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atheist was reading about angels. Did he think I was an angel?
    Though I needed to get out of there as soon as possible, I ran back to the kitchen, grabbed a pen from a short ceramic jar on the counter, then hurried back to the room. I opened the only book with a bookmark and wrote in the empty space at the end of his current chapter:
    Dear Pecker Colon,
    Very proud of your progress, keep up the good work.
    Pecker Colon was my nickname for Peter in college. Mean and silly, sure, but it’d reinforce the idea I’d been here and not some rogue book defacer.
    I closed my eyes and thought carefully about my next words. I really was proud of him, and I felt guilty for the way I’d treated him in college, and again when I’d shown up and freaked him out so much he’d turned to Tony Robbins and Dr. Phil for help.
    I wrote:
    Just curious, but why does Danielle have a computer? At her age? Why not get rid of it? I mean you’re her dad, I get it, but the world’s a dangerous place. Did you know your lamppost is out? Anyway, the spirit world calls to me. Take care of Sandra.
    I signed the note, Dan the Man .
    My behavior last time had left me with this nagging worry he’d freak out, get deeper into drugs, and ruin Sandra’s life. Clearly that wasn’t the case. The house looked great and he was trying to improve himself. Happy tidings everywhere.
    When I got to the living room, on an impulse, I went over and picked up their home phone, dialed an old number, and held it to my ear. When a lady picked up, I apologized for having gotten the wrong number.
    “I pushed seven when I meant to push eight,” I said.
    She said that was perfectly fine, it could happen to anyone, and told me to have a good evening. She sounded happy and healthy.
    I hung up, feeling immensely satisfied, and strolled through the front door as if I had every right to do so. After putting the key back where I’d found it, I proceeded to where Sam had parked. Then stopped.
    The cab was gone.
    I turned around to see if he’d moved down the road and saw the two bodyguards from the book signing standing in the gloom about five feet away.
    “Hey, Ernest,” Brian said.
    “Surprise,” Sean said, and zapped me in the chest with fifty thousand volts of searing, sizzling, agony.
    I fell straight backwards and hit my head on the pavement, which was like falling into a tub of cotton candy compared to that thing he’d hit me with.
    Sean stood over me and said, “Boss lady wants to see you, and you know how she gets.”
    He turned me over and I felt a sting in my butt. Then, together, they lifted me off the ground, dragged me over to a car, and tossed me into the back.
    When the drug kicked in, I skipped right over drowsy into infinite, deathlike oblivion.

Chapter Six
    I woke up in the backseat of a car.
    A moving car.
    Their moving car.
    I was groggy, could barely move … No, my right hand moved fine, but my left hand was asleep. I rolled over, shaking it to get the blood flowing again.
    “You awake, Prescott?” Brian said from the driver’s seat.
    “Yeah,” I said and sat up, feeling faintly nauseous.
    “Just stay quiet and enjoy the ride,” Sean said. He sounded angry. “While you were sleeping, we picked up your shit from the hotel. Why’d you switch rooms? Thought you could hide from us?”
    Brian said, “Man, leave him alone. You okay, Ernest?”
    “What about Sam?” I said.
    “Who?” Sean said.
    “The cabbie.”
    “Told him to scram. Don’t worry about him.”
    Time passed, and my wits slowly returned to me. We weren’t in the city. We were on 95, heading north toward New York.
    “No airplanes?” I said.
    Brian chuckled. “You sure pissed Lana off. Never seen her so mad. I mean, she’s crazy, you know? But damn. Told us to drive you. Said she wanted you back at the house.”
    “This is illegal,” I said. “Kidnapping. That doesn’t bother you?”
    I saw Brian look sideways at Sean, who returned the look, his expression