It was raining, of course. Not a terrible storm, justa steady spitting patter that Maggie hardly noticed.It plastered her hair down but it also concealed thenoise of her steps.
And the lowlying clouds blocked out MountRainier. In clear weather the mountain loomed over the city like an avenging white angel.
I'mactuallyfollowingsomebody,Maggiethought. She could hardly believe it, but she wasreally moving down her own home street like a spy,skirting cars and ducking behind rhododendron bushes.
While all the time keeping her eyes on the slender figure in front of her.
That was what kept her going. She might havefelt silly and almost embarrassed to be doing thisbut not tonight. What had happened put her farbeyond embarrassment, and if she ‘started to relax inside and feel the faint pricklings of uncertainty,memory surged up again and swept everythingelse away.
The memory of Sylvia's voice. The buckle might not have been fastenedright.And the memory ofher mother's hand going limp as her body sagged.
I'll follow you no matter where you go, Maggie thought. And then…
She didn't know what then. She was trusting to instinct, letting it guide her. It was stronger andsmarter than she was at the moment.
Sylvia's apartment was in the U district, the college area around the University of Washington. Itwas a long walk, and by the time they reached it,the rain was coming down harder. Maggie was gladto get out of it and follow Sylvia into the under ground garage.
This is a dangerous place, she thought as shewalked into the echoing darkness. But it was simply a note made by her mind, with no emotionattached. At the moment she felt as if she couldpunch a mugger hard enough to splatter himagainst the wall.
She kept a safe distance as Sylvia waited for the elevator, then headed for the stairs. Third floor. Maggie trotted up faster than the elevator could make it and arrived not even breathing hard. Thedoor of the stairwell was half open and she watched from behind it as Sylvia walked to anapartment door and raised a hand to knock.
Before she could, the door opened. A boy wholooked a little older than Maggie was holding it,letting a couple of laughing girls out. Music driftedto Maggie, and the smell of incense.
They're having a party in there.
That shouldn't be so shocking-it was Saturdaynight. Sylvia lived with three roommates; they were undoubtedly the ones having the party. But as the girls walked past Sylvia they smiled and noddedand Sylvia smiled and nodded back before walkingcalmly through the door.
Hardly the sort of thing you do when your boyfriend's just been killed, Maggie thought fiercely.And it doesn't exactly fit the "tragic heroine" act,either.