Double Booked for Death

THE LADY DOTH PROTEST TOO MUCH

Vaguely, Darla was aware that the crowd noise had faded to a murmur, while the sound of her heart beating double time seemed suddenly louder than even the honking horns. She was running toward the van now, while a frantic voice in her head cried, Don’t let it be that, dear God, don’t let it be that.

Some of the teens had spilled over the barricades, and Darla had to shove her way through them. Only then was she close enough to see what the light from the van’s one unbroken headlamp revealed upon the asphalt. Her step faltered. For a moment, she feared she might sag to the sidewalk.

She managed to keep her own balance by focusing her attention on Jake, who had her cell phone to his ear and was shouting something unintelligible into it. She didn’t want to gaze at the motionless figure tangled in a long black cape that lay sprawled a few feet in front of the van, one limp arm pointing toward a rectangle of white cardboard, the protest sign, farther down the pavement.