before
her eyes could register them。
She looked down the stairs again。
Her right hand was sweating against the wooden handle of the knife； she
switched it to her left； wiped her right palm against the pink terrycloth of her
robe； and switched the knife back。 Almost unaware that her mind had given her
body the mand to go forward； she began down the stairs； left foot then right；
left foot then right； her free hand trailing lightly on the banister。
（Where's the party？ Don't let me scare you away； you bunch of moldy sheets！
Not one scared woman with a knife！ Let's have a little music around here！ Let's
have a little life！）
Ten steps down； a dozen； a baker's dozen。
The light from the first…floor hall filtered a dull yellow down here； and she
remembered that she would have to turn on the lobby lights either beside the
entrance to the dining room or inside the manager's office。
Yet there was light ing from somewhere else； white and muted。
The fluorescents； of course。 In the kitchen。
She paused on the thirteenth step； trying to remember if she had turned them
off or left them on when she and Danny left。 She simply couldn't remember。
Below her； in the lobby； highbacked chairs hulked in pools of shadow。 The
glass in the lobby doors was pressed white with a uniform blanket of drifted
snow。 Brass studs in the sofa cushions gleamed faintly like cat's eyes。 There
were a hundred places to hide。
Her legs stilted with fear； she continued down。
Now seventeen； now eighteen； now nineteen。
（Lobby level； madam。 Step out carefully。）
The ballroom doors were thrown wide； only blackness spilling out。 From within