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.I looked up and sighted along the tines of the fork, then walked a dozen paces farther and triangulated as best I could.The direction change on the way the fork faced when it toned the second time was appreciable, even without any kind of instruments—Lydia must have been fairly close."Yes," I said, and started off at a brisk walk, sweeping the tuning fork back and forth, setting my feet in the direction that it chimed.I kept on like that to the far side of the park, where the tuning fork pointed directly at a building that had once been some kind of manufacturing facility, perhaps, but now stood abandoned.The lower floor was dominated by a pair of garage doors and a boarded-up front door.On the lower two floors, most of the windows had been boarded up.On the third floor, truly bored or determined vandals had pitched stones through those windows, and their shattered edges stood sharp and dusty against the blackness behind them, like dirty ice.I took two more readings, from fifty feet on either side of the first.All pointed directly to the building.It glowered down at me, silent and spooky.I shivered.I would be smart to call Michael.Maybe even Murphy.I could get to a phone, try to get in touch with them.It wouldn't take them long to get here.Of course, it would be after sundown.The Nightmare, if it was inside Lydia, would be free to leave her then, to roam abroad.If I could get to her, exorcise this thing now, I could end the spree of destruction it was on.If, if, if.I had a lot of ifs.But I didn't have much time.The sun was swiftly vanishing.I reached inside my duster and got out my blasting rod, transferring my exorcism bag to the same hand as the tuning fork.Then I headed across the street, to the garage doors of the building.I tested one, and to my surprise it rolled upwards.I glanced left and right, then slipped inside into the darkness, shutting the door behind me.It took a moment for my eyes to adjust.The room was lit only by the fading light that slipped its fingers beneath the plyboard over the windows, the edges of the garage doors.It was a loading dock that encompassed almost the entire first floor, I judged.Stone pillars held the place up.Water dripped somewhere, from a broken pipe, and there were pools of it everywhere on the floor.A brand-new side-panel van, its engine still ticking, cooling off, stood parked at the far side of the loading dock, next to a five-foot-high stone abutment, where trucks would once have backed up to load and unload goods.A sign hanging by one hinge, over the van, read SUMMER'S TEXTILES MFG.I approached the van slowly, my blasting rod held loosely at my side.I swept the tuning fork, and my eyes, around the shadowed chamber.The fork hummed every time it swept past the van.The white van all but glowed in the half-light.Its windows had been tinted, and I couldn't see inside of them, even when I came within ten feet or so.Something, some sound or other cue that I hadn't quite caught on the conscious level made the hair on the back of my neck prickle up.I spun to face the darkness behind me, the tip of my blasting rod rising up, my bruised fingers wrapped tight around its haft.I focused my senses on the darkness, and listened, honing my attention to the area around me.Darkness.Drip of water.Creak of building, above me.Nothing.I put the tuning fork in my duster pocket.Then I turned back to the van, closed the distance quickly, and hauled open the side door, leveling my rod on the inside.A blanket-wrapped bundle, approximately Lydia-sized, lay inside the van.One pale hand lay limp outside of it, my talisman, scorched-looking and bloodstained, wrapped around the slender wrist.My heart leapt into my throat."Lydia?" I asked.I reached out and touched her wrist.Felt the dull, slow throb of pulse.I let out a breath of relief, pulled the blankets from her pale face.Her eyes were open, staring, the pupils dilated until there was barely any color left in them at all.I waved my hand in front of her eyes and said again, "Lydia." She didn't respond.Drugged, I thought.What the hell was she doing here? Laying in a van, covered up in blankets drugged and placed as neatly as could be.It didn't make sense, unless she was …Unless she was a distraction.The bait for a trap
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