Fall From Grace: The Dance Thriller, Part 2

Maybe The Reason I Say These Things Is To Bring You Back Alive

Landover, Maryland
Monday, December 1, 1997
(12:30 am)
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Lindsey had not stopped pacing around the hotel suite.

He felt as though he'd been kidnapped himself, forced to stay and wait while the police alerted the roads and the motels and whatever else they'd explain they would be doing while he'd been able to think of nothing but Stevie's face on the pillow beside him that morning, the sun that had turned to gray by ten o'clock because snow was in the forecast spilling into the room and illuminating her face as she's slept in complete peace on her side, wearing her green silk pajamas and holding one tiny hand over the baby in her belly, the vintage diamond ring he'd given her on her finger and catching the sunlight. He'd picked up the phone and ordered room service quietly so he wouldn't wake her, and they'd spent the morning eating Greek omelettes and talking about who she should dedicate "Landslide" to that night. He'd called Ray about the roses in her dressing room while she was in the bathroom, smiling as he'd pictured her face when she saw her favorite flower all over and read the card and knew that whatever was happening, he loved her and they were in this together.

Her green silk pajamas still lay crumpled on the floor of the bathroom where she'd left them.

Lindsey saw the pajamas out of the corner of his eye and stopped his pacing to kneel on the bathroom floor and pick them up. He touched the cool silk to his face and it smelled like gardenia and orange, a little dried sticky spot on them from where she'd spilled orange juice this morning trying to reach the table with her glass over the baby and missing the edge. He sniffed hard, drinking in the scent of home and sinking into a sitting position on the cold white tile of the bathroom floor.

For the second time that night, Lindsey broke down into sobs.

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"I don't know what you like to eat, but this is a bunch of prepared foods from the mini mart down the road," Kristen said. "Some sandwiches, a few muffins, a roasting chicken with potatoes, I think." She rifled through the paper shopping bag. "And some magazines. I got mostly fashion and home decor ones...I know you like to decorate. I do too."

Stevie had always been a fan of police dramas on television. She remembered being a little girl in Salt Lake City and negotiating her bedtime to be later so she could stay up to watch 77 Sunset Strip, and she and Jess used to make popcorn back then and sit together to watch The Untouchables. She'd never missed a Hill Street Blues in the 1980s even on tour and even on all-night cocaine benders with Joe, and these days, Lindsey couldn't pry her away from NYPD Blue or Homicide: Life On The Streets. In all of those crime shows, she thought, people who kidnapped people were always holding guns, talking all crazy and yelling and telling their victims to shut up and hide in a corner or drop to the floor...and here was Kristen Messner, bringing her food and home decorating magazines. She wasn't about to question it.

"Thank you," she said. She watched Kristen set the magazines down on the dresser that sat across from the bed, and put the food away in what appeared to be a small refrigerator in the oak cabinet beneath the television. She'd come to realize despite not having her glasses with her that she was in a motel room, kind of like a Best Western or a Holiday Inn, she figured, maybe a Motel 6. The snow was falling more intensely now in the parking lot, and she could see the tops of cars covered in white dust. She squinted to see the time on the clock radio on the nightstand. It was 12:37.

"I also got bottles of water and a few Snapples," Kristen said, as if she were hosting Stevie as a houseguest and was showing her around. "That should be good for awhile, but pace yourself."

"Where are we?" Stevie asked, watching Kristen walk around the room and fiddle with things as if she were the housekeeper.

"I'll be leaving you alone now," said Kristen, ignoring her question. "The TV works. There's Cable."

Stevie was becoming increasingly aware of two things - her head was killing her, and the back pain she'd felt earlier on stage had returned with a vengeance. It had begun to reach around to the front, almost like a tightening belt of pain. She kept it to herself, but it was getting harder and harder to sit without squirming.

"Kristen..." She held her back where it hurt, her other hand not moving from the baby. "Where are we?"

"You mean you can't put two and two together?" Kristen laughed, her hand dropping to her own protruding belly. She watched Stevie nod. "We're in Silver Springs, Stevie."

********************

The phone was ringing. Lindsey had no idea how long he had been crying on the bathroom floor, but he was lying in a ball, hugging Stevie's pajamas close to his heart, the cool silk touching his chin, as he heard the phone. He scrambled to his feet and picked it up, saying a brusque, "Hello."

"Marty told me to get you down to the lobby." He heard John McVie's voice on the phone. "A vehicle with a blonde pregnant woman and an unidentified man in his thirties or forties checked into a Best Western about forty minutes from Landover. A housekeeper saw a second blonde pregnant woman being carried through the parking lot and into a room on the first floor." He exhaled audibly. "Are you ready for this? They're in Silver Springs."

Lindsey would have laughed if he wasn't so terrified. "I'm on my way down."

He hung up the phone and zipped himself into a black North Face down jacket for the falling snow and was out the door, grateful that Sara Belladonna was safe and sound, asleep in Karen's room. He couldn't have cared for a dog tonight; all he could think of was Stevie and their baby girl.

"You could be my Silver Springs," he thought.

You ARE my Silver Springs, Stephanie. I'm coming. And after this I'm never letting you go.

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