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Authors: Marlys Millhiser
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right?â
âWrong, Evan. Serial numbers and things like that donât burn. The original owner at least has got to be on file somewhere.â
âWhat can I say? Lifeâs a gamble, Charlie.â But everyone had grown suddenly somber. âAll we really need is a little time and some magic will happenâwonât it, Toby? And everything, including you, will be safe as grass, Charlie.â
The van turned onto a heavily lighted parkway, and for a second a teardrop glinted in a free fall from Carylâs face before it was lost in her dark clothing. She hadnât joined in the teasing and laughter. More tears formed on her lashes, but her voice came more vengeful than sad. âThe plane was listed originally in my brotherâs name. Nobody can go after Pat now.â
CHAPTER 8
C HARLIE STILL FELT strange as she stepped up to the Hiltonâs glittering entrance. For once, it wasnât her stomach. The McFood seemed to have settled peacefully. More her headânot an ache exactly. Maybe it was just her anger at how Evan Black thought he could use her. It would take more than magic to get them out of this.
âHoly shit,â a man said behind Charlie, and she turned at the door, to see him stepping out of a cab. The inside light and the cabâs headlights sat in a sea of night under the immense marquee. All the lights and the razzamatazz at the fountain and the rows of lights under the marquee had gone out.
A bell captain passed her on his way to the luggage the cabbie was unloading. âTalk about blinding night, huh?â
It was spectacular. Charlie had an errant thought: If all the lights went out in Vegas, would it still exist? Like, if a tree falls in the forest and nobody sees it â¦
Get thee to bed, Charlie G, youâre all done.
For once, we agree.
The elevator quit on her a floor below hers, but at least the door had already opened to let her out. None of the elevators seemed to be working up or down, so she took the stairs one flight to her room, flicked on the lights, flicked off her clothes, and stepped into the shower just as the lights went out. She showered by feel and managed to find her nightshirt and the bed by the light of the Vegas night outside the window.
But then she couldnât sleep. It had been one hell of an unvacation day. And the room was stuffy without the ventilation fan blowing canned air into it.
Finally, Charlie took her frustration to the wall of window and, kneeling on the couch to face it, reassured herself that life was indeed still normal, fully aware of the irony in that. She had no idea which direction Yucca Mountain and Area 51 and the smoldering ruins of a claustrophobic little airplane might beâbut she was alive, warm, fed, and well. And she decided she must have imagined the orange light, a vestigial smear of which she imagined still lurked somewhere at the back of her eyeballs. Which didnât mean the United States government was collecting her DNA from a portion of the plane that hadnât burned.
The electricity might be out in her room and parts of the hotel, but the lights of the Strip drowned out the star show that played over Area 51. Closer in, the immense Hilton sign still had juice. It flashed alternate messages across the nightâ WELCOME AMA and MOST CASH BACK and TWENTY-FOURTH CENTURY IS NOW .
Across the street, BOYZ R US . A block up the street, the spindle of the Stratosphereâs Tower was lighted from below and above, the restaurant on top looking like a spaceship with the crazy roller-coaster lights crawling around its top. Below, a string of Metro Police cars, lights flashing, sirens ominously stilled, pulled into the winding drive of the Hilton. You rarely heard emergency sirens here, peculiar for a city this large and busy. Maybe warning sirens would nullify the party ambience. Had they come for Charlie already?
She waited as long as she could and then crawled back into bed and
âWrong, Evan. Serial numbers and things like that donât burn. The original owner at least has got to be on file somewhere.â
âWhat can I say? Lifeâs a gamble, Charlie.â But everyone had grown suddenly somber. âAll we really need is a little time and some magic will happenâwonât it, Toby? And everything, including you, will be safe as grass, Charlie.â
The van turned onto a heavily lighted parkway, and for a second a teardrop glinted in a free fall from Carylâs face before it was lost in her dark clothing. She hadnât joined in the teasing and laughter. More tears formed on her lashes, but her voice came more vengeful than sad. âThe plane was listed originally in my brotherâs name. Nobody can go after Pat now.â
CHAPTER 8
C HARLIE STILL FELT strange as she stepped up to the Hiltonâs glittering entrance. For once, it wasnât her stomach. The McFood seemed to have settled peacefully. More her headânot an ache exactly. Maybe it was just her anger at how Evan Black thought he could use her. It would take more than magic to get them out of this.
âHoly shit,â a man said behind Charlie, and she turned at the door, to see him stepping out of a cab. The inside light and the cabâs headlights sat in a sea of night under the immense marquee. All the lights and the razzamatazz at the fountain and the rows of lights under the marquee had gone out.
A bell captain passed her on his way to the luggage the cabbie was unloading. âTalk about blinding night, huh?â
It was spectacular. Charlie had an errant thought: If all the lights went out in Vegas, would it still exist? Like, if a tree falls in the forest and nobody sees it â¦
Get thee to bed, Charlie G, youâre all done.
For once, we agree.
The elevator quit on her a floor below hers, but at least the door had already opened to let her out. None of the elevators seemed to be working up or down, so she took the stairs one flight to her room, flicked on the lights, flicked off her clothes, and stepped into the shower just as the lights went out. She showered by feel and managed to find her nightshirt and the bed by the light of the Vegas night outside the window.
But then she couldnât sleep. It had been one hell of an unvacation day. And the room was stuffy without the ventilation fan blowing canned air into it.
Finally, Charlie took her frustration to the wall of window and, kneeling on the couch to face it, reassured herself that life was indeed still normal, fully aware of the irony in that. She had no idea which direction Yucca Mountain and Area 51 and the smoldering ruins of a claustrophobic little airplane might beâbut she was alive, warm, fed, and well. And she decided she must have imagined the orange light, a vestigial smear of which she imagined still lurked somewhere at the back of her eyeballs. Which didnât mean the United States government was collecting her DNA from a portion of the plane that hadnât burned.
The electricity might be out in her room and parts of the hotel, but the lights of the Strip drowned out the star show that played over Area 51. Closer in, the immense Hilton sign still had juice. It flashed alternate messages across the nightâ WELCOME AMA and MOST CASH BACK and TWENTY-FOURTH CENTURY IS NOW .
Across the street, BOYZ R US . A block up the street, the spindle of the Stratosphereâs Tower was lighted from below and above, the restaurant on top looking like a spaceship with the crazy roller-coaster lights crawling around its top. Below, a string of Metro Police cars, lights flashing, sirens ominously stilled, pulled into the winding drive of the Hilton. You rarely heard emergency sirens here, peculiar for a city this large and busy. Maybe warning sirens would nullify the party ambience. Had they come for Charlie already?
She waited as long as she could and then crawled back into bed and
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