Chapter 4

There are two different airline shuttles from DC to New York, but they both involve schlepping through airport security and being in uncomfortable airplane seating before being deposited outside the city, at La Guardia. From there, it's a taxi or bus ride into Manhattan. I much prefer Amtrak, which leaves from Union Station in downtown DC and deposits you in mid-town Manhattan at Penn Station. The train ride is about three and a half hours, longer than the one-hour flight, but when you add in the extra travel at each end of the flight, it works out about the same. And on the train you can stretch out, use a laptop, snooze, or read the paper without being squeezed by the 300-pound behemoth that is inevitably assigned to the seat next to you.

For this trip, the location would be a mixed blessing: Penn Station is essentially right across the street from Madison Square Garden, which, according to Lauren, had been the venue of a concert she headlined three nights ago — a concert that, despite some unsettling evidence, I was not prepared to concede ever existed.

Lauren was cautiously receptive to the idea of this venture — mostly because I think she thought it meant I was closer to believing her. I didn't want to break any fragile bonds of trust that I had developed with this girl, and — although I didn't quite want to admit it to myself, I was beginning to feel as though I didn't want to disappoint her. I told myself it was simply because whatever she really had been through was undoubtedly terrible. I might even have believed myself.

I had told her last night about the news item concerning a woman named Courtney Collins and the circumstances of her arrest, and Lauren had been ready to leave at that moment. I convinced her that morning was soon enough, and she finally acceded to my version of the plan.

When I met her in the lobby, she was scrubbed clean, with her hair pulled back and tied with a scrunchy, and wearing a new pair of jeans and a polo shirt. She looked... good. I trust my eyes didn't exactly pop out of my head when I saw her, but I know she noticed me noticing, and the first words out of her mouth were, "They had these clothes at the gift shop. I charged them to the room. I'll pay you back, Rick, when this gets all straightened out. I just felt like I needed to get into something... "

I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Please, please, I get it. Old, cast-off clothes not good enough for the likes of you." I saw her trying to decide if I was being serious and I quickly added, "Ha, ha. As in, joking. Please don't worry about it."

"I really will, you know. Pay you back, I mean." She paused. "I know this whole thing will get straightened out, and... well, when it does, we're not rich, but we will definitely be able to do..."

I looked at her. "Lauren," I said. "I still have no idea what's happening here. But one thing I know for sure is that I can afford this, and I want to help you get to the bottom of whatever happened. Please — accept this in friendship."

She nodded soberly.

"And," I couldn't help adding, "Front row tickets for your next concert, of course."

She looked startled at me for a moment and then grinned merrily. "You got it. And you're just making me feel better now, I know, but you remember this conversation when you're in that front row, OK?"

I navigated the car to the West Falls Church Metro station, an outlying arm of the DC area's subway system. The Metro system also serves Union Station, and it was easier to leave my car parked at the Metro than at the mercy of thugs and vandals in DC — by which I mean the meter maids and other parking enforcers who mercilessly ticket vehicles parked too long at Union Station. I procured a fare card for Lauren, who used it with the aplomb of someone who's done it many times before. Another plus for her claim of having lived in this area.

We didn't talk much on the way downtown; the car wasn't packed but neither was it private, and I didn't see any value in exploring theories of alternate universes within earshot of others. It wasn't until we had boarded the Amtrak Metroliner bound for New York City and gotten our seats that I felt we could talk a bit. I didn't quite know how to start the conversation, so for several minutes the train clanked along and we sat opposite each other.

"Lauren," I finally began, "What do you think we should do?"

I had obviously caught her in a bit of reverie, because she jumped a bit and said, "What?"

"What do you think we should do?" I repeated.

"What?... I mean, about what?" she asked, her face flushing a bit.

"What should we do after we find this woman?" I prompted her, wondering what was up with her now.

"Oh, after we... right, of course, that's what we should figure out," she stammered. "After we find her, we should... well, we should make sure she's... " She paused. "I don't know."

"Here's what I'm thinking. If we can get both of you together maybe we can begin to figure out some things. Maybe her recollections will add something to what you already remember. If we can get enough together for NYPD to believe that a crime happened, they can investigate. They have..." I saw the response in her eyes and spoke faster to overcome it. "Listen, they have more resources and manpower than we could possibly get any other way. They could..."

She was shaking her head. "They'll never believe it. You don't believe it, not really. Why should they?"

"You have a point," I admitted. I paused and then said, "OK, how about we simply play it by ear. Let's find this woman and see what she can add to the puzzle. Maybe she got away with a big topographical map with 'Bad Guy Headquarters' shown by a red pin."

She smiled a bit in spite of herself, but her face turned somber quickly. "If she got away with her memory, then I know what she's got." She said it quietly, almost to herself, but I heard every word.

And damned if I didn't believe her.

As the train rolled out of Wilmington, I saw that Lauren was snoozing; the train's gentle rocking often had that sort of hypnotic effect on me as well. I hadn't done anything about breakfast, and now I was beginning to feel the first twinges of hunger. While it wasn't exactly gourmet, I knew the club car would have some microwave machine cuisine, and we were still several hours away from anything better. Perhaps this evening I could take Lauren to the Blue Water Grill in the Flatiron, but for now, I thought a couple of sausage and egg reheatables would have to do.

I made my way back to our seats with two sandwiches, two cups of coffee, and some bottled water in case she wasn't a coffee drinker. I found Lauren wide awake and looking down the aisle in the opposite direction. When she looked back and saw me her relief was almost palpable.

"Don't DO that," she half-shouted at me.

"What? I just got us something to eat. What's wrong?"