The idea chilled him to the bone. There was nothing concrete, no real proof, only a vague feeling that his living space was being invaded by another permanent resident, but that was enough to put him on edge.

Something else was living here.

Not someone.

Something.

He didn’t know why he thought that, but he did, and it frightened him. He knew that he could, if necessary, leave the terminal, leave the airport, disappear into the chaotic bustle of Los Angeles, but he did not even consider that an option. Logically, intellectually, it made sense, but emotionally it was another story. Whether superstition or psychosis, he knew that he could never leave the terminal, and any plan that considered that a possibility was strictly off-limits.

Which meant that he was stuck here.

With whatever else lived in the airport.

In the daytime, the idea didn’t bother him. But at night, like now, when the crowds faded, when the lights were switched to half power, when the world outside turned black…

He shivered.

Last week, he had returned from the bathroom after a quick shampoo to his seat near the windowed east wall of the Delta wing, and his magazines had been moved. Not just moved. Tampered with. The page he’d marked in Newsweek had been ripped out, the Playboy he’d kept hidden between the other periodicals had been placed on top and opened to the centerfold, and his People magazine had been thrown on the floor. There’d been no one else in this wing of the terminal for the past hour and he’d seen no one on his way to or from the bathroom, but the proof was there, and he’d quickly gathered up his stuff and hurried back to a more populated section of the terminal.

The next night, he’d had no magazines or newspapers with him and was about to settle down to a little nap when he saw, on the section of seats he’d chosen, an array of magazines spread out: Guns and Ammo, Hunting, American Hunter, Hunter and Prey. On the carpeted floor in front of the seats, drawn with spilled cherry Icee, was the outline of a bloody claw and, next to that, a toothy smile.

It was hunting him.

It had been a warning, Teddy thought. Or a game being played with him. Either way, he didn’t like it, and he quickly gathered together today’s belongings as he suddenly noticed that this area of the terminal was emptying out and that outside night had already fallen. He saw himself reflected in the huge window that faced the runway, a ghost against the blackness, and the insubstantiality of his form made him nervous, made him feel as though he’d already died.