Angie pushed past Sara, who put up just a little resistance before dropping her arm.

"Did you run all the way home and lock the door behind you like the last time?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

The radio news came on. Sara tuned out Angie and listened.

...calling for reform of the insanity defense in the wake of the Hinckley verdict. Hinckley was unable to distinguish between fantasy and reality and became obsessed with the film 'Taxi Driver.' He planned the a.s.sa.s.sination attempt on President Reagan in an effort to impress actress Jodi Foster ...

Angie went into the living room, heading for the stereo.

"Please don't turn it off," Sara said.

"Why not? Maybe we ought to talk about that first, huh? Why do you always need to have the radio or TV on?"

Sara stood in the living room doorway. Angie turned off the stereo. "Tell you what," she said. "You choose. We'll talk about the stereo or we'll talk about how you ran out of school again. But you've gotta give me something, okay? C'mon." Angie put her arm around Sara's shoulder, leading her toward the dining room where Sara had her books spread out on the mahogany table.

Angie lowered her voice. "Being afraid all the time is eating away at you. It's messing up your life. You can't keep living like this. And also, you drive me nuts when you're like this."

Sara sighed, melting into the Queen Anne dining chair. "I'm just shy, that's all."

Angie sat down in the chair next to Sara's. Sara stared out the window, past the ornate gold drapes and across the neatly trimmed gra.s.s to the flawless burgundy brick home next door.

"You're not just shy, Sara. You have a real problem. I asked Mrs. Leigh about shyness, and she said that sometimes it's much more serious than it looks."

"You talked to Mrs. Leigh about me?" Mrs. Leigh was the psychology teacher at their school. She looked like an owl, with round gla.s.ses, baggy clothes, and her hair perpetually in a bun.

Angie flipped her wrist, waving away Sara's concern. "I didn't mention your name. But she said that sometimes people are a lot more than shy. She called it social phobia. I think that might be what you have, Sara. I think you really need help."

"I'm shy. That doesn't mean I'm crazy! Besides, there's probably way more to that ... that phobia thing than that."

"There is. She said most of the time shyness is no big deal. It's only a problem only when it starts interfering with a person's life - you know, like making them run out of cla.s.s when they think everyone's staring at them and evaluating them and thinking negative s.h.i.t about them?"

"I hadn't done that in a really long time, and then you Oh, just forget it."

Angie nodded several times, quickly. "And then I what, Sara? And then I got you to stop drinking before school every day? I bugged you until you stopped bringing vodka in soda bottles? Is that what you were going to say?" Angie could see through Sara's defensive sh.e.l.l.

Sara raised her chin defiantly. "I hadn't run out since eighth grade! It was totally under control!"

Angie didn't bother to respond.

Sara moaned through gritted teeth, then put her head down, her perpetually numb left elbow under her forehead. "I wish I was crazy, Angie. Wouldn't that be a great escape from whatever haunts you? To have that kind of brain where nothing sticks and your craziness just insulates you from the world?"

"No," Angie said. I don't think being crazy would be nice. And you don't, either."

"Maybe just a little crazy. Temporarily crazy?"

"Be serious. This thing is doing just what Mrs. Leigh said. It's interfering with your life! That's you, Sara. That's you, and you know it. All of it. And now we know why. It has a name. Social phobia." She stood, staring down at Sara as if accusing her of a crime. "Tell me this. Do you ever get so nervous that you feel like you're floating outside your body ... like you're watching yourself from somewhere else?"

Angie would never understand. "No. I don't do that. I'm not crazy." Her head remained on the table.

"Well, she said that's not essential for a diagnosis, anyway."

"I don't need a diagnosis. I'm not crazy." Angie stared back at her, about to say something. Sara sat up again. "And ... and even if I am crazy, what difference does that make?"

Angie's face went blank.

"What should I do, Angie? Should I go tell my mom that I have a ... a diagnosis of ... whatever you called it? Or how about my dad? What do you think my parents would say to that?" Sara stood up. "Yeah. Now it's my turn to point out the obvious. Don't look at me that way; your parents would turn on you just as fast if you had a problem."

"I'm only trying to help you, Sara."

Sara stared. "I know," she said. "You're the only one who's ever tried." She sniffed and shook her head, forcing a friendly smile. "And anyway, it doesn't matter about my parents, because I'm not crazy, okay?"

Angie sat down next to her. "No, dear. You're not. But let's help you. How about we just keep the radio off for a little while, okay? I'll sit in the living room and you stay here, and we'll just work quietly in different rooms awhile. All right? Let's just try it."

Sara sniffed, nodding. "All right."

Angie went into the living room. Sara heard zippers from Angie's backpack and then some rustling papers. Then there was silence.

Down deep inside Sara, a little part of herself was locked away. It was lonely there, empty. And in the silence the rest of her started to disappear into that s.p.a.ce like water down a drain. She lost her focus, her vision going dark.

She only realized she was sobbing when something started to pull her back out. She reached for it, her vision coming back. It was Angie's hand, resting on Sara's shoulder.

The decor inside the Blue Lotus continued the Egyptian theme evidenced by the sign out front. The club was covered in ancient-looking hieroglyphics, but the blue and green neon gave the place its modern, urban feel. A giant blue neon lotus flower illuminated the dance floor from the wall above a small stage suitable for live bands, and on the opposite wall a huge movie screen showing pictures of ancient gold treasures like masks and statues. The dance floor glowed with wild lights and dancers gyrating in gold lame' and sequins.

She stared at the people, wondering. How many of you are dying from broken hearts tonight?

Alexander's "group" turned out to include Neil and a short, red-headed kid named Cameron, as well as a woman they all called "Big Momma." They all gave Sara the same weird sensation Alexander did, like there was more to them than she could see. Maybe it had something to do with the translucent skin they all had. They glowed under the club's neon in a strange way that most of the other patrons did not.

Now they were all gone again. They'd been slipping away into the dark and then popping back to the table all night.

Sara closed her eyes, fighting the temptation to put her head down on the table. Instead she sang along with the music, actually seeing the words in her mind as she sung them. "I travel the world and the seven seas. Everybody's looking for something ..."

The waiter brought Sara another free martini. He had the glow, too. h.e.l.l, the whole d.a.m.ned place was just chock full o' vampires tonight.

"Hey," she said, leaning closer to him. "How come you let us in the back door? How come our drinks are free?"

The waiter stared at her for a few beats. "Your date is ... an old friend," he said. Then he vanished.

A hand gripped her shoulder. It was Alexander, back from another of his little excursions. "Hey," he said. "I gotta step out for a little bit. You'll be okay here 'till I get back, right?"

"What?" Her eyes welled up. "Are you really trying to ditch me?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. I'll be back. But I got to make a quick run to see a guy, is all. Just hang out, all right?"

"f.u.c.k you, you f.u.c.king a.s.shole. I knew this was a mistake. You're gonna just leave me here alone?" She took a drink from the new martini, which tasted watered down.

"Sara..."

"Look, you might as well go. You're kind of a s.h.i.tty date. I've been sitting here by myself for most of the night while you roamed around anyway."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Had some s.h.i.t to take care of."

"Like now?"

"Kinda like now. Look, I can't explain. Just wait here."

She downed the drink. "No. I'm coming with you."

He looked like he was about to argue but then he turned and headed for the door. She followed, s.n.a.t.c.hing her coat from the chair. They were outside again, Sara shrugging into her coat as Alexander hustled her through the alley.

"Hey, slow down," Sara said. "You're pulling me too fast." She tried to twist her wrist away from Alexander's hand.

"Can't," he said, pulling harder. "Gotta go faster."

"No, we don't," Sara said. Her words were slightly slurred. "We're halfway to the car."

"Hurry up," he said, putting his arm around her waist.

"How come you're so sober?" she asked. "You drank more than I did."

She followed his gaze as he looked over his shoulder. Three silhouettes were walking quickly toward them.

The car crouched in the shadows just around the corner. Her head flopped toward Alexander as she concentrated on her diction. "Who are they?"

Alexander guided her toward the car. Unlocking the driver's side door, he pushed her in first and then scooted her over into her seat as he crowded in behind the wheel. He locked the door and fumbled to put the key in the ignition.

The three appeared next to Alexander's side of the car. Their gaunt, beyond-pale faces glowed from the darkness but their eyes were lost in shadow. One of their heads pivoted toward her. She gasped, her skin p.r.i.c.kling and her eyes welling with tears.

Alexander's motor roared awake and shot them away down the street. She turned to look through the back window; another ancient car came from behind to pick up the ones from whom they'd just escaped.

Alexander was staring into the rearview mirror. They were already going more than fifty miles an hour and the car was still accelerating hard. The other car was keeping up but it wasn't closing the distance.

Sara wrapped both hands around the door strap, her grip so tight all her knuckles ached. As their speed increased, small b.u.mps in the road made the car leap higher and higher into the air.

They zigzagged through streets and ran red lights but they weren't pulling away from the other car. They burst onto Lake Sh.o.r.e Drive and headed south toward the tall office buildings of the Loop. The other car was close behind but Alexander's car was accelerating faster. The machine made a noise like jet engines and superfast machine guns as it leaped ahead, changing lanes to pa.s.s the few cars on the road. The multi-laned Drive was like a tightrope stretched between the blur of city lights on her right and the blackness over the lake on her left.

What if they crashed? Or worse, what if the other car- the things in the other car- caught them?

The car seemed to have reached its maximum speed, somewhere well over a hundred miles per hour, but they weren't far enough ahead to lose the other one completely. Alexander let up on the gas a little bit and the gap between the two cars narrowed.

Sara bit back a scream as Alexander threw the car into a turn, bouncing off of Lake Sh.o.r.e Drive and onto some unknown street of the deserted business district. In the dark, the skysc.r.a.pers were huge, dark monoliths boxing them in. He gunned it again as headlights from the pursuing car swept across them. Her stomach lurched, but she clamped her lips and held down her gorge, adjusting to the speed - Alexander stomped on the brake.

This time Sara did scream, stiff-arming the dash with her numb left hand to keep from flying through the windshield. Her seatbelt groaned as her body wrapped around it but there was no time to notice the pain. The car shifted left and Sara bounced up as her side of the car jumped the curb and leapt onto the sidewalk. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, her body vibrating as the car fishtailed into a building with a terrible growl of engine noise, grating metal, and shattering gla.s.s. The large panes of the display windows rained down like a waterfall as she spun her head to see where the other car might be. Alexander managed to wrest control back and propel them in a new direction.

They launched down a new street and she located the other car as it careened into the same turn. With less time to slow down and maneuver, the other car wasn't able to straighten out as quickly. Its rear end fishtailed farther into the building than Alexander's had, and it didn't come back out.

She watched the ones who had been chasing them begin to emerge from the car, and then Alexander took another couple of sharp turns and they were headed back north.

"Are you sure about this, Sara?" Angie called from the kitchen.

"I'll be fine," Sara said, maneuvering through her father's dark study. "I used to do this all the time. Besides, we deserve to go to a few parties. I just need a little help, is all."

The living room stereo had been playing music but now news had come on. Sara's mind pictured the words as the newsman read.

"...New information disclosed last week suggests that three more deaths may be related to last fall's seven Tylenol murders. Originally dubbed cocaine overdoses, the bodies of the three victims also held lethal doses of cyanide, the poison the tainted Tylenol capsules contained. Authorities are reopening their investigation into the deaths and believe this to be the work of a nonspecific multiple murderer, something like a typical serial killer. Because the crime has not been solved, there is a good chance that the killer could strike again..."

The half-scale model of the human circulatory system on her father's desk was a web of gray in the shadows. It appeared to hover there- a ghoul guarding his precious treasures in his absence.

Words drifted in from the kitchen with a soft slapping sound. Sara imagined Angie slapping Josh's wrist. "Hey, nerd boy," Angie said. "Don't eat any more of the kimbop. It's for Sara."

"Ow," Josh said. "Why not? They're good. What's in 'em?"

"They're just rice and ground beef with some veggies, rolled in seaweed. But you can't have them! This is Sara's dinner!"

"It's okay!" Sara called, emerging from the study. "I don't need any more."

"Bulls.h.i.t," Angie said. "It's Sat.u.r.day and you've been home all day. That means you didn't have any lunch."

Sara returned to the kitchen, showing Angie and Josh a bottle of Chivas Regal. "Secret weapon," she said. "I can be as social as anyone else. You'll see." Angie looked like she was going to say something but seemed to change her mind as Sara filled three tumblers with ice from the dispenser on the refrigerator door.

"So why didn't you have lunch?" Josh asked. "You on a diet or something?"

"No. My mom is," Sara said, pouring.

"That's why there's never any food in this G.o.dd.a.m.ned house," Angie said. "Queen Wackadoo doesn't eat here, so n.o.body eats here."

Sara forced Josh's gla.s.s into his hand. "But we make up for it in other ways."

"Won't your dad see it's missing?" Josh asked, peering into the gla.s.s.

She shook her head. "He goes through too much of this stuff to pay attention to the level."

Josh held the gla.s.s in front of his face, looking through the side as if it were a test tube containing some unknown compound.

"Relax," said Sara. "Josh, believe me. I do this all the time. There's a bottle like this in the trash every week. Sometimes two. He won't know." She raised her gla.s.s at them before taking a deep drink.

Nosferatu, the original film vampire, peered into the s.p.a.ce above Sara's head from where his poster was affixed over the TV. Sara blinked a few times, staring. But the shelving unit next to Nosferatu, and the jars it supported, suddenly commanded Sara's attention. Why would anyone have so many jars of- Worms!

She leaned closer. Not really worms. Some kind of wriggling wormlike bugs.

Alexander emerged from his room, having changed from his work clothes into a black T-shirt and jeans. He took a swig from a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam, handing it to her and nodding toward the jars.