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information. A street busker by a theater narrowed the possibilities. She knew the areas where street musicians preferred to set up. There were sections of town where you didn't play with an open guitar case by your feet for fear of being robbed or harassed. Other areas were more amenable—storefronts, corners, city parks—where at least you had a chance of making money.
    Tim's last known whereabouts were coming into focus. The list shrank as she thought it through.
    She played the recording once more, focusing on the song. Until now, she had heard, "ICQ." Or "I screw you…in the morning." But this time the words fell into place. She knew the melody and the odd lyrics. "Eye seek you in the morning…Eye seek you at night."
    She glanced at her sketch pad on the end table. Last week she had made a pen and ink drawing of Sleeping Beauty lying on a dusty bed—cobwebs covered her face, hair and dress; but she slept with one eye open. Tim had asked her if it was a self portrait.
    Tim , she thought for the hundredth time, where are you? I seek you .
    Rayne had two choices: stay home and wait for the phone to ring, or reach for her car keys.
    At 2:30 a.m. she parked her candy-apple red, death-defying 1988 Buick LeSabre in front of a convenience store, Store 24, in Cambridge. Inside she bought the Boston Globe and a cup of coffee, then returned to her front seat. The car’s interior was so red it suggested a bloodbath. She put the overhead light on, pushed the seat back, and turned on the radio to a classical music station. Debussy’s Clair de lune drifted through the speakers. This piano piece was one of her all-time favorites. Finally, she thought, something had gone right today.
    She unfolded the newspaper to the movie listings. She spread it open against the steering wheel, took a felt tip pen with blue ink from her purse, and read the listings, one by one. She crossed out those that featured family films, animation, musicals. She drew a thin line through comedies (Tim's unpopular idea of comedy was a fake security camera on the living room wall). She circled the theaters whose movies would appeal to Tim. Dark, edgy movies.
    She combed the list twice, honing it down to the most probable venues. With a red pen, she circled the theaters that were within walking distance or a short commute on the subway. With his surgically repaired eye, she thought he'd be disinclined to take a long commute on the train.
    Soon two theaters rose to the top of her list. One was in Kendall Square, Cambridge, near MIT. This week they were featuring a science fiction/horror film festival to celebrate Halloween. She drove there within ten minutes, and exited the car. She stood and viewed the area, which included high tech companies and a courthouse, but couldn't recall seeing street musicians here. Not enough foot traffic.
    She got back behind the wheel and drove to option two. Harvard Square had buskers throughout the year, above ground and in the subway, especially in the dead of winter. Street entertainment included musicians, jugglers, acrobats, and delusional egomaniacs who couldn't carry a tune in their pocket. Rayne turned off Mass Ave and parked on an empty side street. No pedestrians in sight. The Square was dead. She walked over to the Gateway and looked up at the dark marquee.
    Gone
    She stepped up to the box office booth, glanced through its dark window and saw an empty stool. She moved a few feet over to the curb. Across the street were three trees ablaze with leaves of orange, yellow and green. A Halloween haze of colors. When the ebb and flow of the wind rattled the leaves, she closed her eyes and listened.
    Where are you, Tim?

 
     
    CHAPTER 3
     
     
    A noise at the mouth of the alley made him look up.
    Crowe half closed his bad eye and focused with his right—a silhouette appeared in a circle of gray light at the end of the tunnel, and advanced, as if he were running through a telescope. The sound of footsteps soon blended with