Nessa opened her water bottle and took a drink, then picked up her iPad, ready to pull up the requests. But it made a ping sound, indicating a text message. She glanced at Otto—-the producer would often text her during broadcasts if he needed to tell her something. But Otto was busy with board stuff, not fiddling with his phone, plus the number was the cell phone equivalent of an 800 number.
An image appeared on the screen. At first, she didn’t understand what she was looking at. A super--grainy, zoomed--in photo. She couldn’t figure out what it was until she pinched toward the center and the image resolved. Then a sharp intake of breath sent her into a coughing fit, and still she couldn’t take her eyes off the image in her hands.
“You all right?” Otto asked. “You’re on air in two.”
Nessa couldn’t breathe. Her eyes burned as she stared at the picture. It was Daltrey’s face.
With black X’s drawn over his eyes. And the words He Will Die scrawled below.
“What the hell, Ness?” Otto asked. “You’re on in one. Get it together.”
Nessa watched the secondhand sweep mercilessly, faster than normal, it seemed, toward the top of the hour. She took a deep breath and held it, stars swimming before her eyes, trying to focus her mind.
This was not a photo from her collection. Daltrey was wearing his striped overall shorts and a white T--shirt—-his outfit from the day before. It was a photo that had been taken yesterday, in the grocery store parking lot with a telephoto lens from some distance away.
Nessa blew out her breath slowly, trying to concentrate. She pulled on her headphones and repositioned the big microphone in front of her.
Otto, eyes full of actual concern and curiosity, counted down. “Five, four,” then the rest of the way with his fingers.
Her theme music played over her introduction.
“It’s midnight on Monday, which means it’s time for Unknown Legends with Nessa, the only radio show that plays the really, really deep cuts.”
Otto pointed at her and she spoke into the mic. “Hey, everybody—-”
She couldn’t get the image out of her mind. Only in it, Daltrey was really dead.
“I just got a letter from—-” she looked up at the Internet screen above the board “—-Chuck, who wanted to hear some Saturday Night Club, an Australian band that played every crap bar in the country during the late seventies. This is ‘Burns.’ ”
Nessa clicked her mic button and shoved off her headphones.
“What the hell, Ness?” Otto said again.
“Sorry,” she said.
“What just happened?”
Nessa’s voice was shaking. “I must have just gotten my first dose of stagefright, I guess,” she said.
She put the cover on her iPad and clutched it to her chest.
“Are you sick or something?”
But she knew he knew that something on the iPad had rattled her.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“With you? No.” Being mean steadied her a bit. She looked at the music clock and saw she only had two minutes and twelve seconds. She was about to screw up the order by having Otto play a song she’d held in reserve for just such an emergency as this. She was going to make him put on the twelve--minute--sixteen--second “Starless” by King Crimson from 1974’s Red album.
“Cue up track three sixty--five,” she said.
“It’s not on the list,” he said. “You can’t just—-”
“Cue it up,” she barked. “I need a minute. Are you really going to tell me you can’t do this? I thought you were all about breaking the rules and going against the grain and bucking the system. So prove it.”
“Aye--aye, Cap’n PMS,” he said.
As she walked out of the studio, she depressed her iPhone button and heard the familiar chime. “Set timer for eleven minutes,” she said into it.
“Okay,” Siri said. “Setting timer for eleven minutes.”
Nessa went into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She opened up her iPad and looked at the photo again. Then with shaking hands, she pulled out her phone and dialed Isabeau. It rang and kept on ringing. By the fifth ring, Nessa was frantic.
“Hello?” Isabeau’s sleepy voice answered.
“Why the hell did it take so long to answer?”
“What?” Isabeau said. “What time is it?”
“Where’s Daltrey?”
“He’s asleep, of course,” Isabeau said, yawning.
“Go in his room right now.”
“What?”
“Do what I said! Now!”
“What’s going on?”
“Just do it!” Nessa yelled so loud her voice cracked.
“Okay.”
Nessa watched the time count down on her phone, at a glacial yet speed--of--light pace, her breath loud and panicky.
“Yup. He’s asleep. Just like I said.”
“Is he breathing?”
“Of course he’s breathing! What in the world is going on?”
“You need to call the cops.” She went on to explain what had happened.
“You better screenshot it, Nessa.”
“Why?”
But as the word left her mouth, the photo began to pixelate and dissolve.
“What’s happening? It’s fading, and—-”
“Click the power button and the home button at the same time,” Isabeau said.
Nessa let go of her phone and fumbled with the iPad, which slipped from her sweaty hands and dropped to the floor. As she scrambled to pick it up, the photo disappeared altogether, and a logo appeared: TempHoto.
Nessa screamed in frustration.
She heard a knock. “Nessa?”