Transgressions

'Hunting—?'

'Then she slashed, burned, maimed— killed, for all I know! And always she returned to me after the hunt, silently gloating. Now she's out there again, searching for Silkie MacKenzie.'

'Dear God. Why?'

'Don't you understand? To make them pay, for all they've meant to me.'

Echo had the odd feeling that she wasn't fully awake after all, that she just wanted to sink to the floor, curl up and go back to sleep. She couldn't look at his face another moment. She went hesitantly to a curved window, opened the shutters there and rested her cheek on insulated safety glass that could withstand hurricane winds. She stared at the brute pounding of the sea below, feeling the force of the waves in the shiver of glass, repeating the surge of her own heartbeats.

'How long have you known?'

'More than two years ago I became suspicious of what she might be doing during prolonged absences. I hired the Blackwelder Organization to investigate. What they came up with was horrifying, but still circumstantial.'

'Did you really want proof?' Echo cried.

'Of course I did! And last night I finally received it, an e-mail from Australia. Where one of my former models —'

'Another victim?'

'Yes,' Ransome said, his head down. 'Her name is Aurora Leigh. She'd been in seclusion. But she was in adequate shape emotionally to identify Taja as her attacker from sketches I provided.'

'Adequate shape emotionally,' Echo repeated numbly. 'Why did Taja hit you last night?'

'I confronted her with what I knew.'

'Was she trying to kill you?'

'No. I don't think so. Just letting me know her business isn't finished yet.'

'Oh Jesus and Mary! The police—did you call—'

'I called my lawyers this morning. They'll handle it. Taja will be stopped.'

'But what if Taja's still here? You'll need—'

'Her boat's gone. She's not on the island.'

'There are dozens of islands where she could be hiding!'

'I can take care of myself.'

'Oh, sure,' Echo said, bouncing the heel of her hand off her forehead as she began to pace.

'Don't be frightened. Just go back to New York. If there's even a remote possibility Taja will be free long enough to return to Kincairn—well then, Taja is, she's always been, my responsibility.'

Echo paused, stared, caught her breath, alarmed by something ominous hanging around behind his words. 'Why do you say that? You didn't make her what she is. That must have happened long before you met her, where—?'

'In Budapest.'

'Doing what, mugging tourists?'

'When I first saw Taja,' he said, his voice laboring, 'she was drawing with chalk on the paving stones near the Karoly Kit gate. For what little money passersby were willing to throw her way.' He raised his head slowly. 'I don't know how old she was then; I don't know her age now. As I told you once, terrible things had been done to her. She was barefoot, her hair wild, her dress shabby.' He smiled faintly at Echo.

His lips were nearly bloodless. 'Yes, I should have walked on by. But I was astounded by her talent. She drew wonderful, suffering, religious faces. They burned with fevers, the hungers of martyrdom. All of the faces washing away each time it rained, or scuffed underfoot by the heedless. But every day she would draw them again. Her knees, her elbows were scabbed. For hours she barely paused to look up from her work. Yet she knew I was there. And after a while it was my face she sought, my approval. Then, late one afternoon when it didn't rain, I—I followed her. Sensing that she was dangerous. But I've never wanted a tame affair. It's immolation I always seem to be after.'

His smile showed a slightly crooked eye tooth Echo was more or less enamored with, a sly imperfection.

'Just how dangerous she was at that time became a matter of no great importance. You see, we may all be dangerous, Mary Catherine, depending on what is done to us.'

'Oh, was the sex that good?' Echo said harshly, her face flaming.

'Sometimes sex isn't the necessary thing, depending on the nature of one's obsession.'

Echo began, furiously, to sob. She turned again to the horizon, the darkening sea.

After a couple of minutes he said, 'Mary Catherine—'

'You know I'm not going! I won't let you give up painting because of what Taja did! You're not going to send me away, John, you need me!'

'It's not in your power to get me to paint again.'

'Oh, isn't it?' She wiped her leaky nose on the sleeve of her fisherman's sweater; hadn't done that in quite a few years. Then she pulled off the sweater, gave her head a shake, swirling her abundant hair.