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Table of Contents

Praise

ALSO BY JOHN LUTZ

Title Page

Dedication

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PART ONE

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

PART TWO

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

54

PART THREE

55

56

57

58

59

60

61

62

63

64

65

66

PART FOUR

67

68

69

70

71

72

73

74

75

76

77

Epilogue

Postscript

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Copyright Page

For The Aardvarkian, Mr. B, Mr. E,

Ms. El, The Em, Mr. J, Mr. Lucas,

The Soph, The journey.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author wishes to acknowledge the invaluable aid of Michaela Hamilton, Dominick Abel, Marilyn Davis, and Barbara Lutz.

PART ONE

Still as they run they look behind,

They hear a voice in every wind,

And snatch a fearful joy.

—THOMAS GRAY, “Ode on a Distant

Prospect of Eton College”

1

Rose Darling knew she’d begun jogging too late. Unless she lengthened her stride, she’d be caught in Central Park after dark. Not that she hadn’t been warned, but hadn’t everybody at some time or other been warned not to be in Central Park after dark?

The trouble was, she had a date, and if she turned her daily jog into a track meet with the clock, her long dark hair would become a sweaty, unmanageable mass in the summer heat.

Rose was an attractive woman, tall and athletic, with shapely legs and a graceful way about her. Men would stare at her when she jogged.

Like the guy she was approaching on her left, who had a bicycle upside down so it rested on its seat and handlebars. Was he only pretending to work on his bike, so he could stop and watch her pass? Maybe he’d give her a few seconds, make up his mind, and start after her. He could catch her easily on his bike.

And he did straighten up and give her a direct, leering look from beneath a broad blue sweatband.

She averted her eyes and stared straight ahead as she jogged past. When she was well beyond him, she risked glancing over her shoulder, half expecting to see him pedaling hard and bearing down on her.

But he was bent over his upside-down bicycle again, busy trying to repair whatever was wrong with it.

Big wuss, I am!

She almost smiled.

Breathing more freely, she adjusted her pace so she did a minimum of bouncing, preserving her hairdo. She continued telling herself to calm down, she’d make it to the Central Park West and 81st Street exit before the sky became dark. She’d be out of the jungle then, into the bright lights and ceaseless motion of the city. Safe.

Safer, anyway. A different sort of jungle.

After about five minutes the trail bent and she looked directly ahead and saw the tall buildings along Central Park West. Their windows were beginning to show lights in uneven patterns, reminding her of a crossword puzzle that was all blanks. Behind the jagged skyline the blue sky had become an endless deepening purple.

Rose looked around her. There was no one in sight.

But she could hear the rushing whisper of the traffic now. Ahead of her.