ditzy tone was right there.

Next came a long series of beeps as the machine proceeded to rewind.

This is surreal, she thought. I'm about to leave a message for a person who's G.o.d-knows-where.

While the machine beeped, she tried to rehea.r.s.e what she wanted to say, to make it as non-threatening as possible. Finally the machine stopped rewinding.

"Kristen, hi, my name is Ally Hampton. You may remember I did an interior-design job for you when you lived in Chelsea. Citis.p.a.ce? I just met your mother. She got your letter." Should I tell her about the gun accident? Ally wondered. No, she's weirded-out enough already.

"Your real name is Kristen Starr. You seemed a little confused about that in your letter to her, which I read part of. You'd been at the Dorian Inst.i.tute in New Jersey. Listen, it's really important to me, and to your mother, that you get in touch. I'd like to help you if I can, because from what I saw of your letter... Anyway, let me give you my cell phone number. If you pick this up, you can call me anytime, night or day. It's--"

"How did you get this number?" a frightened voice burst through. Ally recognized it, though it was nothing like the one she remembered from the confident, bra.s.sy TV personality that Kristen used to be. "I just got away and came here. And right after I got here, someone called my machine and then hung up. Are you tracking me? Who are you?"

"I ..." Ally was so startled she couldn't think of anything to say immediately. "Kristen, is that you? I just saw your mother. I... I got this number from her. She came out to the Dorian Inst.i.tute looking for you. She's very worried about--"

"You're lying to me. You're trying to trick me and get me back." She was breathing heavily, as though she'd just run a set of stairs. This is a person just barely holding it together, Ally thought. "Anyway, Kristen is not my name. My name is Kirby. They wrote it down for me and ... I'm very confused. I found a bracelet in my suitcase that had 'Starr' on it. Maybe that's my last name. It sounds right, but I can't remember--"

"You don't remember having a show on cable?"

"I ... I think I knew someone who had a TV show, but I don't think it was me."

"Kirby ... or whatever your ... listen carefully. I think you were undergoing an experimental procedure for your skin. At a place in New Jersey called the Dorian Inst.i.tute. The doctor was Karl Van de Vliet.

You were in clinical trials for the National Inst.i.tutes of Health. Then something happened and you left. Do you remember why you left? Or when?"

"No." She stifled a sob. "I can't remember anything."

Ally took a deep breath, not liking the vibes she was getting. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I don't want to talk to you or to anybody. I got out of that place and--"

" 'That place'?" Ally asked. She was being pa.s.sed by a huge bus and she could barely hear. "You mean the inst.i.tute?"

"You know where I mean. And don't come looking for me down here either, because I'm not going to be here." Jesus, Ally thought, what's with her?

"Kris--Kirby, I'm not connected with anybody at the Dorian Inst.i.tute.

I'm supposed to become a patient there myself. I'm just trying to find out what happened to you when you underwent your treatment there."

"I can only remember little things." She was moaning. "There was this man. He said I could have anything I wanted. I trusted him. And now . .

. I see faces but I can't remember who--"

"Kristen--that's your real name, by the way--can we meet? I promise you won't be harmed. I just--"

"You don't understand do you? You don't know what's happening to me."

Her voice had begun to break. "It's the Beta. I don't know how long it's going to be before--"

"Before what? What beta? What are you--Kristen, we've

really got to meet. I mean it. I desperately need to talk to you. Maybe we could find another doctor, if that's what you need. Could I come down--"

"I have no idea who you are. You could be ... He says they're trying to help me, but I'm not getting any better."

Ally was pulling onto the interstate, heading south. It was hard to concentrate on driving, but at the same time she wanted to push the speed limit. Kristen sounded like she was getting ready to disintegrate or flee.

Then she had another thought.

"Kristen, it's okay if you don't trust me. But could you tell me more about your ... side effects? Are they--"

"I think that's why he moved me. To that place. But then he ..." She was growing even more agitated and impatient. "Look, I really can't talk anymore."

I'm losing her, Ally thought. Try to make her hang on.

"Kristen, would you please take my phone number? You sound like you could use a friend."