Card Sharks

'Leave us be,' I muttered.

'Give me my child.' Fear had entered Brand's voice. Fear for his child. 'I'll let you go if you give me Clara.'

I was shocked at that. 'I'd never hurt her, Brand.'

He dropped the poker and went down on his knees before me, folded his hands and held them out to me, pleading. A bead of sweat rolled from his temple to his chin.

'You were human once. You adored her. Swear to me that you won't harm her. Swear, or let her go.'

I remembered, when she had struck me, precisely how close I had come to lashing out, poisoning her as I had Frou Frou. I remembered how the dog had thrashed when I'd struck him and I remembered the sensation as I'd shoved him down my throat. The thought turned me numb with dread.

I looked at Clara's trusting face, pressed against my chest, and sobbed. I'd just killed and eaten a pet I'd had since I was fourteen. I couldn't be sure of myself at all.

I handed her over to him and slumped back against the wall.

I wouldn't have hurt her, you know. I would never have hurt her. If only I could go back, reassure that younger, frightened me. Yd tell her, take Clara, hold her to you. Trust yourself. She needs you. You can do it.

I've never hurt a human soul, since my changeover. Except to help the terminally ill on to a better life at their own pleading. And surely that's a gift, not a curse. I've forsworn bigotry and pettiness, and devoted my life to helping others.

I've killed animals, to be sure. Often. Famine drove me to eat Frou Frou that day, but it wasn't a human's hunger. This body needs the nutrients, the minerals and proteins in animal blood, skin, hair, and bones. That was why the craving was so strong. It's a part of my nature now, to require live or newly dead, whole animals. Raw meat is as close as I can come to human foods, and it's not adequate to sustain me for very long. I'm not human any more, in that way.

My eating habits are certainly less sanitary and more immediate than buying ground round at the grocery store. But it's not so different in concept, is it, after all?

Other animals, their intelligence is not the equal of ours. Yet they are still living creatures, and have more intelligence than we credit them with. They deserve life and respect, as much as we do.

But our very existence forces us to make hard choices. It forces us to prey on other creatures when the need is great.

I had always been a predator, by choice, without need. I had spent a lifetime preying on the weaknesses of others. The wild card made me a predator in truth, and gave me no choice in the matter.

I've learned from it. I learned that one must forgive oneself for what one has had to do to survive. And I can forgive myself everything. Everything but how I abandoned Clara that day.

I understand why it happened, don't mistake me. I'd spent a lifetime being untrustworthy and shallow and hypocritical. And now I had become a creature whom I feared at least as much as Brand and Jessica did.

How could I know that all that had happened in the past few days would force me to find a strength I didn't know I had? Nothing in my past had prepared me to trust that I could protect Clara from the worst of what I had become.

I wish I could forgive myself for that failure of faith.

Brand kept his promise, to my surprise. They kept me shut up in the utility room for a couple of days, until my digestion had proceeded far enough along for me to stay awake for more than a few moments at a time. Then he let me go, with a suitcase stuffed full of personal memorabilia, a hundred dollars cash, and a check for two thousand dollars. I'm still grateful to him for that.

He held Clara in one arm and opened the door for me with the other.

'Where are you going, Maman?' she asked. I paused out in the hallway and looked back, but all the words lodged in my chest, the place where the rock was starting to form.

Brandon shushed her. 'That's not your Maman. It's just an animal that looks a little like her.'

She struggled in his arms, reaching out to me. 'I want Maman!'

'Hush! Maman is dead,' he said, and closed the door. Her rising wail, faint through the door, followed me down the hall.

I suppose that's all.

No, no. Please don't apologize. It was time for the story to come out. These are tears of release. Just let me be for a moment, will you? I'll be all right.

There, now. Much better, thanks. It's odd. I actually feel better for having told it. It's weighed on me so heavily for so long. I've kept that secret inside for so long, of how I abandoned my daughter. Perhaps the key to forgiving oneself is through the telling of the tale.

My, it's three-thirty in the morning. Would you like to sleep on the foldout? My boyfriend is on call at the Clinic tonight, and this oak branch is quite comfortable for me. I only sleep when the temperature drops too low, or after eating a heavy meal.

No? Well. Certainly. No offense at all. Though you must take care out on the streets this late.

Here, before you go. I'd like you to have these notebooks; they contain the notes I made on what happened. I wrote everything down soon afterward so I wouldn't forget the details. They might help you in your research.

Oh. One last thing you should know. This may be paranoia on my part, but, well, it has returned to me over and over. As I related to you, Brand told Dr. Rudo on the phone that the photos the detective had taken weren't very incriminating. That closeup of him with Sirhan Sirhan, Kennedy's assassin, was damning. Perhaps he was lying to Dr. Rudo, but why?

And I remember how much Clara wanted a photo of her Papa, and how I had left her alone with the photos when I had that argument with Jessica. That photo was definitely the best shot of Brand's face, of the whole batch. I keep wondering.

But now I'm being paranoid.

Come, let me put on my electric sleeve and I'll escort you to the subway station.

The Ashes of Memory

'I'd like you to ring Ms. Monroe's room.'

The hotel clerk looked at Hannah as if he had gas. 'I'm sorry, but Ms. Monroe has left very specific instructions that she not be disturbed. What did you say your name Was?'

'Rudo. Pan Rudo. R-U-D-O.'

The clerk consulted his monitor, tapping at the keyboard. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Ms. Rudo. Your names is on the list she left. You may use the white phone to your right. Dial asterisk, then 44.'

'Thank you.' Hannah went to the house phone and punched in the number. The voice that answered was still instantly recognizable: breathy, soft, and warm, not much changed despite all the years. 'Hello?'

'Ms. Monroe, I must see you.'

'Who is this?' The voice took on a touch of irritation. 'Who gave you this number?'

'Nick Williams asked me to call, Marilyn. You remember Nick, don't you?'

There was silence on the other end. For a few seconds, Hannah thought that Marilyn had hung up, then the woman spoke again, and her voice sounded much older. 'Where are you?'

'In the lobby of the hotel. I need to see you alone, Ms. Monroe.'

'Give … give me a minute and then come on up. I'm in the Lindsay Suite. Seventeenth floor.'

Riding the elevator, Hannah had time to wonder whether this was a mistake. In the three days since she'd spoken with Lamia — three days in which she'd found herself starting at every noise and peering suspiciously at